Fanfiction: Gumdrops and Clovers - Part 1
Title: Gumdrops and Clovers
Chapter 1: Gumdrops
Rating: PG
Pairing: Onho
Summary: Patients cross paths in the hospital.
A/N: About 2500 words. Kind of skeptical about this fic...
Really, it is not an issue of indifference.
We realize that this is a difficult decision to make.
It is just an issue of avoidance.
Legally, you are an adult and you have ability to give permission on your own, but we still suggest reviewing your options and having another discussion with your family.
No, that is not right. He has already gotten far beyond that stage.
Please remember the options of choosing to either refuse or accept treatment.
This situation is not one of indifference or avoidance; he is just tired.
We have scheduled the surgery in a month’s time, so if you wish to proceed, please fill out the documents for confirmation sometime this week.
He’s so tired.
“Minho, do you have any questions for Dr. Sung?”
His mother is looking at him bug-eyed, concern drawn across her weathered features, a look he has grown quite accustomed to. Yet, despite the look that will likely never be erased from the catalogue of expressions thrown his way, Minho, like a good son, wants to ease his mother’s anxiety as much as possible. He gives a firm nod and flashes a small smile to the doctor.
“Thank you for your help Dr. Sung.” Minho cannot help but scan the long impressive white coat worn by the aged man, something that makes a trained professional seem worlds apart from him. “I’ll discuss the matter with my family before handing in the papers.”
His smile is returned, one that is likely meant to be of friendly intentions, but comes off with a glimpse of pity in that upward curl of lips. He chooses not to comment on the face and instead reaches out an arm for a firm handshake, using every fibre in his body to resist the urge to recoil.
He had to remember that these people wanted to help him.
“You are a good man Minho. We will see this through.”
Except that supposedly reassuring thought is not always so easy to recall, especially when everyone gives you the same sad look.
The appointment ends and they are back in the pristine hallways that smell of sanitizer and bleach. His mother trails closely behind him, her steps cautious and light.
“Minho,” she starts, and Minho does not want to hear it, “I was thinking we could go to that restaurant across town, with the family. I know you wanted to try their spaghetti for the longest time.”
Pity. Pity. Pity.
“Hey Mom?”
It really is not fair, with how casual he is being, as he knows that she is clinging to his every word as if it is his last.
“I think you and dad could use a moment or two alone once in a while.”
“Minho.”
His mother’s rushed utterance of his name, a breath of confusion, worry, and hurt.
“Mom please,” he laughs as if she has made the most foolish joke in the world, “It isn’t a big deal but I really want you and dad to relax, just this once.”
He is taking advantage of her kindness, an insistent look followed by her response of defeat. It would probably be the least selfish if he gave in and allowed her that enjoyable heartfelt moment of family connection, but Minho did not want to take part in it, because in some way he knew he would be the burden of that moment. Also, more than anything, Minho wanted a chance to think.
“Okay.” She gives in, rummaging through her bag and reaching for a set of car keys. “But you call us and come home before dinner.”
She understands his wishes and Minho sometimes thinks he could not be luckier, having a mother like his. He hugs his mother tightly and she loosely grips back at his polo, a size too small compared to only a year ago.
“Yeah, I’ll just walk around for a bit. I’ll call you to pick me up from the station.”
They separate and she gives him an affirmative nod and the ubiquitous maternal glance before turning away.
Minho waves as she heads towards the exit, a simple smile on his lips. He does not mean to push it on her, that feeling that her active efforts are of no help. However, it is just reality that he needs to sort out his thoughts without outside interference: thoughts about life and death.
The thing is, Minho’s heart is weak, a heart attack at the tender age of nineteen being proof. Immediately, he was pulled from everything he loved, everything that was considered stress-inducing: morning jogs, late karaoke nights, salty snacks, and the finals of the divisional football tournament. All of that was replaced with afternoons in the library, brief motivational visits with the team, evenings in the hospital, and a heavy pit weighing down the bottom of his stomach. At one point in time, he was supposed to go to university, sponsored by a scout looking for his athletic talents.
Everything put on hold for now.
Essentially, Minho’s life had been reduced to two options: to continue his current lifestyle for the harrowing prognosis of ten more years, or to receive a risky treatment, with a 75 percent chance of survival. However, a successful treatment contained the possibility of returning to the life he loved.
In other words, Minho has to choose between a rock and a hard place, not the ideal situation in the slightest.
He can repeat the reasons for such a disparaging outcome in his life as the doctor told him in simplest terms that his heart’s wiring is short-circuiting. Still, as Minho folds his fingers in and out, he cannot quite understand it. Everything feels normal: no chest pain, no sudden fatigue, no urge to eat more or less. The doctor tells him otherwise though, that there is something wrong with his body, and to be frank, it scares Minho shitless.
This man in a majestic white coat knows more about his body than Minho does himself. Minho cannot feel this threat, he cannot feel this force taking away his vitality, and for such an absent feeling, reality dictates that Minho has zero control.
Would he die?
crickeke
Minho scrunches his nose, feeling an unpleasant weight beneath his shoe. That repulsive feeling is enough to shake Minho from his thoughts as he looks down to his feet, finally realizing he has no idea where he has wandered to: an unknown wing of the hospital.
Yet, that foreign sensation when lost is not what bewilders Minho’s the most, as he is certain he could still find his way out of the pristine building regardless. What startles Minho is the item he has stepped on, a bright green gumdrop contained in a crisp transparent wrapper. In fact, there is a trail of these individual gumdrops before his feet, the colours of the rainbow. It is an automatic reaction for him as he leans down, picking them up one by one.
Certainly, Minho would not want another person to have the misfortune of stepping on these gooey sweets. It is a little odd however, that these candies would be scattered across the floor so haphazardly. Minho muses to himself with the possibility that a child was running loose around the hospital.
A gust of cold air proves his prediction wrong.
The chilly air rushes past his cheeks as Minho turns on his heel, following the trail of gumdrops into a secluded room. The interior of the room for the most part is dark, and Minho can only see the dim glow of a white light reflecting off the floor where hundreds of gumdrops are scattered. The source of the sweet mess must be here and Minho looks up to see the culprit.
His eyes widen to the size of saucers.
The sight before Minho is as proceeds: a young man, dark short hair, dawned in flannel pyjamas, curled into a tight ball, and surrounded by sparkling jewels of colour. There is a content smile on the man’s face as he lets out a breath of foggy air, the shine of a red gumdrop just visible behind his lips. But, to not be ignored is the most mind-baffling highlight of this spectacle; the awkwardly positioned man is contained within a tiny refrigerator, no higher than three feet in height.
“You’re going to get sick!”
The lame exclamation leaves his throat as Minho drops his arms immediately, a rainfall of gummies hitting the floor. Minho opts to use his empty hands to reach around an arm and pull the silent man out of the icebox.
Such hasty actions can only lead to a clumsy outcome, and Minho shouts as he falls back from the sudden shift of weight. His bottom hits the ground with a thud and Minho finds himself with a cool armful of awkward limbs, the man from the fridge tangled in his arms.
The man in his arms is unmoving and Minho can feel the chilled skin beneath the wool material of the thin sleepwear. Could it be a side effect of shock? He needs heat and Minho panics, finding himself without a jacket or sweater. Quick thinking tells Minho to wrap his arms around the man, pulling the figure close. His body heat would be better than nothing.
“Can you hear me?” Minho stutters as anxiety sets in, shaking the man who remains in a seemingly unconscious state. “We can’t leave you like this.”
It finally dawns on Minho that he is in a hospital. “I’ll call a nurse!”
“No you can’t!”
The surprisingly rich voice, an apparition from below, floods Minho’s senses.
“Anything but the nurse!”
Minho blinks, his mouth agape as the man with dark hair magically regains a sense of life, eyes open into slits, staring up at him with a pleading expression.
“She’ll take away my gumdrops!”
“You’re worried about that?!” Minho feels his hysteria rise, baffled that a mature voice is giving such childish reasoning. “Shouldn’t you be worried about catching pneumonia?”
“But I need to keep my gumdrops cold. They’re sticky when they melt.” The man before him gives Minho a wasn’t that obvious look.
“That doesn’t mean you have to be inside it!” Minho could feel the dull thud of a headache coming on as a result of the insensible argument.
“I want to stay cool too you know. It’s summer.”
His blood pressure rising, and Minho takes note of the physical reaction that could not possibly be good for him. He tries to take a calming breath.
“Look, if you get out of this room and away from the refrigerator, I won’t get the nurse.”
Minho feels ridiculous, bargaining over something illogical like this, but it seems to work as the man in his arms knits his brows in concentration.
“Deal.”
Minho can finally feel the carbon dioxide exiting his lungs as he exhales.
“But you have to help me carry my gumdrops; I left the bag in my room.”
Then again, maybe he is not so relaxed: Minho’s fingers finding their way to his temples as he nods dumbly in response to the request. There is no point in resisting, Minho reasoning that it would probably be best to resolve this anomaly as quickly as possible.
And as he leans over to begin the chore, picking up the candies wrapped in plastic, Minho can feel it as his nerves calm: the rapid rhythmic pounding radiating from his chest to behind his ears, and back down to his toes. The blood is circulating in his body, filling his body with a surprising warmth he has long forgotten, something akin to the rush after a football match. He should be worried about such stress, but oddly enough, the rush of adrenaline is relaxing as his body goes numb.
The last candy is lifted from the silent and hasty collection, and Minho stares at his newfound companion who gives him a wide-eyed look, motioning for Minho to follow him. Minho obeys, trotting behind and finding that the man’s stealthy behaviour is unnecessary. The strange man insists upon it however: tiptoeing on bare feet, scanning around corners with careful glances, and making sure that Minho is within three steps behind him. All of this effort to avoid the newfound enemy: nurses.
It is a journey that should have taken two minutes at most, but instead lasts ten. Minho however, decides that there is no harm in playing along, somewhat intrigued by the erratic performance before him that leads to a room that is only two hallways away from their starting point. It is upon arrival, where the sacred gumdrop bag (a paper sack) is located, that Minho finally learns something about his new acquaintance. The man from the refrigerator is in fact, a patient of the hospital, and his name is Lee Jinki, or at least according to the nametag on the door.
Jinki however, seems oblivious to giving such information to Minho, information that should have been included in a standard introduction for their coincidental meeting. The man with dark hair instead pushes the door open, and then stumbles forward, awkwardly shifting his legs towards his bed. He collapses stomach-side first on the white sheets, then reaches for the adjacent nightstand, where Jinki opens a drawer and withdraws the awaited paper sack.
Jinki turns towards Minho, who is mesmerized, watching everything unfold.
“Well?” Jinki rolls over and nudges the bag towards Minho’s direction. Minho blinks before catching on, dropping the collected gumdrops from his arms into the bag.
Jinki smiles wide in return, curling the top of the half-filled bag closed.
“Thank you.”
Minho shuffles a bit.
“You’re welcome.”
Minho finds himself without anything more to say as the man lying before him continues to smile. He needs a moment to comprehend the situation, and Minho allows the possibilities to flood his mind: scanning Jinki’s wristband, looking to the charts at the foot of the bed, spotting cards and bouquets of flowers beside the one open window in the room. But his game of connect-the-dots is cut short and it is a soft buzz in his pocket that causes Minho to stir, taking his cell phone in hand and giving an apologetic gesture towards Jinki as he turns away.
It’s a text from his brother with the ever-so-frank message: family talk.
Minho groans, realizing the supposed self-reflection time he has lost during this outrageous escapade. He shoves the phone back into his pocket with sober thoughts of what his father wants to discuss, since Minho is certain no other member of the house had initiated this unscheduled conference.
“I’m sorry but I have to go.” Minho is not sure why he is apologizing for his departure to a person he has not known longer for a day. “It was nice meeting you.”
“You’re one of those special people aren’t you?”
The unexpected statement surprises him and Minho blinks as a cold hand takes his own, pressing a red gumdrop into his palm.
“Have a good trip.” Another wide smile with white teeth, bottom teeth crooked and all. “Goodbye.”
Minho cannot control his response, a flushing of the cheeks as the sound of his breathing echoes loudly in his ears. He pins his closed hand to his chest.
thump thump thump
-----
So should I continue this or is it too ooc? Hm.
Chapter 1: Gumdrops
Rating: PG
Pairing: Onho
Summary: Patients cross paths in the hospital.
A/N: About 2500 words. Kind of skeptical about this fic...
Really, it is not an issue of indifference.
We realize that this is a difficult decision to make.
It is just an issue of avoidance.
Legally, you are an adult and you have ability to give permission on your own, but we still suggest reviewing your options and having another discussion with your family.
No, that is not right. He has already gotten far beyond that stage.
Please remember the options of choosing to either refuse or accept treatment.
This situation is not one of indifference or avoidance; he is just tired.
We have scheduled the surgery in a month’s time, so if you wish to proceed, please fill out the documents for confirmation sometime this week.
He’s so tired.
“Minho, do you have any questions for Dr. Sung?”
His mother is looking at him bug-eyed, concern drawn across her weathered features, a look he has grown quite accustomed to. Yet, despite the look that will likely never be erased from the catalogue of expressions thrown his way, Minho, like a good son, wants to ease his mother’s anxiety as much as possible. He gives a firm nod and flashes a small smile to the doctor.
“Thank you for your help Dr. Sung.” Minho cannot help but scan the long impressive white coat worn by the aged man, something that makes a trained professional seem worlds apart from him. “I’ll discuss the matter with my family before handing in the papers.”
His smile is returned, one that is likely meant to be of friendly intentions, but comes off with a glimpse of pity in that upward curl of lips. He chooses not to comment on the face and instead reaches out an arm for a firm handshake, using every fibre in his body to resist the urge to recoil.
He had to remember that these people wanted to help him.
“You are a good man Minho. We will see this through.”
Except that supposedly reassuring thought is not always so easy to recall, especially when everyone gives you the same sad look.
The appointment ends and they are back in the pristine hallways that smell of sanitizer and bleach. His mother trails closely behind him, her steps cautious and light.
“Minho,” she starts, and Minho does not want to hear it, “I was thinking we could go to that restaurant across town, with the family. I know you wanted to try their spaghetti for the longest time.”
Pity. Pity. Pity.
“Hey Mom?”
It really is not fair, with how casual he is being, as he knows that she is clinging to his every word as if it is his last.
“I think you and dad could use a moment or two alone once in a while.”
“Minho.”
His mother’s rushed utterance of his name, a breath of confusion, worry, and hurt.
“Mom please,” he laughs as if she has made the most foolish joke in the world, “It isn’t a big deal but I really want you and dad to relax, just this once.”
He is taking advantage of her kindness, an insistent look followed by her response of defeat. It would probably be the least selfish if he gave in and allowed her that enjoyable heartfelt moment of family connection, but Minho did not want to take part in it, because in some way he knew he would be the burden of that moment. Also, more than anything, Minho wanted a chance to think.
“Okay.” She gives in, rummaging through her bag and reaching for a set of car keys. “But you call us and come home before dinner.”
She understands his wishes and Minho sometimes thinks he could not be luckier, having a mother like his. He hugs his mother tightly and she loosely grips back at his polo, a size too small compared to only a year ago.
“Yeah, I’ll just walk around for a bit. I’ll call you to pick me up from the station.”
They separate and she gives him an affirmative nod and the ubiquitous maternal glance before turning away.
Minho waves as she heads towards the exit, a simple smile on his lips. He does not mean to push it on her, that feeling that her active efforts are of no help. However, it is just reality that he needs to sort out his thoughts without outside interference: thoughts about life and death.
The thing is, Minho’s heart is weak, a heart attack at the tender age of nineteen being proof. Immediately, he was pulled from everything he loved, everything that was considered stress-inducing: morning jogs, late karaoke nights, salty snacks, and the finals of the divisional football tournament. All of that was replaced with afternoons in the library, brief motivational visits with the team, evenings in the hospital, and a heavy pit weighing down the bottom of his stomach. At one point in time, he was supposed to go to university, sponsored by a scout looking for his athletic talents.
Everything put on hold for now.
Essentially, Minho’s life had been reduced to two options: to continue his current lifestyle for the harrowing prognosis of ten more years, or to receive a risky treatment, with a 75 percent chance of survival. However, a successful treatment contained the possibility of returning to the life he loved.
In other words, Minho has to choose between a rock and a hard place, not the ideal situation in the slightest.
He can repeat the reasons for such a disparaging outcome in his life as the doctor told him in simplest terms that his heart’s wiring is short-circuiting. Still, as Minho folds his fingers in and out, he cannot quite understand it. Everything feels normal: no chest pain, no sudden fatigue, no urge to eat more or less. The doctor tells him otherwise though, that there is something wrong with his body, and to be frank, it scares Minho shitless.
This man in a majestic white coat knows more about his body than Minho does himself. Minho cannot feel this threat, he cannot feel this force taking away his vitality, and for such an absent feeling, reality dictates that Minho has zero control.
Would he die?
crickeke
Minho scrunches his nose, feeling an unpleasant weight beneath his shoe. That repulsive feeling is enough to shake Minho from his thoughts as he looks down to his feet, finally realizing he has no idea where he has wandered to: an unknown wing of the hospital.
Yet, that foreign sensation when lost is not what bewilders Minho’s the most, as he is certain he could still find his way out of the pristine building regardless. What startles Minho is the item he has stepped on, a bright green gumdrop contained in a crisp transparent wrapper. In fact, there is a trail of these individual gumdrops before his feet, the colours of the rainbow. It is an automatic reaction for him as he leans down, picking them up one by one.
Certainly, Minho would not want another person to have the misfortune of stepping on these gooey sweets. It is a little odd however, that these candies would be scattered across the floor so haphazardly. Minho muses to himself with the possibility that a child was running loose around the hospital.
A gust of cold air proves his prediction wrong.
The chilly air rushes past his cheeks as Minho turns on his heel, following the trail of gumdrops into a secluded room. The interior of the room for the most part is dark, and Minho can only see the dim glow of a white light reflecting off the floor where hundreds of gumdrops are scattered. The source of the sweet mess must be here and Minho looks up to see the culprit.
His eyes widen to the size of saucers.
The sight before Minho is as proceeds: a young man, dark short hair, dawned in flannel pyjamas, curled into a tight ball, and surrounded by sparkling jewels of colour. There is a content smile on the man’s face as he lets out a breath of foggy air, the shine of a red gumdrop just visible behind his lips. But, to not be ignored is the most mind-baffling highlight of this spectacle; the awkwardly positioned man is contained within a tiny refrigerator, no higher than three feet in height.
“You’re going to get sick!”
The lame exclamation leaves his throat as Minho drops his arms immediately, a rainfall of gummies hitting the floor. Minho opts to use his empty hands to reach around an arm and pull the silent man out of the icebox.
Such hasty actions can only lead to a clumsy outcome, and Minho shouts as he falls back from the sudden shift of weight. His bottom hits the ground with a thud and Minho finds himself with a cool armful of awkward limbs, the man from the fridge tangled in his arms.
The man in his arms is unmoving and Minho can feel the chilled skin beneath the wool material of the thin sleepwear. Could it be a side effect of shock? He needs heat and Minho panics, finding himself without a jacket or sweater. Quick thinking tells Minho to wrap his arms around the man, pulling the figure close. His body heat would be better than nothing.
“Can you hear me?” Minho stutters as anxiety sets in, shaking the man who remains in a seemingly unconscious state. “We can’t leave you like this.”
It finally dawns on Minho that he is in a hospital. “I’ll call a nurse!”
“No you can’t!”
The surprisingly rich voice, an apparition from below, floods Minho’s senses.
“Anything but the nurse!”
Minho blinks, his mouth agape as the man with dark hair magically regains a sense of life, eyes open into slits, staring up at him with a pleading expression.
“She’ll take away my gumdrops!”
“You’re worried about that?!” Minho feels his hysteria rise, baffled that a mature voice is giving such childish reasoning. “Shouldn’t you be worried about catching pneumonia?”
“But I need to keep my gumdrops cold. They’re sticky when they melt.” The man before him gives Minho a wasn’t that obvious look.
“That doesn’t mean you have to be inside it!” Minho could feel the dull thud of a headache coming on as a result of the insensible argument.
“I want to stay cool too you know. It’s summer.”
His blood pressure rising, and Minho takes note of the physical reaction that could not possibly be good for him. He tries to take a calming breath.
“Look, if you get out of this room and away from the refrigerator, I won’t get the nurse.”
Minho feels ridiculous, bargaining over something illogical like this, but it seems to work as the man in his arms knits his brows in concentration.
“Deal.”
Minho can finally feel the carbon dioxide exiting his lungs as he exhales.
“But you have to help me carry my gumdrops; I left the bag in my room.”
Then again, maybe he is not so relaxed: Minho’s fingers finding their way to his temples as he nods dumbly in response to the request. There is no point in resisting, Minho reasoning that it would probably be best to resolve this anomaly as quickly as possible.
And as he leans over to begin the chore, picking up the candies wrapped in plastic, Minho can feel it as his nerves calm: the rapid rhythmic pounding radiating from his chest to behind his ears, and back down to his toes. The blood is circulating in his body, filling his body with a surprising warmth he has long forgotten, something akin to the rush after a football match. He should be worried about such stress, but oddly enough, the rush of adrenaline is relaxing as his body goes numb.
The last candy is lifted from the silent and hasty collection, and Minho stares at his newfound companion who gives him a wide-eyed look, motioning for Minho to follow him. Minho obeys, trotting behind and finding that the man’s stealthy behaviour is unnecessary. The strange man insists upon it however: tiptoeing on bare feet, scanning around corners with careful glances, and making sure that Minho is within three steps behind him. All of this effort to avoid the newfound enemy: nurses.
It is a journey that should have taken two minutes at most, but instead lasts ten. Minho however, decides that there is no harm in playing along, somewhat intrigued by the erratic performance before him that leads to a room that is only two hallways away from their starting point. It is upon arrival, where the sacred gumdrop bag (a paper sack) is located, that Minho finally learns something about his new acquaintance. The man from the refrigerator is in fact, a patient of the hospital, and his name is Lee Jinki, or at least according to the nametag on the door.
Jinki however, seems oblivious to giving such information to Minho, information that should have been included in a standard introduction for their coincidental meeting. The man with dark hair instead pushes the door open, and then stumbles forward, awkwardly shifting his legs towards his bed. He collapses stomach-side first on the white sheets, then reaches for the adjacent nightstand, where Jinki opens a drawer and withdraws the awaited paper sack.
Jinki turns towards Minho, who is mesmerized, watching everything unfold.
“Well?” Jinki rolls over and nudges the bag towards Minho’s direction. Minho blinks before catching on, dropping the collected gumdrops from his arms into the bag.
Jinki smiles wide in return, curling the top of the half-filled bag closed.
“Thank you.”
Minho shuffles a bit.
“You’re welcome.”
Minho finds himself without anything more to say as the man lying before him continues to smile. He needs a moment to comprehend the situation, and Minho allows the possibilities to flood his mind: scanning Jinki’s wristband, looking to the charts at the foot of the bed, spotting cards and bouquets of flowers beside the one open window in the room. But his game of connect-the-dots is cut short and it is a soft buzz in his pocket that causes Minho to stir, taking his cell phone in hand and giving an apologetic gesture towards Jinki as he turns away.
It’s a text from his brother with the ever-so-frank message: family talk.
Minho groans, realizing the supposed self-reflection time he has lost during this outrageous escapade. He shoves the phone back into his pocket with sober thoughts of what his father wants to discuss, since Minho is certain no other member of the house had initiated this unscheduled conference.
“I’m sorry but I have to go.” Minho is not sure why he is apologizing for his departure to a person he has not known longer for a day. “It was nice meeting you.”
“You’re one of those special people aren’t you?”
The unexpected statement surprises him and Minho blinks as a cold hand takes his own, pressing a red gumdrop into his palm.
“Have a good trip.” Another wide smile with white teeth, bottom teeth crooked and all. “Goodbye.”
Minho cannot control his response, a flushing of the cheeks as the sound of his breathing echoes loudly in his ears. He pins his closed hand to his chest.
thump thump thump
-----
So should I continue this or is it too ooc? Hm.