The After Life
Title: The After Life
Pairing: Jonghyun/Minho
Rating: R
Summary: Getting into heaven isn’t what it’s cut out to be - whether you’re a good person or not isn’t the deciding factor. If you can recall your loved ones and they can recall you, only then are you allowed to continue on in the afterlife. So what happens when you can’t remember anything about the living world? Do you get stuck in limbo? If you’re Jonghyun, you get stuck in Minho’s morgue.
Working in a funeral parlor probably wasn't the ideal dream job for any young up and coming person. After high school it was typical to go to college, work a part time job, maybe even start a family - for Choi Minho, his life was inheriting his fathers business, Choi Funeral Homes, and carrying on the family honor as his parents settled into retirement and moved to a much more... cheery avenue. And he really didn't mind his job, because being around death really wasn't all as depressing as one would think. Sure, it was pretty morbid, being the last person to come into contact with the deceased before they make their eternal departure, but Minho felt his job was very important, sort of like he was the boat man on the River Styx helping the spirits cross over to the other side. Only it was their bodies, and he dressed them up and made them pretty for funeral processions.
Same thing.
Minho himself wasn't a dark or dreary person; he was told he had a handsome smile, women hit on him often and he had a fair amount of color in his wardrobe. But death fascinated him, it always had and it always would, and inheriting his father's business would never be a burden but always be an inspiration, because every day he made sure to take a few moments to appreciate the little things in life, in the realization that his own life could be snuffed out at any moment.
--
Tuesdays were a fairly busy day for Minho. He usually had around twenty or thirty bodies to prep and cool - most of them elderly. Most heart attacks happened on Mondays and he didn't know if it was a coincidence or if old people were really that sad that their weekend of golf was over, but the fact of the matter was that heart attacks happened over Sundays and Mondays, and by Tuesdays Minho got to see the lovely patients so he could prepare them for the viewing.
"Won't you consider the job?" Minho shook his head as he worked on dressing up Mr. Jung for a funeral scheduled for that afternoon.
"Miss Lee, I've already told you no. Twice." The woman in the room wrinkled her nose cutely, holding her clipboard to her chest, looking out of place next to Minho in her business suit and high heels.
"But we really need someone like you on hand," she insisted, taking a step back when Minho rounded the prep table to the other side, her brows raising as he carefully stuffed the man's arms into the blazer jacket. She tutted, "Please, Mr. Choi, we're running out of options."
"I don't even have a college education, I can't be a coroner for the city," Minho said calmly, focusing on putting the cufflinks on neatly.
"But our coroner just quit! We have no one and you're the only person I know that's qualified to do the job!" the woman took a step forward, her big eyes round and earnest as she looked up at Minho, her brows knit together in quiet plea.
Minho looked up from fixing Mr. Jung's tie, meeting Taeyeon's eyes. After a second he let out a breath, gently lying Mr. Jung back down onto the table, shaking his head and taking the clipboard from the younger woman. "I'll look it over. But I won't make any promises."
Taeyeon looked about ready to jump up and down, as she smiled hugely and squealed, "Thank you so much Mr. Choi! Thank you!" She bowed and exited the room, closing the door behind her.
Scratching his head, he set the clipboard down on the table, scanning it over before pushing it aside, his fingers drumming on the paper. He glanced over at Mr. Jung's prone body, lying peacefully on the table. "What?" He asked, looking offended. "I looked over it." He pushed it a bit further away, eyes straying over the salary figures. Sighing, Minho rested his hands on the table, hanging his head, wondering if maybe a career change would be for the better.
--
Minho had seen all kinds of death; natural cause, accident, suicide, murder. Nothing really shocked him, and he always did his best to pay his respects to the deceased and the family. Sometimes a young man would come in that somewhat reminded him off his brother and he'd have to go visit and have dinner with him, just to show him he loved him; sometimes people that looked like his parents would come in and he'd have to call them right away just to see how they were doing, wherever they were. He couldn't be unaffected by his job, he wasn't made of steel, but he wasn't going to let it keep him up at night, either.
That is, until a murder victim came in on a particularly stormy afternoon.
Single gunshot wound to the heart, the man was only a few years older than Minho and quite attractive, in his prime, and looked like he was quite the charmer. As Minho washed and re-dressed the man, making sure to apply the correct creams and make-up to make him look less - well, dead - he couldn't help but wonder about the man's life. Did he have a wife? Kids? What was his profession? Why was he murdered?
"You could just ask, you know."
Minho jerked back, throwing the man's body back down onto the table with such force the table's legs skidded on the linoleum a bit. Eyes wide and heart thumping, Minho watched in horror as the man - the dead man - he was just handling sat up, rubbing his head and turning his lip up at the mortician. "Jesus, and you were so calm at first." The man, the dead man, the dead man that was now alive and moving and swinging his legs over the side of the metal table to stand up and wobble a bit, grinned up at Minho.
"Y-You're - You're - no." Minho staggered back, hand flailing along the wall as he tried to find the clipboard with the cadaver's information on it.
"I'm... not 'no'." The man snorted, fixing the cuffs of his sleeves and shrugging a little, getting the blazer to rest properly on his shoulders. "I'm Jonghyun. Your little clipboard should say that."
"I know what my clipboard says," Minho snapped, once he found his clipboard and scanned it over, his back pressed against the wall.
Jonghyun leaned against the table, folding his arms across his chest, looking down at his feet and arching a brow. "Why don't I have any shoes?"
Minho glanced up, pausing, his mouth a bit agape. "Excuse me?"
The older man looked impatient, "Why aren't I wearing any shoes?"
Minho blinked a few times, before waving his clipboard around a bit, "You just came back to life and you're asking why you don't have any shoes on."
"Are you a mad scientist?" Jonghyun was picking up one of Minho's many tools, inspecting it.
"No!" Minho darted over and grabbed the bone saw from Jonghyun before he could flip the switch. Holding it out of the shorter man's reach, Minho glared down his nose at the dead man. Or the now-alive man. The zombie? "Get back on the table."
Jonghyun whined, "I wanted to look at the sawwwwwww!"
"You can play with it when I'm done, sit your ass down." Minho set the saw down on the table behind him, far, far from Jonghyun's reach as the older man sat down on the table, his hands tucked under his thighs. Minho might not be a doctor, and he might not have any sort of college education, but he didn't need to be a mortician to know that dead people didn't spring up and start dicking around like they hadn't died. Hell, he didn't even need to be in the business to know that. He grabbed a kit from his cabinet, a stethoscope and some basic examination tools, and stared at Jonghyun. "Take off your shirt."
Jonghyun snorted, "You were just dressing me, you can't undress me too?"
Minho clenched his teeth, resisting the urge to smack Jonghyun upside the head with his reflex hammer. "Take. Off. Your. Shirt."
Grumbling, Jonghyun raised his hands and shrugged out of his blazer, setting it aside. Next he undid the buttons of the white collared shirt he was wearing, shrugging it off as well, holding his hands out to present himself, raising his brows. "Tada~"
Frowning, Minho reached out with his fingertips and touched the very fresh wound where the bullet had hit Jonghyun just days before. The other man flinched, hissing slightly, and glanced down to where Minho's fingers met his skin; he too frowned, and pushed Minho's hand away from his body.
"The fuck?" Jonghyun mumbled, touching the bullet hole gently. Minho glanced up, trying to read Jonghyun's expression as the older man ran his fingers over his own skin, as if for the first time. Time sort of slowed down, and Minho knew a lot of things - he knew the dead, he knew the living, and he knew himself - but one thing he didn't know... was why Jonghyun didn't know he was dead.
--
For the first time in his life, Minho had no idea what to do. He couldn’t cancel the funeral - what would he tell the family? ‘Sorry, your relative is alive and well, can’t have the funeral.’ But he couldn’t just carry on with the funeral and stuff Jonghyun into a coffin and bury him six feet under when he was very much conscious and aware, either. Even though he had no pulse, no running blood, no brain activity, there was something cruel about it and Minho paced around his office for three hours, his hair standing in every which direction from how many times he’d run his fingers through it in agony. Tomorrow Jonghyun’s family would be at the parlor for the viewing and the service. They were all grieving his death, mourning their loss and here Jonghyun was, sitting in one of Minho’s plush chairs, kicked back and watching Minho with an amused eye.
“I should die more often if this is how people react,” the older man commented idly as he scratched the side of his nose.
“This isn’t funny, Jonghyun,” Minho said, leaning against his desk and putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He looked Jonghyun over - the man was a bit pale but other than that, he looked lively enough. “You’re dead. Tomorrow is your funeral and you’re supposed to be buried six feet under after that.”
Jonghyun shifted a little in his seat, pulling the collar of his shirt away from his neck, “Ah… I’m a little claustrophobic, man.”
“This is just - I have to figure out why this is happening.”
“Thought you weren’t a doctor?” Jonghyun said, the corner of his mouth turning up in a knowing smirk. Minho’s jaw clenched as he started to flip through his address book on his desk, deciding that if Jonghyun weren’t dead already, he’d strangle him, because he definitely wasn’t a doctor and he sure as hell wasn’t a detective either. His finger landed on the number he was looking for and he picked up his phone, dialing out, trying to ignore Jonghyun as the older man started to tap his foot on the floor, still shoe-less. “Hello, Dr. Lee?” Minho nearly breathed a sigh of relief. “This is Choi Minho from the Choi Funeral Parlor - yes, hello, I’m fine - I was wondering if you could come down here and look at something for me?”
Jonghyun cracked his neck and stood up, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks as he moved over to the shelves of Minho’s office, looking over Minho’s collection of pictures.
“Actually it’s about a body that came from your lab. Something… strange has happened. Today, please. Yes. Thank you, Dr. Lee.” Minho hung up the phone and watched as Jonghyun’s eyes roved over the photos, the mortician folding his arms over his chest loosely.
“This your family?” Jonghyun asked, nodding towards the picture frames. Minho made a positive noise.
Jonghyun gave a small smile, “I… don’t even remember my family.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes lingering on a picture of Minho’s fiancé, and for a brief moment Minho felt a flash of déjà vu. A few moments of silence passed, and then Jonghyun spoke again, quieter. “I thought that after the body expired, the one thing that’s supposed to be left is memories.” His fingers reached out to touch a photo of Minho’s mother, “… All I know is my name.”
--
As it turns out, after a while Jonghyun could clearly remember what happened to him. He remembered being shot in the chest by a thug in an alleyway on his way home from work one night, although he couldn’t remember his job, and he remembered dying. He remembered going up to heaven and he remembered being greeted by someone that he didn’t know, someone he didn’t recognize, and he remembered that person being very hurt that he didn’t know who they were - they had forbade him entry into heaven and sent him back, and now he was under some sort of curse until he could remember who they were.
It was really hokey and Minho didn’t really believe in this sort of voodoo or whatever, he was a man of science and logic, but Jonghyun was sitting there in front of him plain as day and he couldn’t argue it just like he couldn’t argue the bone saw Jonghyun was playing with, the hum of it reverberating in the air as the deceased acted like a kid on Christmas morning.
To each his own.
A knock came to the morgue door and Minho called for entry, the heavy metal doors swinging open. Dr. Lee Jinki was the most intelligent man in the city, probably even the country, and as his eyes fell on Jonghyun, who was sitting on the table and playing with the bone saw, Minho witnessed the color drain from his face and his eyes widen in disbelief.
“This… is the murder victim I sent you.”
Minho nodded.
“Kim Jonghyun.”
“That’s me,” Jonghyun said, putting the saw down and leaning back on his hands.
Jinki’s knees gave out on him and he leaned heavily against a counter, Minho moving to his side to help keep him upright. “This is impossible. I pronounced you dead at the scene of the crime, I cut you open for the autopsy - you’re dead.”
“He’s still dead,” Minho said with a heavy sigh.
Fingers shaking, Jinki pulled his glasses out of the breast pocket of his medical coat and put them on his face, moving towards Jonghyun, who straightened up a little bit. “None of his organs are working, the blood isn’t flowing, he has no pulse. He’s just… moving.”
“Like a zombie,” Jonghyun said with a grin.
Minho and Jinki ignored him as they both put on gloves, Jinki setting his briefcase down on the table next to Jonghyun as he started to pull a few items out of it.
“Are you alright, Minho?” Jinki asked under his breath, as he and Minho hovered close together.
“Aside from there being a walking, talking, cadaver in my office I think I’m holding up alright,” Minho said, as he pulled his clipboard closer to him, arching a brow at Jinki. “Why?”
Jinki gave Minho a measured look, before shaking his head and turning to the dead man. “Can you feel any pain, Jonghyun?” Jinki asked as he picked up a scalpel, glancing up at Jonghyun.
Jonghyun shied away a bit, looking apprehensive. “I don’t know. You’re not going to stick me, are you?”
“Just barely,” Jinki offered a friendly smile, gently grabbing Jonghyun’s wrist. “On your finger. Is that alright?”
Minho folded his arms over his chest, watching as Jonghyun tensed up and Jinki gently slid the blade of the scalpel over the pad of the dead man’s index finger. Jonghyun frowned, but didn’t really make any other notion, and when no blood came from the split skin, Jinki hummed in thought and set the scalpel down. “Any pain?” the doctor asked.
“No,” Jonghyun replied.
“Do you remember your family, Jonghyun?” Jinki asked, as he gently guided Jonghyun to lie back on the table, unbuttoning the dress shirt and running his fingers over the man’s chest.
Jonghyun shook his head, “No… I don’t remember anything about my life. That’s why they wouldn’t let me in, they said.”
“To heaven?” Jinki inquired, arching a brow. Jonghyun nodded. “Do you know why you don’t remember your family?” Jinki placed his hand over Jonghyun’s heart, applying a bit of pressure. Minho watched as Jonghyun’s chest stayed still, absent of any movement that would indicate he was breathing.
“If I knew don’t you think I’d remember?” Jonghyun asked bitterly.
“Hmm…” Turning around, Jinki grabbed the scalpel again and looked up at Jonghyun, giving a small smile. “I’m going to open you up and take a look at your insides again, to see if anything’s changed. Ok?”
Jonghyun’s eyes flitted over to Minho, and for a brief second the mortician’s heart leapt up into his throat - he felt bad for Jonghyun, he felt sorry that Jonghyun died and couldn’t get into heaven and didn’t know why. He was sorry that Jinki was going to do all sorts of experiments on him to figure out why this was happening… Minho excused himself from the room, unable to watch as Jinki cut open Jonghyun’s chest, the dead man anything but dead beneath the blade on the table.
--
That night, Jinki and Minho were in Minho’s office, the doctor draped over Minho’s couch with his mouth agape and snoring lightly, Minho hunched over his desk. Jonghyun was sitting on the floor with his back against a wall, one knee propped up with his elbow draped over it, and he had been staring blankly at the floor for about an hour now.
“What’s it like?” Minho asked, staring down at the papers in front of him.
“What,” Jonghyun asked, his voice dull.
“Being dead.”
A few moments of silence passed, because they both knew that that question was inevitable.
Jonghyun’s leg dropped down and he shrugged, tipping his head back and staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t know, I guess. I don’t really feel any different. Sometimes… it feels like it’s not real.” He ran a hand down his face, closing his eyes. “When I close my eyes and it gets really quiet… I re-live the same experience over and over again. The guy that shot me, I see him coming out of the alleyway and demanding my wallet. We fight, he gets pissed, shoots me, I fall down, I bleed to death in the alley.” He let out a sigh. “That repeats maybe a hundred times over in my head and by the hundredth time I wonder: is this the afterlife? Experiencing the last moments of my life over and over again for eternity?” He gave a weary chuckle. “That fucking sucks, man. What kind of afterlife is that?” Minho stayed quiet, leaning down to rest his cheek on his desk, watching Jonghyun as he talked.
“And then sometimes, because it’s on repeat, I wonder: if I do something different, will the outcome change? Will I come out alive and this will just be some weird dream?” he shifted, his head tipping to the side a bit. “So I try to do something different. I fight back harder, or maybe I give him my wallet. It all ends the same, though. With me dead and bleeding on the sidewalk. And then when I blink, I’m right here, with you.”
“Sounds awful,” Minho said softly, his brows coming together a bit.
Jonghyun snorted, “It is. I almost feel like I’m on some sort of drug and I’m just tripping out really bad. But then it sinks in… I’m dead. I have nothing. I am nothing.” His bottom lip trembled a bit, and Minho could see his eyes wetting.
How was that possible? He couldn’t even bleed, he was dead.
“Tomorrow I’m going to be buried in the ground and I won’t even be able to see the people that I left behind so I can be let into heaven.” He knocked his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. “If I just saw one of them, if I could just remember one of them, then I could go peacefully…”
One of Jinki’s snores jolted the doctor awake, and he fell awkwardly off of the couch and onto the floor, glasses askew and hair unkempt as he glanced around, startled. Minho sat up and looked at him and Jonghyun seemed to be pulled out of his reverie, and Jinki gave an awkward smile, apologizing as he clambered back up onto the couch and fell back into slumber.
Frowning softly, Minho closed his eyes and thought about Jonghyun’s words. If he could see a member of his family… would he be set free?
--
“This isn’t possible.”
“But there’s no other - this is the right date, right?”
“Of course it is, this is the right date and I have all of my files but his is missing, it just doesn’t exist anymore, it’s like he was never… check your files.”
Minho moved into his office, first giving a cursory glance to see if Jonghyun was in it. Jinki was close behind him and when the office was empty, they both stood rooted to the spot, the clipboard on Minho’s desk empty of the transcripts that had been there the previous night. No Jonghyun, no papers with Jonghyun’s information on it - it was like he never existed. Minho moved over to his desk and Jinki continued to file through his papers, searching frantically for Jonghyun’s name, anything, unable to find the work he had done - medical reports, the autopsy, even the death certificate. Jonghyun didn’t exist. And what’s more, Minho couldn’t find Jonghyun’s files in the morgue, either. Even more strange - the Kim family never came for the scheduled funeral. The day was absent of all funerals, in fact. No funerals, and no deaths. The day went on and the city was peaceful, not a single accident happened and Minho and Jinki were left in Minho’s office, sitting on the couch, staring at the wall that Jonghyun had fallen asleep against the night before. Or, at least, where he would have slept had he been able to sleep in the first place.
“This makes no sense,” Minho said, sinking down into his chair as he stared down at his desk, his head in his hands.
Jinki was just as perplexed, sighing as he scratched his head and shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, Minho. This makes as much sense as a dead person coming back to life.”
Punching his fist into the desk, Minho stood up, cursing under his breath.
Jolting, Jinki grabbed his briefcase and started to stuff some papers into it, hurriedly putting on his lab coat. “I - I’m going to be leaving, Minho. Please… go home and get some rest, ok?” Jinki slowed on his way to the door, lowering his gaze. “And drive safe, there’s a storm coming.”
It had been storming all week, but Minho didn’t bother saying that as Jinki shut the door to the office, leaving Minho alone with his thoughts. It was all too much to handle, too soon, how could this be? Grabbing his own coat and hat, Minho left everything on his desk as he went to leave the funeral parlor, the rain heavy on his head and shoulders as he made his way out to his car. He got into his car and stared at the steering wheel for a few seconds, before leaning back in the seat, his eyes watching the raindrops drizzle down the windshield.
Jonghyun didn’t exist. Minho had spent so much time making sure he didn’t get invested in these cases - stay unattached, stay professional, don’t get too involved. But his heart just ached for Jonghyun, who couldn’t get into heaven or hell, Jonghyun who was stuck on earth, Jonghyun who was frustrated and confused and… Jonghyun, who was so much like Minho. Minho, who had nowhere to go - Minho, who felt just as out of place, Minho who got just as frustrated and confused between what he wanted and what he needed; what he wanted, being to succeed his father’s business, and what he needed, being a job that was a bit less morbid and to be a better fiancé and a better friend, to have more friends.
And in the tiny amount of time they had spent together, Minho had felt a connection with Jonghyun, he had felt like maybe he could have been that ticket to heaven for Jonghyun, and just as he had figured it all out… it was too late.
The rain collided against his car like tiny bullets, exploding into tinier bullets that just crashed down around the car, a drumming sound that slowly engulfed his ear drums. Putting his key in the ignition, Minho started up his car and pulled out of the parlor, intending on heading over to his brother’s house to visit.
--
Of course, like most stories go, he didn’t see the collision coming. The opposing car hydroplaned and missed the turn, slamming into Minho’s vehicle. He didn’t feel too much pain, just the initial jolt of his car being crushed and thrown off of a cliff, but after that, everything was bliss.
And then he breathed.
Sucking in air like he was coming up from under water; Minho’s arms flailed and his hands flung out, almost in a swimming motion, legs kicking and feet flailing as he moved. His body ached, his head throbbed and it felt like he was swimming through concrete, everything was dark and he heard someone calling his name, he could feel warmth hitting his face and like a river bursting through a dam his eyes opened and he could breathe, he could feel the cold rain hitting his hot skin and he grabbed onto the closest thing to him, clutching on for dear life. It was a jacket, the jacket of someone hovering over him, cradling him in their arms, and his vision was blurry and things were moving in slow motion, including the man holding him and he could hear his name again and again and he recognized that voice…
“Oh my God Minho, Minho, can you hear me?”
A hand patted his cheek and Minho blinked away the stars, his eyes focusing on the face above him. Jonghyun was hovering over him, soaking wet, water dripping from his bangs and nose, cheeks flushed from the cold and pupils dilated as he held Minho just as tightly as Minho held him.
“J-Jonghyun…?” Minho felt like he was learning who Jonghyun was for the first time, as he reached up and let his fingers slide over the man’s wet cheek, his body weak from the wreck as he finally connected the dots, letting out a weary chuckle. “I thought I’d forgotten you…”
Shaking his head, Jonghyun put his hand over Minho’s, holding on tightly. “Asshole, you better not forget me. They wouldn’t let you into heaven if you did.”
Minho’s lips quivered with his smile, “You’re right, they wouldn’t.”
--
The ride to the hospital in the ambulance was quiet, save for Minho’s question about where Jonghyun’s shoes were. Jonghyun had looked down, surprised, and said he didn’t know and that it didn’t matter - just that they were lucky to be alive, together, and on their way to recovery. The road to recovery itself was slow and tedious, but well worth it, the family business sold and put on the back burner at Jonghyun’s persuasion.
“It was…” Minho ran his fingers through his hair, still perplexed a month after the accident, reclined on the bed as Jonghyun sat on the edge. “You were dead.”
“You were dead,” Jonghyun chuckled, patting Minho’s thigh gently. “Or almost dead. How fuckin’ lucky are we that we crashed into each other? I didn’t even know insurance covered stuff like that.”
“Your sister is a lawyer, that’s what’s lucky,” Minho shifted to lie down on the bed, patting the space next to him.
Jonghyun stood, un-tucking his dress shirt from his slacks as he started to undress, nodding his head in agreement. “Yeah, I guess that’s pretty lucky.” Once he was down to his boxers, Jonghyun slid into bed next to Minho, his arms wrapping around the taller man, his chin resting on top of the mortician’s shoulder. “Hey…”
Minho wrapped his arm around Jonghyun’s svelte waist, pulling him closer. “Hey.”
For a few moments Jonghyun seemed to weigh his words, before he let out a soft breath. “You scared me. I thought - …”
He didn’t need to finish that thought for Minho to know what he was talking about. Rolling over a bit, Minho hovered over Jonghyun, remembering seeing his dead body come to life, remembering seeing those same eyes glowing with laughter, remembering watching him look over the photos in his office as if he didn’t recognize himself in them.
“They said they didn’t know if you were going to be the same, psychologically,” Jonghyun whispered, his eyes shimmering the same way they did when he was dead.
“Don’t be such a crybaby,” Minho smiled, swiping his thumb underneath Jonghyun’s eye. The older man looked mildly offended and laughed, pushing at Minho’s shoulder. “I’m here. I’m alive.”
Jonghyun’s arms wrapped around Minho’s shoulders and brought him down in an embrace, burying his nose into Minho’s neck, letting out a shuddery breath.
“I didn’t know how much I needed you, in order to live.”
“I didn’t know how much I needed you, in order to die,” Minho said softly, pulling back to gently press his lips against Jonghyun’s.
Melting into each other, Minho slid between Jonghyun’s legs, their chests brushing together as their lips parted. Jonghyun’s hands slid down Minho’s sides, feeling the deteriorating muscles and the same masculinity that Minho’s body had managed to hold onto during rehabilitation, the taller man’s body shuddering as he pressed into Jonghyun’s fingertips. Their kisses turned short but deep, tongues probing and teeth tugging at lips, one of Jonghyun’s hands moving up to Minho’s hair, which was getting slightly curly at the ends, to tug on it gently.
Letting out a soft breath, Minho’s hips rolled down into Jonghyun’s, their hardening lengths rubbing against each other. It was strange and familiar at the same time, this dance that Minho knew he had done at least a hundred times before with the older man. But he was re-learning everything - where to touch, what to say, and as his kisses moved down Jonghyun’s neck, as he stripped the man of his boxers and moved his hand between his legs, he figured that re-learning his lover wasn’t so bad, if it meant feeling everything for the first time again.
Every breath, every groan, every press of pianists’ fingertips into his ribs had Minho coming up for air, sweet air, the scent of Jonghyun’s shampoo infiltrating his senses and making him chuckle a bit. They moved together easily, it was their first time and it was their hundredth time, Minho’s teeth digging into the skin on Jonghyun’s shoulder to break blood vessels and bruise the flesh. Pleasure jilted Minho’s veins, curling his toes into the sheets of the bed and making a sweat break out on his back, the pit of his stomach coiling with heat as his hips pushed forward into Jonghyun’s body. Jonghyun arched, drawing out the motions and keeping the pace slow and measured, a small smirk on his crooked lips and his eyes half-closed in pleasure, his hair sticking up in a few places where Minho’s hand continually ran through it.
“I love you,” Minho breathed out, against the hot flesh of Jonghyun’s neck, his lips barely leaving the older man’s skin as he spoke. He couldn’t remember ever being so emotional with Jonghyun; they were a casual, friendly romance with no complications and that was how they liked it, but in this moment, in the thought that Jonghyun could be killed at any time and be torn from Minho’s life and be forgotten… Minho just needed him to know. “I love you.”
Jonghyun let out a little chuckle, nipping at Minho’s ear. “I love you, too.” His arms tightened around Minho’s shoulders and his hot breath washed over the shell of Minho’s ear, causing the younger man’s body to shudder uncontrollably, orgasm taking over as he released, a hand gripping onto Jonghyun’s thigh, fingers digging deep into the flesh, triggering Jonghyun’s release as well.
After a few moments Minho laid off to the side, panting lightly, his head still slightly high.
Jonghyun rolled over and scooted closer to him, crooked grin on his features. “So… this dead me. I was still hot, right?”
“…” Minho rolled over, gathering the blankets.
“I mean even if I was dead I’m sure I was bang-able. I mean… I’m me.”
“It’s bed time.”
“So you wouldn’t have banged me?”
“You were dead.”
“Well if I wasn’t dead.”
“Then that defeats the point of you being a bang-able, dead person.”
“Well, then, for sake of argument?”
“Jonghyun.” Minho rolled over, putting his hand over Jonghyun’s mouth, giving him a blank stare. “You were a lot quieter when you were dead.”
He could feel Jonghyun’s lips quirking in a smile against the palm of his hand, “I was probably wondering why I got sent to the only mortician in the world that isn’t into necrophilia.”
Minho put the pillow over Jonghyun’s face, and then pushed him off of the bed.
--
- jonghyun was never dead, no
- this was not a dream for minho; minho was the one that died. this is a story that basically profiles the "what comes after death?" question that so many people want to know the answer to, and this story is based off of my own experience. i have the belief that when you die or are on the verge of dying, you re-live the last moments of your life, albeit a bit altered, over and over and over again, until finally you are brought back. in minho's case, he re-lived his last day of being alive, working in the morgue and finding a murder victim (though it being jonghyun and coming back to life was completely fabricated, something that his guilty mind made up because he felt like he was lacking emotionally as a partner), all the way up until the car crash that killed him. but while he was re-living his last day, over and over and over again, it finally started to change (though he has no idea that he's been on repeat for who knows how long) when he felt his heart pull towards jonghyun, who had come back to life and had no idea why he was locked out of heaven. it's jonghyun basically playing minho's guardian angel, somehow managing to knock down minho's emotional and mental walls and that, in more than one way, brings minho back to life.
- jonghyun was very much alive, and so is minho, no one ends up being dead/dying in the end. :)
- yes, in the pictures jonghyun was looking at, they were pictures of jonghyun and minho, which is why later on minho was confused as to why jonghyun didn't recognize him. it's the fear and irrationality of dying alone - of no one remembering you, and not being remembered when you die. someone might not remember you, even if you'd remember them. minho was afraid that if he died that day, jonghyun wouldn't remember them, and while he was hovering in limbo, his fears manifested into this strange hallucination of jonghyun coming back to life in the morgue.
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Pairing: Jonghyun/Minho
Rating: R
Summary: Getting into heaven isn’t what it’s cut out to be - whether you’re a good person or not isn’t the deciding factor. If you can recall your loved ones and they can recall you, only then are you allowed to continue on in the afterlife. So what happens when you can’t remember anything about the living world? Do you get stuck in limbo? If you’re Jonghyun, you get stuck in Minho’s morgue.
Working in a funeral parlor probably wasn't the ideal dream job for any young up and coming person. After high school it was typical to go to college, work a part time job, maybe even start a family - for Choi Minho, his life was inheriting his fathers business, Choi Funeral Homes, and carrying on the family honor as his parents settled into retirement and moved to a much more... cheery avenue. And he really didn't mind his job, because being around death really wasn't all as depressing as one would think. Sure, it was pretty morbid, being the last person to come into contact with the deceased before they make their eternal departure, but Minho felt his job was very important, sort of like he was the boat man on the River Styx helping the spirits cross over to the other side. Only it was their bodies, and he dressed them up and made them pretty for funeral processions.
Same thing.
Minho himself wasn't a dark or dreary person; he was told he had a handsome smile, women hit on him often and he had a fair amount of color in his wardrobe. But death fascinated him, it always had and it always would, and inheriting his father's business would never be a burden but always be an inspiration, because every day he made sure to take a few moments to appreciate the little things in life, in the realization that his own life could be snuffed out at any moment.
--
Tuesdays were a fairly busy day for Minho. He usually had around twenty or thirty bodies to prep and cool - most of them elderly. Most heart attacks happened on Mondays and he didn't know if it was a coincidence or if old people were really that sad that their weekend of golf was over, but the fact of the matter was that heart attacks happened over Sundays and Mondays, and by Tuesdays Minho got to see the lovely patients so he could prepare them for the viewing.
"Won't you consider the job?" Minho shook his head as he worked on dressing up Mr. Jung for a funeral scheduled for that afternoon.
"Miss Lee, I've already told you no. Twice." The woman in the room wrinkled her nose cutely, holding her clipboard to her chest, looking out of place next to Minho in her business suit and high heels.
"But we really need someone like you on hand," she insisted, taking a step back when Minho rounded the prep table to the other side, her brows raising as he carefully stuffed the man's arms into the blazer jacket. She tutted, "Please, Mr. Choi, we're running out of options."
"I don't even have a college education, I can't be a coroner for the city," Minho said calmly, focusing on putting the cufflinks on neatly.
"But our coroner just quit! We have no one and you're the only person I know that's qualified to do the job!" the woman took a step forward, her big eyes round and earnest as she looked up at Minho, her brows knit together in quiet plea.
Minho looked up from fixing Mr. Jung's tie, meeting Taeyeon's eyes. After a second he let out a breath, gently lying Mr. Jung back down onto the table, shaking his head and taking the clipboard from the younger woman. "I'll look it over. But I won't make any promises."
Taeyeon looked about ready to jump up and down, as she smiled hugely and squealed, "Thank you so much Mr. Choi! Thank you!" She bowed and exited the room, closing the door behind her.
Scratching his head, he set the clipboard down on the table, scanning it over before pushing it aside, his fingers drumming on the paper. He glanced over at Mr. Jung's prone body, lying peacefully on the table. "What?" He asked, looking offended. "I looked over it." He pushed it a bit further away, eyes straying over the salary figures. Sighing, Minho rested his hands on the table, hanging his head, wondering if maybe a career change would be for the better.
--
Minho had seen all kinds of death; natural cause, accident, suicide, murder. Nothing really shocked him, and he always did his best to pay his respects to the deceased and the family. Sometimes a young man would come in that somewhat reminded him off his brother and he'd have to go visit and have dinner with him, just to show him he loved him; sometimes people that looked like his parents would come in and he'd have to call them right away just to see how they were doing, wherever they were. He couldn't be unaffected by his job, he wasn't made of steel, but he wasn't going to let it keep him up at night, either.
That is, until a murder victim came in on a particularly stormy afternoon.
Single gunshot wound to the heart, the man was only a few years older than Minho and quite attractive, in his prime, and looked like he was quite the charmer. As Minho washed and re-dressed the man, making sure to apply the correct creams and make-up to make him look less - well, dead - he couldn't help but wonder about the man's life. Did he have a wife? Kids? What was his profession? Why was he murdered?
"You could just ask, you know."
Minho jerked back, throwing the man's body back down onto the table with such force the table's legs skidded on the linoleum a bit. Eyes wide and heart thumping, Minho watched in horror as the man - the dead man - he was just handling sat up, rubbing his head and turning his lip up at the mortician. "Jesus, and you were so calm at first." The man, the dead man, the dead man that was now alive and moving and swinging his legs over the side of the metal table to stand up and wobble a bit, grinned up at Minho.
"Y-You're - You're - no." Minho staggered back, hand flailing along the wall as he tried to find the clipboard with the cadaver's information on it.
"I'm... not 'no'." The man snorted, fixing the cuffs of his sleeves and shrugging a little, getting the blazer to rest properly on his shoulders. "I'm Jonghyun. Your little clipboard should say that."
"I know what my clipboard says," Minho snapped, once he found his clipboard and scanned it over, his back pressed against the wall.
Jonghyun leaned against the table, folding his arms across his chest, looking down at his feet and arching a brow. "Why don't I have any shoes?"
Minho glanced up, pausing, his mouth a bit agape. "Excuse me?"
The older man looked impatient, "Why aren't I wearing any shoes?"
Minho blinked a few times, before waving his clipboard around a bit, "You just came back to life and you're asking why you don't have any shoes on."
"Are you a mad scientist?" Jonghyun was picking up one of Minho's many tools, inspecting it.
"No!" Minho darted over and grabbed the bone saw from Jonghyun before he could flip the switch. Holding it out of the shorter man's reach, Minho glared down his nose at the dead man. Or the now-alive man. The zombie? "Get back on the table."
Jonghyun whined, "I wanted to look at the sawwwwwww!"
"You can play with it when I'm done, sit your ass down." Minho set the saw down on the table behind him, far, far from Jonghyun's reach as the older man sat down on the table, his hands tucked under his thighs. Minho might not be a doctor, and he might not have any sort of college education, but he didn't need to be a mortician to know that dead people didn't spring up and start dicking around like they hadn't died. Hell, he didn't even need to be in the business to know that. He grabbed a kit from his cabinet, a stethoscope and some basic examination tools, and stared at Jonghyun. "Take off your shirt."
Jonghyun snorted, "You were just dressing me, you can't undress me too?"
Minho clenched his teeth, resisting the urge to smack Jonghyun upside the head with his reflex hammer. "Take. Off. Your. Shirt."
Grumbling, Jonghyun raised his hands and shrugged out of his blazer, setting it aside. Next he undid the buttons of the white collared shirt he was wearing, shrugging it off as well, holding his hands out to present himself, raising his brows. "Tada~"
Frowning, Minho reached out with his fingertips and touched the very fresh wound where the bullet had hit Jonghyun just days before. The other man flinched, hissing slightly, and glanced down to where Minho's fingers met his skin; he too frowned, and pushed Minho's hand away from his body.
"The fuck?" Jonghyun mumbled, touching the bullet hole gently. Minho glanced up, trying to read Jonghyun's expression as the older man ran his fingers over his own skin, as if for the first time. Time sort of slowed down, and Minho knew a lot of things - he knew the dead, he knew the living, and he knew himself - but one thing he didn't know... was why Jonghyun didn't know he was dead.
--
For the first time in his life, Minho had no idea what to do. He couldn’t cancel the funeral - what would he tell the family? ‘Sorry, your relative is alive and well, can’t have the funeral.’ But he couldn’t just carry on with the funeral and stuff Jonghyun into a coffin and bury him six feet under when he was very much conscious and aware, either. Even though he had no pulse, no running blood, no brain activity, there was something cruel about it and Minho paced around his office for three hours, his hair standing in every which direction from how many times he’d run his fingers through it in agony. Tomorrow Jonghyun’s family would be at the parlor for the viewing and the service. They were all grieving his death, mourning their loss and here Jonghyun was, sitting in one of Minho’s plush chairs, kicked back and watching Minho with an amused eye.
“I should die more often if this is how people react,” the older man commented idly as he scratched the side of his nose.
“This isn’t funny, Jonghyun,” Minho said, leaning against his desk and putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He looked Jonghyun over - the man was a bit pale but other than that, he looked lively enough. “You’re dead. Tomorrow is your funeral and you’re supposed to be buried six feet under after that.”
Jonghyun shifted a little in his seat, pulling the collar of his shirt away from his neck, “Ah… I’m a little claustrophobic, man.”
“This is just - I have to figure out why this is happening.”
“Thought you weren’t a doctor?” Jonghyun said, the corner of his mouth turning up in a knowing smirk. Minho’s jaw clenched as he started to flip through his address book on his desk, deciding that if Jonghyun weren’t dead already, he’d strangle him, because he definitely wasn’t a doctor and he sure as hell wasn’t a detective either. His finger landed on the number he was looking for and he picked up his phone, dialing out, trying to ignore Jonghyun as the older man started to tap his foot on the floor, still shoe-less. “Hello, Dr. Lee?” Minho nearly breathed a sigh of relief. “This is Choi Minho from the Choi Funeral Parlor - yes, hello, I’m fine - I was wondering if you could come down here and look at something for me?”
Jonghyun cracked his neck and stood up, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks as he moved over to the shelves of Minho’s office, looking over Minho’s collection of pictures.
“Actually it’s about a body that came from your lab. Something… strange has happened. Today, please. Yes. Thank you, Dr. Lee.” Minho hung up the phone and watched as Jonghyun’s eyes roved over the photos, the mortician folding his arms over his chest loosely.
“This your family?” Jonghyun asked, nodding towards the picture frames. Minho made a positive noise.
Jonghyun gave a small smile, “I… don’t even remember my family.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes lingering on a picture of Minho’s fiancé, and for a brief moment Minho felt a flash of déjà vu. A few moments of silence passed, and then Jonghyun spoke again, quieter. “I thought that after the body expired, the one thing that’s supposed to be left is memories.” His fingers reached out to touch a photo of Minho’s mother, “… All I know is my name.”
--
As it turns out, after a while Jonghyun could clearly remember what happened to him. He remembered being shot in the chest by a thug in an alleyway on his way home from work one night, although he couldn’t remember his job, and he remembered dying. He remembered going up to heaven and he remembered being greeted by someone that he didn’t know, someone he didn’t recognize, and he remembered that person being very hurt that he didn’t know who they were - they had forbade him entry into heaven and sent him back, and now he was under some sort of curse until he could remember who they were.
It was really hokey and Minho didn’t really believe in this sort of voodoo or whatever, he was a man of science and logic, but Jonghyun was sitting there in front of him plain as day and he couldn’t argue it just like he couldn’t argue the bone saw Jonghyun was playing with, the hum of it reverberating in the air as the deceased acted like a kid on Christmas morning.
To each his own.
A knock came to the morgue door and Minho called for entry, the heavy metal doors swinging open. Dr. Lee Jinki was the most intelligent man in the city, probably even the country, and as his eyes fell on Jonghyun, who was sitting on the table and playing with the bone saw, Minho witnessed the color drain from his face and his eyes widen in disbelief.
“This… is the murder victim I sent you.”
Minho nodded.
“Kim Jonghyun.”
“That’s me,” Jonghyun said, putting the saw down and leaning back on his hands.
Jinki’s knees gave out on him and he leaned heavily against a counter, Minho moving to his side to help keep him upright. “This is impossible. I pronounced you dead at the scene of the crime, I cut you open for the autopsy - you’re dead.”
“He’s still dead,” Minho said with a heavy sigh.
Fingers shaking, Jinki pulled his glasses out of the breast pocket of his medical coat and put them on his face, moving towards Jonghyun, who straightened up a little bit. “None of his organs are working, the blood isn’t flowing, he has no pulse. He’s just… moving.”
“Like a zombie,” Jonghyun said with a grin.
Minho and Jinki ignored him as they both put on gloves, Jinki setting his briefcase down on the table next to Jonghyun as he started to pull a few items out of it.
“Are you alright, Minho?” Jinki asked under his breath, as he and Minho hovered close together.
“Aside from there being a walking, talking, cadaver in my office I think I’m holding up alright,” Minho said, as he pulled his clipboard closer to him, arching a brow at Jinki. “Why?”
Jinki gave Minho a measured look, before shaking his head and turning to the dead man. “Can you feel any pain, Jonghyun?” Jinki asked as he picked up a scalpel, glancing up at Jonghyun.
Jonghyun shied away a bit, looking apprehensive. “I don’t know. You’re not going to stick me, are you?”
“Just barely,” Jinki offered a friendly smile, gently grabbing Jonghyun’s wrist. “On your finger. Is that alright?”
Minho folded his arms over his chest, watching as Jonghyun tensed up and Jinki gently slid the blade of the scalpel over the pad of the dead man’s index finger. Jonghyun frowned, but didn’t really make any other notion, and when no blood came from the split skin, Jinki hummed in thought and set the scalpel down. “Any pain?” the doctor asked.
“No,” Jonghyun replied.
“Do you remember your family, Jonghyun?” Jinki asked, as he gently guided Jonghyun to lie back on the table, unbuttoning the dress shirt and running his fingers over the man’s chest.
Jonghyun shook his head, “No… I don’t remember anything about my life. That’s why they wouldn’t let me in, they said.”
“To heaven?” Jinki inquired, arching a brow. Jonghyun nodded. “Do you know why you don’t remember your family?” Jinki placed his hand over Jonghyun’s heart, applying a bit of pressure. Minho watched as Jonghyun’s chest stayed still, absent of any movement that would indicate he was breathing.
“If I knew don’t you think I’d remember?” Jonghyun asked bitterly.
“Hmm…” Turning around, Jinki grabbed the scalpel again and looked up at Jonghyun, giving a small smile. “I’m going to open you up and take a look at your insides again, to see if anything’s changed. Ok?”
Jonghyun’s eyes flitted over to Minho, and for a brief second the mortician’s heart leapt up into his throat - he felt bad for Jonghyun, he felt sorry that Jonghyun died and couldn’t get into heaven and didn’t know why. He was sorry that Jinki was going to do all sorts of experiments on him to figure out why this was happening… Minho excused himself from the room, unable to watch as Jinki cut open Jonghyun’s chest, the dead man anything but dead beneath the blade on the table.
--
That night, Jinki and Minho were in Minho’s office, the doctor draped over Minho’s couch with his mouth agape and snoring lightly, Minho hunched over his desk. Jonghyun was sitting on the floor with his back against a wall, one knee propped up with his elbow draped over it, and he had been staring blankly at the floor for about an hour now.
“What’s it like?” Minho asked, staring down at the papers in front of him.
“What,” Jonghyun asked, his voice dull.
“Being dead.”
A few moments of silence passed, because they both knew that that question was inevitable.
Jonghyun’s leg dropped down and he shrugged, tipping his head back and staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t know, I guess. I don’t really feel any different. Sometimes… it feels like it’s not real.” He ran a hand down his face, closing his eyes. “When I close my eyes and it gets really quiet… I re-live the same experience over and over again. The guy that shot me, I see him coming out of the alleyway and demanding my wallet. We fight, he gets pissed, shoots me, I fall down, I bleed to death in the alley.” He let out a sigh. “That repeats maybe a hundred times over in my head and by the hundredth time I wonder: is this the afterlife? Experiencing the last moments of my life over and over again for eternity?” He gave a weary chuckle. “That fucking sucks, man. What kind of afterlife is that?” Minho stayed quiet, leaning down to rest his cheek on his desk, watching Jonghyun as he talked.
“And then sometimes, because it’s on repeat, I wonder: if I do something different, will the outcome change? Will I come out alive and this will just be some weird dream?” he shifted, his head tipping to the side a bit. “So I try to do something different. I fight back harder, or maybe I give him my wallet. It all ends the same, though. With me dead and bleeding on the sidewalk. And then when I blink, I’m right here, with you.”
“Sounds awful,” Minho said softly, his brows coming together a bit.
Jonghyun snorted, “It is. I almost feel like I’m on some sort of drug and I’m just tripping out really bad. But then it sinks in… I’m dead. I have nothing. I am nothing.” His bottom lip trembled a bit, and Minho could see his eyes wetting.
How was that possible? He couldn’t even bleed, he was dead.
“Tomorrow I’m going to be buried in the ground and I won’t even be able to see the people that I left behind so I can be let into heaven.” He knocked his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. “If I just saw one of them, if I could just remember one of them, then I could go peacefully…”
One of Jinki’s snores jolted the doctor awake, and he fell awkwardly off of the couch and onto the floor, glasses askew and hair unkempt as he glanced around, startled. Minho sat up and looked at him and Jonghyun seemed to be pulled out of his reverie, and Jinki gave an awkward smile, apologizing as he clambered back up onto the couch and fell back into slumber.
Frowning softly, Minho closed his eyes and thought about Jonghyun’s words. If he could see a member of his family… would he be set free?
--
“This isn’t possible.”
“But there’s no other - this is the right date, right?”
“Of course it is, this is the right date and I have all of my files but his is missing, it just doesn’t exist anymore, it’s like he was never… check your files.”
Minho moved into his office, first giving a cursory glance to see if Jonghyun was in it. Jinki was close behind him and when the office was empty, they both stood rooted to the spot, the clipboard on Minho’s desk empty of the transcripts that had been there the previous night. No Jonghyun, no papers with Jonghyun’s information on it - it was like he never existed. Minho moved over to his desk and Jinki continued to file through his papers, searching frantically for Jonghyun’s name, anything, unable to find the work he had done - medical reports, the autopsy, even the death certificate. Jonghyun didn’t exist. And what’s more, Minho couldn’t find Jonghyun’s files in the morgue, either. Even more strange - the Kim family never came for the scheduled funeral. The day was absent of all funerals, in fact. No funerals, and no deaths. The day went on and the city was peaceful, not a single accident happened and Minho and Jinki were left in Minho’s office, sitting on the couch, staring at the wall that Jonghyun had fallen asleep against the night before. Or, at least, where he would have slept had he been able to sleep in the first place.
“This makes no sense,” Minho said, sinking down into his chair as he stared down at his desk, his head in his hands.
Jinki was just as perplexed, sighing as he scratched his head and shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, Minho. This makes as much sense as a dead person coming back to life.”
Punching his fist into the desk, Minho stood up, cursing under his breath.
Jolting, Jinki grabbed his briefcase and started to stuff some papers into it, hurriedly putting on his lab coat. “I - I’m going to be leaving, Minho. Please… go home and get some rest, ok?” Jinki slowed on his way to the door, lowering his gaze. “And drive safe, there’s a storm coming.”
It had been storming all week, but Minho didn’t bother saying that as Jinki shut the door to the office, leaving Minho alone with his thoughts. It was all too much to handle, too soon, how could this be? Grabbing his own coat and hat, Minho left everything on his desk as he went to leave the funeral parlor, the rain heavy on his head and shoulders as he made his way out to his car. He got into his car and stared at the steering wheel for a few seconds, before leaning back in the seat, his eyes watching the raindrops drizzle down the windshield.
Jonghyun didn’t exist. Minho had spent so much time making sure he didn’t get invested in these cases - stay unattached, stay professional, don’t get too involved. But his heart just ached for Jonghyun, who couldn’t get into heaven or hell, Jonghyun who was stuck on earth, Jonghyun who was frustrated and confused and… Jonghyun, who was so much like Minho. Minho, who had nowhere to go - Minho, who felt just as out of place, Minho who got just as frustrated and confused between what he wanted and what he needed; what he wanted, being to succeed his father’s business, and what he needed, being a job that was a bit less morbid and to be a better fiancé and a better friend, to have more friends.
And in the tiny amount of time they had spent together, Minho had felt a connection with Jonghyun, he had felt like maybe he could have been that ticket to heaven for Jonghyun, and just as he had figured it all out… it was too late.
The rain collided against his car like tiny bullets, exploding into tinier bullets that just crashed down around the car, a drumming sound that slowly engulfed his ear drums. Putting his key in the ignition, Minho started up his car and pulled out of the parlor, intending on heading over to his brother’s house to visit.
--
Of course, like most stories go, he didn’t see the collision coming. The opposing car hydroplaned and missed the turn, slamming into Minho’s vehicle. He didn’t feel too much pain, just the initial jolt of his car being crushed and thrown off of a cliff, but after that, everything was bliss.
And then he breathed.
Sucking in air like he was coming up from under water; Minho’s arms flailed and his hands flung out, almost in a swimming motion, legs kicking and feet flailing as he moved. His body ached, his head throbbed and it felt like he was swimming through concrete, everything was dark and he heard someone calling his name, he could feel warmth hitting his face and like a river bursting through a dam his eyes opened and he could breathe, he could feel the cold rain hitting his hot skin and he grabbed onto the closest thing to him, clutching on for dear life. It was a jacket, the jacket of someone hovering over him, cradling him in their arms, and his vision was blurry and things were moving in slow motion, including the man holding him and he could hear his name again and again and he recognized that voice…
“Oh my God Minho, Minho, can you hear me?”
A hand patted his cheek and Minho blinked away the stars, his eyes focusing on the face above him. Jonghyun was hovering over him, soaking wet, water dripping from his bangs and nose, cheeks flushed from the cold and pupils dilated as he held Minho just as tightly as Minho held him.
“J-Jonghyun…?” Minho felt like he was learning who Jonghyun was for the first time, as he reached up and let his fingers slide over the man’s wet cheek, his body weak from the wreck as he finally connected the dots, letting out a weary chuckle. “I thought I’d forgotten you…”
Shaking his head, Jonghyun put his hand over Minho’s, holding on tightly. “Asshole, you better not forget me. They wouldn’t let you into heaven if you did.”
Minho’s lips quivered with his smile, “You’re right, they wouldn’t.”
--
The ride to the hospital in the ambulance was quiet, save for Minho’s question about where Jonghyun’s shoes were. Jonghyun had looked down, surprised, and said he didn’t know and that it didn’t matter - just that they were lucky to be alive, together, and on their way to recovery. The road to recovery itself was slow and tedious, but well worth it, the family business sold and put on the back burner at Jonghyun’s persuasion.
“It was…” Minho ran his fingers through his hair, still perplexed a month after the accident, reclined on the bed as Jonghyun sat on the edge. “You were dead.”
“You were dead,” Jonghyun chuckled, patting Minho’s thigh gently. “Or almost dead. How fuckin’ lucky are we that we crashed into each other? I didn’t even know insurance covered stuff like that.”
“Your sister is a lawyer, that’s what’s lucky,” Minho shifted to lie down on the bed, patting the space next to him.
Jonghyun stood, un-tucking his dress shirt from his slacks as he started to undress, nodding his head in agreement. “Yeah, I guess that’s pretty lucky.” Once he was down to his boxers, Jonghyun slid into bed next to Minho, his arms wrapping around the taller man, his chin resting on top of the mortician’s shoulder. “Hey…”
Minho wrapped his arm around Jonghyun’s svelte waist, pulling him closer. “Hey.”
For a few moments Jonghyun seemed to weigh his words, before he let out a soft breath. “You scared me. I thought - …”
He didn’t need to finish that thought for Minho to know what he was talking about. Rolling over a bit, Minho hovered over Jonghyun, remembering seeing his dead body come to life, remembering seeing those same eyes glowing with laughter, remembering watching him look over the photos in his office as if he didn’t recognize himself in them.
“They said they didn’t know if you were going to be the same, psychologically,” Jonghyun whispered, his eyes shimmering the same way they did when he was dead.
“Don’t be such a crybaby,” Minho smiled, swiping his thumb underneath Jonghyun’s eye. The older man looked mildly offended and laughed, pushing at Minho’s shoulder. “I’m here. I’m alive.”
Jonghyun’s arms wrapped around Minho’s shoulders and brought him down in an embrace, burying his nose into Minho’s neck, letting out a shuddery breath.
“I didn’t know how much I needed you, in order to live.”
“I didn’t know how much I needed you, in order to die,” Minho said softly, pulling back to gently press his lips against Jonghyun’s.
Melting into each other, Minho slid between Jonghyun’s legs, their chests brushing together as their lips parted. Jonghyun’s hands slid down Minho’s sides, feeling the deteriorating muscles and the same masculinity that Minho’s body had managed to hold onto during rehabilitation, the taller man’s body shuddering as he pressed into Jonghyun’s fingertips. Their kisses turned short but deep, tongues probing and teeth tugging at lips, one of Jonghyun’s hands moving up to Minho’s hair, which was getting slightly curly at the ends, to tug on it gently.
Letting out a soft breath, Minho’s hips rolled down into Jonghyun’s, their hardening lengths rubbing against each other. It was strange and familiar at the same time, this dance that Minho knew he had done at least a hundred times before with the older man. But he was re-learning everything - where to touch, what to say, and as his kisses moved down Jonghyun’s neck, as he stripped the man of his boxers and moved his hand between his legs, he figured that re-learning his lover wasn’t so bad, if it meant feeling everything for the first time again.
Every breath, every groan, every press of pianists’ fingertips into his ribs had Minho coming up for air, sweet air, the scent of Jonghyun’s shampoo infiltrating his senses and making him chuckle a bit. They moved together easily, it was their first time and it was their hundredth time, Minho’s teeth digging into the skin on Jonghyun’s shoulder to break blood vessels and bruise the flesh. Pleasure jilted Minho’s veins, curling his toes into the sheets of the bed and making a sweat break out on his back, the pit of his stomach coiling with heat as his hips pushed forward into Jonghyun’s body. Jonghyun arched, drawing out the motions and keeping the pace slow and measured, a small smirk on his crooked lips and his eyes half-closed in pleasure, his hair sticking up in a few places where Minho’s hand continually ran through it.
“I love you,” Minho breathed out, against the hot flesh of Jonghyun’s neck, his lips barely leaving the older man’s skin as he spoke. He couldn’t remember ever being so emotional with Jonghyun; they were a casual, friendly romance with no complications and that was how they liked it, but in this moment, in the thought that Jonghyun could be killed at any time and be torn from Minho’s life and be forgotten… Minho just needed him to know. “I love you.”
Jonghyun let out a little chuckle, nipping at Minho’s ear. “I love you, too.” His arms tightened around Minho’s shoulders and his hot breath washed over the shell of Minho’s ear, causing the younger man’s body to shudder uncontrollably, orgasm taking over as he released, a hand gripping onto Jonghyun’s thigh, fingers digging deep into the flesh, triggering Jonghyun’s release as well.
After a few moments Minho laid off to the side, panting lightly, his head still slightly high.
Jonghyun rolled over and scooted closer to him, crooked grin on his features. “So… this dead me. I was still hot, right?”
“…” Minho rolled over, gathering the blankets.
“I mean even if I was dead I’m sure I was bang-able. I mean… I’m me.”
“It’s bed time.”
“So you wouldn’t have banged me?”
“You were dead.”
“Well if I wasn’t dead.”
“Then that defeats the point of you being a bang-able, dead person.”
“Well, then, for sake of argument?”
“Jonghyun.” Minho rolled over, putting his hand over Jonghyun’s mouth, giving him a blank stare. “You were a lot quieter when you were dead.”
He could feel Jonghyun’s lips quirking in a smile against the palm of his hand, “I was probably wondering why I got sent to the only mortician in the world that isn’t into necrophilia.”
Minho put the pillow over Jonghyun’s face, and then pushed him off of the bed.
--
- jonghyun was never dead, no
- this was not a dream for minho; minho was the one that died. this is a story that basically profiles the "what comes after death?" question that so many people want to know the answer to, and this story is based off of my own experience. i have the belief that when you die or are on the verge of dying, you re-live the last moments of your life, albeit a bit altered, over and over and over again, until finally you are brought back. in minho's case, he re-lived his last day of being alive, working in the morgue and finding a murder victim (though it being jonghyun and coming back to life was completely fabricated, something that his guilty mind made up because he felt like he was lacking emotionally as a partner), all the way up until the car crash that killed him. but while he was re-living his last day, over and over and over again, it finally started to change (though he has no idea that he's been on repeat for who knows how long) when he felt his heart pull towards jonghyun, who had come back to life and had no idea why he was locked out of heaven. it's jonghyun basically playing minho's guardian angel, somehow managing to knock down minho's emotional and mental walls and that, in more than one way, brings minho back to life.
- jonghyun was very much alive, and so is minho, no one ends up being dead/dying in the end. :)
- yes, in the pictures jonghyun was looking at, they were pictures of jonghyun and minho, which is why later on minho was confused as to why jonghyun didn't recognize him. it's the fear and irrationality of dying alone - of no one remembering you, and not being remembered when you die. someone might not remember you, even if you'd remember them. minho was afraid that if he died that day, jonghyun wouldn't remember them, and while he was hovering in limbo, his fears manifested into this strange hallucination of jonghyun coming back to life in the morgue.
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