You told him.

YOU TOLD HIM.

You knew it was coming.

It was only just yesterday when you nonchalantly point out to your best friend, Lee Jinki, that one day, he’s going to get sick from all the chicken he eats and you’ll be laughing the day he calls you with a hoarse voice from having his head stuck in the toilet bowl all day.

It’s just, you didn’t expect it to happen so quickly. Maybe you should stop saying things so punctually.

When he calls at 2:31 a.m., you slam your finger on the speakerphone button and groggily call out, “Hello?”

There’s static and coughing and a voice slowly says your name in a quiet and bovine way.

But even through all that, you know it’s Onew (You still don’t know why he came up with such a nickname) and automatically sit up with an alert voice.

"Jinki? Jinki? Hey, talk to me! What’s wrong?"

Silence goes for a few seconds before he drawls out, “S-s-sick..”

By this time, you’re already changing into a random t-shirt and sweatpants and run to get the phone after you’re done.

"Hang in there, Jinki! I’ll be there in ten, just—stay at the toilet!"

You hang up without a response and almost literally fly down the emergency stairs so you can run the one block that is the distance between your houses.

Nearly dropping your keys in a frenzied manner, you finally manage to unlock the door and you run in and close the door and run to your best friend who’s currently resting against the toilet.

Strands of his bangs are matted to his forehead, due to the sweat, and you flush the toilet while using a wet towel to gently wipe his forehead.

Even though he’s heavy, that one random year of weightlifting helps you get him into his bed and you place a large paint bucket next to the bedside just in case he needs to puke again.

Jinki’s house is like your second home, really, so it’s not that hard to find all the medicine needed plus a glass of water and when you watch him swallow that pill, you’re inwardly praying that he won’t throw it back up.

His breathing has slowed and you can tell he’s calmed down a bit, so it’s safe for you to question what happened.

"Undercooked…chicken…" he warily replies, probably waiting for the laughter that you mentioned in yesterday’s conversation.

You grab his hand and don’t laugh because you remember that time a year ago when you threw up from eating too much brownies, a great time especially right after your dramatic break-up, and he took care of you like an older brother, singing you to sleep in that soft, angelic voice of his.

Really, it tears you apart to see him like this and even though he is Tofu hyung/oppa, seeing him this soft and vulnerable just claws your inside.

An hour passes and you can tell that the pill isn’t going to make its way back up in a load of puke and his breathing is even enough to let you know that sleep has come and his fever will go down a bit.

You silently stand up from sitting in his wheely chair and make a move to remove your hand from his, but his grip tightens considerably and you look at his face in surprise.

His eyes are still closed and the area between his eyebrows is slightly scrunched up, signifying that he’s a little distressed about something, but his next two words explain everything.

"Please…stay."

Just those two words send your heartbeat racing and you can’t deny those feelings that built up in the past year and they get the better of you.

You gently sit back down and squeeze his hand to let you know you’ll be staying and the distressed area between his eyebrows smoothes out.

It’s not even five minutes when you fall asleep with your head on the edge of his bed.

——

Your senses wake up and tell you that you have a terrible kink in the neck, punishment for falling asleep so uncomfortably, and you slowly open your eyes to see Jinki staring at you.

His hand is still intertwined with yours when you rub the sleep out of your eyes with your other hand, and stand up to check his temperature.

But you have what they call “The Onew Condition” and the wheely chair you were in slips out before you can stabilize yourself and you fall to the floor while clutching Jinki’s hand and Jinki falls on top of you.

He feels lighter than usual, but really, all you can really register and respond to is that Jinki, still clutching your hand, is on top of you and breathing into your ear.

The two of you stay in that position until you’re losing oxygen and you lightly poke him in the side (ticklish spot number two) and he spazzes before picking himself up and slumping back into bed.

You get up with a groan and place the back of your hand against his forehead, then smile because his fever has gone down and his hair isn’t unattractively sticking to his forehead anymore.

He doesn’t question you when you leave the room and two minutes later, he hears clangs of pots and slams of cupboards and he knows you’re making soup.

He’s actually a little excited because the smell of chicken wafts into his room and in his nose and even though you’re ten feet away from him, you know he can smell it and smile to yourself.

“I’ll be back in ten!” you yell and head out.

Surprisingly, it’s only seven a.m. when you look at the time on your phone and you walk across the street and a block north to get to the closest grocery store.

It’s little, but the produce is always fresh and the store smells like a bakery and you’re accustomed to hearing the little bell on the door chime.

A lady in her mid-fifties comes out into your view and you greet her while grabbing some yogurt and some extra chicken broth for Jinki. She rings up your order and hands you a strawberry lollipop like she so often does because she knows it’s your favorite, but then you kind of die down when she asks what this is all for.

“He got sick. From undercooked chicken. How can he eat undercooked chicken? He should’ve known something was wrong, the little chicken eater.”

“Honey,” she says as you tear off the wrapper in a state of fury and confusion. “Jinki’s human. Humans make mistakes. You still love him?”

You’re a little taken aback from her blunt question, but you can’t lie. You nod and keep the lollipop in your mouth so you can help bag your items, but she shoos your hands away and smiles.

“My dear, it’s time.”

“Ahjumma~” you whine. She says this every time you come.

“Really, ________-ah. Don’t wait any longer.”

You sigh and grab the bags off the counter before looking back at her. “We’ll see, ahjumma. We’ll see.”

—-

When you open the door, Jinki’s on the couch with his shirt off and you look at him questionably as you close the door and take your shoes off.

“It was hot,” he pointedly said but then focuses on the lollipop in your mouth. “Strawberry?”

“Yep,” you call out, taking the food you bought and placing them in the counter.

When you turn back around to grab the bags and put them in the pantry for extra use, you’re greeted by his smooth chest and he takes advantage of your frozen state of shock to steal the lollipop out of your mouth and puts it into his.

This isn’t the first time, but it affects you nonetheless.

He walks away with a slight skip in his step and you snap out of your dazed state so those bags can go where they’re supposed to go.

Ten minutes later, the broth is all warmed up and the yogurt is in the refrigerator and Jinki’s fallen asleep on the couch with the TV on.

You shake your head and grab a blanket from his room to put over him in case he gets cold. After gently smoothing out his hair so he doesn’t wake up, you kiss him on the forehead and whisper, “I love you,” and leave.

—-

Two days later, Minho calls you to tell you that Jinki wants to meet up with you at the swings in the park and when you ask him why Jinki didn’t tell you himself, he just passively says,“His phone died,” and hangs up.

There’s something fishy going on here.

It’s seven p.m. and it’s getting dark outside, but you grab your cellphone and a can of pepper spray (just in case) and make your way to the park.

You realize that nobody else is at the park except for Jinki’s lonesome looking figure that’s sitting on the swings slowly moving back and forth.

“Jinki!”

His head snaps up and you can see his mouth stretched up into a smile and he points to the swing next to him, indicating for you to sit there.

You try to ignore your rapidly increasing heartbeat when you sit in the swing and ask him,“What’s up?”

He doesn’t answer and looks down in his lap and he’s fiddling with his fingers, a sign that he’s trying to think of the right way to say something.

“I…heard what you said before you left two days ago.”

What is he talking about—

.

“Uh—“

“Did you mean it?” he worriedly asks and looks into your eyes. There’s an emotion flashing through them but you can’t exactly tell what—

“Well, on a sibling sense—“

“I don’t mean on a sibling sense,” he interrupts. “I mean on a romantic sense, like us. Together.”

“It’s time.”

You can’t hold it in any longer because it’s way too hard when he has you cornered like this—

You bite your lip and look away.

“Yeah. I mean it.”

When you turn around, Jinki’s in front of you and he grabs your hands and pulls you out of the seat so he can hug you and spin you around in circles.

Naturally, you wound your arms around his neck and yelp before nuzzling your face into his thin jacket and trying to figure out what the hell is going on.

His movement stops and his hands cradle your neck so he can place his lips on yours.

Instinctively, you close your eyes and colors are shooting behind your eye lids as you move your lips in sync with his and this is all too good to be true—

The two of you need oxygen and he pulls away but moves his arms around your waist to pull you into another bone crushing hug and you happily inhale his scent of mint and pine.

He kisses your hair and muses, “To think this happened because I got sick from undercooked chicken.”

“Ill,” you correct him. “You’re ill, not sick. Sick just makes it sound like you got sick of chicken, which is clearly impossible.”

As if his hold around you can get any tighter, it does and you return it.

You can appreciate chicken a little more now.