Now I Lay Me Down [Pt. 3]
Chapter 3/4 - âPray The Lordâ
Summary: Jeongin has severe emetophobia, so he doesn't handle feeling sick particularly well. He convinces himself no less than twelve times a day that he's going to throw up - But this time, it might actually happen.
TW: anxiety, vomit, graphic depictions of illness
Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78366741/chapters/221554011#workskin
It was a miracle that Jeongin had made it through the day. Walking back into their apartment felt equivalent to returning from a long voyage at sea, like he had finally returned from the war. He felt a rush of relief so strong that it almost knocked him off of his feet, almost healed all that was wrong within him. And then there was Chan, sitting on the couch, waiting for him, a book in his hands and his reading glasses on and - What perfect motivation to survive. What a beautiful reward for having done so.
He stumbled towards him, collapsed beside him, made himself comfortable with his head leaning against Chanâs shoulder, looping their arms together.
âLong day?â Chan asked, greeting him with a quick kiss.
âThe longest,â Jeongin agreed, nuzzling into him like he was a cat. Cuddling with his boyfriend didnât solve all of his problems, but it solved a lot of them, and made the remaining few feel more solvable.Â
âYou must be hungry. I know that you werenât really feeling up for work today, so I made kalguksu with geotjeori for you. Dinner should be done soon.â Chan had made Jeonginâs favorite meal without even having to be asked. âI got a few fresh peaches from the store too, for dessert.âÂ
Heâd seen Jeonginâs reluctance to work his shift that day, and was rewarding him for having endured. He was the perfect man. He was so much more than Jeongin deserved. The thought of wasting his kind gesture, of brushing him off by insisting that he wasnât hungry at all - The idea broke Jeonginâs heart, so he didnât say it. He kissed him instead, long and slow, and thanked him for being so considerate.Â
He tried to ignore the fact that his stomach hurt, that it had hurt for the entire day. In fact, it had felt somewhat unsettled for closer to three days now - No matter what Jeongin did, it never quite went away. It shouldâve become easier to cope with as time went by and nothing terrible happened, but he was plagued with the opposite outcome instead. The longer he went without relief, the more anxious he felt about the state of his body, about what could possibly be causing the discomfort.
If Jeongin were to write a memoir of his life, he would title it âMy Stomach Hurts And I Donât Know Why.â As a child, his stomachaches were constant. Back then, he still hoped that there might be a cure for him. He accompanied his mother to visits with doctor after doctor, sometimes even traveling an hour into the city for specialized tests. His fear of needles waned after they took his blood so often that he became accustomed to it. Yet after every panel of blood work, after every procedure they put him through to discover what was wrong with him, they never found a single conclusive result. The general consensus was that nothing was wrong with him at all, despite the fact that he felt ill constantly.
He was handed the labels of âgeneralized anxiety disorderâ and âirritable bowel syndromeâ and sent on his way. He lost faith in the medical system entirely, and it wasnât until he was a teenager that he finally met with a gastroenterologist who was able to help him, at least somewhat. Who wouldâve guessed that something as simple as an antacid and a laxative could be literally life changing?Â
Despite gaining the tools for at least some relief, Jeongin would still be plagued with a lifetime of stomach issues. Every time he was anxious, his stomach would begin to stir. Every time his stomach began to ache, Jeongin felt anxious. And so the cycle went, on and on and on, never reaching an end. As he grew older, his body seemed to reach some sort of peace within itself, and the episodes he suffered from became fewer and further between. For the first time since he was a little kid, he was finally able to enjoy lifeâs simple pleasures, such as tomato sauce, without fearing what retribution his body might inflict on him for daring to taste an acidic food. It felt somewhat cruel, then, when the next incident invariably occurred. It made Jeongin feel hopeless, like he was clawing at the walls of his cage, like he would never escape, like heâd never known what it was like to step outside of his enclosure.
He didnât want to be the same scared little kid that he had always been. He was an adult now, and he wanted to act like one. He wanted, for once in his life, to experience a stomachache and to just be normal about it. That was, of course, easier said than done.
A thin layer of anxiety had been draped over him for the entire day, growing thicker and more difficult to deal with as time passed, the clock hands seeming to tick by excruciatingly slowly. The more time Jeongin spent trapped within his body the more desperate he felt to escape it. He wished for nothing more than the ability to crawl out of his skin, to take a break from the physical sensations that haunted him so his soul could lay down and rest for a while.
But there was no easy way out, no way to separate Jeonginâs brain from the body it resided within, and even more impossibly, he still had to function as if he was not a cliff, slowly eroding away as waves crashed against him, over and over again, trying mercilessly to pull him under. He had to complete the tasks that heâd been given, had to pull himself to his feet and walk around, get himself from place to place. He had to interact with other people, had to find enough breath and semblance of mind to participate in conversations, to pull off a convincing play of âCompletely Average Human Being.â
It upset him terribly, to know that he wasnât usually like this - To acknowledge that he was typically competent at his job, that he was in fact very good at it, motivated and passionate and someone both his coworkers and his superiors could rely upon. When he got like this, though, he felt like a phantom, like a fragment of a person, like all of his better qualities ceased to exist, like they never had in the first place and would never return again, either.
Jeongin even felt anxious on the car ride home, like every minute that he was not physically in the comfort of his own house was unbearable, and even though he was on his way there, it wasnât enough. He needed to be able to teleport, to snap his fingers and instantly be where he wished to be. Every stop light and sign and backup due to traffic made him feel like he was going to explode, made his anxiety build and build until he was clawing at his skin, somewhat as a distraction and somewhat as a vent, as a desperate attempt at relief.
Returning home was like taking his first full, deep breath all day. He knew that it wasnât logical, that his body was his body no matter where he was, but there was just something about being in a safe place that made it feel so much better. Like now that he had finally finished his shift, the hard part was officially over, and he could finally be okay again. If only it were ever that easy. If only that relief could ever last.
Jeongin was being very brave when he sat down at the kitchen table for dinner. The meal smelled delicious, savory and herbaceous. The traditional soup featured handmade wheat flour noodles, which meant that Chan had taken the time to cut them out by hand, in addition to the zucchini, carrots, and shredded chicken floating alongside the noodles in the broth. A side bowl was set out with geotjeori inside, Jeonginâs favorite fresh, unfermented kimchi. He knew that it would be crisp, with a vibrant flavor. Chan was a great cook, and this was a meal he had perfected, knowing how much it comforted Jeongin to eat it.
Jeongin wanted to take comfort from this meal now. He wished that he felt anything other than dread looking at the bowl of noodles, that the smell that usually made his mouth water in hunger wasnât making his stomach turn. He wished that eating in general didnât feel like the most difficult task that could ever be asked of him when he felt unwell.
Heâd forced himself to have a bowl of porridge for lunch - Didnât even let himself abandon it halfway through, didnât let himself stop until heâd finished the entire thing, like he wouldâve done easily on any other day. Every spoonful had been a challenge, had been a war against his mind, Jeonginâs defense line being a constant stream of reassuring thoughts: This porridge is not going to hurt me. Itâs important that I eat. Nothing bad is going to happen to me if I do. This porridge is a friend, not a foe. The act of swallowing itself was somewhat of a challenge when he was so anxious, his mind taking control of his bodily functions, causing his throat to feel constricted, like he was choking.
Jeongin was determined to enjoy the lovely meal that Chan had made for him, despite how impossible that seemed. It felt stupid that eating his favorite fucking meal was now a challenge that he had to overcome, but - Food was not going to hurt him. If his body was fighting something, he needed to give it fuel to win that fight, right? He swallowed a mouthful of broth, fighting the urge to cough it back up. He lazily swirled his spoon through the soup, pretending that he was taking his time because it was still warm.
âAre you alright?â Chan noticed anyways, because of course he did. He was tuned into Jeonginâs behaviors and mannerisms - He always knew right away when something wasnât right, when Jeongin wasnât acting like he normally did. It was a blessing, to be known and loved so intimately. It was a curse, because sometimes Jeongin wanted to hide how he was feeling, wanted to pretend to be something that he was not, and he could never get away with that when it came to Chan.
âIâm okay.â Jeongin tried lying anyways, tried taking a proper bite of his noodles. His body couldnât seem to tell the difference between eating dinner and being hunted for dinner. Chan narrowed his eyes at him, at the way that Jeongin was taking baby bites and chewing for far longer than he usually did.Â
âIâm sorry.â Unbidden, Jeonginâs eyes teared up a little - Out of sadness, out of frustration, out of despair and anger with himself.Â
âWhat is it? Is your stomach still bothering you? Why didnât you tell me?â Chan cared more about Jeongin than he did about dinner, as he always did, as he always had. He cared about Jeongin more than anything else.
âIâm really sorry. I thought that it wouldâve gone away by now, but itâs only getting worse, or - Maybe itâs not that bad, and Iâm just overthinking. Thatâs probably the truth. But Iâm not really hungry.â He allowed one singular tear to escape down his cheek before he forced himself to stop, to try and rein his emotions back in. âI feel so bad that you made something that I love so much, and I canât eat it. I should probably try, I should just get over it-â
âNo.â Chan was pushing his own bowl aside to walk over to Jeonginâs side of the table. âNo, donât worry about it. You donât have to force yourself to eat if you arenât hungry, if itâs making you anxious. You know that you donât have to do that for me, that that wouldnât make me happy.â He ran a hand through Jeonginâs hair, pressed a kiss on his cheek where his tear had left its trail. âDo you want to go to the hospital? Is it that bad?â
âNo!â Jeonginâs response was automatic, ingrained within him. The hospital was where actually sick people went, and he didnât dare expose himself to that potential danger. Not to mention the fact that feeling unwell anywhere other than his own home - Even in a place designed to help people feel better - Was a situation Jeongin wanted to avoid at all possible costs. âItâll probably get better with time. It usually does.âÂ
As if to prove him wrong, his stomach cramped at that exact moment, escalating from a general feeling of malaise to active warfare.Â
âIs there anything I can do to help, then? Have you taken your antacid today? Do you want me to dissolve an Alka-Seltzer tablet for you?âÂ
âThat would be nice, thank-you. I think that Iâll just take a shower. Maybe that will help. Iâm really sorry again, about dinner.â He looked sadly at the abandoned food in front of him.
âStop apologizing, baby. Iâll pack it up for you, and you can have it when youâre feeling better. Let me know if you need me, okay?â He gathered Jeongin into a tight hug when he stood up, and Jeongin melted into it, melted into his arms. He almost wanted to stay right here, just like this, being held by Bang Chan for the rest of eternity. It felt like a loss when he eventually let go.
Sometimes washing up made Jeongin feel better, like simply being clean presented him with a new outlook on life. Today, though, nothing was working - Even the things that usually helped seemed to only make it worse. In the shower, Jeongin tried to relax, but being bare only seemed to make him all the more aware of his body. His stomach felt bloated, like heâd swallowed a boulder and now it was stuck inside of him. It felt wrong, felt like his body was a stranger to him.Â
Even though it arguably wasnât the worst place in the world to fall ill, Jeongin was terrified of throwing up in the shower, when he was naked and vulnerable and alone. His original idea had been to linger, to take his time scrubbing every inch of skin, to cleanse himself from the long day heâd had. In the end, though, dawdling felt too dangerous. He lathered himself with soap and rinsed it back off as quickly as he could, trying to breathe, trying not to think too hard and failing, always failing.
He needed a moment to pull himself together after stepping out of the warm spray of water. His shower had been too hot - Black spots temporarily danced across his vision and he gripped the sink to keep himself upright. He could hear the sound of his blood whooshing in his ears as he sank to the floor, squeezing his legs to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, making himself small, smaller.
He stayed like that for five minutes, ten, until he felt capable of wrapping a towel around himself and drying off. He felt somewhat angry that he didnât feel better yet, that he was still trapped in this state of nearly unbearable anxiety and discomfort. He pulled on a pair of loose joggers and an oversized T-shirt, one that belonged to Chan but, in all reality, was Jeonginâs now. He still forced Chan to wear it from time to time, though, so his scent remained fresh on the cotton.
âHow was your shower, sweetheart? Are you feeling any better now?â Chan was back on the couch, having finished his own dinner and packaged the leftovers for another time. He was sitting cross-legged, a perfect lap for Jeongin to lay his head in, practically an open invitation.Â
âYeah,â Jeongin lied - A gut impulse - Before he thought better of it and changed his answer. âActually, no, sorry. Ugh, I wish I knew what the problem was so I could fix it.â His head was starting to ache now too.Â
âHere, try some of this.â Chan got up to grab a glass of water from the counter, gently pushing it into Jeonginâs hands. Jeongin took a tentative sip - It was fizzy, slightly citrusy with a bitter undertone. âThe Alka-Seltzer might help settle whateverâs going on in there.â
He rubbed Jeonginâs stomach gently, so gently, but he still winced at the contact. He forced himself to take another sip under Chanâs watchful eyes, even though he was scared, even though he didnât want to.
âWould you like to watch some TV with me, or would you rather go to bed?âÂ
It was still early in the evening, far too early to call it a night, even though Jeongin was tempted to try. He knew from past experiences that it would be pointless, though - Even at his sickest, he struggled to sleep. Tossing and turning in bed with nothing to distract him from himself wasnât going to help.
âI want to stay with you,â He mumbled into his cup.Â
âOkay, baby. What do you want to watch?â Chan settled himself back on the couch, patting his lap so Jeongin would rest his head there. He didnât have to ask him twice.Â
âYou can choose. âM sorry that my hair is wet.âÂ
âItâs okay.â Chan leaned down, leaving a kiss on Jeonginâs hairline. He chose a sitcom, something lighthearted and fun in the hopes that it would distract Jeongin, if only for a little while. For a few episodes, it worked - A laugh or two was surprised out of him after particularly silly antics - Until he started to feel worse.
Jeonginâs stomach began to cramp, and he curled into himself slightly, pressing his hands against his stomach as if that might help hold it together, might help keep everything inside. The pressure helped, at least a little bit. He stayed like that until the discomfort grew, and he had to shift, tried to assume a position that might grant him a little relief. The carbonation of his drink bubbled inside of him, culminating in a series of burps that startled him every time. They tasted like the small amount of chicken broth heâd consumed, and it was not as pleasant on the return trip.
He couldnât focus on the television anymore. Although his anxiety had waned slightly, it was now returning full force, until it was the only thing that Jeongin could feel, the only thing that he could think about. Why wasnât this pain going away? Why was it getting worse? What had he done wrong? How could he possibly fix it? And was he going to -
No, he didnât want to think about it, didnât want to consider the possibility, even as it crept to the forefront of his mind, threatened to take permanent residence there. He gripped Chanâs thigh, trying to tether himself, trying to remind himself that he was not alone, that everything was not as bad as it seemed.
âAegi.â Chan had done his best to avoid commenting on Jeonginâs constant shifting and clear discomfort, because he knew that Jeongin wouldnât want him to, but he had reached his limit now. He had no choice but to smother his boyfriend in love and support, to try and help him through this. He slipped a hand under Jeonginâs shirt, pressed it against his stomach. Jeongin leaned into it, into how good that felt. His skin felt warm, but Chan didnât comment on that, didnât want to make him any more anxious than he already was.Â
âChan-hyung,â Jeongin all but whimpered. âI donât feel good. I wish that it would stop.âÂ
âI know, baby. Why donât you try to drink a little more water? Itâll help, I promise. I can maybe try to find your heating pad, too?â It had been so long since the last time Jeongin had needed to use it that he wasnât entirely certain where they had stored it. Was it in the closet, or in the bathroom cupboard, along with their other medical supplies?Â
âDonât move.â Jeonginâs voice was panicked. His hands were clammy with sweat as he clamped them over Chanâs hand, locking him in place. A laugh track rang out from the sitcom that neither of them were paying any attention to now.Â
âIâm here,â Chan reassured him. âIâm right here, Iâm not going anywhere.â
âIâm sorry.â Jeongin couldnât stop himself from apologizing, no matter how many times Chan had tried to convince him to quit that particular habit. âIâm sorry that Iâm like this.â
âWhy are you apologizing, sweetie? Taking care of you doesnât bother me.â The only thing that bothered Chan was seeing him in so much pain, and being utterly unable to help.
âYou shouldnât have to. Itâs so stupid. Iâm too old for this.â Jeongin squeezed his eyes shut. They burned with tears he would not let himself shed. âIt probably isnât even that bad, and Iâm just being dramatic.â He let out a gasp of agony as another wave of pain pulled him under.
âIf it hurts you, it hurts you. Pain isnât a competition - You canât compare how it affects you to how it affects anyone else. And we canât know other peopleâs experiences, so you canât say for sure that your tolerance is higher or lower. You think that youâre weak, but all I see is your strength. Youâre always facing things that scare you, and I admire that. Needing help sometimes, needing to take a break, needing to take care of yourself - Thatâs just as brave, to me.âÂ
Jeongin didnât feel brave. He felt like he wanted to bury himself six feet under, like he wanted to be knocked out with a heavy object, like he wanted to sedate himself. Anything, anything for this to end, anything for it to be over and for him to be through it, to be done with it.
Jeongin hiccuped, his body jolting with the movement, and all he felt was sheer, stark terror. His intestines felt like they were knotted together. It felt like none of his organs were where they were supposed to be, functioning as they should. It felt like something was totally, terribly, irreversibly wrong with him, like he would never be okay again.
Jeongin wasnât sure that laying down was doing him any favors anymore. He held Chanâs hand with a death grip, leaning on his support to help him sit up. He felt doused in nausea, arguably the worst feeling in the entire world. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on the things that he could feel, the things that he could touch - His bare feet against the hardwood floor, Chanâs hand on his shoulder, steadying him, his own heart pounding so fervently in his chest, doing everything within its power to keep him alive. His heart had never faltered on him, even when his own willpower wavered. It took a minute for the feeling to fade, but it did.
âIâm afraid.â He had to swallow hard against another burp rising in his throat before he could finish his sentence. âIâm scared that itâs going to happen.â He didnât need to clarify what âitâ was - They both knew what he was referring to.
âI know that you are, honey. But no matter what happens, itâs going to be okay.â
Jeongin shook his head. It made him feel a little dizzy, made him feel a little worse. âItâs not okay, itâs not okay. Iâm not okay.â He pressed a hand over his chest, could feel his rapid pulse through it.
âAlright. Alright, alright,â Chan repeated himself, trying to remain a calm and steady presence for Jeongin, trying not to make his own stress over being unable to help him apparent. âYouâre not okay right now, but you will be eventually. This wonât last forever. Do you want to go to bed? Do you think you could sleep? Do you have to go to the bathroom?â
Jeonginâs stomach let out an embarrassingly loud gurgle, answering for him. He shamefully buried his face in Chanâs shirt.
âBed.â Avoidance was always the right answer, right? If he kept ignoring it, it would go away, right? Eventually? He needed to cling onto this delusion for just a while longer, needed to do whatever it took to stay alive.
Their bed sheets were nice and cool from having been untouched all day. Jeongin lay down, the upper half of his torso somewhat propped up with pillows. The unease in his body was relentless, waves of nausea appearing more frequently now, freezing Jeongin in place. He squeezed his eyes shut, stiffening his body, trying not to move a muscle, panting from the effort.Â
âThis is killing me,â Chan conceded. He wanted to touch Jeongin, wanted to pull him into his arms and keep him there. He wanted to rub his back, to trace his fingers along Jeonginâs hunched spine, wanted to indulge in any of the little loving touches they typically exchanged freely throughout the day. He sat on his hands to hold himself back, to avoid making it worse for his boyfriend. Touching him would comfort Chan, but it would only make Jeongin feel worse.
âSorry.â Jeongin managed to get the single word out through gritted teeth. He felt bad. He felt really, really bad.
âItâs not something for you to be sorry for, jagi. I just wish that there was more that I could do. I wish that this wasnât so hard for you. Itâs difficult for me to watch you suffer.â Chan wasnât sure how to properly vocalize his thoughts, his emotions - How could he express how much he loved him without making Jeongin feel like he was a burden, without making it seem like he was blaming him?Â
âI think - Augh.â Jeongin gripped onto his pillow so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He breathed through his nose as his stomach cramped angrily again. He had his tongue pressed to the top of his mouth as he swallowed compulsively against the excess saliva that kept returning even as he tried to dispel it.Â
âIf you need to be sick, it might help you feel better.â Chan lightly brushed Jeonginâs bangs away from his forehead. He could see how tense the younger was, how he was fighting against every bodily sensation.Â
âIt wonât,â Jeongin whined. He felt like he would do anything to feel better, anything to rid himself of this feeling - Anything but that. He would rather die. He couldnât imagine anything worse. He was so afraid that he was careening uncontrollably towards his fate, that there would be nothing he could do to stop it, no matter how much he wanted to.
It had been fifteen years since the last time Jeongin had thrown up. The memory remained crystal-clear in his mind, polished from the number of times he returned to it, despite the terror it inspired within him every time he reflected on it.Â
Heâd been ten years old. It was around Christmas time - Theyâd put up their tree that afternoon, dancing around the living room as they strung lights and carefully hung hand-decorated ornaments. To this day, he always felt uneasy after putting up the tree, as if history might repeat itself, as if the tree itself had been the culprit and not the stomach bug that his older brother had brought home with him.
His brother had been just recovering from his illness, still a little pale and more drained than usual as he did his best to partake in the festivities. Still, it had seemed like they were in the clear - Until his younger brother got sick while they were eating dinner that evening. Jeongin found it gross, and he hoped that he didnât catch their germs, but he wasnât scared then.
How strange it was, to reflect on a time before this fear had taken over so much of his life. He could hardly believe that that had been him - That he hadnât run for cover or hidden from his sick brothers or been paralyzed by fear from the flu that was slowly winding its way around his house. Heâd been able to continue his evening like normal, finishing his dinner, even heartily eating dessert. He remembered watching a Christmas film with his older brother and his father while his mom took care of her youngest. He remembered brushing his teeth and getting ready for bed, remembered the exact set of pajamas heâd put on - White with red and green stripes. More than anything, he remembered when the feeling had struck him, when heâd known that something in his body was wrong.Â
He didnât remember feeling scared, a desperate urgency being the only emotion that gripped him as he made his way to the bathroom. He remembered knowing with absolute certainty that he was going to throw up, but the bathroom door was closed, and his little brother was already inside, and he needed to find somewhere else to go, needed to get to the other bathroom downstairs, or a trash can, or a bag, or anything, but - He hadnât had the time. He was sick all over himself, right there in the hallway.Â
He remembered crying, then, about feeling gross and being covered in vomit and wanting his mother. He remembered how frazzled sheâd been, learning that not one but two of her sons were sick, and that she had a mess to clean up after.
Sheâd treated him with nothing but kindness, though, nothing but care as she helped strip him out of his soiled pajamas, as she washed him up with a wet cloth and helped him into a clean set of clothes. He remembered how sheâd tucked him into bed, how sheâd fallen asleep beside him, right there in case he or his brother needed her. He remembered her taking his temperature, forcing him to swallow down grape medication from a tablespoon, how it felt like he hadnât been able to keep anything down for a week.
He knew that it hadnât been the end of the world, how nobody had been mad at him, how heâd recovered in the end, and it had all been fine. He knew that, because he remembered it, and yet -
He wasnât certain when, or why, heâd become so afraid for it to happen again. It felt like maybe heâd never recovered from that particular illness, like his constant string of stomachaches had been instigated from that one event, even though he knew theyâd been present for years before then. He wasnât sure why it scared him so much more now, when he thought about it, then it ever had in the actual moment of its occurrence. It had been so long now, though - His fear had taken on a life form of its own now, and he couldnât handle the idea of it happening, couldnât see himself being able to live through it.
In the end, though, it wasnât really Jeonginâs choice at all. Heâd given himself the illusion that he might be able to avoid it forever from the sheer number of times heâd convinced himself that Today Was The Day, just for the deadline to be extended every time. That was part of the fear of it, of the total loss of control it required from him.
When a particularly intense surge of nausea struck him, though, Jeongin was powerless. His body had set a mission for itself, and it was determined to accomplish its goal. Jeongin had no choice but to submit.
It wouldnât necessarily have been impossible for him to fight harder, to prolong this particular agony throughout the entire night. It wouldnât have been the first time heâd tortured himself in such a way, suffering so much more simply through his unwillingness to let go. But Chan was there beside him, ready to help and hold him through it, and Jeongin was so fucking tired. He wanted it to be over. He wanted to be stronger than his blinding panic, just this one time. He wanted to know what it might feel like to just move on with his life for once.
âIâm gonna be sick,â He warned, practically tumbling out of bed in his rush towards the bathroom. Chan followed closely behind, as proud of Jeongin as he was worried for him.Â
Heâd held onto this conviction for years that the moment he faced the clear water of the toilet bowl when he felt unwell, that it would act as a magnetic force to any sickness within him, that he would be unable to resist its pull, but after treating the bathroom as a fear place for so long, he discovered that it didnât work quite like that after all. It was going to happen - Jeongin could feel it, knew that it was really true this time, was so nauseous that he could hardly see straight - But not yet. It hadnât happened yet.
âChan-hyung,â He cried, letting go in more ways than one as he finally succumbed to the tears that had been threatening to spill over all evening. âIâm scared. Iâm so scared.â It was a pointless refrain, the same phrase heâd been uttering all evening, but they were the truest words that Jeongin had to reflect how he was feeling.
âItâs okay to be scared. Youâre going to be alright, I promise. It wonât be as bad as youâre making it out to be in your mind.â Chan had slipped his hand under Jeonginâs shirt and was rubbing soft circles on his back, now that theyâd reached the point of no return. Jeonginâs nausea swelled again, and he could feel it creeping up his throat. He heavily swallowed it back down, trembling. Chan kissed the nape of his neck.
âYou arenât doing yourself any favors, baby. You have to let go. You have to let it happen.â Something that should be so simple, so why did it still feel so hard?
Jeongin rocked forward, leaning over the bowl with a gag, but nothing came out.
âI canât, I canât, I canât,â He began to sob in earnest. âI canât do it.â His anxiety was apparent in every inch of his body - In the pallor of his skin, in his death grip of the toilet, how he couldnât stop shaking, how even his toes were curled into the floor. Chan wrapped his arms around him and he could feel the frantic beat of Jeonginâs heart, could feel the aborted rise and fall of his chest as he struggled to breathe, as he gagged again with no results.
âYou can do it. Your body knows what it has to do, sweetheart. You just have to let it.â Chan wished more than anything that he could do it for him, that he could take all of this pain and make it his own, but he couldnât. All that he could do was rub his back, brush his sweaty hair off of his forehead, and hope that, for his sake, it would be over soon.
âHelp me,â Jeongin whimpered, even though he knew that the request wasnât fair, even though he knew there was nothing either of them could do.
âI wish that I could, baby.â Silent tears were streaming down Chanâs face now too, making Jeonginâs distress his own. If only sharing it also helped to ease the pain.
Jeongin moaned as the nausea hit him again, feeling different this time - Feeling more like a warning signal, cautioning him that it was coming, and he needed to prepare. Still, it somewhat surprised him when it actually did, when he coughed and then he was vomiting, warm liquid pouring from his mouth and into the toilet as his body violently ejected its contents.
Chan held him through it, never letting go of him as Jeongin retched again, and again, and - Then it was over. Less than a minute later, probably closer to thirty seconds, and he was done. Jeongin slumped backwards against him, still trembling, exhausted. Chan managed to keep a hold on him as he reached towards the handle to flush it all away.
âHow are you feeling, baby?â He asked, still stroking his head.
âI feelâŠâ Jeongin looked dazed. He took a moment to reassess the situation, to gauge how his body actually felt. âI feelâŠbetter?â He said it like a question, like he wasnât convinced that it could possibly be true.
âOh sweetie, Iâm so happy to hear that. I told you that would happen, didnât I? That youâd feel better afterwards?â Chan had to hold back a somewhat ludicrous giggle, as overwhelmed with relief as he felt.
âI did it. I actually did it.â He looked up at Chan with big brown eyes, and to an outsider it might have seemed ridiculous, celebrating Jeongin throwing up like it was some sort of massive accomplishment - But for him, it was.
âYou did it, even though you didnât think youâd be able to. See how much stronger you are than you give yourself credit for?â Chan let go of him just long enough to wet a face cloth to clean off Jeonginâs face and to fill a cup of water for him to wash his mouth out with.Â
âIâm sorry,â Jeongin said once more, once he had drawn himself up on his shaky legs and cleaned himself off. âThat was so gross.â He crinkled his nose against the lingering smell. It felt profoundly wrong to him that it had felt right, in the end.Â
It was disgusting - He certainly hadnât enjoyed himself - And a trace of fear still lingered in his veins, leftover adrenaline that had nowhere left to go. The taste was awful, and the sounds were even worse, but it had been bearable. It hadnât killed him. It hadnât been that bad, all things considered. The act of vomiting itself had been a far less painful process than the hours of nausea heâd struggled through beforehand.Â
âI wonât yell at you for apologizing because I know that youâre sickly, but - Seriously, Innie. Cut that out. Look at me, please.â Jeongin did as he was asked. âDo I look like Iâm upset with you, or grossed out?â
Jeongin shook his head. Chan really didnât. His steadiness, the resolute look in his eyes and his adoration for Jeongin that remained clear in everything he did was something that Jeongin struggled to wrap his head around.
âThatâs because Iâm not. Iâm really happy, actually. You faced your biggest fear, and you survived. Thatâs amazing. Iâm so proud of you.â A smile played across his face.
âI didnât have much of a choice, really,â Jeongin mumbled, looking down, finding it hard to face Chanâs happiness for him head-on. He really was so fucking relieved, though. It felt insane to think of all of the time heâd wasted trying to avoid this exact moment, just to discover that it wasnât nearly as bad as heâd convinced himself it would be.
âIt wouldnât hurt to give yourself a little credit sometimes.â Chan was willing to let Jeongin get away with some things - Okay, with most things - But not with this. âDo you want to go back to bed now? Do you think that youâll be okay?â
âYeah.â Jeonginâs throat hurt, and the acidic taste lingered in his mouth, and he could smell it in his nose - God, that was bothersome - But he was fine. His stomach felt sore from stretching itself inside-out, but it no longer ached as it had, was no longer contorting itself into figure eights, no longer churning. Even his headache had cleared.
It felt strange, climbing back into bed, sliding under the same sheets heâd been huddled under before. He felt like a new person. He felt like part of him had been reborn in that bathroom.
âThis feels like it was too easy.â He rested a hand on his stomach, marveling at how different it felt, like the calm after a storm.
âA panic attack, hours of avoiding it, and we both cried, but yeah. Easy,â Chan huffed, settling back in beside Jeongin. âCan I hold you?â They were exploring new territory here and needed to establish the rules of interaction.
âPlease.â Jeongin wiggled up against him, easily settled into his position as the small spoon as Chan wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close. His eyelids felt heavy, exhaustion finally catching up to him after a long and arduous day and the buildup of the last hour.Â
âAre you still scared?â Chan asked softly, curious as to how Jeongin was feeling now, curious to know what - if anything - had changed for him now that it had actually happened.Â
âHmm.â It surprised Jeongin that he had to pause and think about it, that his answer wasnât an automatic âYes.â It felt unnatural, to be clear from the fog that had surrounded him for the majority of his life. âA little bit? It feels weird that I feel okay. It feels too good to be true, so Iâm a little afraid that itâll happen again, that it isnât really over. But for the most partâŠIâm alright. I want to go to sleep.âÂ
âWe can sleep.â Chan turned the light off, dousing them in darkness.
In no time at all Jeonginâs breathing became steady and even, all tension finally deserting his body as he drifted off to sleep.
Chan stayed awake for a while longer, keeping watch over him, making sure that he really was okay before he fell asleep himself, their limbs tangled together so it was hard to separate them into two different people. They were one couple, one complete being, and together, they had survived the worst. They had survived, and they would make it through to the other side.Â
