SSS 2010: for onew (1/2)
For: onew
From: Your Secret Santa
Title: Saving Lives
Pairing: Minho/Key, Taemin/Key, Minho/Jonghyun
Rating: R
Wordcount: 11,466
Summary: Hospital!AU. There’s something off about Minho that Kibum can’t quite place.
“Excuse me, pardon me.” breathes Kibum as he hurriedly meanders his way through the crowded corridors of the hospital. He’s silently cursing himself really, because he was due here at 12 o’clock sharp to meet up with the chief resident. On his way, he must’ve passed by at least 5 flirtatious nurses, bumped his hip into 3 hospital carts and stepped on 6 pairs of feet.
“Shit, shit, shit.” he repeats the mantra of loose expletives in his head, reprimanding himself for being so unpunctual on his first day.
Finally, after great difficulty, he reaches the end of the hallway where it proceeds to split into two. Left wing and right wing. Letting out a loud groan, he pulls out a small scrap of paper covered with illegible handwriting. Why must all doctors have nightmare-inducing penmanship? Standing there aimlessly must’ve attracted people’s attention because in a few moments, there’s a tap-tap on his shoulder and a voice asking, “Excuse me, are you lost?”
It’s quite silly, being lost in a hospital. Kibum would attempt to justify himself, blaming the long Kim family lineage for having poor spatial and directional sense but instead he replies, “Yes. I am. Could you tell me where, erm, room 231 is?”
“Well what a coincidence, I was just heading there.”
Kibum’s always had uncanny tact and been praised for his superb powers of deduction, which is what makes him ask the next question. “So you must be Dr. Choi Minho, the chief resident.”
Needless to say, the doctor looks slightly taken aback but answers him cordially, nonetheless, “As a matter of fact, yes I am. You must be Kim Kibum, my new intern.”
“First year resident, actually.” Kibum miffs.
“Aren’t they the same thing?”
“Well..I suppose. But I’d prefer to be referred to as a first year resident. Intern sounds so...” he trails off.
The two engage in a friendly round of banter, in which Kibum delineates the differences of being called “intern” and “first year resident” as they hurry to their destination. Dr. Choi Minho, Kibum realizes, is extremely charming, slipping in comments both witty and flattering. They walk into the office where a portly doctor greets Kibum rather warmly.
“Ahh Kibum. I’ve been expecting you. How’ve you been? You get skinnier each time I see you. How’s dorm life treating you?” he exclaims, sporting a look of concern.
“Uncle! I’m sorry I’m late, I just got caught up in a whirl of things. I’ve missed you! And I’m just fine. My room mate, Jaejin, is a fantastic cook. He’s studying culinary arts.”
Not wanting to interject rudely in what seems to be a family reunion, Dr. Choi quietly clears his throat.
“I see you two have already been acquainted. But to follow proper social protocol, let me introduce you two. Dr. Choi, this is Kim Kibum. He’ll be your new intern-”
“-First year resident,” Kibum interrupts in a matter-of-factly voice, holding out his hand.
Giving him a firm handshake, Dr. Choi replies, “Pleased to meet you Kibum. Call me Minho. I hope you enjoy the next few years of your residency here under my wing.” And just to top things off, he adds a discreet wink at the end.
Minho navigates them up 3 flights of staircases and through a labyrinth of hallways. They arrive in front of his office where they stand outside his door. Before opening the door, he warns, “It’s not particularly tidy.”
Grasping the doorknob, Minho swings the door open revealing a small room . Kibum scans the place, eyeing the clutter of paper and the piles of books precariously stacked on the floor with unmasked disdain. He thinks he can see a small Macbook under the disarray of paperwork, and if he were to dig a little deeper, he’d find a golden desk nameplate inscribed with Minho’s name.
“It’s, um, quaint.” is all he says, before taking a seat across from Minho.
Minho chuckles whole-heartedly. “It’s messy but I’m content with it. Now let us begin.” He opens a beige office folder and gives it a cursory glance. “I’m going to ask you a few questions, strictly standard procedure.” When Kibum nods to his consent, he begins, “This is your first time working in a hospital correct?”
“Yes.”
“You graduated egregia cum laude, yes? Top amongst your peers.”
Kibum shifts on his chair, uncomfortable to be basically asked to confirm his intellect. “Yes.”
“Very impressive. So you must be an exceptional student. Nevertheless, it would’ve been rather difficult for you to be mandated to such a prestigious hospital so soon to pursue your residency. As far as I know, our intern quota is full.”
Kibum shoots him a look of disbelief. “Are you insinuating something here?”
“Well..” Minho treads carefully, “Nepotism is the best way to get anything done really.”
Rather indignantly, Kibum retorts, “You must’ve engaged in some of that yourself, Dr. Choi, chief resident. You don’t look old enough. What are you 27?”
“26.”
They both glare at each other menacingly before Minho cracks a smile, which then turns into a fit of laughter. Looking at him laugh so ridiculously incites Kibum to laugh, hiding his smile behind his hand.
“I think we’re going to do just fine Kibum, just fine.”
Minho continues to ask questions and then they talk for a bit about medical school. In a matter of hours, they’ve both acquainted themselves with each other fairly well, reaching a certain level of friendliness that transcends your usual doctor-intern relationship. Minho then excuses himself to xerox some papers for him. While he’s gone, Kibum waits idly, reading the titles of the books Minho has on his shelves.
A sudden noise pierces the silence, scaring the wits out of Kibum. It’s Minho’s phone, vibrating atop the papers on his desk. His ringtone is so peculiarly lame that it makes Kibum cringe: Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5. The phone continues the ring. Kibum grabs the phone off the desk and holds it in his hands, wondering if he should pick up or not. The screen persistently flashes the same name and number, Kim Jonghyun. Thinking better of it, he reaches over to put down the phone.
“Looking through my phone?” booms a voice from behind him. Frightened, he drops the phone, which falls with a loud clatter on the wooden desk.
Hastily, he stammers, “No. No definitely not. It kept ringing so I picked it up. Not picked it up as in I answered the call but as in take it off the desk.”
Minho looks at him incredulously.
“I swear! Check your phone. You’ll have like 5 missed calls!”
Minho stays still, a tall, looming figure at the door, wearing a dark expression on his face. Kibum wrings his hands nervously. A split-second later, Minho bursts into rancorous peals of laughter.
“I’m just messing with you! Calm down Kibum, you look as pale as a sheet.”
Kibum’s at a loss for words.
“Sorry for tricking you like that but it was so hilarious! You should’ve seen your face!” he slaps his hand on his thigh for added effect. Running his hand over his face, he walks into the room and sits on his chair across from Kibum.
Kibum’s still grasping at straws to understand what just happened. One moment, he looked absolutely terrifying, face drained of any joy, eyes dark, lips stern. The next, he looked positively jubilant, playful as a child pulling a classic prank.
The unsettling silence must’ve bothered Minho as he clutches Kibum’s hands, trying to quell the situation. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you like that.” There’s something so sincere in the way his eyebrows furrow together and the corners of his mouth wilt into a frown that compels Kibum to respond.
“It’s okay. But wow, you honestly looked so scary. Ever consider acting as an avocation?” He subtly pulls his hand out from underneath Minho’s.
Minho chuckles, “No. Never. But maybe I should.” He places his pointer finger on his chin and strikes a thoughtful pose. “Anyways, I took the liberty of photocopying these sheets. They’re my notes from when I was a,” he makes air quotations, “‘first-year resident.”
That was extremely generous of him. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to take a look at these tonight.”
“Good. Now I supposed you’re dismissed. Come by 7 a.m. sharp to my office tomorrow morning.” He claps his hand together and, picking up the fountain pen, he redirects his focus back onto the papers in front of him.
Kibum gets up from his chair and gently pats the dust from his rear while saying, “Will do. Have a good evening.” He gives Minho the most genuine smile he can manage and spins on his heel to leave. Just as he’s doing so, a voice from behind advises, “Oh Kibum? Don’t be late.” The ‘or else’ is implied.
Shuddering, Kibum assures him that he won’t be late and walks out, breaking into a sprint when he’s far enough from Choi Minho’s office.
That night, after a hot shower, he calls his best friend, Jinki.
“I’m sure you were just over-reacting. You do tend to get pretty dramatic sometimes.”
“No I’m telling you Jinki, there was this glint in his eyes that I couldn’t place. I swear I thought he was going to rush over and strangle me.” He twirls the spiral cord of the phone nervously.
“Oh calm down Kibum! It was just a--”
“--joke. A joke. Yeah, but that’s not even it Jinki. When I first met him today, he was so charming, he even humored me about the intern-first year resident thing,” ignoring the scoff from the other line, he continues, “but the next moment, he had this murderous look on. Like! This is madness!” he sputters.
There’s a long, drawn out sigh. “Look Kibum, stop exaggerating. If anything, this is slander, what you’re doing.”
“Do you really think it was just me? I mean, I was pretty riled up on coffee today...”
“Definitely. He sounds like a really nice guy, I mean, he gave you his notes? That’s practically cheating!”
“Oh yeah! I forgot about those.” Reaching into his bag, Kibum pulls out the small portfolio folder encasing the notes. With the phone ensconced between his ear and shoulder, he flips through the notes. “Wow these are some meticulous nerd-ass notes. His writing is so clean for a doctor.”
“Nerd-ass? Look who’s talking!”
“Shut up. Anyways I’m gonna sleep now. Goodnight, Jinki.”
He hangs up the phone. Looking around his apartment, he feels surprisingly cold. Reluctant to admit, he’s still unable to shake off that uneasy feeling when he thinks about Dr. Choi Minho.
The alarm blares loudly at 5 a.m. Groaning, Kibum smacks the snooze button 3 times at each of its 5 minute intervals. When he does get out of bed, however, he feels pleasantly refreshed, all anxiety from yesterday dissipated.
He thinks about Minho throughout his whole morning ritual, in the shower, while brushing his teeth, while eating breakfast, even as he checks the weather. He realizes, after great thought, that Minho has a naturally congenial and charming disposition. Kibum even, albeit begrudgingly, admits that he was slightly swayed by Minho’s overweening charisma.
He arrives 5 minutes early, takes a deep breath and raps his knuckles harshly against the wooden door.
“You’re early.”
“Jesus fucking Christ! You have got to stop doing that.” he says as he clutches his heart with rounded eyes.
“Doing what?” questions Minho as he smoothly unlocks the door and opens it, revealing a pristine, tidy room.
“Scaring the pants off me..” he trails off, floundering a bit at the sight. “You cleaned your room?”
“Well, it seems like your pants are still on.” He replies, his tone implying something suggestive. “And yes. I felt some spring cleaning was in order.”
Ignoring the previous statement about his so-called pants, Kibum snorts. “Spring cleaning? It’s mid-autumn! Anyways, what are my tasks for today?”
“Ah well today you’ve been allocated to the west wing. There’s a patient waiting to see you, you’ll be giving him conducting the diagnosis and informing him about it. I will, of course, be supervising you.
“Of course.” imitates Kibum while rolling his eyes. “Don’t patronize me, doctor.”
Minho grins. And then abruptly changes his face into a more serious expression, his voice foreboding, “Today’s task won’t be easy. So brace yourself.”
“Aye aye capt’n.” Kibum gives him a two-fingered salute, unknowing what’s to come.
They’ve arrived in front of the room. Kibum peeks in the crack of the door to catch a view while Minho excused himself to get Kibum his hospital attire. The patient is already in the room, sitting on the crinkling paper of the bed. It’s a young boy who looks no more than 18. He looks distraught, fidgeting and casting glances at his parents who give him reassuring pats on the shoulder.
He turns his head and thinks about what Minho said earlier. Why would giving a patient a regular diagnosis be so difficult?
“There’s an empty room over there, here are your clothes, go change.” says Minho when he returns. Taking the clothes gratefully, Kibum goes into the room. Peeling off his clothes one by one, feeling exposed. It might be the paranoia again, but he has this strange feeling that he’s being watched. Doing a little twirl around the room, he checks the door. Nothing.
“Get a hold of yourself Kibum.” he mutters. “Why are you so paranoid?”
He shivers involuntarily, goosebumps dotting his skin. He pulls on the pants, which are a perfect fit around the waist but extremely loose around his thighs. As he reaches out to get the shirt, he catches a glimpse of his wrist. He recalls the wrist of the boy he just saw. His were significantly thinner and paler.
Kibum’s fretting. Just standing there and worrying, asking himself if he’s ready for this. If he’s reading to take the first milestone to his future career as a doctor. He opens his hand and holds them mid-torso above the air, analyzing them. Scrutinizing every indentation and ridge on both his palms and the back of his hands as they shake slightly. Are these the hands of a doctor? Will somebody’s life really be in these hands?
Yes, he tells himself. Yes, they are. He reaffirms this again and again as he resolutely snatches the shirt slung over the chair. I will save lives, he declares, slipping into his starched white gown. Yet still feeling more like a child playing dress-up on Halloween than a real doctor, he places the stethoscope across his neck and huffs.
The paranoia of being watched and the anxiety of being a good doctor build up to the point in which he can feel it in his throat. But he takes a big gulp. Determined. That’s just what he is. Jinki was right, he needs to ease up a bit.
He adjusts his pants and takes a deep breath before leaving. Had he inspected the room more carefully, however, he would’ve seen a small peep-hole on the wall, a black dilated pupil watching him as he changed.
“Hello. You must be Lee Taemin. I’m Kim Kibum, err, I mean, Doctor Kim and this is Doctor Choi.” Groaning internally, he glances briefly at Minho, who gives him a reassuring nod.
Taemin is the ripe, young age of 21, barely an adult with the cutest baby face Kibum has ever seen. His eyes turn into half moon crescents when he smiles and his lips spread beautifully over his white teeth. But Taemin’s face is all stretched skin over bones, angular and sharp. He has the palest skin Kibum has ever seen, so pale that he can see the veins running up from his neck to his jaw.
He proceeds to give Taemin the standard check up, noticing how white the beds of his nails are, and how thin his hair is. He asks Taemin to take off his shirt and he spots a multitude of red blotches littering his upper torso.
“How long have you had these sores?” he asks.
“Umm..I can’t remember. I’ve had them for quite a while. They don’t really heal.”
Kibum’s stomach does an ugly twist. He looks at Minho, who looks blank, a face completely void of emotion. They finish up and Kibum’s stomach is churning unpleasantly. He checks the charts from Taemin’s medical history. The most recent input are the results from Taemin’s urine sample. He reads the results, looking up at Taemin’s expectant face and lowering his head to reread it again. Kibum stands there, folder open, not knowing what to do.
Minho gives him a nudge and with a calm voice says, “Go ahead Kibum.”
Willing his tears not to spill, he clears his throat to speak, “Mr. and Mrs. Lee, I’m afraid your son Taemin has been diagnosed with the cancer osteosarcoma.”
Mrs. Lee gasped. She stumbles forward and grabs the lapels of Kibum’s gown. “No. No! You’re lying. No. No. Definitely not my Taemin.” She reached over and clutched Taemin’s head against her bosom, crying out and endless procession of ‘No’. Taemin, too, is crying, and before he knew it, so is he, saying ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again. From the corner of his eye, he looks at Minho who seems strangely placid. He had that look again, that glint in his eyes.
“Kibum now don’t be ridiculous! Your vision was obstructed, you were crying! And plus, so he wasn’t showing emotion, he was just being impartial. He’s a doctor, that’s what they’re supposed to do.”
“I’m telling you Jinki, he had this look, it was like a look of morbid glee. I swear! You know how I have a knack for seeing things others don’t!” argues Kibum.
“I don’t think so Kibum. Seriously, next thing you know, you’ll be accusing me of being a vampire.”
Bitterly, Kibum grinds out, “No, you’re too clumsy to be a vampire.” Throwing his hands up in defeat, he mumbles, “Even my own best friend thinks I’m going crazy!”
“Let me give you some advice. You’ve worked your fucking ass off to make it this far, don’t ruin the opportunity with some idiotic conspiracy. And those are my 2 cents. I’m late for class, I’ll talk to you later.”
The phone clicks shut.
“Bye.” Kibum says dully to nobody.
Taemin checks in at the hospital the next day. Luckily for him, the hospital has a separate cancer treatment center where they can treat him immediately. He’ll begin neoadjuvant chemotherapy in a couple days. Despite his frail body, the fire in his eyes refuses to die down. He’s determined to fight this. He hasn’t lost hope.
There’s something about Taemin that, like a moth to a flame, draws him to Kibum, . The way he bravely watches himself in the mirror, with eyes wide open, as they shave off his already sparse hair. The way he graciously thanks the nurse who hands him his new hospital clothes, smiling like she was giving him candy instead of a ticket to a long journey of fighting cancer. He’s the epitome of strength. And Kibum can’t help but admire him.
As the week passes by, he and Kibum become very close. The first few chemotherapy sessions wears him down but as soon as he finishes, Kibum’s waiting for him outside, wheelchair in hand. Kibum loves how Taemin’s whole face lights up. He pushes him up to his room where he eases him into bed. They exchange stories. The stories that Taemin tells with the most fervor are of his dancing days.
Weeks blend into months and the two are inseparable. The days when Taemin is worn down after his therapy, Kibum offers him consolation. Days when Taemin is upset because of his all together too bony ribcage or sharp elbows, Kibum brings him fattening comfort food. Some of which Taemin throws up later because of his weak digestive system, but still, he appreciates the sentiment. And days when Taemin’s crying because he misses his family and his friends and school, Kibum wipes away his tears and softly kisses the lids of his eyes.
Kibum has never been happier. Worries about Choi Minho being an multi-persona evil scientist fade away. They develop a strictly platonic, professional, doctor-intern relationship despite what the nurses giggle and gossip about. In fact, he’s even met Minho’s boyfriend, Kim Jonghyun.
“You guys are the most, um how should I put this, odd couple I’ve ever met.” remarks Kibum with a coy smile.
Before Minho can interrupt, he continues, “I mean you’re so boring! And he’s just a whirlwind of fun and bubbliness. How long have you guys been going out?”
“Well, he’s been my partner-in-crime,” he adds a wink, “for about 3 years.”
“Wow.” Kibum draws out the ‘o’ and stares at Minho skeptically. “It must be really serious. Have you said the 3 monumental words yet?”
“Which one? The ‘I am gay’ came out,” he snickers at his own pun, “the first day I met him and we exchanged ‘I love you’s a year into our relationship.”
Kibum lets out a long whistle. “So how’d you two meet?”
Laughing, Minho replies, “You know, just your usual love story. He was a patient and I was a doctor et cetera.” He doesn’t meet Kibum’s eyes and instead diverts his attention to his computer.
“You’re totally lying! Wait a minute..” He raises his eyebrows until they disappear under his bangs, “How could it have been your typical doctor-patient romance if you aren’t even a doctor yet?”
Minho still manages to keep his attention trained on his computer screen but his smile noticeably wavers. “I’m fully qualified to be one. But anyways, how wet met isn’t important.” He dismisses the subject easily with a careless swish of his hand and begins a new topic.
“You know the lady from room 321 A? She passed away this morning.”
“She did? Oh my god, that’s terrible! How did she die?”
There’s a tiny twitch underneath Minho’s left eye, a slight contraction of the muscles as he simply says, “Asphyxiation.”
Suddenly, Minho swivels on his chair to face the window, his back to Kibum. His voice sounding strange as he continues to speak. “They say it was natural though. But the main reason has yet to be found. Undetectable, apparently.”
“Poor Mrs. Kieger.” laments Kibum as he shakes his hide from side to side. “She just had surgery. She was due to be returning home in a couple days.”
“Yes. It’s tragic isn’t it?”
“It really is.”
Minho spins his chair once more and looks at Kibum. He smiles, a very genuine one at that, not at all forced as he says, “But. We must continue on with our lives and be the professionals that we are.”
Nodding his head, Kibum agrees. “But it’s just so sad when people die haphazardly. Makes me wonder when my time is up.”
Minho gives him a chilly smile and hums in agreement. Kibum is hit by an impetus of déjà-vu but before he can dwell on it any further, Minho exclaims, “Now back to work. Those flu-ridden patients need a-saving!”
There’s a knock, a harsh rapping of knuckles resounding against the wood of the door. The voice is hesitant, “Can I come in?”
“Well isn’t this a pleasant surprise! Jonghyun, what are you doing here? Don’t you have work?” Minho’s frowning and looking down at Jonghyun like a small child, almost admonishing him like a parent, as if Jonghyun had been caught skipping class.
“Ah work can wait. Can’t I come see my boyfriend when I want to?” pouts Jonghyun, crossing his arms to indicate his displeasure at the less than warming welcome.
Rolling his eyes, Minho scoffs, “Your childish antics don’t work on me, remember? Also you need to prioritize. Work, does in fact, come first.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m sorry, Doctor Choi.” His tone is bitter and sarcastic. Making an offhand comment while being embraced apologetically by Minho, he mutters to Kibum, “I don’t know how you can stand him Kibum. Geez.” But underneath his biting remarks, it’s all love and adoration.
As he looks upon the two, he ponders about himself. He doesn’t know how he feels about Taemin. He loves him, sure. But is he in love with him?
“I think I’m in love with you.” blurts out Kibum one gloomy afternoon. “And I don’t need you to say anything back, but just-just stay still.”
Kibum leans forward, one hand gripping the safety bar of the hospital bed, and kisses Taemin, long and deep. Taemin eagerly kisses back with the same amount of passion.
Taemin’s mouth is dry, as expected considering how dehydrated he’s been the past couple of days. But the kiss is glorious. When Kibum pulls away, he leaves his eyes closed. He feels triumphant, a smile lighting up his entire face.
When he opens his eyes, however, he almost wishes he hadn’t. Taemin isn’t smiling like he is. His eyes are directed downward, concentrated on his clasped hands.
“Don’t love me.” he whispers.
And that’s when Kibum’s entire world falls to shreds.
“What do you mean?” asks Kibum, not wanting to hear the answer.
“I’m dying. I know I am. So don’t. Just don’t.”
The words come tumbling out of Taemin’s mouth and in that same instant, Kibum stands up abruptly, knocking the metal luncheon tray off his lap. It falls to the floor with a loud clatter.
“I cannot believe you just said that. Wow, Lee Taemin. I can’t - I just. Wow.” There’s a pause then, furiously, with spit flying, “Where’s the Lee Taemin I know? The one that’s hopeful, the one that promised me that he’d make it through this?”
Taemin’s eyes are still downcast. “I can feel it Kibum. I’m not-” he’s choking up, eyes brimming with tears, “I’m not going to make it.” He takes a deep breath. And with fierce eyes, he looks up at Kibum, “So don’t love me. Don’t visit me anymore if you feel it’s necessary.” His voice cracks at the end.
Taemin has this godawful habit that only Kibum cares enough to point out. Using the tips of his index finer, he scratches the thick, calloused skin off his thumb when he feels anxious. Also, his collarbones stick out prominently-more so than usual-when he feels constricted by a heavy weight of stress. The brunt of the situation he’s facing right now with Kibum must be making him tense because his collarbones are poking out unhealthily and the skin on his thumb is raw.
Kibum stands there, completely upright, legs stiff and heart even stiffer, and looks deep into Taemin’s eyes. His eyes, his previously cold eyes, seem softer, weaker. His eyes are asking, pleading even, for the exact opposite of what he’s saying: he wants Kibum to stay, to overcome this with him.
And so he rushes over to Taemin, hugging him as tight as he possibly can. In that same moment, Taemin, giving away his entire act, sighs in relief and hugs Kibum with all the might his tiny body can manage.
Muffled by Kibum’s shoulder, he whispers, “I thought you were going to actually leave. I thought you would’ve given up on me.”
“No, you doofus, I wouldn’t even dream of it.” Kibum pulls back forcefully and threatens Taemin, “But if you ever say such a thing again, I’m leaving. And I won’t look back.” They both know what he’s talking about.
“I won’t. I promise.” Taemin holds out his hand in between them, pinky up. With his pinky, he beckons Kibum to do the same. It’s so childish, so juvenile but Kibum firmly grasps it with his, entwining their pinkies together.
They don’t let go.
Taemin, with his free hand, places it on the back of Kibum’s neck and pulls him closer until their lips are barely touching.
“I love you too.” he says. And then they kiss, immersed in their own little world.
Outside the room, having heard the whole thing, Minho stands there, fist clenched, positively fuming with anger.
“So you and the cancer kid eh?” questions Minho indifferently as he slowly stirs in half and half into his coffee, metal spoon clanking against the porcelain glass of the mug.
Kibum’s head shoots up immediately. He grits out, trying to maintain his professional integrity, “It’s a little inappropriate to call him that, don’t you think?”
“It’s also a little inappropriate for a doctor to be doing his patient.” Minho sips his coffee, “Don’t you agree, Dr. Kim?” he adds while smirking.
Before Kibum can respond, Minho cuts him off, saying, “There’s no need to be mad, Kibum.” He motions to Kibum’s clenched fists by his sides with a forward jerk of his head. “I’m just giving you advice. Remember, Kibum, you’re still an intern.”
Sighing, Kibum lets his guard down, unclenching his balled up fists. “I know, I’m sorry. I overreacted.”
Giving Kibum a hard pat as he leaves, Minho recommends, “Just try to take care of it. I’ll help you, if anything.”
After Minho leaves, Kibum checks his watch. He hurriedly runs downstairs. He’s late to pick up Taemin from after his chemotherapy. When he arrives in front of the door, nobody’s there except for the nurse who kindly informs him that a doctor has already picked up Taemin. She says that he’s probably most likely been escorted to his room and that he should check there.
Kibum hastens to Taemin’s room where there are more nurses surrounding his bed. They’re inserting an IV needle into his forearm.
He half shouts from across the room, making them jump back in surprise. “What are you doing?”
A snobby nurse, Esther as her nametag reads, replies in a nasally voice, “Doctors orders. The patient needs a moderate dosage of morphine to ease his pain.”
“Oh.”
They continue to arrange and set up the IV system. As Taemin winces in pain, Kibum rushes over to hold his hand.
The nurses finish up and leave the room.
“I’m so sorry I was late! Who brought you up?”
Yawning widely, Taemin assures Kibum that it’s okay. “I can’t remember, I didn’t get a clear look at his face. He was really nice though. Asked me how I was feeling.” He yawns again, removing his hand out from Kibum’s and covering his mouth.
Nodding, Kibum says, in a hushed tone, “You need to sleep.” He kisses Taemin on the forehead and gets up.
“Love you.” calls out Taemin from his bed, watching Kibum’s retreating figure disappear as he closes his heavy lids.
“Love you too” replies Kibum. He takes a gander at Taemin’s sleeping form and leaves, complacent.
The next few months pass by with little commotion. Except for Taemin’s astronomically declining health.
Kibum is working his hardest in researching other possible treatment options for Taemin. He knows that it isn’t the cancer itself that kills the patient. It’s the chemotherapy that depletes the body to the point of death. Kibum tries to stay hopeful, for both his sake and Taemin’s. But day by day, Taemin looks more moribund than the day before. They can’t even kiss anymore because of Taemin’s increasing mouth sores.
He conferences with Taemin’s parents, asking them if they’d be willing to move Taemin to a better hospital that can provide a more intensive treatment program. They refuse. They don’t want to see his body wither away any further. His once taut muscles have atrophied away, leaving him emaciated and skeletal.
One day, Kibum comes in early to check up on Taemin. He requests the nurse for Taemin’s health report to check up on how he’s doing these days. She hands its to him and he thanks her, flipping through them as he walks up the stairs.
Through the small window on the door, he can see Taemin’s feeble body on the bed, IV tubes hooked onto his arms, and the monitor next to his head, recording his heart rate.
He feels like crying, looking up at the corkboard ceiling and scorning God for his anguish. He opens the door as silently as he can and sits on the chair next to Taemin’s body. He watches the slow drip-drop of the IV tube, immobilizing him. Shaking his head, he awakes from his reverie and focuses his attention back to the sheets in his hand.
He notices that Taemin’s morphine content has been increased from last month. Quickly, he runs back to the office situated a couple rooms away from Taemin’s and pulls out all of Taemin’s medical history since his time here. Every month of his stay has lead to an increase of morphine.
Inexperienced and confused, he runs to Minho’s office, juggling the stacks of folders in his arms.
He bursts into his office, already speaking as he enters, “Minho! Hey, sorry to interrupt or whatever but can you help me with this?”
He’s so focused on his work that he doesn’t see that Minho is, or had been, preoccupied with something. He’s polishing some rings that are scattered over his desk. Hastily putting them away in a special box Kibum has never seen before, he says, “Yeah sure. What is it?”
“Umm,” he places the progress reports on the desk, organizing them from latest to most recent. He points with his finger the morphine dosages he’s circled. “There’s an increase. Look at the pattern, it goes up every month. Is that normal?”
A few minutes of perusal and then, “Yes. The normal dose is about 10 to 20 milligrams every four hours or so. Don’t worry Kibum,” he leans back a little on his chair, “You look tense.”
“I am! Minho, I-I just don’t know what to do. The doctors says that he can’t give a determinate prognosis at this stage. Taemin, his health and his body are deteriorating by the minute. I feel so useless. I..I don’t want to lose him.” Kibum’s face contorts despondently. He feels like crying, but he won’t. Not in front of anybody.
“You know, you can cry if you like.” He comes over from around the desk and stands behind Kibum, rubbing his back soothingly. “It’s okay, Kibum. It’s okay.”
Kibum, still refusing to weep, grabs a tissue from the tissue box that Minho has so conveniently placed on his lap. Sniffing he says, “Thanks Minho, You’re really consoling. You should be a psychiatrist on the side or something.”
Minho emits a loud release of air and smiles evasively. “Well I have always been interested in pathology.”
He sends a considerably happier looking Kibum off on his way and then takes out his box of rings from his third drawer. With the damp rag, he spills the varnish onto it and polishes away at them until he can see his gleaming smile reflect back at him.
A week or so later, Taemin dies.
Everything is such a blur. Kibum can’t even remember how it happens. All he sees are doctors, including Minho, rushing in to save him. And his parents and his younger brother, standing next to Taemin’s lifeless body, clutching his hand and sobbing.
There’s only one thing going through his mind. He hadn’t even said goodbye.
He doesn’t even want to know how he died. Because maybe some part of him knows. Knows that it has something to do with the concern he had a week prior to his death.
With his pockets still full of medication for his other patients and his doctor’s gown, stethoscope, clipboard still on, he runs out. As he leaves, Minho’s eyes trail behind him, his face blank and his lips stiff like corrugated cardboard. Kibum keeps running, running until he can no longer feel the aching muscles in his body or the hot tears dripping down his face.
“Come on. Come on Kibum, pick up your goddamn phone.” Jinki drums his fingers onto the wooden desk. The other end of the phone goes to messages, “Kibum! I know you’re going through a rough time right now but you need to talk to me. I’m coming by tonight so you better let me in.”
When Jinki comes by that evening, hands full with bags of groceries, including Kibum’s favorite ice cream and liqueur, Kibum doesn’t let him in. In fact, if Jinki didn’t know any better he would’ve thought that there was nobody home.
“Alright, Kibum. I'm leaving but I'm gonna put the stuff I brought right outside. You need to eat. It’s...it’s what he would’ve wanted.” he finishes.
After hearing a silent scuffling of feet and seeing the light disappear from the peephole, he leaves, feeling assured and relieved that he’s still alive.
Part 2
From: Your Secret Santa
Title: Saving Lives
Pairing: Minho/Key, Taemin/Key, Minho/Jonghyun
Rating: R
Wordcount: 11,466
Summary: Hospital!AU. There’s something off about Minho that Kibum can’t quite place.
“Excuse me, pardon me.” breathes Kibum as he hurriedly meanders his way through the crowded corridors of the hospital. He’s silently cursing himself really, because he was due here at 12 o’clock sharp to meet up with the chief resident. On his way, he must’ve passed by at least 5 flirtatious nurses, bumped his hip into 3 hospital carts and stepped on 6 pairs of feet.
“Shit, shit, shit.” he repeats the mantra of loose expletives in his head, reprimanding himself for being so unpunctual on his first day.
Finally, after great difficulty, he reaches the end of the hallway where it proceeds to split into two. Left wing and right wing. Letting out a loud groan, he pulls out a small scrap of paper covered with illegible handwriting. Why must all doctors have nightmare-inducing penmanship? Standing there aimlessly must’ve attracted people’s attention because in a few moments, there’s a tap-tap on his shoulder and a voice asking, “Excuse me, are you lost?”
It’s quite silly, being lost in a hospital. Kibum would attempt to justify himself, blaming the long Kim family lineage for having poor spatial and directional sense but instead he replies, “Yes. I am. Could you tell me where, erm, room 231 is?”
“Well what a coincidence, I was just heading there.”
Kibum’s always had uncanny tact and been praised for his superb powers of deduction, which is what makes him ask the next question. “So you must be Dr. Choi Minho, the chief resident.”
Needless to say, the doctor looks slightly taken aback but answers him cordially, nonetheless, “As a matter of fact, yes I am. You must be Kim Kibum, my new intern.”
“First year resident, actually.” Kibum miffs.
“Aren’t they the same thing?”
“Well..I suppose. But I’d prefer to be referred to as a first year resident. Intern sounds so...” he trails off.
The two engage in a friendly round of banter, in which Kibum delineates the differences of being called “intern” and “first year resident” as they hurry to their destination. Dr. Choi Minho, Kibum realizes, is extremely charming, slipping in comments both witty and flattering. They walk into the office where a portly doctor greets Kibum rather warmly.
“Ahh Kibum. I’ve been expecting you. How’ve you been? You get skinnier each time I see you. How’s dorm life treating you?” he exclaims, sporting a look of concern.
“Uncle! I’m sorry I’m late, I just got caught up in a whirl of things. I’ve missed you! And I’m just fine. My room mate, Jaejin, is a fantastic cook. He’s studying culinary arts.”
Not wanting to interject rudely in what seems to be a family reunion, Dr. Choi quietly clears his throat.
“I see you two have already been acquainted. But to follow proper social protocol, let me introduce you two. Dr. Choi, this is Kim Kibum. He’ll be your new intern-”
“-First year resident,” Kibum interrupts in a matter-of-factly voice, holding out his hand.
Giving him a firm handshake, Dr. Choi replies, “Pleased to meet you Kibum. Call me Minho. I hope you enjoy the next few years of your residency here under my wing.” And just to top things off, he adds a discreet wink at the end.
Minho navigates them up 3 flights of staircases and through a labyrinth of hallways. They arrive in front of his office where they stand outside his door. Before opening the door, he warns, “It’s not particularly tidy.”
Grasping the doorknob, Minho swings the door open revealing a small room . Kibum scans the place, eyeing the clutter of paper and the piles of books precariously stacked on the floor with unmasked disdain. He thinks he can see a small Macbook under the disarray of paperwork, and if he were to dig a little deeper, he’d find a golden desk nameplate inscribed with Minho’s name.
“It’s, um, quaint.” is all he says, before taking a seat across from Minho.
Minho chuckles whole-heartedly. “It’s messy but I’m content with it. Now let us begin.” He opens a beige office folder and gives it a cursory glance. “I’m going to ask you a few questions, strictly standard procedure.” When Kibum nods to his consent, he begins, “This is your first time working in a hospital correct?”
“Yes.”
“You graduated egregia cum laude, yes? Top amongst your peers.”
Kibum shifts on his chair, uncomfortable to be basically asked to confirm his intellect. “Yes.”
“Very impressive. So you must be an exceptional student. Nevertheless, it would’ve been rather difficult for you to be mandated to such a prestigious hospital so soon to pursue your residency. As far as I know, our intern quota is full.”
Kibum shoots him a look of disbelief. “Are you insinuating something here?”
“Well..” Minho treads carefully, “Nepotism is the best way to get anything done really.”
Rather indignantly, Kibum retorts, “You must’ve engaged in some of that yourself, Dr. Choi, chief resident. You don’t look old enough. What are you 27?”
“26.”
They both glare at each other menacingly before Minho cracks a smile, which then turns into a fit of laughter. Looking at him laugh so ridiculously incites Kibum to laugh, hiding his smile behind his hand.
“I think we’re going to do just fine Kibum, just fine.”
Minho continues to ask questions and then they talk for a bit about medical school. In a matter of hours, they’ve both acquainted themselves with each other fairly well, reaching a certain level of friendliness that transcends your usual doctor-intern relationship. Minho then excuses himself to xerox some papers for him. While he’s gone, Kibum waits idly, reading the titles of the books Minho has on his shelves.
A sudden noise pierces the silence, scaring the wits out of Kibum. It’s Minho’s phone, vibrating atop the papers on his desk. His ringtone is so peculiarly lame that it makes Kibum cringe: Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5. The phone continues the ring. Kibum grabs the phone off the desk and holds it in his hands, wondering if he should pick up or not. The screen persistently flashes the same name and number, Kim Jonghyun. Thinking better of it, he reaches over to put down the phone.
“Looking through my phone?” booms a voice from behind him. Frightened, he drops the phone, which falls with a loud clatter on the wooden desk.
Hastily, he stammers, “No. No definitely not. It kept ringing so I picked it up. Not picked it up as in I answered the call but as in take it off the desk.”
Minho looks at him incredulously.
“I swear! Check your phone. You’ll have like 5 missed calls!”
Minho stays still, a tall, looming figure at the door, wearing a dark expression on his face. Kibum wrings his hands nervously. A split-second later, Minho bursts into rancorous peals of laughter.
“I’m just messing with you! Calm down Kibum, you look as pale as a sheet.”
Kibum’s at a loss for words.
“Sorry for tricking you like that but it was so hilarious! You should’ve seen your face!” he slaps his hand on his thigh for added effect. Running his hand over his face, he walks into the room and sits on his chair across from Kibum.
Kibum’s still grasping at straws to understand what just happened. One moment, he looked absolutely terrifying, face drained of any joy, eyes dark, lips stern. The next, he looked positively jubilant, playful as a child pulling a classic prank.
The unsettling silence must’ve bothered Minho as he clutches Kibum’s hands, trying to quell the situation. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you like that.” There’s something so sincere in the way his eyebrows furrow together and the corners of his mouth wilt into a frown that compels Kibum to respond.
“It’s okay. But wow, you honestly looked so scary. Ever consider acting as an avocation?” He subtly pulls his hand out from underneath Minho’s.
Minho chuckles, “No. Never. But maybe I should.” He places his pointer finger on his chin and strikes a thoughtful pose. “Anyways, I took the liberty of photocopying these sheets. They’re my notes from when I was a,” he makes air quotations, “‘first-year resident.”
That was extremely generous of him. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to take a look at these tonight.”
“Good. Now I supposed you’re dismissed. Come by 7 a.m. sharp to my office tomorrow morning.” He claps his hand together and, picking up the fountain pen, he redirects his focus back onto the papers in front of him.
Kibum gets up from his chair and gently pats the dust from his rear while saying, “Will do. Have a good evening.” He gives Minho the most genuine smile he can manage and spins on his heel to leave. Just as he’s doing so, a voice from behind advises, “Oh Kibum? Don’t be late.” The ‘or else’ is implied.
Shuddering, Kibum assures him that he won’t be late and walks out, breaking into a sprint when he’s far enough from Choi Minho’s office.
That night, after a hot shower, he calls his best friend, Jinki.
“I’m sure you were just over-reacting. You do tend to get pretty dramatic sometimes.”
“No I’m telling you Jinki, there was this glint in his eyes that I couldn’t place. I swear I thought he was going to rush over and strangle me.” He twirls the spiral cord of the phone nervously.
“Oh calm down Kibum! It was just a--”
“--joke. A joke. Yeah, but that’s not even it Jinki. When I first met him today, he was so charming, he even humored me about the intern-first year resident thing,” ignoring the scoff from the other line, he continues, “but the next moment, he had this murderous look on. Like! This is madness!” he sputters.
There’s a long, drawn out sigh. “Look Kibum, stop exaggerating. If anything, this is slander, what you’re doing.”
“Do you really think it was just me? I mean, I was pretty riled up on coffee today...”
“Definitely. He sounds like a really nice guy, I mean, he gave you his notes? That’s practically cheating!”
“Oh yeah! I forgot about those.” Reaching into his bag, Kibum pulls out the small portfolio folder encasing the notes. With the phone ensconced between his ear and shoulder, he flips through the notes. “Wow these are some meticulous nerd-ass notes. His writing is so clean for a doctor.”
“Nerd-ass? Look who’s talking!”
“Shut up. Anyways I’m gonna sleep now. Goodnight, Jinki.”
He hangs up the phone. Looking around his apartment, he feels surprisingly cold. Reluctant to admit, he’s still unable to shake off that uneasy feeling when he thinks about Dr. Choi Minho.
The alarm blares loudly at 5 a.m. Groaning, Kibum smacks the snooze button 3 times at each of its 5 minute intervals. When he does get out of bed, however, he feels pleasantly refreshed, all anxiety from yesterday dissipated.
He thinks about Minho throughout his whole morning ritual, in the shower, while brushing his teeth, while eating breakfast, even as he checks the weather. He realizes, after great thought, that Minho has a naturally congenial and charming disposition. Kibum even, albeit begrudgingly, admits that he was slightly swayed by Minho’s overweening charisma.
He arrives 5 minutes early, takes a deep breath and raps his knuckles harshly against the wooden door.
“You’re early.”
“Jesus fucking Christ! You have got to stop doing that.” he says as he clutches his heart with rounded eyes.
“Doing what?” questions Minho as he smoothly unlocks the door and opens it, revealing a pristine, tidy room.
“Scaring the pants off me..” he trails off, floundering a bit at the sight. “You cleaned your room?”
“Well, it seems like your pants are still on.” He replies, his tone implying something suggestive. “And yes. I felt some spring cleaning was in order.”
Ignoring the previous statement about his so-called pants, Kibum snorts. “Spring cleaning? It’s mid-autumn! Anyways, what are my tasks for today?”
“Ah well today you’ve been allocated to the west wing. There’s a patient waiting to see you, you’ll be giving him conducting the diagnosis and informing him about it. I will, of course, be supervising you.
“Of course.” imitates Kibum while rolling his eyes. “Don’t patronize me, doctor.”
Minho grins. And then abruptly changes his face into a more serious expression, his voice foreboding, “Today’s task won’t be easy. So brace yourself.”
“Aye aye capt’n.” Kibum gives him a two-fingered salute, unknowing what’s to come.
They’ve arrived in front of the room. Kibum peeks in the crack of the door to catch a view while Minho excused himself to get Kibum his hospital attire. The patient is already in the room, sitting on the crinkling paper of the bed. It’s a young boy who looks no more than 18. He looks distraught, fidgeting and casting glances at his parents who give him reassuring pats on the shoulder.
He turns his head and thinks about what Minho said earlier. Why would giving a patient a regular diagnosis be so difficult?
“There’s an empty room over there, here are your clothes, go change.” says Minho when he returns. Taking the clothes gratefully, Kibum goes into the room. Peeling off his clothes one by one, feeling exposed. It might be the paranoia again, but he has this strange feeling that he’s being watched. Doing a little twirl around the room, he checks the door. Nothing.
“Get a hold of yourself Kibum.” he mutters. “Why are you so paranoid?”
He shivers involuntarily, goosebumps dotting his skin. He pulls on the pants, which are a perfect fit around the waist but extremely loose around his thighs. As he reaches out to get the shirt, he catches a glimpse of his wrist. He recalls the wrist of the boy he just saw. His were significantly thinner and paler.
Kibum’s fretting. Just standing there and worrying, asking himself if he’s ready for this. If he’s reading to take the first milestone to his future career as a doctor. He opens his hand and holds them mid-torso above the air, analyzing them. Scrutinizing every indentation and ridge on both his palms and the back of his hands as they shake slightly. Are these the hands of a doctor? Will somebody’s life really be in these hands?
Yes, he tells himself. Yes, they are. He reaffirms this again and again as he resolutely snatches the shirt slung over the chair. I will save lives, he declares, slipping into his starched white gown. Yet still feeling more like a child playing dress-up on Halloween than a real doctor, he places the stethoscope across his neck and huffs.
The paranoia of being watched and the anxiety of being a good doctor build up to the point in which he can feel it in his throat. But he takes a big gulp. Determined. That’s just what he is. Jinki was right, he needs to ease up a bit.
He adjusts his pants and takes a deep breath before leaving. Had he inspected the room more carefully, however, he would’ve seen a small peep-hole on the wall, a black dilated pupil watching him as he changed.
“Hello. You must be Lee Taemin. I’m Kim Kibum, err, I mean, Doctor Kim and this is Doctor Choi.” Groaning internally, he glances briefly at Minho, who gives him a reassuring nod.
Taemin is the ripe, young age of 21, barely an adult with the cutest baby face Kibum has ever seen. His eyes turn into half moon crescents when he smiles and his lips spread beautifully over his white teeth. But Taemin’s face is all stretched skin over bones, angular and sharp. He has the palest skin Kibum has ever seen, so pale that he can see the veins running up from his neck to his jaw.
He proceeds to give Taemin the standard check up, noticing how white the beds of his nails are, and how thin his hair is. He asks Taemin to take off his shirt and he spots a multitude of red blotches littering his upper torso.
“How long have you had these sores?” he asks.
“Umm..I can’t remember. I’ve had them for quite a while. They don’t really heal.”
Kibum’s stomach does an ugly twist. He looks at Minho, who looks blank, a face completely void of emotion. They finish up and Kibum’s stomach is churning unpleasantly. He checks the charts from Taemin’s medical history. The most recent input are the results from Taemin’s urine sample. He reads the results, looking up at Taemin’s expectant face and lowering his head to reread it again. Kibum stands there, folder open, not knowing what to do.
Minho gives him a nudge and with a calm voice says, “Go ahead Kibum.”
Willing his tears not to spill, he clears his throat to speak, “Mr. and Mrs. Lee, I’m afraid your son Taemin has been diagnosed with the cancer osteosarcoma.”
Mrs. Lee gasped. She stumbles forward and grabs the lapels of Kibum’s gown. “No. No! You’re lying. No. No. Definitely not my Taemin.” She reached over and clutched Taemin’s head against her bosom, crying out and endless procession of ‘No’. Taemin, too, is crying, and before he knew it, so is he, saying ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again. From the corner of his eye, he looks at Minho who seems strangely placid. He had that look again, that glint in his eyes.
“Kibum now don’t be ridiculous! Your vision was obstructed, you were crying! And plus, so he wasn’t showing emotion, he was just being impartial. He’s a doctor, that’s what they’re supposed to do.”
“I’m telling you Jinki, he had this look, it was like a look of morbid glee. I swear! You know how I have a knack for seeing things others don’t!” argues Kibum.
“I don’t think so Kibum. Seriously, next thing you know, you’ll be accusing me of being a vampire.”
Bitterly, Kibum grinds out, “No, you’re too clumsy to be a vampire.” Throwing his hands up in defeat, he mumbles, “Even my own best friend thinks I’m going crazy!”
“Let me give you some advice. You’ve worked your fucking ass off to make it this far, don’t ruin the opportunity with some idiotic conspiracy. And those are my 2 cents. I’m late for class, I’ll talk to you later.”
The phone clicks shut.
“Bye.” Kibum says dully to nobody.
Taemin checks in at the hospital the next day. Luckily for him, the hospital has a separate cancer treatment center where they can treat him immediately. He’ll begin neoadjuvant chemotherapy in a couple days. Despite his frail body, the fire in his eyes refuses to die down. He’s determined to fight this. He hasn’t lost hope.
There’s something about Taemin that, like a moth to a flame, draws him to Kibum, . The way he bravely watches himself in the mirror, with eyes wide open, as they shave off his already sparse hair. The way he graciously thanks the nurse who hands him his new hospital clothes, smiling like she was giving him candy instead of a ticket to a long journey of fighting cancer. He’s the epitome of strength. And Kibum can’t help but admire him.
As the week passes by, he and Kibum become very close. The first few chemotherapy sessions wears him down but as soon as he finishes, Kibum’s waiting for him outside, wheelchair in hand. Kibum loves how Taemin’s whole face lights up. He pushes him up to his room where he eases him into bed. They exchange stories. The stories that Taemin tells with the most fervor are of his dancing days.
Weeks blend into months and the two are inseparable. The days when Taemin is worn down after his therapy, Kibum offers him consolation. Days when Taemin is upset because of his all together too bony ribcage or sharp elbows, Kibum brings him fattening comfort food. Some of which Taemin throws up later because of his weak digestive system, but still, he appreciates the sentiment. And days when Taemin’s crying because he misses his family and his friends and school, Kibum wipes away his tears and softly kisses the lids of his eyes.
Kibum has never been happier. Worries about Choi Minho being an multi-persona evil scientist fade away. They develop a strictly platonic, professional, doctor-intern relationship despite what the nurses giggle and gossip about. In fact, he’s even met Minho’s boyfriend, Kim Jonghyun.
“You guys are the most, um how should I put this, odd couple I’ve ever met.” remarks Kibum with a coy smile.
Before Minho can interrupt, he continues, “I mean you’re so boring! And he’s just a whirlwind of fun and bubbliness. How long have you guys been going out?”
“Well, he’s been my partner-in-crime,” he adds a wink, “for about 3 years.”
“Wow.” Kibum draws out the ‘o’ and stares at Minho skeptically. “It must be really serious. Have you said the 3 monumental words yet?”
“Which one? The ‘I am gay’ came out,” he snickers at his own pun, “the first day I met him and we exchanged ‘I love you’s a year into our relationship.”
Kibum lets out a long whistle. “So how’d you two meet?”
Laughing, Minho replies, “You know, just your usual love story. He was a patient and I was a doctor et cetera.” He doesn’t meet Kibum’s eyes and instead diverts his attention to his computer.
“You’re totally lying! Wait a minute..” He raises his eyebrows until they disappear under his bangs, “How could it have been your typical doctor-patient romance if you aren’t even a doctor yet?”
Minho still manages to keep his attention trained on his computer screen but his smile noticeably wavers. “I’m fully qualified to be one. But anyways, how wet met isn’t important.” He dismisses the subject easily with a careless swish of his hand and begins a new topic.
“You know the lady from room 321 A? She passed away this morning.”
“She did? Oh my god, that’s terrible! How did she die?”
There’s a tiny twitch underneath Minho’s left eye, a slight contraction of the muscles as he simply says, “Asphyxiation.”
Suddenly, Minho swivels on his chair to face the window, his back to Kibum. His voice sounding strange as he continues to speak. “They say it was natural though. But the main reason has yet to be found. Undetectable, apparently.”
“Poor Mrs. Kieger.” laments Kibum as he shakes his hide from side to side. “She just had surgery. She was due to be returning home in a couple days.”
“Yes. It’s tragic isn’t it?”
“It really is.”
Minho spins his chair once more and looks at Kibum. He smiles, a very genuine one at that, not at all forced as he says, “But. We must continue on with our lives and be the professionals that we are.”
Nodding his head, Kibum agrees. “But it’s just so sad when people die haphazardly. Makes me wonder when my time is up.”
Minho gives him a chilly smile and hums in agreement. Kibum is hit by an impetus of déjà-vu but before he can dwell on it any further, Minho exclaims, “Now back to work. Those flu-ridden patients need a-saving!”
There’s a knock, a harsh rapping of knuckles resounding against the wood of the door. The voice is hesitant, “Can I come in?”
“Well isn’t this a pleasant surprise! Jonghyun, what are you doing here? Don’t you have work?” Minho’s frowning and looking down at Jonghyun like a small child, almost admonishing him like a parent, as if Jonghyun had been caught skipping class.
“Ah work can wait. Can’t I come see my boyfriend when I want to?” pouts Jonghyun, crossing his arms to indicate his displeasure at the less than warming welcome.
Rolling his eyes, Minho scoffs, “Your childish antics don’t work on me, remember? Also you need to prioritize. Work, does in fact, come first.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m sorry, Doctor Choi.” His tone is bitter and sarcastic. Making an offhand comment while being embraced apologetically by Minho, he mutters to Kibum, “I don’t know how you can stand him Kibum. Geez.” But underneath his biting remarks, it’s all love and adoration.
As he looks upon the two, he ponders about himself. He doesn’t know how he feels about Taemin. He loves him, sure. But is he in love with him?
“I think I’m in love with you.” blurts out Kibum one gloomy afternoon. “And I don’t need you to say anything back, but just-just stay still.”
Kibum leans forward, one hand gripping the safety bar of the hospital bed, and kisses Taemin, long and deep. Taemin eagerly kisses back with the same amount of passion.
Taemin’s mouth is dry, as expected considering how dehydrated he’s been the past couple of days. But the kiss is glorious. When Kibum pulls away, he leaves his eyes closed. He feels triumphant, a smile lighting up his entire face.
When he opens his eyes, however, he almost wishes he hadn’t. Taemin isn’t smiling like he is. His eyes are directed downward, concentrated on his clasped hands.
“Don’t love me.” he whispers.
And that’s when Kibum’s entire world falls to shreds.
“What do you mean?” asks Kibum, not wanting to hear the answer.
“I’m dying. I know I am. So don’t. Just don’t.”
The words come tumbling out of Taemin’s mouth and in that same instant, Kibum stands up abruptly, knocking the metal luncheon tray off his lap. It falls to the floor with a loud clatter.
“I cannot believe you just said that. Wow, Lee Taemin. I can’t - I just. Wow.” There’s a pause then, furiously, with spit flying, “Where’s the Lee Taemin I know? The one that’s hopeful, the one that promised me that he’d make it through this?”
Taemin’s eyes are still downcast. “I can feel it Kibum. I’m not-” he’s choking up, eyes brimming with tears, “I’m not going to make it.” He takes a deep breath. And with fierce eyes, he looks up at Kibum, “So don’t love me. Don’t visit me anymore if you feel it’s necessary.” His voice cracks at the end.
Taemin has this godawful habit that only Kibum cares enough to point out. Using the tips of his index finer, he scratches the thick, calloused skin off his thumb when he feels anxious. Also, his collarbones stick out prominently-more so than usual-when he feels constricted by a heavy weight of stress. The brunt of the situation he’s facing right now with Kibum must be making him tense because his collarbones are poking out unhealthily and the skin on his thumb is raw.
Kibum stands there, completely upright, legs stiff and heart even stiffer, and looks deep into Taemin’s eyes. His eyes, his previously cold eyes, seem softer, weaker. His eyes are asking, pleading even, for the exact opposite of what he’s saying: he wants Kibum to stay, to overcome this with him.
And so he rushes over to Taemin, hugging him as tight as he possibly can. In that same moment, Taemin, giving away his entire act, sighs in relief and hugs Kibum with all the might his tiny body can manage.
Muffled by Kibum’s shoulder, he whispers, “I thought you were going to actually leave. I thought you would’ve given up on me.”
“No, you doofus, I wouldn’t even dream of it.” Kibum pulls back forcefully and threatens Taemin, “But if you ever say such a thing again, I’m leaving. And I won’t look back.” They both know what he’s talking about.
“I won’t. I promise.” Taemin holds out his hand in between them, pinky up. With his pinky, he beckons Kibum to do the same. It’s so childish, so juvenile but Kibum firmly grasps it with his, entwining their pinkies together.
They don’t let go.
Taemin, with his free hand, places it on the back of Kibum’s neck and pulls him closer until their lips are barely touching.
“I love you too.” he says. And then they kiss, immersed in their own little world.
Outside the room, having heard the whole thing, Minho stands there, fist clenched, positively fuming with anger.
“So you and the cancer kid eh?” questions Minho indifferently as he slowly stirs in half and half into his coffee, metal spoon clanking against the porcelain glass of the mug.
Kibum’s head shoots up immediately. He grits out, trying to maintain his professional integrity, “It’s a little inappropriate to call him that, don’t you think?”
“It’s also a little inappropriate for a doctor to be doing his patient.” Minho sips his coffee, “Don’t you agree, Dr. Kim?” he adds while smirking.
Before Kibum can respond, Minho cuts him off, saying, “There’s no need to be mad, Kibum.” He motions to Kibum’s clenched fists by his sides with a forward jerk of his head. “I’m just giving you advice. Remember, Kibum, you’re still an intern.”
Sighing, Kibum lets his guard down, unclenching his balled up fists. “I know, I’m sorry. I overreacted.”
Giving Kibum a hard pat as he leaves, Minho recommends, “Just try to take care of it. I’ll help you, if anything.”
After Minho leaves, Kibum checks his watch. He hurriedly runs downstairs. He’s late to pick up Taemin from after his chemotherapy. When he arrives in front of the door, nobody’s there except for the nurse who kindly informs him that a doctor has already picked up Taemin. She says that he’s probably most likely been escorted to his room and that he should check there.
Kibum hastens to Taemin’s room where there are more nurses surrounding his bed. They’re inserting an IV needle into his forearm.
He half shouts from across the room, making them jump back in surprise. “What are you doing?”
A snobby nurse, Esther as her nametag reads, replies in a nasally voice, “Doctors orders. The patient needs a moderate dosage of morphine to ease his pain.”
“Oh.”
They continue to arrange and set up the IV system. As Taemin winces in pain, Kibum rushes over to hold his hand.
The nurses finish up and leave the room.
“I’m so sorry I was late! Who brought you up?”
Yawning widely, Taemin assures Kibum that it’s okay. “I can’t remember, I didn’t get a clear look at his face. He was really nice though. Asked me how I was feeling.” He yawns again, removing his hand out from Kibum’s and covering his mouth.
Nodding, Kibum says, in a hushed tone, “You need to sleep.” He kisses Taemin on the forehead and gets up.
“Love you.” calls out Taemin from his bed, watching Kibum’s retreating figure disappear as he closes his heavy lids.
“Love you too” replies Kibum. He takes a gander at Taemin’s sleeping form and leaves, complacent.
The next few months pass by with little commotion. Except for Taemin’s astronomically declining health.
Kibum is working his hardest in researching other possible treatment options for Taemin. He knows that it isn’t the cancer itself that kills the patient. It’s the chemotherapy that depletes the body to the point of death. Kibum tries to stay hopeful, for both his sake and Taemin’s. But day by day, Taemin looks more moribund than the day before. They can’t even kiss anymore because of Taemin’s increasing mouth sores.
He conferences with Taemin’s parents, asking them if they’d be willing to move Taemin to a better hospital that can provide a more intensive treatment program. They refuse. They don’t want to see his body wither away any further. His once taut muscles have atrophied away, leaving him emaciated and skeletal.
One day, Kibum comes in early to check up on Taemin. He requests the nurse for Taemin’s health report to check up on how he’s doing these days. She hands its to him and he thanks her, flipping through them as he walks up the stairs.
Through the small window on the door, he can see Taemin’s feeble body on the bed, IV tubes hooked onto his arms, and the monitor next to his head, recording his heart rate.
He feels like crying, looking up at the corkboard ceiling and scorning God for his anguish. He opens the door as silently as he can and sits on the chair next to Taemin’s body. He watches the slow drip-drop of the IV tube, immobilizing him. Shaking his head, he awakes from his reverie and focuses his attention back to the sheets in his hand.
He notices that Taemin’s morphine content has been increased from last month. Quickly, he runs back to the office situated a couple rooms away from Taemin’s and pulls out all of Taemin’s medical history since his time here. Every month of his stay has lead to an increase of morphine.
Inexperienced and confused, he runs to Minho’s office, juggling the stacks of folders in his arms.
He bursts into his office, already speaking as he enters, “Minho! Hey, sorry to interrupt or whatever but can you help me with this?”
He’s so focused on his work that he doesn’t see that Minho is, or had been, preoccupied with something. He’s polishing some rings that are scattered over his desk. Hastily putting them away in a special box Kibum has never seen before, he says, “Yeah sure. What is it?”
“Umm,” he places the progress reports on the desk, organizing them from latest to most recent. He points with his finger the morphine dosages he’s circled. “There’s an increase. Look at the pattern, it goes up every month. Is that normal?”
A few minutes of perusal and then, “Yes. The normal dose is about 10 to 20 milligrams every four hours or so. Don’t worry Kibum,” he leans back a little on his chair, “You look tense.”
“I am! Minho, I-I just don’t know what to do. The doctors says that he can’t give a determinate prognosis at this stage. Taemin, his health and his body are deteriorating by the minute. I feel so useless. I..I don’t want to lose him.” Kibum’s face contorts despondently. He feels like crying, but he won’t. Not in front of anybody.
“You know, you can cry if you like.” He comes over from around the desk and stands behind Kibum, rubbing his back soothingly. “It’s okay, Kibum. It’s okay.”
Kibum, still refusing to weep, grabs a tissue from the tissue box that Minho has so conveniently placed on his lap. Sniffing he says, “Thanks Minho, You’re really consoling. You should be a psychiatrist on the side or something.”
Minho emits a loud release of air and smiles evasively. “Well I have always been interested in pathology.”
He sends a considerably happier looking Kibum off on his way and then takes out his box of rings from his third drawer. With the damp rag, he spills the varnish onto it and polishes away at them until he can see his gleaming smile reflect back at him.
A week or so later, Taemin dies.
Everything is such a blur. Kibum can’t even remember how it happens. All he sees are doctors, including Minho, rushing in to save him. And his parents and his younger brother, standing next to Taemin’s lifeless body, clutching his hand and sobbing.
There’s only one thing going through his mind. He hadn’t even said goodbye.
He doesn’t even want to know how he died. Because maybe some part of him knows. Knows that it has something to do with the concern he had a week prior to his death.
With his pockets still full of medication for his other patients and his doctor’s gown, stethoscope, clipboard still on, he runs out. As he leaves, Minho’s eyes trail behind him, his face blank and his lips stiff like corrugated cardboard. Kibum keeps running, running until he can no longer feel the aching muscles in his body or the hot tears dripping down his face.
“Come on. Come on Kibum, pick up your goddamn phone.” Jinki drums his fingers onto the wooden desk. The other end of the phone goes to messages, “Kibum! I know you’re going through a rough time right now but you need to talk to me. I’m coming by tonight so you better let me in.”
When Jinki comes by that evening, hands full with bags of groceries, including Kibum’s favorite ice cream and liqueur, Kibum doesn’t let him in. In fact, if Jinki didn’t know any better he would’ve thought that there was nobody home.
“Alright, Kibum. I'm leaving but I'm gonna put the stuff I brought right outside. You need to eat. It’s...it’s what he would’ve wanted.” he finishes.
After hearing a silent scuffling of feet and seeing the light disappear from the peephole, he leaves, feeling assured and relieved that he’s still alive.
Part 2