-Here I am again, with a new chapter! Sorry these are so short, but I kinda like the length so far. There's more coming though, so don't worry! XD

Thank you all for such kind reviews. They always brighten my day. There's one guest reviewer on here who goes by "Your Reader." I'd like to thank you very much for all the reviews you've left on my stories. Your feedback is very appreciated and it means a lot to me that you'd take the time to write out such thoughtful reviews for me :)

All right, I'm done. Read, people!-

The next day found Minho in pretty much the same place, in a chair next to Newt's bed.

It was a bustling day at the hospital, or at least it seemed to be in the Flare wing. Nurses and doctors flashed back and forth outside Newt's door. A few patients were moving about too, dressed in the same pale blue. They exchanged hushed words and glances between red-rimmed eyes. A few of them offered Newt a smile as they passed his door. He always nodded back or gave them half a smile. It was a secret language that only Flare victims spoke, that you could only speak if you understood the hardships of such a disease.

Minho felt a little more relaxed today as he spoke to Newt. The blonde was definitely opening up to him a bit more, though he was careful to never ask about Newt's illness. The one thing Newt didn't want was pity. They were right in the middle of a conversation about an old, crazy violin instructor, when a curious thing happened. A doctor seemed to be about to pass by the room, but then he paused. He was young-looking, with short, dark hair and pine-green eyes. Handsome, even. He glanced in at Newt and Newt glanced back, and suddenly, the smirk they shared seemed to hold a heavier meaning. Then the moment was gone.

But Minho was now staring at Newt in surprise and puzzlement. Newt just gave him one of those half-lidded looks and shrugged. "What?" he asked drily. "It's called flirting. And yes, I'm gay."

"Oh. I see." Minho continued to study him for a few moments more. Then, inexplicably, he started laughing.

Newt arched an eyebrow at him. "What, you think it's funny?" he asked, a bit of sharpness entering his words.

"No, no," Minho replied, waving his hands in a denying gesture. A laughter-wide grin pulled at his lips. "It's just...such a coincidence."

"Coincidence?" Newt repeated confusedly.

"I'm gay too."

Newt's eyebrows shot up. "...oh." He rested his back more firmly against his pillows and crossed his arms. Studying Minho carefully, his gaze took in the broad shoulders and the hair spiked like jagged ink. "You don't look gay," he remarked.

Minho laughed again. "How am I supposed to LOOK gay?"

"I don't know, wear skinny jeans, try to look good all the time, talk like a girl." Newt shrugged defensively.

"Okay, first of all," Minho began with a playful grin, "I am wearing skinny jeans right now; they just aren't obnoxiously tight. Second of all, you should know by now that I try to look good all the time; have you seen my hair?" Newt snickered out loud at that one and Minho's grin widened. "And third of all, I will NEVER talk like a girl, no matter how gay I am."

Newt lifted his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Okay, okay, point taken," he conceded. "You don't have to act like a girl to be gay."

"Exactly." Minho rested his back against his chair, satisfied with the mock-argument. He couldn't help but study Newt again, noticing his habit of curling his fingers into the sheets. Maybe there was some hidden pain nagging at him all the time. It made Minho's heart ache. He raised his eyes to Newt's face again. "So, do YOU actually do all that stuff?" he asked teasingly. He wanted to take his mind off thoughts of the Flare and Newt having it inside him right now.

"Oh god, of course not," Newt scoffed, as though it was the most revolting idea he'd ever heard of. Then his look of disgust faded into a more resigned one. "Well, I mean... Let's just say that if I wasn't all dressed up in this hospital crap and had my own clothes, you'd know I was gay."

They both broke into sniggers then, because who wouldn't laugh when imagining Newt all dressed up to look gay? Minho felt then like he was the only person in the world with Newt, as though everyone else had dropped away and left them alone. It was a wonderful, breathless feeling. He knew he'd never felt like that with anyone else, much less someone he'd known for only two days. But he felt like he'd known Newt for years, and that somehow, in some way, Newt knew him too.

Once their laughter had died, an easy quiet blanketed the room. Minho sat back in his chair and watched a few people pass by in the hallway. A smile lingered on Newt's face, as he studied his hands twisting the sheets into knots. Minho noticed and tilted his head to one side in curiosity. "Why do you do that?" he asked, gesturing to Newt's hands. "I always notice you doing it."

Newt looked up, eyebrows raised like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't have. But then he simply shrugged with one shoulder. "I dunno. Sometimes, it helps. With the Flare, I mean, " he added, with a spared glance.

Minho knew Newt didn't like people asking about his illness, but at that moment, he couldn't help it. "Does anything hurt?" he asked, trying not to sound deathly serious.

"Once in a while, yeah," Newt answered, almost absently. "It gives you really bad headaches sometimes. But the hallucinations are worse. You can't even tell what's real or not. It's why they have me on so much medication, so that I'm not screaming about things crawling up the walls all the time."

Minho was shaken by the words, and the casual way Newt was saying them, but Newt didn't seem to notice. He went on, "anyway, it's the hallucinations that make me do the hand-thing. The medicine keeps them from coming, but it still messes with your vision a little. It hurts, like when you look at the sun for too long. Having something to hold on to helps me deal with it."

Minho's gaze fell from Newt's face back to his hands again, curled in the sheets. "I didn't know it was that bad..." he trailed off.

"You didn't know?" Newt snorted, not exactly in a mean way. "You knew when you came in here that I was dying. It's not exactly a stroll through the park.''

The understanding of it dawned on Minho then. He hadn't really gotten it before. Before, death had been an absent thing, a rumor whispered between people but never seen. Now, talking about Newt's sickness for the first time in a serious manner, it hit him. The boy sitting in front of him, the boy he'd known for two days and who already had him completely enraptured, was going to die. It was like a punch to the gut. He didn't know why, but he said quietly, "I'm sorry."

Newt bristled, much like he had that first day. "There's nothing for you to be sorry for," he pointed out. "You knew it would happen and so did I. Talking about it doesn't change anything. I shouldn't have said anything."

"There's nothing wrong with talking about it," Minho told him. "People talk about these things all the time."

"Well, I told you I didn't want to talk about it," Newt returned. "All I want is...is...hell, I don't even know." He pushed his bangs out of his face, rumpling them. "Just...drop it, okay?"

"Why?" Minho asked gently. He only wanted to make Newt's life easier.

"Because it's none of your business. You're not family, and you're not close to me."

"What if I want to be close to you?" Minho knew as soon as he asked it that it was a mistake. It had tumbled out of him before he could hold it back.

Newt glanced sharply at him, a flicker in his dark blue eyes. "What're you saying?" he asked slowly.

"Nothing." Minho's face burned in embarrassment. "Never mind. Forget I said it."

There was a long stretch of nothingness between them. The only sounds were their steady breathing and the droning beeps of medical equipment. Minho wanted to kick himself. Why had he even said such a thing? He didn't even know Newt! You can't want to be close to someone...in THAT way...when you hardly knew them...right?

After an infinite minute, Newt spoke, his words so hushed that Minho almost thought he'd heard him wrong. "I don't want to forget."