“It went well,” was what Minho had told Taehyun’s physician when he had dropped by the other day and they had talked about their first meeting. “Well” might be to exaggerate a little bit, but it hadn’t gone particularly bad either. They had greeted, established a few rules for each other (more for him than for Taehyun), and then they had watched pizza and watched whatever drama was airing on KBS2 on Monday nights. Simple. Free of conflicts. The following days had had a few misunderstandings, but in his opinion they were getting there. It just took some time to get used to each other, that was all.

Like how Minho still had troubles adjusting to Taehyun’s absurd sleeping pattern where he’d stay up most of the night and sleep until long after noon. A big difference from the older patients he had nursed that got up at 5 AM and went to bed around 8 PM. It also took him quite some effort to remind Taehyun that he was not his maid, but his nurse. How he would not pick up his dirty laundry and wash it for him. Apparently the previous hospice has done all that? “He’s a grown man and can’t wash his own underwear…?” he grumbled to himself as he stared at the pile of dirty clothes left by the washing machine.  Being a damn maid had not been in his contract at all, even if things like cooking had been.

“Taehyun? You don’t have a minute?”

“Not really, why?”

He didn’t even bother to pause his game when replying? Minho shuddered and had to take a moment to calm himself. If his little sister had done something of the likes he would have yelled at her and complained about bad behavior.  But Danah would never be that rude, nor could he yelled at the little prince sitting in his gigantic bed, supported up by pillows as he blasted zombies on his too many inches big TV.  He ran a hand down his face and stared through his fingers towards the other man. One week of this, and he was already going crazy.

“We need to talk.”

Without even bothering with waiting for an answer, Minho marched into the room fumbled a bit behind the TV and then pulled the plug. As soon as the screen out the boy on the bed howled out before turning his now dark gaze towards Minho. “What the hell do you think you are doing?!” he spat, his expression so upset that it almost felt worth it to pull the TV plug just to see it. Just almost. The anger snowballing onto that anger on the other hand made Minho doubt his actions.

“We need to talk,” he repeated, putting his hands on his hips as he tried to force back the grin that pulled at the corner of his lips. “Talk, as in I am not talking to your TV, I am talking to you and you are looking at me while talking. Like people do.” Clearly Taehyun was not of the same opinion, because he looked at Minho as if he was crazy.  “You need to start doing things like laundry and to keep your room somewhat in order. You’re a grown man, not a hormonal teenager!” To this, Taehyun just opened and closed his mouth, looking like he was at a loss of words. Had no one ever told him this much?

Not even caring to wait for a reply, Minho pushed aside the blankets and lifted the boy up.  He weighted much less than expected, but there wasn’t much time to think about that. Because as soon as he lifted the boy up, he started to twitch and kick, snapping things like “I’ll have you fired! How dare you?” Instead of answering, Minho carried Taehyun into the washing room and sat him down on the floor next to the pile of dirty laundry. “You are sick Taehyun, not helpless or dumb,” he said as he looked down at him. “I am not your maid, and I will not do your laundry. You can do that on your own.”

“I’ll get you fired for this,” Taehyun hissed, staring stiffly at the washing machine in front of him in order to not look at Minho. His whole body was rigid and his cheeks had been painted light pink in anger. Clearly he wasn’t used to being treated this way, and clearly it was about time someone did it. “I thought you were the one that hired me?” Minho mused, taking detergent and fabric softener from its shelf and placing it on the floor next to Taehyun. “But do it after you do some laundry?”

Somehow the sight of the detergent seemed to calm the boy on the floor down. He stopped flailing, and he didn’t even give a rude reply to what Minho had just said. Instead Taehyun just stared at the bottle of detergent with annoyance mixed with insecurity. It was just a bottle of detergent? Minho arched an eyebrow. Could this really be?

“You have done laundry before, right?”

“No. Should I?”

“You are past twenty and you live alone, is that even a question?”

Seriously, this kid… what else couldn’t he do? Despite being sick, it seemed like people had pampered him beyond belief because he oh so naturally just assumed that things would be done for him. Letting out a loud sigh, Minho bent down and pointed at the pile of clothes. “First thing you do is separate it by colors: one pile of light, one pile of dark. That much you can do, no?” Taehyun didn’t seem all that happy about doing what he was told, but the Minho’s words must have affected him in some way because he shifted over to sit on his knees and started throwing clothes in what soon became two small piles. His expression while doing it was almost cute. Minho wrinkled his brows. Cute? Had he really just thought that? Yes. How was it not cute? Those slanting eyebrows, eyes focused and he was biting down on his bottom lip while doing it. Hair was also falling into his face, making him want to lean in and tuck it behind his ear. It was only natural to think like that.

“What’s next?”

“What’s what?”

Minho looked up, having been so lost in his inner debate to justify his simple thought that the boy looked cute that he had no idea what to answer when Taehyun spoke. All he could do was give him a confused look before it suddenly dawned at him that the two piles of clothes had been completed.

“Earth to Minho? Do you have to be this slow?”

Nope, no. He had been mistaken. This kid was not cute at all, and that cocky grin on his lips was nowhere near endearing. What in the world had he been thinking earlier? “You put it into the washing machine of course,” he grunted, standing up again and walking to the washing machine.

“The button with the lock is for the door, but even you could figure that out, right genius?”

“I’m not slow, unlike you.”

This was starting to sound too much like an argument between middle schoolers for Minho’s liking. Rubbing his forehead, he waved the other hand at the pile of dark clothes. "Put them in, and then open the drawer to the side. Detergent goes in the biggest, fabric softener in the middle. A cap of each should be good." Again, he halfway expected Taehyun to not even bother with it, but the kid got up on his long legs and after fumbling a bit, did all he was told “Alright then. When that’s done, you put in the settings you want. 40 degrees should be about right, and this one has a special setting for dark clothes.” Without even thinking he reached an arm around the kid’s waist and showed him how to change the settings. It was harmless and done without further thought. And yet he still got another whiff of that sweet scent he’d smelled when he carried him, and still felt awkward as he pulled back. “Then you press the button and go.”

After Taehyun did as he was told, he leaned against the washing machine with a little sigh. “Are we good now? Can I get my medication?” Medication? Minho’s eyes moved to his wrist watch and widened at the sight. What a professional he was, not keeping the times for his patient’s medication and instead forcing him to do laundry. He might have felt somewhat bad if he hadn’t been so annoyed with Taehyun earlier.

“Of course. Do you want me to get your chair?”

“Just go get me water and my meds. It’s not like it’s a long walk back to my room.”

At least he wasn’t angry.  Minho had headed out to the kitchen without question and arranged a whole variety of pills in a little cup as well as finding a cup and taking a bottle of cold water out of the fridge.  He’d never forgotten the time like this before. It was even on his resume that he was very careful and punctual with time. What was getting into him? “What are you even getting so worked up over, Song Minho?” he muttered quietly to himself as he picked up the tray with water and the medication and walked back to Taehyun’s room.

“Medication for the master,” he joked, his words causing the boy on the bed to roll his eyes. Where he sat on the edge of the bed, he somehow looked much smaller and paler than he had earlier that morning and again Minho felt a jolt of guilt.  He’d just meant well with pushing him to do laundry, hadn’t intended to make him unwell. All he’d wanted was to… to what? What was it he wanted so much he forced these silly, everyday chores on a sick boy?

Minho realized his expression must have been rather tense, because Taehyun was staring at him, that cat-like grin back on his face. “It’s better you treat me normal than like I’m some silly porcelain doll that needs protection at all cost. Because I’m not.” The boy’s voice was firm as he spoke, and Minho felt rather awed by it. Where had that spoiled, whiny kid from before gone?

“Who are you, and what did you do to my patient?” Minho snorted, setting the tray down on Taehyun’s desk. After filling the cup with water, he grabbed it and the medications and held it out to the other.

“Should I be worried?”

“Nah, not until I batter my eyelids at you and try to flirt.”

Now, what was that supposed to mean? Flirt?

“You look hilarious when you get all serious, you know that? I’m pretty sure your eyes will disappear under your eyebrows!”

“Well, your eyebrows are going to slide off your face at some point. Just take your medicine already, won’t you? Stop making fun of your poor nurse.”