And I breathe where you breathe
And I breathe where you breathe; Jinki/Minho, Jinki/Jonghyun; PG-13
note: Onho, not really. More like they are each their own circle in a venn diagram, and this is their brief intersection. Creeper!Minho. Happy birthday Andrea. ♥ It's not as good or as complete as I would've liked but this is what I managed to salvage from that night after Onew's teasers swept my brain away.
It's the oddest feeling dedicating the things I write, given the content. Which is why I should give a WARNING, I suppose. Along with a disclaimer that I did not fact- or logic-check for this.
The first time Minho became aware of a thing called death was during kindergarten.
To teach the kids responsibility, their teacher had bought a large fishbowl and a pair of red-and-white tosakins. As a class, they drew up a schedule of who was to feed the fishes and when and exactly how much. They also drew lots to decide who would stay after school to help the teacher change the water. It all went well until one Monday when he ran through the door to find an empty fishbowl.
His chest ached a little all day but he wasn't able to quite grasp why. He just kept fiddling with his favorite pencil and twisting around in his seat to look at where the fishes had been.
He had lost something.
A fleeting thought.
The first time Minho witnessed it was during the observation of a routine cholecystectomy.
The surgeon had trouble getting a clear view through the laparoscope so they switched to open surgery. It was a setback, but a minor one, so all that crossed Minho's mind was how there would be more post-operative pain now that they had to cut through-then the patient's blood pressure tanked. And it wasn't so routine of a procedure anymore. His heart raced. His fingers tingled. His mind went blank. There was no time to even process what was happening before she was gone.
She.
He knew it was a she because he had seen her chart, but her body was hidden away under a sea of blue fabric and all she was in those last moments was a red open cavity, a few lines and numbers on a screen, a long continuous sound in the OR.
He doesn't remember her name.
The two other female students observing with him might have cried; he didn't. He just blinked, thumb pushing at the cap of the pen in his hand, trying to get it to turn.
Afterwards, they found the cause. But just like her name, he can't recall exactly what it was anymore. Something. Some reason, the right reason, a reason he understood and had been taught and could find explained in familiar language on the pages of a textbook.
He didn't really quite understand this thing though. This thing, death.
It came too quickly.
Minho first met him in front of a row of vegetable stands. Or well, saw him. They didn't meet. They never did.
Minho first saw him standing between a mid-aged housewife who was starting to lose her figure and a pair of college students. He had an empty basket at his feet and was bent over, sleeves rolled up, diligently picking the prettiest tomatoes out of the cheapest bunch. There was something very simple and very clean about his black hair, the soft lines of his face, the way he dressed.
He would frown, a bit uncertain, picking this up and putting that down only to change his mind a little later. He would take a piece of paper out of his pocket, unfold it to check the list, and then fold it again and stick it back in his pocket. He would look for yogurt in the ice cream freezer, ramyun in the snack aisle. And he would smile at the ahjumma offering free samplings of gunmandu and the ahjussi behind the seafood counter and the pig-tailed cashier-
Minho ran his hands roughly over his face a few times when he realized that the other man's basket was full and he had, almost without thinking, followed him for a full circle through the store. He pressed his fingertips into the bridge of his nose. It must have been the overnight shift at the hospital. He knew he should have gone straight home and slept before he attempted to function again.
And when he finally looked up, eyes pink, face sallow, and hair mussed up, the other man was gone.
Well, at least he hadn't been seen in a sorry state like this.
Minho lived an irregular schedule. All the other residents would trade him the worst shifts because he couldn't say no.
But whenever he had a free Saturday morning, he would surreptitiously return to that same grocery store despite how it was much closer to the hospital than it was to his apartment and how it would take two buses to lug what he bought home. At least it paid off in other ways. He would see him, like clockwork.
Minho thought the other man must own that shirt in every color, although the blue canvas shoes on his feet never changed. He got better at picking his fresh produce and could figure out where to start when browsing the shelves lined with different cuts of meat. He learned to check the eggs before taking a carton and would look for the expiration date when something perishable was on sale. And one day, instead of a basket, he began filling up a cart.
Minho was not sure what that meant.
He was not sure what it meant either when Changhyun elbowed him in the side to tell him that Im Sookyung from radiology liked him and all he felt was annoyance when he passed her in the hallway later that day and she waved at him.
He stopped going to that grocery store.
He stopped once. Then his schedule kept him busy for another two weeks.
And it got easier from there on out.
That year after Christmas, he started dating Im Sookyung.
Minho finishes his residency and joins the department as a cardiothoracic surgeon. Sookyung stays with him at the same hospital even though her parents had wanted her to find a job back in Ulsan. They move in together. Sometimes the days and nights reverse and he gets called away from dinners, movie dates, bed-but she is in the same boat and understands better than anyone.
He learns many things: how to survive hours on his feet, how to placate agitated loved ones, how to take command of a situation when the unexpected happens. He learns.
A new wave of medical students arrives and fills the hallways with their bright voices and eager steps. He takes a particular one named Lee Taemin under his wing. Everyone jokes that Taemin must be Peter Pan because he has to have kept the same haircut and face and build from elementary school. But Minho knows Taemin is a sly kid and eats more than he weighs. Whenever they share a meal in the cafeteria, he's always forced to give up his portion of meat.
Come November and Taemin is on his EM rotation.
Minho goes to check on him before heading out for the day. Or night, rather. It's hours past dinnertime and the first snowfall of the season has blanketed the city in orange. It takes a little more effort than usual for him to locate Taemin, who has tucked himself away in a quiet corner.
It's the first time Minho sees Taemin with a straight face. He notices the tremor in the hands that the younger man uses to clutch a bag and a pair of old shoes to his chest. Without asking, Minho gathers his wiry frame into an embrace.
Car accident, Taemin mumbles into his shoulder. They say his heart stopped in the ambulance but they brought him back. He was a fighter.
His voice thins out into air.
But he bled out on the operating table anyway...
It happens. Minho knows; he has learned. And Minho tells Taemin that.
It happens.
You're okay, you did fine. Everyone did what they could. It just happens sometimes.
Taemin doesn't break down into tears but by the time they pull apart, he does look a little more put together. After making him promise to call if he needs anything, Minho fishes out his car keys and heads for the staff parking lot. One glance over his shoulder roots him to the spot. He sees someone stumbling through the ER doors; he doesn't know why his insides suddenly go cold.
The man walks in, a jacket over his pajamas, one slipper on his left foot. He has his wallet in one hand and change spilling from his other. He looks dazed, slack-jawed, eyes lined in blood red. A nurse goes to him and without warning he latches onto her arm, frantic. Where is he? Where is he?!
A doctor and another nurse run over to attend to the situation and the security guards move in.
Minho can make out fragments of their conversation. It takes but a few seconds for the man to lose patience and start shouting again. He shoves the doctor to the side and one of the security guards puts a hand on his shoulder. And that is all it takes for him to erupt. He fights like a cornered animal.
Eventually they have him down on the floor.
He writhes and screams and cries.
NO NO NO NO
Minho blinks and turns himself around, ears buzzing. He's at his car when he realizes he can't get the key into the lock.
And slowly, slowly he sinks down to the ground.
And he clasps his hands over the back of his head.
The metal of the door burns against the skin of his face. It burns a deep, deep hole, straight into his chest.
Jinki, where is Jinki?! Where is he?!
The ahjumma who guarded her pan over an old butane cooktop would say: Oh Jinki-ya, try this! I've been making haemul pajeon for my son for twenty years and I can't make it better than this.
The ahjussi who lined up the cuts of fish over those beds of ice would say: Jinki-ya, the blue crabs are in season and Jongseok brought in a really good shipment this morning.
The girl who worked the cash register would say: Ah Jinki-oppa, you gave me an extra 500 won.
It happens. Sometimes.
This thing called death.
[∞]
Visitor Counter
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note: Onho, not really. More like they are each their own circle in a venn diagram, and this is their brief intersection. Creeper!Minho. Happy birthday Andrea. ♥ It's not as good or as complete as I would've liked but this is what I managed to salvage from that night after Onew's teasers swept my brain away.
It's the oddest feeling dedicating the things I write, given the content. Which is why I should give a WARNING, I suppose. Along with a disclaimer that I did not fact- or logic-check for this.
The first time Minho became aware of a thing called death was during kindergarten.
To teach the kids responsibility, their teacher had bought a large fishbowl and a pair of red-and-white tosakins. As a class, they drew up a schedule of who was to feed the fishes and when and exactly how much. They also drew lots to decide who would stay after school to help the teacher change the water. It all went well until one Monday when he ran through the door to find an empty fishbowl.
His chest ached a little all day but he wasn't able to quite grasp why. He just kept fiddling with his favorite pencil and twisting around in his seat to look at where the fishes had been.
He had lost something.
A fleeting thought.
The first time Minho witnessed it was during the observation of a routine cholecystectomy.
The surgeon had trouble getting a clear view through the laparoscope so they switched to open surgery. It was a setback, but a minor one, so all that crossed Minho's mind was how there would be more post-operative pain now that they had to cut through-then the patient's blood pressure tanked. And it wasn't so routine of a procedure anymore. His heart raced. His fingers tingled. His mind went blank. There was no time to even process what was happening before she was gone.
She.
He knew it was a she because he had seen her chart, but her body was hidden away under a sea of blue fabric and all she was in those last moments was a red open cavity, a few lines and numbers on a screen, a long continuous sound in the OR.
He doesn't remember her name.
The two other female students observing with him might have cried; he didn't. He just blinked, thumb pushing at the cap of the pen in his hand, trying to get it to turn.
Afterwards, they found the cause. But just like her name, he can't recall exactly what it was anymore. Something. Some reason, the right reason, a reason he understood and had been taught and could find explained in familiar language on the pages of a textbook.
He didn't really quite understand this thing though. This thing, death.
It came too quickly.
Minho first met him in front of a row of vegetable stands. Or well, saw him. They didn't meet. They never did.
Minho first saw him standing between a mid-aged housewife who was starting to lose her figure and a pair of college students. He had an empty basket at his feet and was bent over, sleeves rolled up, diligently picking the prettiest tomatoes out of the cheapest bunch. There was something very simple and very clean about his black hair, the soft lines of his face, the way he dressed.
He would frown, a bit uncertain, picking this up and putting that down only to change his mind a little later. He would take a piece of paper out of his pocket, unfold it to check the list, and then fold it again and stick it back in his pocket. He would look for yogurt in the ice cream freezer, ramyun in the snack aisle. And he would smile at the ahjumma offering free samplings of gunmandu and the ahjussi behind the seafood counter and the pig-tailed cashier-
Minho ran his hands roughly over his face a few times when he realized that the other man's basket was full and he had, almost without thinking, followed him for a full circle through the store. He pressed his fingertips into the bridge of his nose. It must have been the overnight shift at the hospital. He knew he should have gone straight home and slept before he attempted to function again.
And when he finally looked up, eyes pink, face sallow, and hair mussed up, the other man was gone.
Well, at least he hadn't been seen in a sorry state like this.
Minho lived an irregular schedule. All the other residents would trade him the worst shifts because he couldn't say no.
But whenever he had a free Saturday morning, he would surreptitiously return to that same grocery store despite how it was much closer to the hospital than it was to his apartment and how it would take two buses to lug what he bought home. At least it paid off in other ways. He would see him, like clockwork.
Minho thought the other man must own that shirt in every color, although the blue canvas shoes on his feet never changed. He got better at picking his fresh produce and could figure out where to start when browsing the shelves lined with different cuts of meat. He learned to check the eggs before taking a carton and would look for the expiration date when something perishable was on sale. And one day, instead of a basket, he began filling up a cart.
Minho was not sure what that meant.
He was not sure what it meant either when Changhyun elbowed him in the side to tell him that Im Sookyung from radiology liked him and all he felt was annoyance when he passed her in the hallway later that day and she waved at him.
He stopped going to that grocery store.
He stopped once. Then his schedule kept him busy for another two weeks.
And it got easier from there on out.
That year after Christmas, he started dating Im Sookyung.
Minho finishes his residency and joins the department as a cardiothoracic surgeon. Sookyung stays with him at the same hospital even though her parents had wanted her to find a job back in Ulsan. They move in together. Sometimes the days and nights reverse and he gets called away from dinners, movie dates, bed-but she is in the same boat and understands better than anyone.
He learns many things: how to survive hours on his feet, how to placate agitated loved ones, how to take command of a situation when the unexpected happens. He learns.
A new wave of medical students arrives and fills the hallways with their bright voices and eager steps. He takes a particular one named Lee Taemin under his wing. Everyone jokes that Taemin must be Peter Pan because he has to have kept the same haircut and face and build from elementary school. But Minho knows Taemin is a sly kid and eats more than he weighs. Whenever they share a meal in the cafeteria, he's always forced to give up his portion of meat.
Come November and Taemin is on his EM rotation.
Minho goes to check on him before heading out for the day. Or night, rather. It's hours past dinnertime and the first snowfall of the season has blanketed the city in orange. It takes a little more effort than usual for him to locate Taemin, who has tucked himself away in a quiet corner.
It's the first time Minho sees Taemin with a straight face. He notices the tremor in the hands that the younger man uses to clutch a bag and a pair of old shoes to his chest. Without asking, Minho gathers his wiry frame into an embrace.
Car accident, Taemin mumbles into his shoulder. They say his heart stopped in the ambulance but they brought him back. He was a fighter.
His voice thins out into air.
But he bled out on the operating table anyway...
It happens. Minho knows; he has learned. And Minho tells Taemin that.
It happens.
You're okay, you did fine. Everyone did what they could. It just happens sometimes.
Taemin doesn't break down into tears but by the time they pull apart, he does look a little more put together. After making him promise to call if he needs anything, Minho fishes out his car keys and heads for the staff parking lot. One glance over his shoulder roots him to the spot. He sees someone stumbling through the ER doors; he doesn't know why his insides suddenly go cold.
The man walks in, a jacket over his pajamas, one slipper on his left foot. He has his wallet in one hand and change spilling from his other. He looks dazed, slack-jawed, eyes lined in blood red. A nurse goes to him and without warning he latches onto her arm, frantic. Where is he? Where is he?!
A doctor and another nurse run over to attend to the situation and the security guards move in.
Minho can make out fragments of their conversation. It takes but a few seconds for the man to lose patience and start shouting again. He shoves the doctor to the side and one of the security guards puts a hand on his shoulder. And that is all it takes for him to erupt. He fights like a cornered animal.
Eventually they have him down on the floor.
He writhes and screams and cries.
NO NO NO NO
Minho blinks and turns himself around, ears buzzing. He's at his car when he realizes he can't get the key into the lock.
And slowly, slowly he sinks down to the ground.
And he clasps his hands over the back of his head.
The metal of the door burns against the skin of his face. It burns a deep, deep hole, straight into his chest.
Jinki, where is Jinki?! Where is he?!
The ahjumma who guarded her pan over an old butane cooktop would say: Oh Jinki-ya, try this! I've been making haemul pajeon for my son for twenty years and I can't make it better than this.
The ahjussi who lined up the cuts of fish over those beds of ice would say: Jinki-ya, the blue crabs are in season and Jongseok brought in a really good shipment this morning.
The girl who worked the cash register would say: Ah Jinki-oppa, you gave me an extra 500 won.
It happens. Sometimes.
This thing called death.
[∞]
Visitor Counter
.