Chapter Text
The rain had started sometime before dawn, soft at first, like the quiet drumming of fingertips on glass. Now, as the morning crept in, it fell heavier, splashing against the windows of the small apartment and filling the air with that clean, damp smell of wet concrete and earth. Jisung lay still beneath his blanket, listening to it. The soft patter was comforting, in a way. Like the world outside was pressing pause, giving him a little more time before the day began.
He felt the dull ache in his chest before he even moved a reminder that it was still there, that it was always there. He didn’t bother to sigh. That would have cost too much air, and these days he hoarded every breath like it was precious.
A soft knock at the door. His mother’s voice, gentle and familiar. “Sungie? Time to get ready.”
“I’m up,” he called back, his voice thinner than he meant it to be. He hated the way it sounded tired, small. But his mother didn’t comment. She never did.
He pushed the blanket aside and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, pausing a moment to steady himself. The room tilted, just slightly, the corners darkening at the edges of his vision. He waited, hands braced on the mattress, until it passed. Then he stood slowly, moving through the motions of his morning with practiced care toothbrush, uniform, notebook in his bag. Every task a little battle.
The apartment was quiet except for the hiss of the kettle on the stove and the soft murmur of the radio, some old ballad playing low. His mother was at the counter, pouring tea into a thermos. She turned as he entered, worry tucked behind her smile.
“Eat something?” she said, but it wasn’t really a question.
He nodded, picking at the toast she handed him. His appetite was unreliable these days, another thing slipping out of his control. But he ate because it made her feel better, because it kept her from watching him with that look the one that broke his heart more than the illness ever could.
The walk to school was slow, rain drumming on his umbrella, the world grey and blurred around the edges. He kept his head down, watching his feet, counting his steps like it meant something. He liked the rain because it gave him an excuse to walk alone. No one wanted to share an umbrella with the quiet kid. No one wanted to match his pace. He was too slow, too easily winded, too careful. And that was fine. He preferred it that way.
By the time he reached the school gates, the courtyard was already busy, umbrellas closing, students shaking off the wet and hurrying inside. Laughter and chatter filled the air, the hum of a world that didn’t notice him. Jisung slipped through the crowd, invisible, and made his way to his classroom.
He liked the corner seat, by the window. It let him watch the rain, the trees bending in the wind, the clouds heavy and low. It let him drift without being noticed. He was good at that disappearing in plain sight.
Classes passed in a blur, teachers’ voices a low drone, notes scrawled without thinking. Jisung’s mind wandered, as it always did. He thought about the hospital. About Dr. House sharp, unfiltered, always watching him with those piercing blue eyes like he could see through all the polite lies Jisung told.
“You’re dying,” House had said, the first time they met, like it was just another fact in the universe. Like saying the sky is blue or water is wet. “Don’t waste my time pretending you’re not.”
Jisung had hated him for that, at first. For saying it so plainly. But over time, he’d come to find comfort in House’s brutal honesty. There was no pretending with him, no false hope, no sugar-coating. Just the truth, as cold and hard as it was.
The doctors had given him numbers. Months. Maybe a year, if things stayed stable but they wouldn’t. Jisung knew that, even if his mother tried to believe otherwise.
At lunch, he sat outside beneath an overhang, watching the rain turn the courtyard into a patchwork of puddles. He pulled out his notebook, doodling in the margins of his homework — little figures, half-formed lyrics, anything to fill the space. The other kids clustered together at their tables, loud and bright, the way teenagers were supposed to be. Jisung didn’t resent them. Not really. He just felt apart from them, like he was watching the world through glass.
Somewhere across the courtyard, Minho laughed that rich, easy sound that carried even through the rain. Jisung’s gaze flicked toward him, unthinking. Minho was surrounded by friends, all wet hair and damp uniforms, slapping each other on the back, cracking jokes. He was magnetic without trying, the kind of person people gravitated to. Jisung had always noticed him, though he doubted Minho even knew his name.
And that was fine. That was safer.
Jisung lowered his head again, focusing on his notebook. The rain kept falling, steady and soft, and the world kept moving around him. He sat still, breathing in the damp air, feeling the weight in his chest, and telling himself to be grateful for the quiet.
Tomorrow, he’d have to see Dr. House again. Another round of tests, another round of truths he didn’t want to hear. But that was tomorrow. Today, he had the rain, the steady beat of it on the roof above, the soft blur of the world beyond the glass, and the space to just… be.
And for now, that was enough.
---
The hospital always smelled the same antiseptic and cold, like the air had been scrubbed clean of anything human. Jisung sat in the waiting area, his fingers tracing the frayed strap of his backpack as he stared at the tiled floor. The hum of fluorescent lights filled the space, mixing with the quiet murmur of nurses at the desk and the occasional beep from machines somewhere down the hall.
His mother sat beside him, too still, hands folded tight in her lap. Jisung could feel the tension radiating off her, but neither of them spoke. There was nothing to say that hadn’t already been said a hundred times.
“Han Jisung?”
He looked up. A nurse gestured him toward the hallway. His mother stood too, but Jisung shook his head gently. “It’s okay. I’ll go in alone.”
She hesitated she always did but then she nodded, her eyes soft with worry.
The walk to the exam room felt longer than it was. His heart beat faster, not from exertion, but from what he knew was coming. The truth, stripped bare. House never dressed things up. That’s why Jisung trusted him.
Inside, Dr. House sat on a stool, cane propped beside him, flipping through a file with one hand while balancing a cup of coffee in the other. He didn’t look up right away.
“You’re late,” House said, though Jisung wasn’t. “Don’t tell me you were too busy brooding in the rain, writing emo poetry?”
Jisung huffed a small laugh despite himself and sat on the exam table, the paper crinkling beneath him. “Something like that.”
House finally looked up, his gaze sharp, taking in the pale skin, the dark circles, the slight tremor in Jisung’s fingers. His eyes missed nothing.
“You look like crap,” House said bluntly. “But you knew that.”
Jisung shrugged. “Comes with the territory, right?”
House leaned back, balancing the coffee on his knee. “Test results are stable. No better. No worse. You’re plateauing for now. Don’t get too comfortable. Your body’s a time bomb. Could stay quiet for a bit, could blow tomorrow.”
Jisung nodded, absorbing it like he always did.
House studied him a moment longer. “You’re still going to school?”
“Yeah.”
“Friends?”
“Not really.”
House’s mouth twisted into something between a smirk and a frown. “Good. Friends are overrated. They just get messy when things go south.”
Jisung looked down at his hands. “I know.”
There was a long pause, filled only by the faint drip of a leaky faucet and the distant sound of a cart rattling down the hall.
“Your mom still doesn’t know how bad it is, does she?”
“She knows enough.”
House’s gaze softened for just a second so quick you’d miss it if you weren’t looking. “You could tell someone else. Share the misery.”
Jisung shook his head. “No point.”
“Right. Because if you don’t let anyone close, no one gets hurt.”
Jisung didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
House sighed, pushing himself to his feet with a grunt, leaning on his cane. “We’ll run another set of scans in two weeks. Try not to drop dead before then. Iam not doing paperwork.”
Jisung smiled faintly, sliding off the table. “I’ll do my best.”
When he stepped back into the waiting area, his mother stood immediately, searching his face for clues. He gave her the same small, practiced smile the one that said everything’s fine even when it wasn’t.
They walked home in silence, the rain gentler now, the streets glistening wet beneath the grey sky.
---
The next day at school, the rain had passed, leaving behind clean air and puddles that reflected the pale blue of the clearing sky. Jisung took his usual seat by the window, resting his chin in his hand, eyes drifting over the courtyard as students gathered in clumps, laughing, shoving at each other, alive in ways he felt distant from.
And then there was Minho. His small but blossoming crush
Jisung hadn’t meant to notice him. But it was hard not to. Minho had that kind of presence all easy smiles and careless grace, like the world bent itself slightly to make space for him. His laughter reached Jisung even through the window, warm and genuine. He was leaning against a pillar, talking with his friends, the morning sun catching in his hair, his posture relaxed and confident in a way Jisung couldn’t even fake.
For a moment, Jisung let himself watch. Just a moment. Let himself imagine what it would be like to be part of that world. To belong somewhere, even briefly.
But then Minho’s head turned just slightly, just enough that their eyes almost met. Jisung startled, tearing his gaze away, heart suddenly racing for no good reason at all. He stared down at his desk, cheeks warm, cursing himself silently.
Stupid.
Minho hadn’t noticed. He wouldn’t notice. People like Minho didn’t see people like Jisung. That was the way of things. The safe, distant way of things.
But still.
Later, as they passed in the hallway, Minho glanced at him. Just a glance nothing more. Jisung told himself it meant nothing.
But it stayed with him anyway.