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迷茫当然，你一缕清风般进入了我的世界
(you entered my world like a gust of wind when i was lost)
"Jisung, it's time for your meal." The voice is a new one, cheerful and bright and vastly different from Nurse Lee's ragged and slightly hoarse one; Jisung looks up. He sees a young man who cannot be much older than him, blonde hair catching the light and reflecting them, grin back at him and place the tray of food he's carrying onto the table. Jisung glances at the food. It is the same, unappealing bowl of white rice, with a clump of soggy vegetables and a few pieces of samgyupsal on a plate.
Jisung doesn't speak a word and instead turns his head away. He hates hospital food; it's bland and tasteless and sticks in his throat. Also, he's not really hungry. In fact, he hasn’t been hungry for a long time now – he’s almost forgotten what it felt like.
Chenle's smile never falters one bit, his eyes forming almost a straight line. Jisung wonders if he's used to handling patients like him, ones that are too disillusioned with the world to pretend everything's fine and dandy and going to be okay. Ones that don’t even bother hoping for the chance of a miracle. Every day he wakes up is a day closer to his eventual demise. He knows he will die one day too soon, and it hurts.
"Come on, Jisung. I'll feed you."
Jisung blanks out at the unexpected statement, not quite knowing how to react. His fingers involuntarily dig into the clean, white blankets. He finds Chenle smiling encouragingly at him when he glances over, and tentatively, he opens his mouth, not entirely sure what he's gotten himself into. Chenle smiles even wider, and he makes a pleased noise. He spoons the rice into Jisung's mouth and watches, satisfied, as Jisung chews mechanically a few times then swallows it. The rice itself is bland and tasteless but Jisung finds himself opening his mouth again, as if on cue.
"乖1, Jisung-ah," Chenle smiles, inserting the spoon into Jisung’s mouth again. They fall into a comfortable quiet, the only sound being that of Jisung’s chewing.
“I’ll be taking over from Nurse Lee from now on,” Chenle informs Jisung as he picks up a piece of samgyupsal with chopsticks to place on a spoonful of rice. Jisung’s eyes widen and it takes some time for Chenle’s words to sink in before he nods slowly.
“Okay,” he says in a small voice.
“By the way, my name is Chenle.” There is a lilt in Chenle’s voice when he says his name. Jisung likes it.
Amazingly, Jisung finishes the bowl of rice in record time, which comes as a surprise to himself, even. Chenle ruffles the younger's head fondly. "See, that wasn't so hard, was it?" he chuckles, and Jisung nods, mesmerised by the sound of Chenle's laugh.
"See you tomorrow, Jisungie!" Chenle calls out from behind his shoulder as he leaves the ward. Chenle reminds him of something―the first ray of sunshine at dawn, Jisung thinks, with how he seems to light up the whole ward with his presence. But then he catches himself, and shakes his head, chasing the thought out of his mind. He stares dumbfoundedly at the whitewashed hospital walls, wondering what has gotten into him.
Jisung cannot understand the paradox that is the hospital. He thinks that for a place which supposedly gives life to patients, it is pretty lifeless.
Chenle is what gives it life.
Chenle was assigned to Jisung three months after he had been admitted to the hospital. Jisung had had five nurses before, each one who had requested to be transferred to another patient because Jisung was too difficult. But when Jisung and Chenle met, something clicked. Jisung didn't try to be difficult on purpose and Chenle became very much endeared to his young patient.
Jisung likes watching Chenle bustle about. He thinks the drab nurse uniform looks oddly befitting on him even though it's an ugly shade of blue and the cut is beyond horrendous. Chenle's blond hair catches the light streaming in from the windows and it turns a million different hues of gold. All too often, Chenle catches Jisung staring and smiles at him, causing Jisung to flush red and turn away.
或许，喜欢上你是命中注定
(perhaps, i was destined to like you)
"Jisung-ah, look at what I've brought today." Jisung squints at the armoury of brushes, black ink and paper Chenle brings in with him. What's he up to this time?
"What are you doing, hyung?" Jisung inquires out of curiosity, propping himself up with his hands to lean against the pillows.
Chenle doesn't answer; he takes out a brush and opens the ink bottle, dips the brush in ink, and starts writing on the paper. Jisung stares, mesmerised, as he makes gentle, flowing strokes onto the paper. Before long, two characters are formed, and though it is a language unfamiliar to him, Jisung has to admit that it is beautiful.
"What is that, hyung?"
"志晟2。" Jisung watches the way the corners of Chenle's mouth lifts upwards slightly when he says the second syllable. These characters uttered are melodious and bright and Chenle's lilting voice makes Jisung want to hear him speak Chinese again. Somehow, he sounds much more at home with the language, even though his Korean is flawless.
"What does it mean?"
"It's your name, Jisung."
Jisung looks back once more at the ink on calligraphy paper. The ink has mostly dried, but there are little wet patches of black that continue to reflect the light streaming in from the window.
"It's nice, hyung. Can I keep it?" Jisung asks, a tad timidly. Chenle's eyes crinkle in that familiar way and Jisung knows the answer.
"Sure, it's all yours."
Jisung doesn't speak much. He finds speech excessive; after all, being alone in the hospital for a few months takes its toll and soon enough he runs out of things to say. He withdraws into himself and smiles perfunctorily at the doctors and nurses who come in to test his condition. What's the use of making friends when he's going to die anyway?
But Chenle makes him actually want to talk, Chenle makes him want to open his mouth and converse and laugh and smile. Jisung finds himself laughing more and more since Chenle has entered his life. When Chenle laughs, his nose scrunches and his eyes narrow into a perfect line – Jisung thinks he looks absolutely stunning. So he does his best to make him laugh, be it through corny jokes or funny gestures.
"You're happier, Jisung," Chenle observes one day. Jisung looks up, halfway through a book. "I'm glad."
Jisung isn't sure if he should tell Chenle that he's the reason for it.
就让我用一笔一画勾勒出我们的爱
(let me use strokes to sketch out our love)
"Hyung," Jisung says one day, poking at Chenle’s cheeks. They’re soft and pillowy and feel like clouds. "Teach me how to write your name."
"What for?" Chenle asks blearily, sitting up in the hard plastic chair he fell asleep in. He remembers being really tired and sitting down to have a little rest – how long has he slept? He doesn't know and he might have a crick in his neck. Kun's probably going to kill him. He checks his watch and relaxes – the check-up on his next patient isn't until an hour later. Plenty of time, he reasons.
"No reason," Jisung shrugs. "I just want to know."
"Well," Chenle smiles indulgently at the younger, "okay."
Chenle fumbles around in the drawer next to Jisung's bed and finds a piece of paper and a pen in the top drawer. He places the paper on the table and starts writing, murmuring the names of the strokes as he goes:
"横、撇、横、横、竖提、撇、捺 – 辰。撇、竖折、竖钩、撇、点 – 乐。"
Jisung stares at the two characters on the paper. Chenle's handwriting is beautiful, he thinks, it's powerful yet gentle, messy yet organised. Each stroke is a precise flick of the wrist; Jisung is entranced. It's like the calligraphy Chenle showed him before, except not quite – it's less about the large arm movements and more about the little motions of the wrist – Jisung can't quite explain it. But it's beautiful all the same.
He picks up his own pen, and tries to copy what Chenle has written. His hand hovers over the paper uncertainly. Where to begin? He tries the first few strokes – 横, a straight even line; then 撇, a controlled curve of the pen on paper, guided by the wrist. Jisung's beginning strokes are shaky. His hand wobbles and he gets pen ink all over the page. The end result, however, is ugly black scrawls on blinding white. The sickening contrast makes him reel.
Chenle smiles gently at him.
"Let's try it this way." Before Jisung knows it, he feels a warmth on the back of his hand. Chenle cups his palm over Jisung's right hand, steadying his shaking fingers.
"Together."
Together, they trace the strokes one by one, and Chenle murmurs the names of the strokes beside his ear. His breath tickles and Jisung feels his heart getting into overdrive, because Chenle is close – too close – and yet Jisung is conflicted between scooting further away and leaning in closer towards him. The gentle warmth of his palm on his hand makes it hard for Jisung to concentrate, but under Chenle's guidance a passable 辰乐3 is now on the paper before them.
"Well, what do you think?" Chenle asks, eyes shining with mirth.
"I―" Jisung's breath catches in his throat. Chenle looks positively beautiful, beaming down at him. He exhales, then says quietly, "I think it's perfect."
潦草的爱情除了我们，没人读得懂
(apart from us, no one can read our scribbled love)
“I’m sorry, there's nothing much we can do. You only have a month, at most," The doctor tells him when he checks up on him. Jisung thinks he's prepared for this, hell, he's been preparing for this ever since he entered the hospital, but hearing the words come out of the doctor's mouth as clear as day still stuns him, and he stills, not knowing what to do.
The doctor smiles sympathetically, reaching over to pat Jisung's arm. "Make full use of your time. You shouldn't leave any regrets."
And so Jisung does. He tries to steal little pockets of time, becoming clingier and more affectionate. He even does aegyo once. If Chenle notices how weirdly Jisung is acting, he doesn't say anything. He lets Jisung pull on his wrist, lets Jisung hug him before he leaves, lets Jisung show him with actions what he doesn't have the courage to put in words.
After Chenle leaves, Jisung picks up his pen and writes. He remembers the strokes now, hours of incessant practice ingraining the characters in his brain, and characters of varying sizes fill up the paper soon enough. He writes until ink smudges onto his hand and the grip on the pen becomes much too tight. Jisung laughs bitterly at himself, the sounds amplified in the empty ward, reverberating off the walls. Even after all these years, he's never been brave. He can't face death, he can't face Chenle, and he can't even face himself.
我不由自主地奢望着一个美好的结局
(i can't help but wish for a happy ending)
It's now or never, Jisung thinks, and this is the one thing he has to do before he dies. He tugs at Chenle's uniform and kisses him full on the lips. Chenle's eyes widen at the unexpected press of Jisung’s mouth against his, but Jisung goes on, feeling a growing sense of urgency. Chenle slowly begins kissing him back, but he tenses up in sudden realisation of what he's doing, body rigid, and then quickly pulls away, only to see Jisung looking at him with a mixture of want and desperation, lips slightly parted. His cheeks are rosy and his eyes are glassed over.
"Chenle-hyung..." Jisung chokes out.
It would be so easy to confess now, to tell him I love you and get away with it. After all, he doesn't have much time left and he won't live to see the repercussions. The words are on the tip of his tongue now and he opens his mouth to say them, but they get stuck – his throat is dry and he can't breathe and somehow he swallows them back.
Two weeks.
He realises, with a start, that he's being selfish. If he confesses and Chenle feels the same way, what then? They would never end up together anyway. They both know that Jisung's time is short. His words would free him but ironically, would be like rocks tied to Chenle's neck, dragging him down, down, down.
"What?" Chenle asks quietly, after the pause has become longer than necessary. Jisung bites his lip, then realises that they are dry and cracked. He belatedly wonders if Chenle noticed it when he kissed him.
"I – Nothing." Jisung thinks he sees a glint of confusion and sadness in Chenle's eyes, but he convinces himself that he imagined it.
"Alright, see you tomorrow, Jisung-ah," Chenle whispers, then leaves quietly through the door.
The door clicks shut.
Jisung spends the night muffling his sobs with the pillows.
我已经把我的心给你了，难道还不够吗？
(i already gave my heart to you, isn't it enough?)
Jisung never did get to confess. The illness takes him a week after, a month before his twentieth birthday. At his funeral, Chenle doesn't cry. He feels tears spring forth but he bites down hard on his tongue and blinks vigorously; they stay safe behind his eyelids.
He washes down the metal tang in his mouth with glasses of water.
The day after Jisung’s funeral, Chenle applies to transfer to the second floor, and within a week his request is approved.
"Here. Jisung left this for you. We found it when we were clearing out his belongings." Sicheng corners Chenle one day while he is on duty, pressing a slightly wrinkled envelope into his palm.
"Thank you," Chenle smiles but it never quite reaches his eyes. Sicheng nods in kind understanding and then hurries away, leaving Chenle to his thoughts.
Chenle runs a finger over the flap of the envelope before tearing it open. In it, he immediately recognises the piece of paper on which they practiced writing his name. He swallows thickly as he traces his finger over the characters that make up his name, each pen stroke cutting deep into his heart. The handwriting is achingly familiar – Chenle closes his eyes and there’s Jisung sitting up on his hospital bed, flashing the brightest grin at him as he walks in. Jisung, taking his small hands in his much larger ones. Jisung, scrunching his nose at the hospital food but eating it anyway. Jisung, shyly scratching the back of his head after he tells a joke. Jisung, insisting on having Chenle teach him how to write his name.
Jisung, making Chenle fall for him in every possible way.
Curse Jisung, making him remember right when he thought he was about to forget. He offhandedly flips the paper over, and his breathing halts.
There is a large 我爱你4 scrawled onto the paper. The strokes are neat, even and controlled; a big jump from the few words Chenle saw him write before. He can tell that Jisung wrote the phrase only after countless rounds of practice. Chenle thinks it's without a doubt more beautiful than any other piece of calligraphy he's ever written. Without warning, tears prickle at the back of his eyes but this time, Chenle doesn't blink them away.
This time, Chenle closes his eyes and lets them fall.
你好狠，夺走了我的心
(how cruel, you stole my heart away)
1乖：be obedient
2志晟：Jisung
3辰乐：Chenle
4我爱你：I love you