Minho’s parents had frowned upon him when he had dropped out of university, not even finishing his degree in science, to start studying to become a nurse. “A nurse?” his father had said, looking at him as if he had been crazy. “Men don’t become nurses”. Well, that’s what he had said.  Maybe he had been right, maybe not. Minho had not cared at all at the time, nor had he changed his opinion since. At least this line of work seemed much more meaningful than counting stars or whatnot he might have ended up doing. He liked people, and people had always been very supportive of him in his life. Since he was lucky enough to have such luxuries, wasn’t it just proper to somehow return it to people who had less? Less, as in less time.

Most of the people Minho had worked for so far had had plenty of money and resources to ensure the luxury of a stay-in nurse, not to mention big enough of a house to give him a whole suite for himself. To go down last part of someone’s life was always difficult, but he found it very rewarding too. So many of these old men and women had lived such extraordinary lives, or they told the best stories from their past. A few of them had even been able to recall vivid memories from the Korean War, their hardships and their small moments of hope. It had also helped Minho become fully sure that he had taken the right career path. Numbers and formulas couldn’t possibly be as rewarding.

After adjusting the straps of his backpack a little bit, Minho furrowed his dark brows and looked at the worn note in his hand. This was the address all right, but it was nothing like what he had expected: the tall, stylish buildings with an almost mirror-like surface, the glass elevator and the way it stopped on the top floor. Then the metal doors had pulled aside and revealed that the only apartment on the floor was the one he was going to, in other words an enormous penthouse. Not at all what he had been expecting for an old, dying man living out the last days of his life. Up until now Minho’s regular patients preferred big, spacious houses in the countryside or at least a house with a garden.  Places with lack of stairs and easy access for health personnel to help them out if something happened to soon, or if damage that could be healed happened. This extravagant home seemed more like the ideal bachelor pen than the last home of someone.

Checking his note again Minho gave a shrug of his shoulders. What did it matter that this… this Nam Taehyun preferred a place like this over the more standard homes? The agency he worked for had said this was a special case and that he had been the closest one to fit the criteria of the request. Minho still didn’t know what those were, but he knew better than asking questions. Dying was a very personal business, and it was not a part of his job to judge. Rather, it was his job to help ease the patient’s final journey, be a good companion and make sure any last wish would be respected and hopefully carried out. And this was just another job, just another person needing company.

Closing the distance between himself and the door with a few determined strides, Minho lifted a hand and pressed the doorbell. From the look of it, it was the kind of doorbell with camera and everything, so he gave a little wave. “Mr. Nam? I’m here from the caretaking company?” he offered, suddenly feeling strangely underdressed in his grey scrubs that was currently hidden under a heavy, black winter coat and navy scarf. It didn’t get better either when the door opened and a pale, skinny boy with a perfect middle parting and slanting eyebrows clad in clothes with brand labels Minho had only seen on advertisement posters outside department stores.

“I’m here to see Mr. Nam?” he repeated to the boy, taking in the sight of him and wondering what he was doing there. The grandson maybe, or an unlucky son? They seemed about the same age, so if it was his father that was sick that would .  Minho had expected the boy to nod, possibly smile and then show him in. Instead the boy leaned against the doorframe and eyed Minho, obviously amused by the situation. Locks of his brown hair fell from behind his ear and he quickly reached up and ran a hand through his hair to push it back. “You’re looking at him.” Minho blinked. Looking at him? So definitively a relative then? “Ah, I’m here for Mr. Nam Taehyun? I am the new hospice nurse?” “And I am saying that I am Mr. Nam Taehyun.”

Oh.

Minho’s eyes widened in surprise and he could practically hear the wheelwork in his brain ticking. If this young man was Nam Taehyun then his new patient was not some grandpa dying of old age and the accompanying sicknesses. Far from it, his patient was a pretty young man with slanting eyebrows. A dying, young man.

His classmates had talked about the difficulties of patients like this before, but he had always just assumed he wouldn’t be assigned to anyone like that. And in the case he would be, it would somehow work out and not be just as hard as they all made it out to be. But seeing the boy stand there with his strange smile directed at him, Minho felt something tug at his heartstrings. “O-of course!” he managed to stutter, giving a bow and stretching out his hand towards the other. Mr. Nam, or rather just Taehyun since it was strange calling him Mr. when they seemed the same age, just looked at the hand, but didn’t take it. And that’s when Minho first noticed the see-through, plastic line and the bandage around the boy’s slender hand. Not to mention the wheelchair that stood not too far from the doorway. How had he missed the sight of it? For someone who liked to call himself a professional, he had really done a poor job today.

“Nothing personal, I just get sick easily. You wouldn’t mind washing your hands first, would you? And closing the door on your way in, it gets cold.”

“Of course.”

Stepping inside, Minho was quick to close the door behind him and to pull off his coat and scarf. For someone thinking himself to be rather steadfast, he was strangely crumbling under the situation. So much that he hardly registered himself following the boy, who had returned to his wheelchair, brought him through the house only to stop outside a simple, white door. “This is your room. If you need anything, just let me know, and I will have them brought up for you,” Taehyun explained, the amusement that had showed on his face earlier now exchanged with what looked only too much like suspicion. He couldn’t blame him. Minho would have been suspicious too at such a ridiculous reaction. Professional my . Actually… he was the .

As soon as he closed the door to his room behind him, Minho dumped his backpack on the simple bed there and slipped into the little bathroom there to carefully wash his hands. Not until he had washed his hands a second time and then splashed some cold water in his face did he take the time to look around what would be his home for the next… however long he was staying. After running a hand over his eyes, he stared at his own reflection in the mirror and the image made him frown. After everyone he’d dealt with, some pipsqueak of a guy was going to get this much control over him? That wasn’t right. Since he’d been hired for this, he would do his job with the utmost care just like he always did.

* *

“Mr. Nam? I am so sorry about earlier, I got a little-…”

“Surprised?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. I’m-…”

“Song Minho. I know, your papers said so.”

Minho stared at the boy. He had seen rather agreeable at first, but now he just came off as rude.  If he intended for them to work together in this, wouldn’t creating a good relationship be first in line of their tasks?

“And don’t call me Mr. Nam, it makes me sound old. And I’ll never be old, so… Taehyun is just fine. Also, can you drop the Doctor Stranger outfit? I might be sick, but I’m not a research subject in my own home.” Again Minho stared, but managed to give him a little nod. “Noted. No more Grace Anatomy, and no more formal speech. Does that mean I can lower my speech to you as well?” If Taehyun was going to be a sassy brat, he might just do the same. Just the fact that he was dying didn’t give him a free pass on being rude. “I must be older than you?” Minho continued, enjoying the slight shock in Taehyun’s eyes. Clearly he had not been expecting a reaction like this, but it didn’t seem like he hated it. This was, of course, based on the handful of minutes they had spent together before Minho had escaped to the safety of his new room.

“You are just a year older, so do what you please. But don’t expect me to call you hyung or anything of the likes.”

 “Fair enough,” Minho agreed with a little nod.  In spite of his initial surprise, things were slowly trying to settle now and he was pretty sure he could do a good job here. “So do you want give me the current play-by-play on how you do things here, or is there a paper on you I should read up on?” Hopefully he wasn’t being too rude. Had Taehyun been an old man, there would have been several more layers of politeness added to his speech. But since they had started off this way, might as well continue on the same track.

”23, recurring leukemia, stopped responding to treatments, six months left at the most. I don’t need the wheelchair, but my doctor advised me to use it to not wear myself out. Do you need more?” Taehyun’s brows were slanting so much they almost touched at the middle and something in Minho wanted him to reach out and run his fingers down them. It was cute? In a weird kind of cute that he could overlook for the sake of his job. ”I think that should be enough, thanks. We can work the rest out as we go?” he suggested, pointing at a file left by someone on the kitchen table and mouthing a ”for me?”. The other nodded and Minho picked it up, eyes scanning what turned out to be Taehyun’s medical journal. Without even noticing his brow furrowed at what he was reading, and when he finally put it down he felt a little pinch of guilt for not being nicer and overlooking the previous arrogance. Taehyun had a longer medical record than most of Minho’s previous patients even if he had only lived a third of their lives. By the looks of things, everything that could possibly be wrong with his body was: bad heart, often sick, hospitalized so many times it would probably have been faster to just write when he wasn’t in the hospital.

Why was someone like this here, alone in a big penthouse with only a hospice nurse by his side? Shouldn’t he be with family and friends? Old people without family and friends he could understand, but a twenty-three year old on his own like this hit him as strange. Turning his gaze to the dark haired boy again, he could see him instantly tense up in his chair almost as if he was preparing for an attack. Was he that worried about… whatever it was he worried about? Minho dug his hands into his pocket and gave a little shrug of his shoulders.

”One question though.”

”What?”

Why did he sound nervous? Did he expect something?

”Are you hungry, and how do you feel about pizza?”

Taehyun blinked and openly stared. Clearly not what he had been expecting? That was good. ”I’m not supposed to eat things like that,” he croaked, to Minho’s amusement.

”Oh, I don’t care about that. One pizza won’t kill you, and it’s easier to talk over pizza than a bowl of salad?”

It wasn’t a good argument, but it was a strange enough argument to catch Taehyun’s attention.  Just as Minho had felt rather intrigued by him, the boy’s curiosity had peaked enough to lower his weapons and accept truce for tonight.