fic: 50/50
Title: 50/50
Author: dria1029
Pairing: Jongyu
Rating: PG for the most part
Warnings: None
Summary We all have debts to pay. For some, more than others. For Jinki, more than what he's already been repaying for a particular dialysis patient.
Word Count: 6,000+
50/50
“You can go ahead and set his bag next to his chair, Jinki,” the young female technician smiled kindly.
“Or take it and put it back in the trunk,” was the bitter reply from the chair’s occupant. Jonghyun settled back in the plastic cushion with a glare straight ahead, one that surely penetrated through the clinic door, out into the building’s parking lot, and landed on the dented door of Jinki’s Honda. “That works best with me.”
It was a sour key Jinki was used to hearing for the past few months, ever since the younger’s first day here, and the bite of his words still had the same suffocating effect; nonetheless, like usual, Jinki refused to swallow his resolve and baked on a smile for the technician, if not for the sake of his sulking friend. “Will do, noona,” he said softly, letting down the Adidas duffle bag.
Narrowed eyes still didn’t acknowledge him. “I hate this,” the blond hissed.
“Jonghyun you just promised me you…” The taller young man coughed into his fist, stealing a tentative look at the woman now busy setting Jonghyun’s machine. He voiced lowered. “You said-
“I know what I said. I said I might.” Blowing his lips more so than sighing, the stiff guy shifted more in the (despite the efforts of a few pillows) uncomfortable seat, eyeing in contempt the thick needle to go into his arm. “Better not get blood on this shirt this time, I swear…”
“Look at me.”
Jonghyun peered up at him boredly.
“Smile at me.”
There was a very faux, very exaggerated flash of teeth.
“I said smile, not play ape and show a threatening display.”
“Well take it or leave it. This isn’t exactly a place for smiling. Take a look around.” Jonghyun waved his left arm out to the rest of the seated patients, rolling his eyes. “But you know, at least they have it better than I do. At least they got a chance to live out the best parts of their life before they ended up in this alternative retirement home. This stinkin’…”
In disgust, he wrinkled his nose against the constant smell of blood, medical waste and chemicals instead of continuing. But Jinki understood perfectly.
He may not have fully understood much else because this was never a pair of shoes he’d had to walk in, but at least he understood that much.
“I’ll be back early,” the elder tried in an attempt to comfort him. To ease his own aches.
“My arm will never heal arm. My damn arm…”
“I’m bringing sushi.”
“I want to go home. Technically, I don’t have to be here. I can just go and say fuck it, right?”
Jinki’s lips fold in, a fresh wave of sympathy washing over him, goose bumps budding on the back of his arms that have less to do with the frigid winter of the facility. A gaze that’s unnerved slides to the now frozen technician, at the approaching male nurse to hook Jonghyun up to the machine, then back to slumped, pinch-faced young man in the chair.
“No one likes it here, Jonghyun,” he says calmly in the silence between all three. “And no one here is luckier than the other.” Then so low, no one hears him: “No you can’t.”
And ever so dutifully, Jinki goes to stand on Jonghyun’s left, linking his fingers through the other man’s perhaps a bit too passionately. He ignores the sting in his chest and could care less about how dramatic or awkward he looks or the ever present stares at him, a grown man, death gripping another grown man’s hand.
There’s only the battle to keep a close friend from clawing at himself from the pain of the needle. There’s only the will to placate and encourage the stubbornness and the loneliness and the innocence that was Jonghyun. There’s only the heart to anchor Jonghyun down in every which way so that he didn’t float away into oblivion. Three days a week of “there’s onlys”
“You promised not to fight him this time.”
“Yeah, yeah,” snaps back the response, yet the smaller hands curls tighter into Jinki’s. Soft lashes brush skin as Jonghyun clenches his eyes shut.
“Next time we’ll try to get a sexy noona to do the sticking.”
There’s snickering from below that lets Jinki know he’s loosened at least one knot, and he grins half-heartedly in the technician’s direction, then the nurse’s. Both toss back silent thanks in their relieved smiles.
“Well Mr. Kim, congrats on your new dry weight. I’ll be back over soon to check on you, okay?” The tech gently grasps Jonghyun’s shoulder before striding off in her kitten scrubs. Knot number two undone courtesy of the pervert himself when Jonghyun peeks one eye open after her to watch her switching bottom.
The hard part commences inevitably, though. He bears it when Jonghyun sporadically clamps down on his reddening hand while the needle sinks into his vein; grimacing but never ever regretting. Remembering he’s been good friends with this former baseball player for some months now, and because he’s so close to knowing Jonghyun like the back of his hand, he knows that amidst all the outer bravado, Jonghyun is cursing himself in the recesses of his mind for even shedding the teaspoon of tears that run from his eyes. The younger’s pain was his, and always would be for as long as it took.
Please don’t snatch away from him, man. Please don’t resist, he chants over and over in his mind, unable to keep from replaying what happened last time when Jonghyun went into both an emotional and physical-induced fit of rage from being penetrated and an unhealthy, very disturbing amount of blood from his arm went spurting on everything, even in Jinki’s mouth. The elder had never been so terrified-now, several weeks after the episode, he’d never be so paranoid about something else for the rest of his life.
It’s over just as quickly as it begins. More often than not Jonghyun is still a cranky newborn, but at least he’s sober enough to make crude jokes and complain about his favorite baseball team’s shortstop.
In fact, after Jinki checks that Jonghyun is all settled, and the younger reluctantly shoos him away, Jinki leaves behind a friendly-not-so-friendly banter between the blond and another male tech leading up to a ridiculous bet. Jjong rubbing off on him, Jinki yells back some bad joke referring to how Jonghyun used to like breasts but now it seems he’s moved on to legs and thighs and Jonghyun fires his rebuttal quickly, turning away from the TV long enough to raunchily smack his lips and retort, “I can eat it all, chicken boy.”
To which earns them several laughs from those nearby, even the women. Clowns, the lot of them.
To the receding Jinki though, its more than shits and giggles.
There’s the bell of thanks resonating in the laugher of his best friend. Laughter poking his back like an epidural. And along with the chorus of beeping machines, it follows Jinki out of the facility.
*****
A starless night , the muffled pleas and gasps of pain from a curled up figure on the pavement. Almost overwhelming the figure’s sounds are the heavy, cloudy breaths of his assailants. The thud of pointy, semi-expensive gator shoes heaving into a thin leather jacket and worn jeans. Jeers and curses and angry hisses descending onto the young college student crying and calling for his mother and asking for the forgiveness of his late grandfather. Holding his head with both hands, asking the men circling him to forgive him as well- that same old story that he’d get it back to them soon, he just needed another day. Chapped lips bleeding. Soiled soul screaming.
The lower left side of his back that one of those shoes favored-bruising, throbbing and wracking his body with the most unforgiving hurt. Already, there, something wasn’t right…
“Hey! Hey! What the hell are you bastards doing?” rings from a few feet away. The owner’s voice has a hint of a tremor. As if he’d never had to address these type of people before. He sounds young.
“Stay out of it punk,” one of the men says gruffly. Warningly. Still, they all kick. One, in his venomous zeal, snatches the youth up by his collar and serves him a string of punches.
But the voice ignores the hint. If anything, he ‘s closer to a growl when he snaps, “Let him go.”
“Get out of here asshole.” The one punching the student stops to glare at the helping civilian. “Get lost or you’re next.”
“I said let him go!”
“This is business kid! Fuck off. Last chance!”
Deep moaning interrupts the two. With his fists balled tightly, Jonghyun cranes his neck to survey the damage that’s surely been done. Where the men are beating the boy in parking lot, they made sure to avoid any of the tall lamp posts, so it’s a little dark. But not dark enough to where Jonghyun can’t make out a red mouth, puffy eye and ruffled hair.
There’s a quiet, menacing stare-off between him and few of the men while the rest continue their assault. All until the short kid with the neatly pressed polo and styled hair gathers all of the nerve of the world and spits, “What do you want.”
“That’s it-grab him!”
“I mean it!” Jonghyun thunders, and the suited men starting after him hesitate. “What the fuck do you want? How much is it?”
All eyes widen, including the man-assumedly the leader-punching the boy. He stops, holding up the groaning, crying boy’s head by his hair. Mucus and blood paint his face-a face that’s swelling by the second, adding an unnatural roundness to his already slightly chubby face. His humble glasses lay crunched up a few feet away.
“How much you bastards! Whatever it is, I’ll triple it!” As he yells, he snatches his wallet out his back pocket. The disbelief on their hardened faces deepens even more as the crazy kid starts flinging won out in front of him. The bills fluttering in the air like hundreds of autumn leaves. Pocket change that had surely been saved for a rainy day-or more appropriately, night.
Muscled leader’s eyebrow arches suspiciously once most of the bills sweep the pavement. He snaps and the men not busy beating the boy scurry over to insect the money. True to the costly taste in his clothes, hair, and dangerously arrogant gall, there are only high valued bills.
“Who the hell are you?”
“You takin’?”
“I said who the hell are you, punk!” He drops the student’s head, standing desperately. “Whose son are you?”
Jonghyun smirks. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
The man spits off to the side. “This fucking…”
“He looks a little like the senator’s son,” one of the thugs supplies, mean mugging the thick, gleaming watch on Jonghyun’s wrist. Instinctively, Jonghyun switches his arm behind his back. He goes back to smirking at the leader, a tad more uncomfortable with the direction the situation was heading. The scowl hiding behind his taunting expression proves this.
All of a sudden, he thinks to ride the wave of the man’s accusation to his advantage.
“That ain’t me, but I’m still pretty sure he wouldn’t be too happy to know that his nephew has been mangled by a couple of gutter trash loan sharks.”
It’s a reasonable bluff. Something to be proud of and then some, because 8 pea brains soak up his words judging from the thugs’ stiffening bodies. They glance at each other with a new kind of urgency. Frowning, the leader looks back down at the student in fetal position, one of his hands reaching out to brace himself on the tire of the black van so he can stand. He’s mumbling and choking.
When the frown gravitates back to Jonghyun, the short young man is wearing his fiercest expression.
“This what a spoiled brat like you calls charity?”
“This what a bastard like you calls making your mother proud?” Jonghyun scoffs even though he trembles. “Be a good rat, take the money and go back to your hole.”
“You don’t even know this scum. You have no idea how long he’s been dodging us. For a book smart bastard, he’s sure been pretty fucking ignorant to payment and interest.”
“I don’t know and I don’t fucking care, ajussi.” With another fling of won to the dogs, a sign one too many times of disrespect for the leader, Jonghyun curls his lip indignantly. “All I know is, with the path this guy seems to be headed down, he won’t have to solely rely on street smarts to make a living. Unlike some.” He indicates to the swaying drizzle of the money in the cool wind with his chin. “Now catch your crumbs and fuck off.”
Yet the older man can’t watch him so coldly forever. Against his will, he smirks, the smirk even accelerating to a few incredulous huffs of laughter. The huffs spin in accordance with the approaching young man; Jonghyun bumping his shoulder as he breezes by authoritatively to the fallen boy, pointedly ignoring the thug.
Without a word, the men collect the money. One remarking excitedly that it was at least five times more than what the victim owed, and getting slapped upside the head when he suggests keeping and dividing the extra spoils between their group.
A sizzle of anger zaps through the leader as he gazes at the pair. On one hand, just because of the short boy’s audacity, he wants to go over and kick the Lee kid again out of spite.
In the other palm…the unyielding curl in the side of his mouth says that besides his boss and his rep, he’s found something-someone-else deserving of respect.
****
It’s the catalyst to his insomnia.
The salt to his wound and the carrier for the bubonic plague riddling his body.
For a person like Jinki, who was so much like the person Jonghyun was, it was killer to his every breathe of life. A person who couldn’t help being immediately selfless.
But also, a person who knew what it was like to owe. To have a large debt to pay.
And hanging by Jonghyun’s side, kneeling to his every need-it just wasn’t enough for Jinki. It wasn’t enough for the brave idiot who practically put his life on the line to save another’s. Suffocating from the unfairness of Jonghyun’s fate, the fate of failed kidneys due to a genetic disease so early in his life-it was, what Jinki felt, he deserved at the least. Still, it wasn’t enough. Jonghyun’s suffering-the restricted diet, the inability to drink how he wanted, the stolen hours from his days-was a fucked up offering for one so willing to save his ass.
For the younger to have been cursed like this as soon as Jinki was back it in his life, it was insult to injury.
A low blow. Shit stain.
An evil accomplice to the fact that no matter what Jinki did, he could never properly repay Jonghyun. Nothing was of worth. The gratitude of Jonghyun’s family for taking care of him-he sponged it up in forced politeness. Every time Jonghyun spent the night and Jinki caught a glimpse of the other’s physique after he took a shower, he was consumed with the cruel irony of such a seemingly healthy young man being reduced to torture and ruin in a bulky dialysis chair. Shit didn’t add up.
So much so, Jinki could predict that the day would come that he’d get tired of his conscience. The thugs from that night turned into mental characters, as far as he was concerned. He was afraid of them even after that ordeal. His “half-assed” debt repayment for Jonghyun being monitored, his back stalked…
No.
Shit didn’t add up.
****
He was anxious for good reason. Patient by nature.
Above all, careful to not act too out of the norm the next time he took Jonghyun to dialysis and the younger’s doctor was present. Tried not to show his nervousness as Jonghyun grasped his hand, or think about the same pressure he applied to Jonghyun’s hands the night before, when the tipsy, depressed younger lay under him, receiving him-a fraction of the many “recompense services” Jinki performed-in earnest. It was under jurisdiction whether or not Jonghyun really liked him like that since they called themselves being intimate only once before, but Jinki didn’t care about what dynamics were and were not needed for a “proper relationship.” The way Jonghyun called him “hyung” last night meant he needed him, and Jinki was the one who chose to console him sexually-for his own sanity as well, maybe to prepare himself for the upcoming moment of doing the unthinkable.
“Your kreatin levels are stabilizing,” the doctor nodded in approval, skimming his clipboard and lifting a sheet. “Though I’m a little worried about your fluid level.”
“He’s been cheating,” Jinki says absentmindedly, too absorbed to notice his friend’s glare of betrayal. Turning back to doctor, Jonghyun adorns a mask of indifference. “Well whatever. What we all should be worrying about is what hocus pocus these companies are slipping in the blood cleaners.” The machine next to him is roamed with paranoid slits. “Yo Doc, I saw it on a commercial last night! Attorneys urging families to file a suit if a patient has died from Granu-something. The jig is up!”
“We don’t use that here,” a tech sing songs as he walks by.
“You people are trying to kill me!” he shoots back, leaning up slightly. Jinki automatically clasps his shoulder to pull him back before the machine goes off.
“Well I assure you Mr. Kim,” the doctor chuckles, patting his theatrical patient’s head. “You’re not going to die any time soon. And most certainly not from an extra pound or two of fluid.” He wags one stumpy finger in Jonghyun’s face, an upside down pendulum sharp brown eyes follow. “No more cheating, kiddo. Jinki, stay diligent for me.”
Instead of his usual enthusiastic bow of, “Yes sir,” however, the inky haired man nods. It’s a significant enough change for Jonghyun to finally eye his friend skeptically; he couldn’t stand how Jinki kissed his doctor’s ass. Yet its still tame for him to shrug off and try to haggle with the doctor about getting a handicap sticker.
Jinki, meanwhile, continues to wait. A distant vehicle on autopilot even when he leaves the clinic and, unlike any other time, waits out in the lobby for Jonghyun’s doctor to make his rounds. Hands fidgeting, clamming up.
He’s such a wreck, it’s a miracle he doesn’t trip over himself when the doctor emerges, chorus of friendly goodbyes behind him. Upon pivoting around to an approaching, skittish Jinki, the middle-aged man balks in surprise. Then squints in concern.
“Jinki?”
He bites in his bottom lip.
“I need to talk to you.”
****
Secrets. Responsibilities. Sacrifices.
How virtuous, how noble.
There were the things heroes were composed of.
With these characteristics, this was how one paid what he owned.
With good deeds done in secret, responsibilities handled with all of one’s ability, sacrifices like the lamb on the alter.
If Jinki could help it, he would do it all in that order.
Already he’d gotten the tests done, the papers filled out confidentially. Nothing could stop him except a mismatch…
“Nothing,” he whispers several weeks later, hands mimicking their ministrations from before, when Jinki had first approached the doctor. His already loose collar seems tighten on his neck with every second that passes by as he sits in the leather-scented office. He’s surveyed the room more times he can count, has read all of the plaques, framed degrees and letters of recommendations.
Just as he feels he will die from the suspense, the door swings open and Jonghyun’s doctor strides by in blur of white. The file is set on his desk as he rounds it; gingerly he sits in the velvet chair facing his anticipative visitor. Folds his hands on the file.
And for the longest time, just stares at Jinki solemnly. With such an uncharacteristic expression so unlike his grandfatherly smiles.
Making Jinki so uncomfortable and disoriented. Stuck between wanting to look away, but compelled to stare back with his baggy eyes because he doesn’t want to be disrespectful or offensive.
His time to decide on what to do is cut premature when the doctor’s gaze droops to sad scrutiny.
“You’re a match Mr. Lee,” he says quietly.
Jinki perks up, bright eyed and bushy tailed. Though in realizing that the doctor doesn’t seem to be too elated in the news, he holds back from his grim smile and shrivels back to how he was. His eyes fall to his folding and unfolding hands. He’s picturesque of a little boy who has found himself in a world of trouble.
With the doctor’s next words, that portrait is confirmed.
He can’t even brace himself for them, though he knows there was no way he was going to get around it.
“But your medical records say you had a kidney removed through emergency surgery five years ago. Your medical insurance didn’t cover the cost of replacing the kidney but you’ve been paying off the surgery fees and…I don’t think I need to proceed, here, young man.” Sounding more disappointed than shocked, the doctor shakes his head. “If you thought letting me find out for myself would convince me to allow you to do this, I’m afraid you’re mistaken.”
“I know what I’m doing,” is the hushed reply. “It’s the only way…”
Taking his last sentence out of context, the doctor’s brows furrow. “Of course its not. I’m working diligently to find Jonghyun the perfect donor. Despite his mother’s doubts in medicine. I’m doing my best and there’s no need to go to any extreme. Jonghyun is young-
“You don’t understand,” Jinki insists, glancing up at the doctor with eyes that are suddenly red, welled to capacity with tears. The old physician’s lips thin in alarm. “I have to do this before another donor is found. This is my only chance. I need to move in first or else…I’ll never…”
He closes his eyes against the doctor’s confusion and pity. He recalls Jonghyun’s mother’s fears; her baby getting a transplant but having to take medication for the rest of his life.
Money is not an issue, and the line-up of suitable donors could be a long one by now. With his age and lineage, Jonghyun had the advantages of advantages. He was the king of advantage.
Jonghyun’s mother was against the transplant, and so would be against Jinki as a donor for double the reason. The doctor was against it. The whole world would be opposed to it.
But if shit could add up this way, Jinki could stand alone.
“Son.”
“Yes sir,” he whispers idly.
“I may not fully understand this bizarre resolve, but you must understand that I’m an old man, and I’m wise enough to get the gist of what’s going on.”
Jinki swallows, locking his swollen eyes with a pair of kind, wrinkled ones. The doctor pulls of his glasses, picking up the manila folder and waving it slowly.
“And I can’t help but think it has to do with what is in this file.”
“I…”
“You’re a good child, Jinki. You were born with good intention, which is something very special in a world ruled with intentions of a lesser caliber. But what about the person who matters most in this circumstance?”
Silence from the other end. The only indication of a stir is in the tensing of Jinki’s shoulders.
“In thinking that you’re doing what’s best for yourself, you’ve strung along that it is also best for Jonghyun. You probably didn’t mean to do it, but its been done. And I’m sure you’ve already thought about it, but have you really sat and considered Jonghyun’s devastation and resentment if you did this? His reaction that you’d considered it? His frustration and anger? And what of the other people who love you.” The doctor pauses for a long time. “You couldn’t hide the truth from him, my boy, not forever. And even if it were possible to go through with it with you as an anonymous donor, once Jonghyun finds out it was you…knowing how attached the two of you are…all of it-
Yet Jinki has already tuned him out. The calm drone of words are wads of fuzz in his ears, itchy and condemning. In some mystical turn, it’s as if the voice of reason that had been talking to the walls in the back of his mind had materialized and sat across from him in the velvet chair, to really get his attention this time.
A stone contrast to the chasing thugs that had changed into the mental repo men in his head.
In a rush, it all comes plummeting down on his head. He’s whipped back to his senses quickly, so unbearably quick.
For the first time in his life, Jinki bursts into uncontrollable tears. He sniffs himself into a headache, head bowed in his hands. Sobbing from the weight, chest sucking in so deeply from his silent cries, oxygen has to fight the good fight; his ribs feel as if they’d give way and his lungs to implode. He doesn’t wail or scream, but the pitiful wet sounds, the strained inhales and veins popping in his neck tell the story in stronger detail.
All along, he had been wrong.
He’d never be a hero.
Since he’d be both giving and taking away from Jonghyun if he became his martyr.
Morphing into his lifeline, but carrying away his broken heart on a stretcher.
He’d never repay his debt 100% if he abandoned Jonghyun, and that was the bottom line…
There was no way out.
Silently, knowingly, the doctor stands and goes to pet Jinki’s bent head, rubbing the same necessary circles Jinki’d rubbed into Jonghyun’s back the day Jonghyun learned his PKD* had surfaced and won.
When the nurse timidly pokes her head in, red lips slack in worry, the doctor lifts his calloused hand to assuage her.
****
He’s never held another human being like this before. Never thought he’d have to, that “sissy” things like this were for day dramas, to stay in day dramas where they belonged.
Once the black van is out of sight, Jonghyun peers down at the bloody face of the guy left to his mercy; he shifts on the concrete to adjust himself for the boy’s comfort.
An eye, a good eye, blinks back up at him in weary amazement.
“Can you tell me your name?”
“Ji-
The rough coughs startle them both. Again, he tries to speak, but he’s bewitched so all that Jonghyun can gather is a “Jin.” Even still, its something to go off of. He shushes the taller boy and runs through a list of all the names he know that start with “jin” until the bloody kid nods at the 15th or 16th name Jonghyun rattles off.
“Jin-ki? Its Jinki?”
“Mm.”
It seems like good progress, though in hindsight Jonghyun could have smacked himself for not simply digging in the boy’s pocket for ID. Jonghyun fixes his mouth to ask if the boy can stand.
Then its like this Jinki fellow can read his mind.
Stranger still…Jinki’s good eye expands as if he’s seen a ghost. He’s bewitched all over again, this time from fear-an old, winding fear of being stalked. Of not being safe. Like he’s been struck with fire, Jinki scrambles out of Jonghyun’s lap as best he can with his injuries, staggering to his feet with rickety knees. It happens so fast that it takes Jonghyun a second or two to process what’s going on, then he too is to his feet in befuddlement.
Jinki’s shaking, hair wild in his face. His hand is cupping the bottom left side of his back tenderly, where the root of his misfortune originates.
He steps a step back when Jonghyun takes one forward.
“Look, man, obviously I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll take you to the hospital.” A hand stretches out carefully; he dip his brows in the same way his father does, whenever the old man wants to coax something out of his mother. “I’ll help you…”
About to hunch over, Jinki accidently grips his back too hard and winces from the sensitivity. For the first few moments, he engages in Jonghyun’s soft, sweet expression. But soon, for some reason, he can’t take it, and for the longest time afterward, he can only stare at the red stains smeared on the shorter boy’s perfectly pressed, light blue shirt.
Then with his recent punishment still fresh in his mind, he makes a unanimous decision.
Seconds later, from the spark in gaze, Jonghyun is inwardly rejoicing at his successful tactic-Jinki was finally inching over to him
…wait no he was fast walking…
…wait…
“What the-“ he’s cut off when the taller boy skids before him, pulling his pockets inside out. Anything of value-won, coins, candy, the number he received from a girl at his job-is pushed into Jonghyun’s arms. If his clothes were worth anything, he’d strip naked and give it all to his savior. If he had the time and the stomach, he’d let this stranger use him for his body if he wanted. If he hadn’t wanted so badly to leave that place that was quickly spiraling into a bad memory, he would have stuck around to at least exchange contact info with this nice boy.
But for the moment, for now, he’d have to repay his debt like this.
If not fully, then this way. So he wouldn’t have to be taught another lesson in the future.
Jonghyun’s protesting. “Hey! Jinki-dude! What’s all this junk-
“Don’t worry about taking me to the hospital,” he croaks, throat hurting from the bruises. God, every tiny little movement burned. “I’m okay.”
“You don’t look-
“I’m fine, I’m okay. Don’t. Worry. About it.”
His stony look, along with the intimidating cuts and blood, does submit Jonghyun to silence. Nonetheless, Jonghyun doesn’t know what to do but worry.
The worry works on his conscience like hell, he’s spinning from the need to stitch up what those thugs had unwound.
As fate would have it, though, he wouldn’t be allowed to have another word in edgeways. The modestly dressed guy (barely) standing a head taller before him backs away far enough to bow several times in thanks.
And just like that, it is over. Jinki turns and begins limping away, all the while holding onto the part of his back where a gator shoe’s tip had favored most. Jonghyun, that persistent guy, yells after him, the pouty, empty insults resonating throughout the parking lot. He doesn’t look back.
By the time he a good three blocks away, he surely can’t hear the boy anymore. Still, right before he passes out in front of the coffee shop, amidst the crowd, Jonghyun’s , “Where the hell do you think you’re going, you idiot?” rings like a Christmas bell in his head.
****
A long time ago, when Jinki kept getting on Jonghyun’s nerves about why he was so readily to accept him after Jinki’s half-assed thanks, Jonghyun said something so hard-hitting, his new friend could feel the stitches sealing his lips for all time.
“You’re sincere alright. The bullshit bit about me being related to the senator would have had any loser crawling after me. We would have been friends a long time ago if it was because of money.” He scoffs. “Or rather, I would have dumped you at the hospital and left it at that.”
It always fascinated Jinki that someone with no filters could, at times, make so much sense.
That’s why to the present, he wondered half the time why he fretted so much on “being even” when Jonghyun made it evident that all he had to do was be his friend.
With this new, irrational decision, the hell pent desire to nail himself to the crucifix, he felt even more ashamed.
Ashamed, but still suffocating.
On this bright, dry Friday afternoon, Jinki drags himself out of the driver’s seat. He greets the receptionist in the lobby and waits to be buzzed in.
He’s definitely not prepared for a blond psychopath to bombard him. And apparently , so aren’t the techs who are jotting down the numbers from the giant scale Jonghyun had been standing on before he took off.
“Mmph!”
“Guess what guess what guess what guess what-
“Jjong, wait! Calm down!” Torn between a laugh and a grunt, Jinki pushes his chin in to look down at the frantic, hopping moron currently embracing his arms to his sides. He catches both of their weight, one foot stepping back.
All he can see is bleached hair and scalp before Jonghyun popss his head from his chest, a silly grin on his lips. “Hyung I’m saved!”
“What-
“Mr. Kim we need you back over here,” one of the techs complains boredly, clipboard hanging limply from his arm.
To Jinki’s surprise, the younger doesn’t snap back something witty. Instead, he turns to the man and says, “Oh, sorry,” as pleasantly as Jinki has never heard.
Then Jinki’s Adam’s apple is doing jumping jacks when Jonghyun firmly grabs his hand and leads them back over to the scale. The hand is only let go a less than a minute, enough time for the techs to record his weight, before Jonghyun snatches it again. He pulls the taller to his chair excitedly, spinning around the laptop that’s on the portable table.
“My mom found this website. She’s already spoken to the guy there-
“Whoa, slow down,” the cherry cheeked man admonishes, leaning in to see the content of the screen.
Still, Jonghyun holds on tightly to his hand, clicking his tongue impatiently. He carefully monitors his friend’s squint, pays attention to every detail of his reaction.
At long last, Jinki peels back up slowly.
“Well?”
“Its…”
“The reviews are great, hyung, you should see them. At first I didn’t believe my mom-you know how gullible she is. But I saw for myself and man I just…I want to punch something in the face, I’m so happy.”
“It better not be me.”
Jonghyun doesn’t seem to hear him. “I could be in and out of there in a few weeks,” he says wistfully. “Weeks. Then I can come back to Korea and get my life back on track.”
Squeeze squeeze.
Jinki’s heart races.
“I heard Atlanta is pretty fun. I’m not going to try to learn more English in crunch time before I leave though.”
The hands around Jinki’s neck weaken ever so slightly.
“Can you believe it? No, can you see it? I’ve been a city boy all my life. Imagine me moving into the country and living at a health retreat. Its sounds like a code name for boot camp, right?”
The fingers of those crushing hands slacken. They curl away.
Jinki’s own fingers twitch. The ones exchanging warmth with Jonghyun’s.
“I don’t know about American women in the south, though. Those shapes are badass but I heard if you make them mad-Oomph!”
Rocking from side to side, Jinki clings to the smaller man, burying his head in his neck. There are the sarcastic remarks about his “delayed reaction” and suggestions for him to change his body wash, yet they’re only the foam that settles atop his champagne. The tears of his apologies, apologies for disloyalties and sins Jonghyun would never have to hurt from, soak into the younger’s black shirt.
“Fuck, you’re going to be okay,” he gasps. “We’re going to be okay.”
“You damn straight I’m going to be okay!”
“Jonghyun.” His muffled, watery laughter vibrates into his friend’s shoulder. “I’m so fucking stupid. Why am I so stupid?”
“That’s the same thing I’ve been asking myself since the night we met. You gave me stale candy by the way. Rude.”
“When’s the last time we went for shots?”
Jonghyun outright cackles, pulling back from Jinki and grasping his upper arms. “Damn. Looks like you got more faith in this retreat than I do.”
Jinki shrugs. He then swoops in and kisses the younger right on the lips; snatching up Jonghyun’s bag and running away before the sputtering man has a chance to sock him in the neck. “I’m just so happy for you!” he calls out behind him impishly. “But I couldn’t punch you in the face in front of all these people! That would make me the bad guy!”
“Hey you bastar-what? What are you all laughing at? You think that bastard was funny? Should I tell the supervisor?”
It’s not about what’ s fair, Jinki smiles on his way out the door, wholly receptive of the ass whopping he’s going to get in the car.
In truth, it never was.
He can breathe again.
The end
Author: dria1029
Pairing: Jongyu
Rating: PG for the most part
Warnings: None
Summary We all have debts to pay. For some, more than others. For Jinki, more than what he's already been repaying for a particular dialysis patient.
Word Count: 6,000+
50/50
“You can go ahead and set his bag next to his chair, Jinki,” the young female technician smiled kindly.
“Or take it and put it back in the trunk,” was the bitter reply from the chair’s occupant. Jonghyun settled back in the plastic cushion with a glare straight ahead, one that surely penetrated through the clinic door, out into the building’s parking lot, and landed on the dented door of Jinki’s Honda. “That works best with me.”
It was a sour key Jinki was used to hearing for the past few months, ever since the younger’s first day here, and the bite of his words still had the same suffocating effect; nonetheless, like usual, Jinki refused to swallow his resolve and baked on a smile for the technician, if not for the sake of his sulking friend. “Will do, noona,” he said softly, letting down the Adidas duffle bag.
Narrowed eyes still didn’t acknowledge him. “I hate this,” the blond hissed.
“Jonghyun you just promised me you…” The taller young man coughed into his fist, stealing a tentative look at the woman now busy setting Jonghyun’s machine. He voiced lowered. “You said-
“I know what I said. I said I might.” Blowing his lips more so than sighing, the stiff guy shifted more in the (despite the efforts of a few pillows) uncomfortable seat, eyeing in contempt the thick needle to go into his arm. “Better not get blood on this shirt this time, I swear…”
“Look at me.”
Jonghyun peered up at him boredly.
“Smile at me.”
There was a very faux, very exaggerated flash of teeth.
“I said smile, not play ape and show a threatening display.”
“Well take it or leave it. This isn’t exactly a place for smiling. Take a look around.” Jonghyun waved his left arm out to the rest of the seated patients, rolling his eyes. “But you know, at least they have it better than I do. At least they got a chance to live out the best parts of their life before they ended up in this alternative retirement home. This stinkin’…”
In disgust, he wrinkled his nose against the constant smell of blood, medical waste and chemicals instead of continuing. But Jinki understood perfectly.
He may not have fully understood much else because this was never a pair of shoes he’d had to walk in, but at least he understood that much.
“I’ll be back early,” the elder tried in an attempt to comfort him. To ease his own aches.
“My arm will never heal arm. My damn arm…”
“I’m bringing sushi.”
“I want to go home. Technically, I don’t have to be here. I can just go and say fuck it, right?”
Jinki’s lips fold in, a fresh wave of sympathy washing over him, goose bumps budding on the back of his arms that have less to do with the frigid winter of the facility. A gaze that’s unnerved slides to the now frozen technician, at the approaching male nurse to hook Jonghyun up to the machine, then back to slumped, pinch-faced young man in the chair.
“No one likes it here, Jonghyun,” he says calmly in the silence between all three. “And no one here is luckier than the other.” Then so low, no one hears him: “No you can’t.”
And ever so dutifully, Jinki goes to stand on Jonghyun’s left, linking his fingers through the other man’s perhaps a bit too passionately. He ignores the sting in his chest and could care less about how dramatic or awkward he looks or the ever present stares at him, a grown man, death gripping another grown man’s hand.
There’s only the battle to keep a close friend from clawing at himself from the pain of the needle. There’s only the will to placate and encourage the stubbornness and the loneliness and the innocence that was Jonghyun. There’s only the heart to anchor Jonghyun down in every which way so that he didn’t float away into oblivion. Three days a week of “there’s onlys”
“You promised not to fight him this time.”
“Yeah, yeah,” snaps back the response, yet the smaller hands curls tighter into Jinki’s. Soft lashes brush skin as Jonghyun clenches his eyes shut.
“Next time we’ll try to get a sexy noona to do the sticking.”
There’s snickering from below that lets Jinki know he’s loosened at least one knot, and he grins half-heartedly in the technician’s direction, then the nurse’s. Both toss back silent thanks in their relieved smiles.
“Well Mr. Kim, congrats on your new dry weight. I’ll be back over soon to check on you, okay?” The tech gently grasps Jonghyun’s shoulder before striding off in her kitten scrubs. Knot number two undone courtesy of the pervert himself when Jonghyun peeks one eye open after her to watch her switching bottom.
The hard part commences inevitably, though. He bears it when Jonghyun sporadically clamps down on his reddening hand while the needle sinks into his vein; grimacing but never ever regretting. Remembering he’s been good friends with this former baseball player for some months now, and because he’s so close to knowing Jonghyun like the back of his hand, he knows that amidst all the outer bravado, Jonghyun is cursing himself in the recesses of his mind for even shedding the teaspoon of tears that run from his eyes. The younger’s pain was his, and always would be for as long as it took.
Please don’t snatch away from him, man. Please don’t resist, he chants over and over in his mind, unable to keep from replaying what happened last time when Jonghyun went into both an emotional and physical-induced fit of rage from being penetrated and an unhealthy, very disturbing amount of blood from his arm went spurting on everything, even in Jinki’s mouth. The elder had never been so terrified-now, several weeks after the episode, he’d never be so paranoid about something else for the rest of his life.
It’s over just as quickly as it begins. More often than not Jonghyun is still a cranky newborn, but at least he’s sober enough to make crude jokes and complain about his favorite baseball team’s shortstop.
In fact, after Jinki checks that Jonghyun is all settled, and the younger reluctantly shoos him away, Jinki leaves behind a friendly-not-so-friendly banter between the blond and another male tech leading up to a ridiculous bet. Jjong rubbing off on him, Jinki yells back some bad joke referring to how Jonghyun used to like breasts but now it seems he’s moved on to legs and thighs and Jonghyun fires his rebuttal quickly, turning away from the TV long enough to raunchily smack his lips and retort, “I can eat it all, chicken boy.”
To which earns them several laughs from those nearby, even the women. Clowns, the lot of them.
To the receding Jinki though, its more than shits and giggles.
There’s the bell of thanks resonating in the laugher of his best friend. Laughter poking his back like an epidural. And along with the chorus of beeping machines, it follows Jinki out of the facility.
*****
A starless night , the muffled pleas and gasps of pain from a curled up figure on the pavement. Almost overwhelming the figure’s sounds are the heavy, cloudy breaths of his assailants. The thud of pointy, semi-expensive gator shoes heaving into a thin leather jacket and worn jeans. Jeers and curses and angry hisses descending onto the young college student crying and calling for his mother and asking for the forgiveness of his late grandfather. Holding his head with both hands, asking the men circling him to forgive him as well- that same old story that he’d get it back to them soon, he just needed another day. Chapped lips bleeding. Soiled soul screaming.
The lower left side of his back that one of those shoes favored-bruising, throbbing and wracking his body with the most unforgiving hurt. Already, there, something wasn’t right…
“Hey! Hey! What the hell are you bastards doing?” rings from a few feet away. The owner’s voice has a hint of a tremor. As if he’d never had to address these type of people before. He sounds young.
“Stay out of it punk,” one of the men says gruffly. Warningly. Still, they all kick. One, in his venomous zeal, snatches the youth up by his collar and serves him a string of punches.
But the voice ignores the hint. If anything, he ‘s closer to a growl when he snaps, “Let him go.”
“Get out of here asshole.” The one punching the student stops to glare at the helping civilian. “Get lost or you’re next.”
“I said let him go!”
“This is business kid! Fuck off. Last chance!”
Deep moaning interrupts the two. With his fists balled tightly, Jonghyun cranes his neck to survey the damage that’s surely been done. Where the men are beating the boy in parking lot, they made sure to avoid any of the tall lamp posts, so it’s a little dark. But not dark enough to where Jonghyun can’t make out a red mouth, puffy eye and ruffled hair.
There’s a quiet, menacing stare-off between him and few of the men while the rest continue their assault. All until the short kid with the neatly pressed polo and styled hair gathers all of the nerve of the world and spits, “What do you want.”
“That’s it-grab him!”
“I mean it!” Jonghyun thunders, and the suited men starting after him hesitate. “What the fuck do you want? How much is it?”
All eyes widen, including the man-assumedly the leader-punching the boy. He stops, holding up the groaning, crying boy’s head by his hair. Mucus and blood paint his face-a face that’s swelling by the second, adding an unnatural roundness to his already slightly chubby face. His humble glasses lay crunched up a few feet away.
“How much you bastards! Whatever it is, I’ll triple it!” As he yells, he snatches his wallet out his back pocket. The disbelief on their hardened faces deepens even more as the crazy kid starts flinging won out in front of him. The bills fluttering in the air like hundreds of autumn leaves. Pocket change that had surely been saved for a rainy day-or more appropriately, night.
Muscled leader’s eyebrow arches suspiciously once most of the bills sweep the pavement. He snaps and the men not busy beating the boy scurry over to insect the money. True to the costly taste in his clothes, hair, and dangerously arrogant gall, there are only high valued bills.
“Who the hell are you?”
“You takin’?”
“I said who the hell are you, punk!” He drops the student’s head, standing desperately. “Whose son are you?”
Jonghyun smirks. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
The man spits off to the side. “This fucking…”
“He looks a little like the senator’s son,” one of the thugs supplies, mean mugging the thick, gleaming watch on Jonghyun’s wrist. Instinctively, Jonghyun switches his arm behind his back. He goes back to smirking at the leader, a tad more uncomfortable with the direction the situation was heading. The scowl hiding behind his taunting expression proves this.
All of a sudden, he thinks to ride the wave of the man’s accusation to his advantage.
“That ain’t me, but I’m still pretty sure he wouldn’t be too happy to know that his nephew has been mangled by a couple of gutter trash loan sharks.”
It’s a reasonable bluff. Something to be proud of and then some, because 8 pea brains soak up his words judging from the thugs’ stiffening bodies. They glance at each other with a new kind of urgency. Frowning, the leader looks back down at the student in fetal position, one of his hands reaching out to brace himself on the tire of the black van so he can stand. He’s mumbling and choking.
When the frown gravitates back to Jonghyun, the short young man is wearing his fiercest expression.
“This what a spoiled brat like you calls charity?”
“This what a bastard like you calls making your mother proud?” Jonghyun scoffs even though he trembles. “Be a good rat, take the money and go back to your hole.”
“You don’t even know this scum. You have no idea how long he’s been dodging us. For a book smart bastard, he’s sure been pretty fucking ignorant to payment and interest.”
“I don’t know and I don’t fucking care, ajussi.” With another fling of won to the dogs, a sign one too many times of disrespect for the leader, Jonghyun curls his lip indignantly. “All I know is, with the path this guy seems to be headed down, he won’t have to solely rely on street smarts to make a living. Unlike some.” He indicates to the swaying drizzle of the money in the cool wind with his chin. “Now catch your crumbs and fuck off.”
Yet the older man can’t watch him so coldly forever. Against his will, he smirks, the smirk even accelerating to a few incredulous huffs of laughter. The huffs spin in accordance with the approaching young man; Jonghyun bumping his shoulder as he breezes by authoritatively to the fallen boy, pointedly ignoring the thug.
Without a word, the men collect the money. One remarking excitedly that it was at least five times more than what the victim owed, and getting slapped upside the head when he suggests keeping and dividing the extra spoils between their group.
A sizzle of anger zaps through the leader as he gazes at the pair. On one hand, just because of the short boy’s audacity, he wants to go over and kick the Lee kid again out of spite.
In the other palm…the unyielding curl in the side of his mouth says that besides his boss and his rep, he’s found something-someone-else deserving of respect.
****
It’s the catalyst to his insomnia.
The salt to his wound and the carrier for the bubonic plague riddling his body.
For a person like Jinki, who was so much like the person Jonghyun was, it was killer to his every breathe of life. A person who couldn’t help being immediately selfless.
But also, a person who knew what it was like to owe. To have a large debt to pay.
And hanging by Jonghyun’s side, kneeling to his every need-it just wasn’t enough for Jinki. It wasn’t enough for the brave idiot who practically put his life on the line to save another’s. Suffocating from the unfairness of Jonghyun’s fate, the fate of failed kidneys due to a genetic disease so early in his life-it was, what Jinki felt, he deserved at the least. Still, it wasn’t enough. Jonghyun’s suffering-the restricted diet, the inability to drink how he wanted, the stolen hours from his days-was a fucked up offering for one so willing to save his ass.
For the younger to have been cursed like this as soon as Jinki was back it in his life, it was insult to injury.
A low blow. Shit stain.
An evil accomplice to the fact that no matter what Jinki did, he could never properly repay Jonghyun. Nothing was of worth. The gratitude of Jonghyun’s family for taking care of him-he sponged it up in forced politeness. Every time Jonghyun spent the night and Jinki caught a glimpse of the other’s physique after he took a shower, he was consumed with the cruel irony of such a seemingly healthy young man being reduced to torture and ruin in a bulky dialysis chair. Shit didn’t add up.
So much so, Jinki could predict that the day would come that he’d get tired of his conscience. The thugs from that night turned into mental characters, as far as he was concerned. He was afraid of them even after that ordeal. His “half-assed” debt repayment for Jonghyun being monitored, his back stalked…
No.
Shit didn’t add up.
****
He was anxious for good reason. Patient by nature.
Above all, careful to not act too out of the norm the next time he took Jonghyun to dialysis and the younger’s doctor was present. Tried not to show his nervousness as Jonghyun grasped his hand, or think about the same pressure he applied to Jonghyun’s hands the night before, when the tipsy, depressed younger lay under him, receiving him-a fraction of the many “recompense services” Jinki performed-in earnest. It was under jurisdiction whether or not Jonghyun really liked him like that since they called themselves being intimate only once before, but Jinki didn’t care about what dynamics were and were not needed for a “proper relationship.” The way Jonghyun called him “hyung” last night meant he needed him, and Jinki was the one who chose to console him sexually-for his own sanity as well, maybe to prepare himself for the upcoming moment of doing the unthinkable.
“Your kreatin levels are stabilizing,” the doctor nodded in approval, skimming his clipboard and lifting a sheet. “Though I’m a little worried about your fluid level.”
“He’s been cheating,” Jinki says absentmindedly, too absorbed to notice his friend’s glare of betrayal. Turning back to doctor, Jonghyun adorns a mask of indifference. “Well whatever. What we all should be worrying about is what hocus pocus these companies are slipping in the blood cleaners.” The machine next to him is roamed with paranoid slits. “Yo Doc, I saw it on a commercial last night! Attorneys urging families to file a suit if a patient has died from Granu-something. The jig is up!”
“We don’t use that here,” a tech sing songs as he walks by.
“You people are trying to kill me!” he shoots back, leaning up slightly. Jinki automatically clasps his shoulder to pull him back before the machine goes off.
“Well I assure you Mr. Kim,” the doctor chuckles, patting his theatrical patient’s head. “You’re not going to die any time soon. And most certainly not from an extra pound or two of fluid.” He wags one stumpy finger in Jonghyun’s face, an upside down pendulum sharp brown eyes follow. “No more cheating, kiddo. Jinki, stay diligent for me.”
Instead of his usual enthusiastic bow of, “Yes sir,” however, the inky haired man nods. It’s a significant enough change for Jonghyun to finally eye his friend skeptically; he couldn’t stand how Jinki kissed his doctor’s ass. Yet its still tame for him to shrug off and try to haggle with the doctor about getting a handicap sticker.
Jinki, meanwhile, continues to wait. A distant vehicle on autopilot even when he leaves the clinic and, unlike any other time, waits out in the lobby for Jonghyun’s doctor to make his rounds. Hands fidgeting, clamming up.
He’s such a wreck, it’s a miracle he doesn’t trip over himself when the doctor emerges, chorus of friendly goodbyes behind him. Upon pivoting around to an approaching, skittish Jinki, the middle-aged man balks in surprise. Then squints in concern.
“Jinki?”
He bites in his bottom lip.
“I need to talk to you.”
****
Secrets. Responsibilities. Sacrifices.
How virtuous, how noble.
There were the things heroes were composed of.
With these characteristics, this was how one paid what he owned.
With good deeds done in secret, responsibilities handled with all of one’s ability, sacrifices like the lamb on the alter.
If Jinki could help it, he would do it all in that order.
Already he’d gotten the tests done, the papers filled out confidentially. Nothing could stop him except a mismatch…
“Nothing,” he whispers several weeks later, hands mimicking their ministrations from before, when Jinki had first approached the doctor. His already loose collar seems tighten on his neck with every second that passes by as he sits in the leather-scented office. He’s surveyed the room more times he can count, has read all of the plaques, framed degrees and letters of recommendations.
Just as he feels he will die from the suspense, the door swings open and Jonghyun’s doctor strides by in blur of white. The file is set on his desk as he rounds it; gingerly he sits in the velvet chair facing his anticipative visitor. Folds his hands on the file.
And for the longest time, just stares at Jinki solemnly. With such an uncharacteristic expression so unlike his grandfatherly smiles.
Making Jinki so uncomfortable and disoriented. Stuck between wanting to look away, but compelled to stare back with his baggy eyes because he doesn’t want to be disrespectful or offensive.
His time to decide on what to do is cut premature when the doctor’s gaze droops to sad scrutiny.
“You’re a match Mr. Lee,” he says quietly.
Jinki perks up, bright eyed and bushy tailed. Though in realizing that the doctor doesn’t seem to be too elated in the news, he holds back from his grim smile and shrivels back to how he was. His eyes fall to his folding and unfolding hands. He’s picturesque of a little boy who has found himself in a world of trouble.
With the doctor’s next words, that portrait is confirmed.
He can’t even brace himself for them, though he knows there was no way he was going to get around it.
“But your medical records say you had a kidney removed through emergency surgery five years ago. Your medical insurance didn’t cover the cost of replacing the kidney but you’ve been paying off the surgery fees and…I don’t think I need to proceed, here, young man.” Sounding more disappointed than shocked, the doctor shakes his head. “If you thought letting me find out for myself would convince me to allow you to do this, I’m afraid you’re mistaken.”
“I know what I’m doing,” is the hushed reply. “It’s the only way…”
Taking his last sentence out of context, the doctor’s brows furrow. “Of course its not. I’m working diligently to find Jonghyun the perfect donor. Despite his mother’s doubts in medicine. I’m doing my best and there’s no need to go to any extreme. Jonghyun is young-
“You don’t understand,” Jinki insists, glancing up at the doctor with eyes that are suddenly red, welled to capacity with tears. The old physician’s lips thin in alarm. “I have to do this before another donor is found. This is my only chance. I need to move in first or else…I’ll never…”
He closes his eyes against the doctor’s confusion and pity. He recalls Jonghyun’s mother’s fears; her baby getting a transplant but having to take medication for the rest of his life.
Money is not an issue, and the line-up of suitable donors could be a long one by now. With his age and lineage, Jonghyun had the advantages of advantages. He was the king of advantage.
Jonghyun’s mother was against the transplant, and so would be against Jinki as a donor for double the reason. The doctor was against it. The whole world would be opposed to it.
But if shit could add up this way, Jinki could stand alone.
“Son.”
“Yes sir,” he whispers idly.
“I may not fully understand this bizarre resolve, but you must understand that I’m an old man, and I’m wise enough to get the gist of what’s going on.”
Jinki swallows, locking his swollen eyes with a pair of kind, wrinkled ones. The doctor pulls of his glasses, picking up the manila folder and waving it slowly.
“And I can’t help but think it has to do with what is in this file.”
“I…”
“You’re a good child, Jinki. You were born with good intention, which is something very special in a world ruled with intentions of a lesser caliber. But what about the person who matters most in this circumstance?”
Silence from the other end. The only indication of a stir is in the tensing of Jinki’s shoulders.
“In thinking that you’re doing what’s best for yourself, you’ve strung along that it is also best for Jonghyun. You probably didn’t mean to do it, but its been done. And I’m sure you’ve already thought about it, but have you really sat and considered Jonghyun’s devastation and resentment if you did this? His reaction that you’d considered it? His frustration and anger? And what of the other people who love you.” The doctor pauses for a long time. “You couldn’t hide the truth from him, my boy, not forever. And even if it were possible to go through with it with you as an anonymous donor, once Jonghyun finds out it was you…knowing how attached the two of you are…all of it-
Yet Jinki has already tuned him out. The calm drone of words are wads of fuzz in his ears, itchy and condemning. In some mystical turn, it’s as if the voice of reason that had been talking to the walls in the back of his mind had materialized and sat across from him in the velvet chair, to really get his attention this time.
A stone contrast to the chasing thugs that had changed into the mental repo men in his head.
In a rush, it all comes plummeting down on his head. He’s whipped back to his senses quickly, so unbearably quick.
For the first time in his life, Jinki bursts into uncontrollable tears. He sniffs himself into a headache, head bowed in his hands. Sobbing from the weight, chest sucking in so deeply from his silent cries, oxygen has to fight the good fight; his ribs feel as if they’d give way and his lungs to implode. He doesn’t wail or scream, but the pitiful wet sounds, the strained inhales and veins popping in his neck tell the story in stronger detail.
All along, he had been wrong.
He’d never be a hero.
Since he’d be both giving and taking away from Jonghyun if he became his martyr.
Morphing into his lifeline, but carrying away his broken heart on a stretcher.
He’d never repay his debt 100% if he abandoned Jonghyun, and that was the bottom line…
There was no way out.
Silently, knowingly, the doctor stands and goes to pet Jinki’s bent head, rubbing the same necessary circles Jinki’d rubbed into Jonghyun’s back the day Jonghyun learned his PKD* had surfaced and won.
When the nurse timidly pokes her head in, red lips slack in worry, the doctor lifts his calloused hand to assuage her.
****
He’s never held another human being like this before. Never thought he’d have to, that “sissy” things like this were for day dramas, to stay in day dramas where they belonged.
Once the black van is out of sight, Jonghyun peers down at the bloody face of the guy left to his mercy; he shifts on the concrete to adjust himself for the boy’s comfort.
An eye, a good eye, blinks back up at him in weary amazement.
“Can you tell me your name?”
“Ji-
The rough coughs startle them both. Again, he tries to speak, but he’s bewitched so all that Jonghyun can gather is a “Jin.” Even still, its something to go off of. He shushes the taller boy and runs through a list of all the names he know that start with “jin” until the bloody kid nods at the 15th or 16th name Jonghyun rattles off.
“Jin-ki? Its Jinki?”
“Mm.”
It seems like good progress, though in hindsight Jonghyun could have smacked himself for not simply digging in the boy’s pocket for ID. Jonghyun fixes his mouth to ask if the boy can stand.
Then its like this Jinki fellow can read his mind.
Stranger still…Jinki’s good eye expands as if he’s seen a ghost. He’s bewitched all over again, this time from fear-an old, winding fear of being stalked. Of not being safe. Like he’s been struck with fire, Jinki scrambles out of Jonghyun’s lap as best he can with his injuries, staggering to his feet with rickety knees. It happens so fast that it takes Jonghyun a second or two to process what’s going on, then he too is to his feet in befuddlement.
Jinki’s shaking, hair wild in his face. His hand is cupping the bottom left side of his back tenderly, where the root of his misfortune originates.
He steps a step back when Jonghyun takes one forward.
“Look, man, obviously I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll take you to the hospital.” A hand stretches out carefully; he dip his brows in the same way his father does, whenever the old man wants to coax something out of his mother. “I’ll help you…”
About to hunch over, Jinki accidently grips his back too hard and winces from the sensitivity. For the first few moments, he engages in Jonghyun’s soft, sweet expression. But soon, for some reason, he can’t take it, and for the longest time afterward, he can only stare at the red stains smeared on the shorter boy’s perfectly pressed, light blue shirt.
Then with his recent punishment still fresh in his mind, he makes a unanimous decision.
Seconds later, from the spark in gaze, Jonghyun is inwardly rejoicing at his successful tactic-Jinki was finally inching over to him
…wait no he was fast walking…
…wait…
“What the-“ he’s cut off when the taller boy skids before him, pulling his pockets inside out. Anything of value-won, coins, candy, the number he received from a girl at his job-is pushed into Jonghyun’s arms. If his clothes were worth anything, he’d strip naked and give it all to his savior. If he had the time and the stomach, he’d let this stranger use him for his body if he wanted. If he hadn’t wanted so badly to leave that place that was quickly spiraling into a bad memory, he would have stuck around to at least exchange contact info with this nice boy.
But for the moment, for now, he’d have to repay his debt like this.
If not fully, then this way. So he wouldn’t have to be taught another lesson in the future.
Jonghyun’s protesting. “Hey! Jinki-dude! What’s all this junk-
“Don’t worry about taking me to the hospital,” he croaks, throat hurting from the bruises. God, every tiny little movement burned. “I’m okay.”
“You don’t look-
“I’m fine, I’m okay. Don’t. Worry. About it.”
His stony look, along with the intimidating cuts and blood, does submit Jonghyun to silence. Nonetheless, Jonghyun doesn’t know what to do but worry.
The worry works on his conscience like hell, he’s spinning from the need to stitch up what those thugs had unwound.
As fate would have it, though, he wouldn’t be allowed to have another word in edgeways. The modestly dressed guy (barely) standing a head taller before him backs away far enough to bow several times in thanks.
And just like that, it is over. Jinki turns and begins limping away, all the while holding onto the part of his back where a gator shoe’s tip had favored most. Jonghyun, that persistent guy, yells after him, the pouty, empty insults resonating throughout the parking lot. He doesn’t look back.
By the time he a good three blocks away, he surely can’t hear the boy anymore. Still, right before he passes out in front of the coffee shop, amidst the crowd, Jonghyun’s , “Where the hell do you think you’re going, you idiot?” rings like a Christmas bell in his head.
****
A long time ago, when Jinki kept getting on Jonghyun’s nerves about why he was so readily to accept him after Jinki’s half-assed thanks, Jonghyun said something so hard-hitting, his new friend could feel the stitches sealing his lips for all time.
“You’re sincere alright. The bullshit bit about me being related to the senator would have had any loser crawling after me. We would have been friends a long time ago if it was because of money.” He scoffs. “Or rather, I would have dumped you at the hospital and left it at that.”
It always fascinated Jinki that someone with no filters could, at times, make so much sense.
That’s why to the present, he wondered half the time why he fretted so much on “being even” when Jonghyun made it evident that all he had to do was be his friend.
With this new, irrational decision, the hell pent desire to nail himself to the crucifix, he felt even more ashamed.
Ashamed, but still suffocating.
On this bright, dry Friday afternoon, Jinki drags himself out of the driver’s seat. He greets the receptionist in the lobby and waits to be buzzed in.
He’s definitely not prepared for a blond psychopath to bombard him. And apparently , so aren’t the techs who are jotting down the numbers from the giant scale Jonghyun had been standing on before he took off.
“Mmph!”
“Guess what guess what guess what guess what-
“Jjong, wait! Calm down!” Torn between a laugh and a grunt, Jinki pushes his chin in to look down at the frantic, hopping moron currently embracing his arms to his sides. He catches both of their weight, one foot stepping back.
All he can see is bleached hair and scalp before Jonghyun popss his head from his chest, a silly grin on his lips. “Hyung I’m saved!”
“What-
“Mr. Kim we need you back over here,” one of the techs complains boredly, clipboard hanging limply from his arm.
To Jinki’s surprise, the younger doesn’t snap back something witty. Instead, he turns to the man and says, “Oh, sorry,” as pleasantly as Jinki has never heard.
Then Jinki’s Adam’s apple is doing jumping jacks when Jonghyun firmly grabs his hand and leads them back over to the scale. The hand is only let go a less than a minute, enough time for the techs to record his weight, before Jonghyun snatches it again. He pulls the taller to his chair excitedly, spinning around the laptop that’s on the portable table.
“My mom found this website. She’s already spoken to the guy there-
“Whoa, slow down,” the cherry cheeked man admonishes, leaning in to see the content of the screen.
Still, Jonghyun holds on tightly to his hand, clicking his tongue impatiently. He carefully monitors his friend’s squint, pays attention to every detail of his reaction.
At long last, Jinki peels back up slowly.
“Well?”
“Its…”
“The reviews are great, hyung, you should see them. At first I didn’t believe my mom-you know how gullible she is. But I saw for myself and man I just…I want to punch something in the face, I’m so happy.”
“It better not be me.”
Jonghyun doesn’t seem to hear him. “I could be in and out of there in a few weeks,” he says wistfully. “Weeks. Then I can come back to Korea and get my life back on track.”
Squeeze squeeze.
Jinki’s heart races.
“I heard Atlanta is pretty fun. I’m not going to try to learn more English in crunch time before I leave though.”
The hands around Jinki’s neck weaken ever so slightly.
“Can you believe it? No, can you see it? I’ve been a city boy all my life. Imagine me moving into the country and living at a health retreat. Its sounds like a code name for boot camp, right?”
The fingers of those crushing hands slacken. They curl away.
Jinki’s own fingers twitch. The ones exchanging warmth with Jonghyun’s.
“I don’t know about American women in the south, though. Those shapes are badass but I heard if you make them mad-Oomph!”
Rocking from side to side, Jinki clings to the smaller man, burying his head in his neck. There are the sarcastic remarks about his “delayed reaction” and suggestions for him to change his body wash, yet they’re only the foam that settles atop his champagne. The tears of his apologies, apologies for disloyalties and sins Jonghyun would never have to hurt from, soak into the younger’s black shirt.
“Fuck, you’re going to be okay,” he gasps. “We’re going to be okay.”
“You damn straight I’m going to be okay!”
“Jonghyun.” His muffled, watery laughter vibrates into his friend’s shoulder. “I’m so fucking stupid. Why am I so stupid?”
“That’s the same thing I’ve been asking myself since the night we met. You gave me stale candy by the way. Rude.”
“When’s the last time we went for shots?”
Jonghyun outright cackles, pulling back from Jinki and grasping his upper arms. “Damn. Looks like you got more faith in this retreat than I do.”
Jinki shrugs. He then swoops in and kisses the younger right on the lips; snatching up Jonghyun’s bag and running away before the sputtering man has a chance to sock him in the neck. “I’m just so happy for you!” he calls out behind him impishly. “But I couldn’t punch you in the face in front of all these people! That would make me the bad guy!”
“Hey you bastar-what? What are you all laughing at? You think that bastard was funny? Should I tell the supervisor?”
It’s not about what’ s fair, Jinki smiles on his way out the door, wholly receptive of the ass whopping he’s going to get in the car.
In truth, it never was.
He can breathe again.
The end