Johnny’s awake when Taeyong stirs, but he’s still in bed next to him, eyes on his phone. Taeyong yawns softly, stretching a little, and Johnny puts his phone down, smiling. 

“Good morning,” he says, voice still a little rough from sleep, and Taeyong’s stomach feels like a Slinky pushed down ten flights of stairs. 

“Morning,” Taeyong replies. “What time is it?”

“Around ten,” Johnny says. “I already texted Eunyong. She said she’d pretend to be taking you to the doctor and then just say she dropped you back off here.”

“Oh, thank you.” Taeyong sits up, brushing sleep from his eyes. “Oh, I should probably text Doyoung. I promised him I would tell him when the blood started.”

Johnny nods, and they both wrench themselves from the warm comfort of the bed. Taeyong taps away at his phone as Johnny starts boiling some water for coffee. Johnny’s taking care of me today, though, he tells Doyoung. So don’t worry.

Is that wise? Doyoung asks.

Probably not, but it’s what I want, Taeyong types back, and Doyoung just likes the message.

Johnny hands him his coffee. “You should eat something,” he says softly.

“You should, too. Let’s pack a picnic for the beach,” Taeyong suggests, and Johnny nods. “You’ll be okay to drive?”

Johnny rolls his eyes. “I’m nowhere near as sick as you.” 

As if in effort to disprove this point, he starts coughing. He drops down on the mattress next to Taeyong, hands over his mouth, and Taeyong frowns, rubbing his back as his coughs make his shake with their force. Johnny lifts his head, and Taeyong sees yellow rose petals in his palms.

“They changed,” Johnny observes unhelpfully. “What are these, roses?” Taeyong just nods. “What does it mean?”

Taeyong doesn’t know how to respond. Yellow, for jealousy, for losing love, or for friendship. None of them feel good to say, but he tells him anyway. Johnny doesn’t respond, just balls them up in his fist and goes to throw them out. Taeyong has no idea which definition made him so upset, but he knows at least one did. He doesn’t ask, though. He doesn’t want to know. 

They pack up some baked goods and some drinks, and then hit the road. The drive to the beach is mostly silent; they listen to the radio and look out on the scenery as it passes by. It’s not awkward, though. Whenever they catch each other’s eye, they smile.

The sun isn’t out in full force today and it’s a little windy, so the sea looks a little grey. It’s kind of fitting, Taeyong thinks to himself as he helps Johnny set up their things in the sand. The beach feels melancholy with us.

They settle on the blanket together, and share scones and chat a little. 

“Do you,” Johnny asks. “Do you feel guilty for having it sometimes? Because I do.”

Taeyong thinks about it for a second. “A little, yeah,” he murmurs. “It feels kind of dumb sometimes. And I feel bad for not wanting the surgery. But I—I saw what happened to Yukhei. I don’t want to risk it.”

“I just…” Taeyong looks up, and Johnny’s lips are pressed into a thin line of distress. “I feel so bad for my mom,” he whispers. “She shouldn’t—she wouldn’t want this for me. I mean—no one would, but… you know how close we are. And I’m her only child. She says I’m everything to her. I feel so awful, knowing she’ll have to attend my funeral. I mean, at least she has my dad. But I can’t help but feel like I’m—like I’m leaving her all alone.”

“I know.” Taeyong rests his head against Johnny’s shoulder. “At least my family has one another. And our families have each other, too. They’ll be okay.”

Johnny’s still frowning, though. “It just feels so deeply selfish.”

“You’re allowed to choose what you want for yourself,” Taeyong says. “Yeah, it won’t be easy for everyone else, but you can’t make your decisions based on what you think everyone else wants. You know what you need.”

“What if what I need is to make sure my parents die happy and loved?” Johnny asks.

“That’s what you think they need,” Taeyong says. “Listen, Johnny, I can’t tell you what to do. If you want to get the surgery, then get the surgery. It’s up to you. If you think you’ll be happier that way, then do it.”

“I feel like I should,” Johnny says, picking at some lint on his shorts. “It would be hard, but—I mean, I know I’m glad Yukhei and Kunhang are still around. And I think they are too. It would be hard, of course, but I would have them. It would be—“ He swallows. “It would be easier if you were there with me, too.”

“Sorry,” Taeyong says quietly. “I know.” 

That’s the thing, about Johnny and Taeyong. Johnny is loud and funny, and he’s big, so people don’t always see how kind and selfless he is. Taeyong, everyone views as a martyr because he’s sweet and soft-spoken, and he’s made a habit of giving. But it’s never been because he was so gracious. It’s because it’s the only way he can sleep at night, knowing he’s done what he can to make up for the space he takes in the world. His kindness, his willingness to help others, has never been a virtue. It has always been a disguise. It has always been a punishment. 

Johnny, though, Johnny is just gentle by nature. And here, it’s clear. When it comes down to choosing what’s easiest for himself, and easiest for everyone else in his life, he wants to choose others. Even now. Taeyong always knew this, though. Johnny is better than him, has always been better than him, every time. 

“I think I’ll just wait for now, though.” Johnny continues. “I can’t help but hope that things will just work out on their own. I can’t help but hope that he’ll love me back.”

Taeyong hums, even though his stomach is sinking, “Me too,” he whispers. “It’s the worst, the hoping. It’s incurable.”

“At least I have you now,” Johnny says. “At least someone is with me who understands.”

“It’s better together,” Taeyong agrees. He sighs, and pushes himself to his feet. “Well, we might as well have some fun while we can. Come to the water with me. If our stuff gets stolen, then… it gets stolen. The world is ending anyway.”

Johnny laughs and stands, too. “Okay,” he agrees. “Let’s go. I’ll race you.”

He takes off in a flying sprint, and Taeyong chases after, yelling his protests all the way down to the shore. Johnny splashes in, and Taeyong trips over himself as he finally joins him. It’s a little cold, but Taeyong doesn’t mind. Johnny splashes him, and he splashes back, and soon they’re shouting with laughter as they run around in little circles, drenching each other as they go. 

Taeyong stops to catch his breath for a moment. He’s so weak, and he hates it so much, that he can barely have any fun now without the reminder that none of it will last long. He bends over a little, hands on his knees, to help himself breathe. 

Johnny comes up next to him. “You okay?” he asks, concerned.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Taeyong replies. “Just—hard to breathe sometimes, is—” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, though. He starts coughing, so hard it makes him dizzy. Johnny takes his hand and guides him out of the water. Taeyong leans against him, grateful the beach is mostly empty, coughing drily as Johnny slowly guides him back to their blanket. He sits down heavily, and Johnny rips off a bunch of paper towels for him to catch the wreckage with. 

Taeyong vomits up whole primroses, pink stained dark from the blood. The blood keeps coming, even when the stems are already out, just blood and little clumps of rotted leaves and petals. Taeyong can’t think, just focuses on breathing. The blood soaks through the paper towels; he can feel it sticking to his skin. He’s reeling, forcing himself upright by support of his hands, head lolled forward, so heavy.

When he comes to, he’s in the car. Johnny is driving tersely beside him. They’re on their way back to town.

“Jesus, Taeyong, you scared me,” Johnny says when he notices Taeyong is awake. 

“I’m okay,” Taeyong says, on reflex, sitting up slowly and looking around. He sees that Johnny managed to not only carry him, but also all of their belongings to the car. They’re stacked haphazardly in the backseat.

“Yeah, sure. You’ve lost a lot of blood,” Johnny says. “Do you think we should take you to the hospital?”

Taeyong is silent for a moment, assessing his body. He usually fainted when he donated blood, so he’s not surprised he fainted just now. He feels a little weak, but not terribly so. He shakes his head. “No, I think I just need electrolytes or something,” he decides. “And rest.”

Johnny gives him a hard look. “Okay,” he says dubiously. “We’ll stay at mine for a couple hours to let you rest, and then I’m taking you home. And you should tell your parents.”

“I know,” Taeyong says with a sigh. “And thank you.”

“Yeah,” Johnny says. They drive the rest of the way in silence.

Johnny helps him inside and up to his room. Taeyong insists he can handle himself, and takes a quick shower while Johnny unloads the rest of their things from the car. Then, he curls up in bed, shivering. Johnny comes up the stairs with a couple of bottles of Gatorade and a big cup of water. Taeyong laughs a little to himself—of course Johnny would have Gatorade on hand—and accepts the bottles.

“I know I’ll have to tell my parents soon,” Taeyong says. “But I really don’t want to. I don’t want to break their hearts.”

“If you don’t tell them, I will,” Johnny threatens. “If you haven’t told them by Jaemin’s birthday, I’ll do it.”

“I will, I swear I will,” Taeyong says quickly, taking another long pull from one of the Gatorade bottles until it’s empty. “Is it okay if I nap?” Taeyong asks. “I’m sorry, I haven’t been very much fun today.”

Johnny nods immediately. “It’s not your job to be entertaining,” he says. “Rest. I’ll wake you up in a couple of hours so you can make it home for dinner.”

“Thank you,” Taeyong murmurs, already half asleep when Johnny flicks off the lights. 

= = =

Johnny comes to get him a few hours later, true to his word, and helps him pack up his things. Taeyong’s feeling better—the nap and the two bottles of Gatorade did the trick. Maybe I’ll tell them tonight, he thinks as Johnny starts the car. 

They pull up outside Taeyong’s house. Taeyong looks over at Johnny. “Thank you for today. I’m sorry you had to—to deal with that.”

“It’s not your fault,” Johnny says. “I don’t mind. It’s you, so…” He shrugs. “I don’t mind,” he repeats.

“I’ll see you soon,” Taeyong promises. “I’ll be staying home this coming Tuesday, so you should come over. I feel like we’ve only ever been at yours.”

“Okay,” Johnny agrees. Taeyong scoots out of the car. “Tell your ing parents, okay?” Johnny calls after him before the door shuts.

Taeyong just gives him a wide grin and a thumbs up through the window. Johnny responds by rolling his eyes and putting the car in drive. Taeyong watches him leave, waits until the red of his taillights has faded, and then heads inside.

His mom is stirring a pot of something on the stove while his dad carries finished dishes to the table, and Eunyong washes dirtied bowls in the sink. It’s a little noisy, but peaceful. His mom smiles when he comes in.

“Eunyong told me they didn’t think you were concussed,” she says happily. “That’s really good news. How’s Johnny?”

Taeyong swallows the words in his mouth. She’s in such a good mood. He doesn’t want to ruin such a nice family dinner. “Johnny’s good,” Taeyong says. “Finally no longer jet lagged. Can I help with anything?”

He ends up joining Eunyong at the sink, helping with the dishes, and then they all sit down to eat. His dad cracks stupid jokes, and when Taeyong laughs, Eunyong tells him not to encourage him. They are whole this way; their parents on one side of the table with Eunyong and Taeyong across from them. No unfilled chairs. No awkward silence. Talk of blood and hanahaki disease doesn’t belong in this warm light. Right now, at this table, it almost feels like it doesn’t even exist.

I’ll tell them tomorrow, he thinks as he watches his mother’s face light up with another smile. Let’s have one more day of their dream come true—a happy, unbroken family, with no troubles.

He climbs up the stairs to bed, feeling keenly how his body rattles with every breath. He imagines the flowers snaking up his throat, tendrils closing around his trachea, blooms sprouting out of his mouth. It’s nice that he gets to die surrounded by flowers. It’s beautiful; poetic, even. And even if it’s kind of not, it’s still nice to think of it that way. It’s soothing, and it helps him sleep.

He watches the moon again, poking her face into the corner of his skylight. He hopes Johnny will get the surgery, if it’s what he wants. He doesn’t like to imagine their little town, or the world, without Johnny in it. 

He thinks about his primroses. I can’t live without you—that’s literally what they mean. He can’t; and he can’t die either knowing Johnny wouldn’t be far behind. It’s hypocritical of him, but—well. As he said. Johnny is better than him. Every time.