Archive of Our Own

namjoon’s reading a book when he comes in, clad in light grey, standing next to a nurse in navy blue. he stares at them for a while before giving them a dimpled smile, and watches as the mystery man smiles back. hoseok grins from beside the man, leaning against the white of the doorway as he plays with the chestpiece of his stethoscope.

“hey, namjoon,” hoseok greets. his voice is light and airy—something namjoon has grown to appreciate next to the bleached walls of the sanitised hospital. the nurse blinks and drops his hand, elbowing the man beside him as though to urge him forward. “thought you’d like to meet the newest addition to our team.”

the nurse beside hoseok is short, figure slim. namjoon watches as he bows low, a little shy, but his eyes sparkle in the same way hoseok beams before standing straight once more. the syllables move daintily across his tongue, a melodious giggle slipping between each word, and his eyes crinkle into crescents on his milky skin.

“park jimin. it’s nice to meet you.” he shines like a million suns. “hoseok-sunbaenim’s told me a lot about you in the ten minutes i’ve been here.”

namjoon narrows his eyes, scoffing as he settles the book against his lap. “don’t believe anything he tells you.”

“i only said good things!” is hoseok’s protest, and jimin laughs, filling up the stuffy room with a fresh burst of warmth. hoseok sighs, knowing he’s left alone to defend himself, and instead moves away from the door and towards the hallway. “honestly, i’ve been your nurse for two months now. you’d think i’d be appreciated a little more.”

“i do appreciate you,” namjoon argues. “ ‘whether one believes in a religion or not, and whether one believes in rebirth or not, there isn’t anyone who doesn’t appreciate kindness and compassion.’ ”

the frown on hoseok’s face disappears momentarily, features somewhat soft, but there’s another sigh, and he shakes his head, lips tugging strangely at the corners.

“you’re always making things so sentimental,” he comments, but says nothing else, instead pointing towards the end of the hall where more patients await. “i’m gonna go check on the other patients. i’m sure jiminnie would love to keep you company in the meantime.”

jimin glances curiously at hoseok, amusement tugging at his lips. “ ‘jiminnie?’ ”

“a nickname.” hoseok shrugs. “we’ll be working very closely from now on. can’t i at least have that privilege?”

jimin opens his mouth to reply, but hoseok darts away before jimin can produce the first syllable. he doesn’t seem to mind though, mouthing the nickname a couple more times, a pleasant swirl rippling in his eyes. his gaze slowly drifts to namjoon, and pink paints round cheeks.

“namjoon-ssi, was it?” he asks, and namjoon nods, marvelling at the way his name sounds against jimin's lips. the small nurse shifts his weight from one foot to another, teeth playing with plump lips.  “hoseok-sunbaenim told me you’ve been admitted for three months now.”

“yeah.” three months he has been stuck beneath white blankets and sterilised air, stuffed between pasty walls and suffocating hands. it’s not displeasing, but it’s not comfortable either.

a hum escapes jimin’s lips as he tilts his head to the side. “if you don’t mind me asking, what exactly are you in for?”

jimin’s voice is gentle, warm, soothing—urging him not to reply if the answer is too painful. so namjoon shrugs, as though to indicate he doesn’t mind, and stares at the beaten cover of the book he’s reading.

“cml,” he answers, and then looks up to smile at the new nurse. “chronic—”

“—myeloid leukaemia,” jimin finishes. “i know.”

there’s a pause, and namjoon wonders if he’s somehow made it awkward for jimin; after all, he’s new, and the first patient he meets is destined to die under hospital sheets.

but he’s wrong, and jimin’s smiling again, his grin perhaps stretching wider than before, and then jimin’s walking towards him, fingers grazing the tips of the selected poems of li po, eyes lingering in his. “would you like a breath of fresh air, namjoon-ssi?”

and that’s how he finds himself standing beneath the willow tree of the hospital courtyard, the iv still feeding into him. the aroma of spring lingers in the air despite summer slowly creeping in, and he relishes the gentle breeze that softly filters between the leaves. it’s a stark contrast to the scenery he last saw; winter still clung to the branches of the tree then, refusing to allow life to bloom again.

jimin’s standing close with his fingers curled around the iv pole, gaze fixed on the window that peeks into namjoon’s room.

“if you don’t mind me asking, jimin-ssi,” he begins, and jimin turns to look at him, nodding to indicate he’s listening. namjoon starts to walk again, finally settling on a bench when his legs start to ache; he’s not used to walking so much, not anymore. jimin doesn’t say anything and simply falls into the empty space beside him. “how old are you?”

they both watch a few children run by, dashing up and down the paved paths as they enthusiastically wave at namjoon as though they’ve seen him before. they haven’t.

“i’m a year younger than hoseok-sunbae,” is jimin’s reply after a moment’s pause. namjoon watches as he stands to help tie a girl’s shoelace, patting her head once they’re done. he hears her say her thanks before speeding off again, and jimin sinks back into his seat, fingers threaded together on his lap. “i think it’s an ego booster for him. he’s only a year older, and yet he’s already a registered nurse while i’m barely starting out. hoseok-sunbaenim is basically my superior. like, way superior. he can tell me to do whatever he wants, and i kinda have to obey.”

namjoon chuckles. “hoseok—i don’t think he’ll abuse his seniority the way you’re implying.”

jimin pouts. “he made me buy him coffee this morning. i haven’t received my first paycheck. today’s literally my first day.”

“okay, maybe he’ll abuse it a little,” namjoon corrects. “but he’ll probably end up treating you to coffee more than you end up buying it for him. hoseok’s that kind of person. he likes spoiling his juniors, especially ones like you.”

“like me?” there’s confusion in jimin’s voice, laced with a teasing lilt.

"yeah. cute." namjoon’s eyes widen at the implication, and he opts to stare at his hands instead. he wonders if his cheeks are red. “i mean, not that i find you cute in that way. like, you’re small. tiny. pocket-sized. hoseok likes that kind of thing. well, i mean, not that i don’t like that either, it’s just—i mean—”

jimin laughs, and namjoon turns to face him. his button nose is crinkled, the chip in his tooth visible with how wide he smiles. “it’s okay. i know what you mean.”

silence settles between them, and they continue to watch the children from afar. as for namjoon, his gaze drifts off to a bird flying between the branches of the tree.

“hoseok’s wanted to be a nurse ever since he was little,” namjoon says suddenly, though unsure why. still, jimin turns and gives him his undivided attention, absorbing each word with genuine interest. namjoon finds himself rambling. “it’s probably why he’s so proud about his status, you know? he’s only a year older, and yet you’re way below him—in terms of position and superiority and stuff, i mean—and that gives him a sense of… responsibility? he likes being responsible for people. he likes being a nurse in general, really.”

“you seem to know him really well,” jimin comments, and namjoon nods.

“he’s only been my nurse for two months, but i’ve known him since i was three.”

“ah. you’re the same age, then?” jimin asks, and namjoon nods again, now gaining enough courage to wave back at a child passing by. jimin, on the other hand, gives the child a high five. “it must be nice. to have someone your age taking care of you.”

“it’s more of a pain,” namjoon corrects, grimacing as he thinks about all the times hoseok’s made a pun as he gives namjoon his medication, which he’s sure isn’t going to help the pain he encounters once the nurse has left the room, still cackling at his appalling joke. he wishes not for the first time that hoseok had never met doctor kim seokjin. “he gets too comfortable too often.”

jimin giggles. “but it must be nice. you must trust him more than the nurse before him.”

“i do.” namjoon smiles. “he’s a good nurse.”

“you should tell him that.”

“i do,” he whispers again. “every single day.”

another smile tugs on jimin’s lips, and this time, it’s namjoon’s turn to grow curious.

“what about you?” he asks, and jimin tilts his head at him, lips pressed together mid-smack.

“what about me?”

“why a nurse—one that’s barely starting out, no less? i mean, you’re old enough to have graduated years back. you shouldn’t be so far down the ladder.”

he doesn’t mean to sound rude, and he’s sure jimin knows it, but it doesn’t stop the small man from scoffing at his question and crossing his arms.

“i graduated late,” he explains. “changed my degree four times before i settled on nursing. my parents went ballistic and stopped paying my tuition some time into my third year. so i had to take a break from school just to get the money to pay for my fourth—and then my fifth.”

“sounds harsh,” namjoon comments, but jimin just shrugs, leaning back against the bench. the sky above them is clear, clouds rolling miles away.

“that’s life,” jimin mumbles, and his cheeks fall with the absence of his smile, eyes closing as to drown himself in the spring melody. “life’s never going to be fair.”

“ ‘difficult roads leads us to beautiful destinations.’ ” namjoon looks at him and nods at the children down the path. they’re clutching bouquets of flowers in their hands, the pale petals scattering across the stone. “it’s the journey that makes life worth living.”

jimin opens his eyes and stares unabashedly back, and then there’s a soft chuckle that melts into the harmonies around them. “hoseok is right. you do make things sentimental. you must read a lot.”

“a book a day,” namjoon confirms with a grin and leans back to enjoy the sky with jimin. he wonders how far the blue shade stretches, wonders when it ends. “there is nothing more powerful than words, after all.”

“nothing, huh?” jimin muses, and then hoseok’s loud voice booms from the fifth-floor window, his thousand-watt smile visible from even solid ground. jimin stands, lending namjoon a hand, and grins down at him. “shall we go back now?”

namjoon takes his hand and lets jimin lead him inside.

jimin’s back four days later with a tray of food, and namjoon discards his book on the table beside him, fumbling with the controls of his bed. the remote leaves his grasp shortly after, his meal sitting prettily on top of the wooden table beside him, his bed rising at jimin’s control. namjoon grins gratefully at him, and jimin simply shakes his head, pushing the table towards namjoon as he adjusts the patient’s posture on the soft pillows.

“so what’s on the menu this time?” namjoon asks, eyeing the food suspiciously. he pokes at the entré with his chopsticks and opts to drink water instead.

jimin giggles as he shakes his head, eyes playfully scolding him as he directs namjoon’s hands towards the rice. namjoon frowns in disagreement. “it’s just beef liver and rice with kimchi, lettuce and tofu, namjoon-ssi.”

namjoon grumbles. “it may look appetising, but it doesn’t guarantee the taste.”

“taste doesn’t matter when you’re about to be sticks and bones,” a new voice pipes, and he turns to the doorway where hoseok stands, the look on his face displaying slight irritation. namjoon simply sets his chopsticks down. “fucking hell, namjoon, eat. listen—the liver has iron, and the kimchi has vitamin a, and the tofu’s there for protein. i need you to eat all of that, namjoon, because your body fucking needs it. i promise it doesn’t taste so bad.”

“you didn’t cook this, did you?” namjoon asks suspiciously, and hoseok snorts, rolling his eyes as he pulls up a chair and settles next to his bed. he’s supposed to be running rounds, but namjoon’s glad hoseok has decided to break a few rules for a little while.

“do i look like a chef to you?”

“no,” he admits, scrunching his nose. “at least, not after that thing you called jajangmyeon.”

hoseok glares, stealing the yoghurt off namjoon’s table. “for that, i’m stealing part of your calcium intake.”

“sunbaenim!” namjoon hears jimin protest, and hoseok pouts, relentingly returning it to namjoon’s tray. jimin glares, arms crossed over his chest and staring judgmentally at hoseok, who lowers his head in shame. “what kind of nurse steals their patient’s food?”

“one that’s jealous of their patient’s meal.”

“that’s not going to make me eat, hoseok.”

“this kid,” hoseok huffs, rolling his eyes, but then offers namjoon a grin. it falls when his gaze travels to the book on the bedside table, replaced with a puzzled furrow of his brows. “hey, isn’t that the one you read last week?”

namjoon blinks, turning to look at the cover, and then nods slowly before shrugging nonchalantly. “i’ve run out of books to read. my mum says she’s brought over my entire shelf.”

hoseok hums. “i’ll ask jungkook at the gift shop and see if they sell any books.”

“doesn’t he run the coffee stand?”

“who knows.” hoseok stands up to leave, fingers curling around the clipboard he had abandoned upon his arrival. “if you need me, just press the button.”

namjoon hums appreciatively, and brings his first bite of food to his lips. it doesn’t taste too bad—unlike the poor excuse for chicken he ate yesterday—and swallows it whole. jimin’s still watching him, now seated where hoseok once sat; he’s probably been assigned with the duty of verifying an empty plate, and namjoon wonders if it has anything to do with the practically-untouched meals he’s been returning for the past two days.

“he’s right, you know,” jimin says, frowning at the way namjoon’s picking at his food, selectively choosing which bites to take and which ones to discard. “you need to eat. the doctor says your red blood count is low as it is, and you’re barely eating enough.”

“ ‘the food you eat can be either the safest and most powerful form of medicine or the slowest form of poison,’ ” he reasons, emphasising the last few words. he’s met with another soft laugh. namjoon finds himself smiling.

“you completely missed the first part of that quote, silly,” jimin mumbles, rolling his eyes. “who’s that from anyway?”

“ann wigmore.” namjoon shoves another bite down his throat. “an american health practitioner, i think. i think i read about her once when hoseok came to visit while he was a student.”

jimin blinks. “you’ve been here that long?”

namjoon laughs. “no. i’ve only been here for three months, remember?”

red blooms on jiminthe nurse’s cheeks, a small ‘ah,’ forming silently on his lips. his chubby fingers play with the hem of his scrub, and namjoon holds back a coo.

instead, he just offers jimin a reassuring grin. “i’ve been in and out, to be honest. i first got diagnosed with it as a kid. they say it’s rare to have at such a young age, but not impossible. by my first year of college, i’m basically a regular visitor. which sucks because i was actually on my way to becoming a badass music producer.”

“you wanted to be a producer?” jimin asks curiously, and there’s a wistful smile on namjoon’s face as he chews through the liver meticulously.

“i just wanted to be in the music industry,” he admits, scratching the back of his head. “but producers are the ones who make bank, and they’re also the ones who get to say things through music. singers—they just sing the song.”

“they wouldn’t sing songs they don’t agree with, though,” jimin points out, and namjoon shrugs, obeying his gesture to eat more. “what kind of music are you into?”

he swallows. “hip hop, mostly. i like rap.”

“oh. i don’t know much about rap.”

he chuckles. “it’s basically reading poetry with flow.”

there’s a stack of books on his bedside table, and namjoon pats the top book rather fondly. the pile is taller than usual because his mum hardly has time to drop by anymore and exchange his old books for new ones. it doesn’t help that he’s also run out of things to read from his personal collection. he’s convinced his mum he’s fine with re-reading the ones on that table. he doesn’t want his mum to struggle to find new books for him to read, doesn’t want to burden her with anything more, especially with something as simple as lack of literature. he’s got plenty to read, and she’s got plenty of bills to pay.

“that’s what you read,” jimin realises, squinting his eyes at one of the spines. “you read poetry in english, too?”

“it’s a little harder,” namjoon admits, “but i try. i want to create music in as many languages as possible, you know? because that’s the only barrier the industry faces. well, it’s not really a barrier. i believe music transcends language. it’s the social oppression that’s problematic.”

“right. you could still get crap for the music you write.”

namjoon hums in agreement, and silence settles between them once more. a few minutes pass, and jimin’s turning to face him, eyes a little hesitant. namjoon just watches as the gears shift in the nurse’s head.

the words that come out of jimin’s mouth are slow. “how often are you admitted? to the hospital, i mean.”

namjoon shrugs and takes another bite of rice. it’s the only thing that tastes beautiful on his tongue, and the white substance melts along with the tofu already between his teeth. “the first time i was admitted, i was eleven. i was in for about four months, i think. and then i came back twice when i was twelve. once when i was fourteen. i thought i was going to be okay because i didn’t have to go back anymore, but then i turned eighteen and since then… i don’t know. i’ve lost count.”

they’re both silent, letting the words sink in, and when namjoon spares a glance at him, jimin’s smiling forcibly at the food.

“four years of false hope, huh?” his voice is sad, a tone of pity underlying the gentleness, and namjoon wants to feel angry at how sorry jimin seems. but namjoon just smiles instead, chopsticks settled next to his bowl.

“they told me back then i had a couple of months left. it turns out i had a couple of years.” he grins. “four years of false hope is better than a couple months of life.”

jimin laughs hesitantly, as though he isn’t sure if the response is appropriate. “i suppose it is.”

the dimples on namjoon’s cheeks sink further.

“now eat, namjoon-ssi, before i call hoseok-sunbae and he starts screaming bloody murder,” jimin warns, and namjoon sighs, picking up his chopsticks.

it’s a good move because hoseok comes bursting in right then, eyes narrowing at namjoon who’s bringing a bite of food towards his lips. after a few seconds, narrowed eyes widen at the sight of him eating, and hoseok’s suddenly bounding over, arms encircling namjoon’s thinner body. the affection prevents him from gathering food into his mouth; namjoon finds that he can't even scoop a spoonful of rice from his bowl with the way hoseok’s clinging onto him.

“how did you do it?” his best friend asks jimin. the grin he’s sporting is too bright for namjoon’s taste, and he knows what’s coming next, knows the words that’s about to leave hoseok’s lips as the nurse snatches the chopsticks out of his hands and picks up a piece of lettuce, shoving it into his mouth with some liver. “i can’t believe you got him to eat! namjoonie, lettuce celebrate!”

namjoon hears jimin laugh, probably more at hoseok’s enthusiasm than his joke, but he knows hoseok won’t get it unless it’s spelled out for him. he’s about to stop jimin with an obvious gesture, but hoseok is already taking the younger’s amusement as a sign to continue, and a flood of puns escape his lips, jabbing at namjoon’s joints.

he shoves a piece of liver into his friend’s mouth with his bare hands, glaring when hoseok begins to chew. “please stop and spare me. i’m already dying fast enough the way it is.”

hoseok laughs, returning him the chopsticks he stole. “just eat up, namjoon. and then we’ll talk about cutting off the puns.”

namjoon throws him the finger, shoves a mouthful between his own lips, and chews as hoseok throws him a thumbs up. he forcibly swallows as soon as his friend is gone, and meets jimin’s amused eyes with a frown. “i hate everything.”

he takes it back when he hears jimin laugh fully, body flinging in all directions.

the sound is a melody he never wants to forget.

he wants to go out again; it’s seven in the morning when he notices his room is a little too hot, and that the sun has creeped out a little too early once more. through the window, he can already smell the heat, and suddenly, he finds the urge to run amongst the sprinklers with the children down below. he voices his thoughts to hoseok, who frowns, shaking his head in disapproval.

“we can’t have you getting sick,” the nurse argues, and namjoon frowns, glaring at the small whiteboard opposite of his bed, where the messy handwriting reminds him of his disease and his inability to cope. he growls, and hoseok’s expression softens, a hand coming to grip his tense shoulder. “you know i’d take you out there, bud, but i can’t have you getting any more sick than you already are.”

“yeah, yeah,” namjoon mumbles. he shoves hoseok’s hand aside. “i know.”

hoseok spares him one last apologetic look before he promises to be back with breakfast, and disappears into the corridor, leaving namjoon sticky with the heat clinging onto his back. he sighs, picking up the book from his bedside table, a new copy hoseok managed to find in the deepest corners of the gift shop where nobody bothered to look. it’s by a poet he hasn’t heard of, some english or american guy named ted hughes, the collection tied under the name birthday letters. he wonders what it was doing in the gift shop, ponders on how to make the book last; he doesn’t want hoseok to go searching for another book so soon.

he doesn’t get much time to read anyways because jimin soon enters the room, another tray of food in his hands, another warm smile on his face. the book is returned to its spot on top of his pile of reads, and namjoon places a grin on his lips, reaching for the remote and finally—finally—using it right. jimin watches in amusement as namjoon’s eyes widen at his small victory, clapping when he squeaks, “did you see that?”

“i did,” jimin reassures, and takes the remote from namjoon to prevent him from accidentally setting his bed back down again. the tray slides easily onto the table, the wheels squeaking underneath as jimin brings it closer to him. “your motoric skills are definitely improving, namjoon-ssi.”

namjoon grins wider, too absorbed in his accomplishment to tease back, and turns to look down at his food. there’s a bowl of oatmeal, drowned in a few slices of banana and strawberries, a cup of orange juice sitting close by. the rippling energy vanishes, and he sighs, picking up the food dejectedly. “i miss coffee.”

“if it makes you feel any better, i can ask doctor kim if he’d allow you to have some,” jimin promises with a giggle, and namjoon perks up at the answer, eyes lighting with hope. “you’ve been eating well these past few days, after all.”

“it’s not like i had a choice,” he mumbles, taking a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth. the taste is rather sweet, and he glances at jimin, watching as he smiles innocently back. “you put sugar in this, didn’t you?”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” jimin denies, but there’s a twinkle in his eye, and namjoon chuckles, appreciating the small gesture. it’s something hoseok would do, and he’s glad to have two people to make his world a little brighter.

he glances at the open window, sighing dejectedly at the sound of children laughing from below. he hasn’t gone out since the first day he met jimin, and he wonders how those kids are doing; are they simply visitors, or are they patients as well? the idea of a young life ending so soon pierces through him like needles through fabric, and he sets the spoon down, appetite lost.

“namjoon-ssi?” jimin calls, frowning as he moves closer. “are you okay?”

“when is it their turn to be happy?” namjoon asks instead and turns away from the window, away from the light. he faces the dimness of the hospital, blinking up at jimin with saddened eyes. “when can they finally run without knowing they’re at death’s door?”

jimin doesn’t say anything, only sits in the chair he’s taken up residence, and waits for namjoon to speak.

his words are jumbled and his thoughts incoherent, but he tries his best to overcome the emotion inside of him. he doesn’t know why he’s sad; all he knows is he’s in pain. after all, it’s a feeling that is now all too familiar. “i just don’t get it. i don’t get why they have to suffer when they’re so fucking young. i don’t get what life gets out of this, you know? i get why they’d take my life—i’ve lived for twenty-six fucking years. i’ve lived enough. but those kids—those kids have probably barely made it to ten.”

his shoulders slump then, and jimin’s hands undo the knots in them, thumbs rubbing smooth circles as he inches closer. namjoon stares at his lap, at the way his hands are intertwined on top of it, and wonders when he started viewing the world as cruel. after all, wasn’t it just yesterday that he told jimin that the journey is what makes life so beautiful?

“namjoon-hyung,” jimin whispers, and namjoon’s eyes lift to meet his. those familiar irises glisten with worry, shaking with emotions namjoon can’t decipher, but understands that there’s pain in them, too. jimin offers a smile, a weak, dainty smile, and drops his hand from the curve of namjoon’s shoulders. “let me tell you a secret. on how to make the most of life.”

he waits for the answer; jimin gazes away.

“ ‘keep looking up. that’s the secret of life.’ ” jimin looks at him again, and this time, the curve of his lips are so gentle namjoon wishes to move forward to touch them, to hold jimin’s face in his hands and feel his breath against his cheeks, eyelashes fluttering against eyelashes as he deeply tastes his sin.

“where’s that from?”

“snoopy,” jimin admits, and namjoon blinks once, twice, before he’s laughing, grinning widely and allowing the vibrations to tickle his ribs—his bones and marrows—until he can no longer breathe. until his vision goes hazy and all he sees are stars. he collects himself and finds jimin giggling along, teeth sunk deep into his lower lip to create the crevices of the moon.

namjoon chuckles one last time, feeling the fleeting sadness escape.

“cute,” he comments, and there’s a pink blush on jimin’s cheeks. namjoon chuckles again, echoes his comment again. “cute jiminnie.”

“who gave you permission to call me jiminnie?” the nurse whines, and namjoon laughs loudly this time, attracting a few glances from outside the corridor. he thinks he sees hoseok smiling from across the way.

“you’re the one who called me hyung,” namjoon points out, and the blush on jimin’s cheeks deepen until he’s cherry red. “besides, ‘we’ll be working very closely from now on. can’t i at least have that privilege?’ ”

jimin groans. “that’s from hoseok-hyung, isn’t it? do you just collect quotes or something for a living?”

“actually, i sit here and waste away my life for a living,” he jokes, but jimin doesn’t get it, doesn’t fall for the little tease he delivers. instead, there’s an air of seriousness in his eyes as he frowns at him, lips curled together in dissatisfaction.

“do you really think you’re wasting away your life?” jimin asks softly, and namjoon has to lean closer to hear him utter the next words. “is that why you’re sad?”

it surprises him, how right the question is. he supposes that’s why he broke down earlier; hoseok’s simple rejection of his request stirred something inside of him, and his mind recalls every moment during the past three—almost four—months, every second he’s slaved away to the bleached walls of the hospital. he shrugs, looking back down at the book on his bedside table. he doesn’t want to be kept in the dark corners of a store, biding its time.

“maybe,” he whispers. “after all, ‘in the end, it’s not the years in your life that counts. it’s the life in your years.’ ”

“and you don’t think your life counts much?”

“i don’t have much worth remembering,” he answers honestly. he picks at the corners of his blanket, stares at the food that he’s long forgotten. he wonders if he should eat it, if jimin’s going to make him eat it. his stomach isn’t too happy at the thought. “hoseok and i—we had big dreams, you know? he wanted to be a nurse when he was a kid, but i managed to convince him to give rap a try just so we could share the same dream. we were so close, you know? i had a stage name, he had a stage name, and we were set, but i just had to get fucking sick again, and the dream ended after that.

“i think it’s why he became a nurse in the end,” he finishes, tapping his pointer against the book. “because if we can’t share the same dream, we should at least share similar lives.”

jimin’s silent, mouth unmoving as he traces patterns into namjoon’s blanket. “that sounds like a golden friendship.”

“it is,” namjoon says, but then his eyes grow dark as he hears hoseok laughing in the hallway, as he sees the words scribbled onto the slate in front of him, a reminder of how many short days he has left to live. “but sadly, ‘nothing gold can stay.’ ”

“a poet?” jimin asks carefully, and namjoon nods.

“robert frost,” he agrees, humming as he lays his head back. “i just wish i could make up for the moments i’ve missed.”

jimin doesn’t say anything, just gazes at his book calculatingly, observantly. namjoon wonders what goes on inside the nurse’s head; he’s known jimin for almost a full month, but knows near nothing about him other than the shows he likes to watch and the struggles of his past. namjoon wants to know him in detail and memorise every fact.

“what if,” jimin begins, lifting his eyes to meet namjoon’s, and namjoon tilts his head at him, blinking softly at jimin’s frame. “what if i somehow gave you that chance?”

namjoon frowns. “what do you mean?”

“i’ll talk to hoseok-hyung about it,” jimin promises, not bothering to clarify any further. “just sit tight and keep reading those pretty little poems of yours. or maybe try writing one or two. you’ll need it.”

namjoon grins at him and moves forward to reach for the spoon again, but doesn’t break the stare he fixates upon jimin’s face. the quizzical look jimin gives him only causes him to chuckle, and the nurse rubs a hand over his cheeks as though to remove a blemish that was never there.

“what?”

namjoon gifts him his dimpled smile.

“you finally dropped formalities,” he points out. “hoseok-hyung and namjoon-hyung. they sound good coming from you.”

jimin blinks, realising his little slip-up, and glares with a peculiar kind of shyness gleaming in his eyes. namjoon sees it in the way he plays with his fingers before running them through his hair. “eat your food, namjoon-ssi, or i’m making sure your lunch is bigger than yesterday’s.”

“it’s not like that’s not what hoseok’s planning anyway,” he mumbles, but obeys, swallowing a slice of strawberry whole. he chews thoroughly before turning to jimin again. “you mean it, though? giving me that chance?”

jimin smiles. “we all deserve a second chance.”

it turns out that second chances come in the form of an impromptu rap battle with hoseok and the blond nurse from the icu, with doctors kim seokjin and kim taehyung watching from the doorway, excited little jimin cheering from a seat beside them. jungkook—bless jungkook—brings namjoon a cup of coffee from his little stand in the hospital lobby upon approval from his doctor, and for once, his room is so lively he feels his heartbeat thunder against his ribs.

he’s laughing as hoseok finishes his rap, delighted by the syllables rolling off his tongue; it’s been a while since they’ve freestyled, but the nurse still has some rhymes stored in him. yoongi, the nurse from the icu, looks impressed, and begins to spit fire into the pit between them, causing their little audience to ooh as hoseok’s pushed further back into the ring.

namjoon laughs when hoseok throws him a pleading gaze, and he opens his mouth, interrupting yoongi’s rap with his own syllables, bullets ricocheting off the walls. “i chance sensibilities with my lyrics, i’m an alchemist, bitch.”

there’s another roar around him, and he’s craving more, more, more, and he finds himself scrambling out of bed to reach out for the older nurse, to make him pay for the lyrics that left hoseok breathless. he doesn’t care that he’s clad in a hospital gown, that he’s far from the underground stage or the beautiful confinements of a recording studio. he breathes into his hand, imaginary microphone stuck between his fingers, and recites the lines he wrote in his mind as he listened to the syllables that fell off his opponent’s lips.

“lower class life bitch, console yourself even just like that. okay, ‘hip hop, hip hop,’ is your everything, what will you do?”

he sees yoongi licks his lips, his mouth curving into a smirk; he looks defeated, as though he’s ready to place his own imaginary microphone down in surrender.

“bastards like the road back home for chuseok, my rap ain’t for you. my music ain’t for everybody, especially not for you.”

the roar is loud now—deafeningly loud, and he laughs as yoongi applauds him, faking bows as hoseok grips onto namjoon’s shoulders, shaking from the excitement of a battle won. jungkook produces another cup of coffee—seriously, bless this kid—and then hands namjoon a bouquet of fresh flowers from the gift store, free of charge. in the back, jimin’s laughing at the sight, giggling through his fingers as seokjin compliments his english, a skill he didn’t know namjoon had.

namjoon just laughs.

“thanks, doc,” he mutters between the chatter of the room, and hoseok’s crying into his ear, sobbing exaggeratingly about how his “namjoonie has grown.” namjoon pushes the boy off, coffee threatening to spill in his hand.

yoongi whistles in front of him. “damn, kid. you can rap.”

“i can rap,” he agrees, then realises how prideful he must sound and coughs, blushing through his mistake. “i mean, i can rap. a bit.”

the nurse laughs, blond hair dancing as the soft wind blows through the open window, and namjoon chuckles along, lips curling into a pleasant smile. “you’ve got good rhymes. it’s too bad you’re not underground.”

namjoon sighs wistfully. “yeah. a shame.”

“you would’ve been famous,” hoseok comments, and namjoon sees the glint in his best friend’s eyes, the proud look he sports on his face. “runch randa—the talk of the town.”

“what the fucking hell is a runch randa?”

there’s another laugh, and taehyung begins his round of jokes, and jimin’s doubling over in laughter while jungkook looks torn between laughing and being embarrassed for both their sakes with the way passing nurses are glancing inside. the noise is intense for a few more moments until a doctor namjoon has never seen before complains about their volume, and yoongi cackles through the whispers taehyung releases as seokjin calls their small party to an end.

jimin helps him back onto the bed, fingers digging into his waist. it’s at this moment that namjoon feels himself fall back into the life of the hospital, feels the drip of the iv in his veins and the rough material of the snow-white blankets. he watches as everyone leaves one by one until jimin and hoseok are the only ones left. they linger around a while longer, sharing the small space on his bed and the chair as they recounted the good hour they had celebrating life.

“i forgot how great that felt,” hoseok mumbles, quirking a lip up at namjoon, who gazes back with amusement in his eyes. “remember all the raps i composed? you told me each one of them was shit.”

namjoon hears jimin giggle beside him. “wow, you’re rude, hyung.”

he laughs. “i didn’t say they were shit. i said they could use some improvement.”

“fucking lies. i remember you telling me they were shit. ‘hoseok, go read a fucking book. you’ve got no feel for rhythm or flow.’ that’s basically calling them shit.”

“okay, okay, i’m sorry,” namjoon apologises, but he’s grinning, and hoseok’s grinning, and they both know there was nothing to apologise for in the first place. “you’re a wonderful writer, hoseok-ah.”

“that i am,” the nurse triumphantly echoes, winking at jimin as though they share some kind of secret. the younger simply rolls his eyes and looks at namjoon with an expression that reads i don’t even know what he’s talking about, and namjoon cackles out loud.

outside, someone calls hoseok’s name, and hoseok groans at reality calling him back to work. he turns to namjoon, promises he’ll be back to smuggle more coffee from jungkook—never mind seokjin’s orders—and leaves the room with a wave and a, “thanks for a tea-rrific time!”

“that’s a tea pun, dumbass!” namjoon yells back, but hoseok’s already laughing at his own joke, echoing it to every passing person. yoongi, who lingered on their floor a little longer, finally decides to leave.

there is no silence that follows because jimin’s laughter fills it up, and namjoon finds himself grinning as he takes the smaller hand in his. jimin doesn’t move away, nor does he turn to look in surprise at the way namjoon’s fingers weave between his. his fingers instead relax into namjoon's grip, as though holding namjoon’s hand is the most natural thing in the world.

namjoon thinks he kind of agrees.

“thank you,” he says, smiling widely down at jimin, who lays his head on his own arm across the bed. their hands fall on namjoon’s lap, resting on his thigh. “that was really fun.”

jimin smiles. “i’m glad you thought so. hoseok-hyung invited most of them. said a bigger audience is the way to go.”

“sounds like him.” namjoon laughs and moves to play with jimin’s fingers. his hand is significantly smaller than his, fingers short and stubby, but they fit perfectly into the empty slots between his longer, leaner fingers. namjoon’s thumb strokes the back of jimin’s palm, feeling silk and warmth radiating from his skin.

“you should do it again,” jimin suggest, returning the favour by capturing namjoon’s thumb in his. they wrestle for a while until namjoon gives up, and jimin’s tiny finger presses down on his in victory. “i’ll ask hoseok-hyung again—we could live all over again.”

namjoon smiles.

“i think one memory is more than enough,” he jokes, but he partially means it, too. there are other things he wants to do, other things he wishes to remember. he doubts a repeat of the event would ever be as dazzling as the memory he has now. “next time, we could do something else. maybe watch that new marvel movie jungkook’s been talking about.”

“he was chatting up about it a lot,” jimin agrees, and there’s a promise in the comment, words that say, “i’ll try to make your dreams come true.”

“do you know what people say about dreams?” jimin asks suddenly, as though reading his mind, and namjoon stops drawing lyrics on jimin’s skin, instead focusing entirely on him. jimin smiles, and the way he looks at namjoon reminds him of the time they first met; how cautious jimin was but warm at the same time, how he radiates of love and care and home. “they say that dreams are a manifestation of our realities. that if you dream hard enough, long enough, the space that separates the two will finally disappear.”

“what do you dream of?” namjoon asks, and jimin looks at him, a knowing curve dancing on pink, plump lips as he glides his tongue between them.

“i dream of a lot of things,” he admits. “winning a nobel peace prize. making my parents happy. watching you smile.”

namjoon quirks an eyebrow at that. “you dream of me?”

“more often than i’d like,” jimin admits. “what about you?”

namjoon pauses, trying to recall the last dream he had. the images are fuzzy, but he remembers bits and pieces—enough to tell him what he saw. his voice grows small. “what my life would be like if i weren’t sick.”

there’s a sad smile on jimin’s face as he whispers, “sometimes, i dream of that, too.”

they’ve known each other for nine weeks, and namjoon’s kissing him, tasting the flavours dancing across his tongue. he presses deeper into him as jimin only holds him closer, his grip reading don’t go, stay, and never fade away. namjoon cradles him tighter as though to whisper i won’t, i’ll stay, and we’ll be okay.

he knows it’s a lie; he can’t guarantee they’ll be alright, but right now they’re stuck in that space between dreams and reality, and he never wants to escape.

jimin comes back with a tray of food, but this time namjoon’s greeted with a kiss on the lips—brief, chaste, sweet. namjoon’s already sitting up this time, having found the desire to wait on jimin nowadays; he’s always looked forward to jimin’s visits, but something about this feels new. something sweet and warm.

the table slides in front of him per usual, and jimin climbs into his chair. this time, dinner is a plate of jajangmyeon and meat.

“hoseokie-hyung wanted you to have it,” jimin explains, fingers threading through namjoon’s hair. the elder hums in content, leaning in to the touch. jimin presses a kiss on his cheek. “he said he visited this really good jajangmyeon place and thought of you.”

“how sentimental,” namjoon jokes, but pulls away and happily digs into the food; he wonders if seokjin approves of this, or if hoseok’s doing things behind the doctor’s back once again. he brings the noodles to his lips, and he tastes heaven—a stark contrast to the flavour of hoseok’s jajangmyeon all those years ago. he sighs, eagerly moving forward to inhale another bite, almost forgetting to savour the taste of such luxury until jimin’s hand is on his shoulder, gently pulling him back with a laugh.

“slow down, hyungie,” jimin breathes through fits of giggles. “you have all the time in the world.”

namjoon frowns. “i don’t know. if i waste any time not eating this plate, i think i might die.”

jimin punches him on the arm; it’s weak, not enough to bruise, but enough to cause namjoon’s face to contort with pain. his boyfriend has fucking muscles, after all.

“i told you to stop with the death jokes,” jimin begs, but it’s half-hearted, and namjoon knows his jokes are growing on him, too. namjoon moves to run a hand through jimin’s soft curls, only returning to hoseok’s gift when jimin playfully whines and tells him to eat.

they’re silent for a while as namjoon chews, jimin’s eyes lingering on his lips as he swallows another mouthful of noodles. namjoon raises an eyebrow at him, lips forming a knowing smirk, and laughs when jimin’s cheeks burn as he fumbles for an excuse, looking away. a chuckle is squeezed out of namjoon’s lungs, scooting closer to where jimin sits, and then he’s cupping jimin’s cheeks with his cold hand, cooling the heat on her face.

“you’re so cute, jiminnie,” he breathes, and jimin burns brighter, slapping his hand away as namjoon lets out a chuckle.

“do you want to go out today?” jimin asks, and namjoon pauses his teasing, instead gazing at jimin with a longing look. no words are needed as jimin simply reaches out to intertwine their hands, fingers squeezing with promise. “we can’t run through the sprinklers like you want to, but we can run. run until we’re out of breath.”

“running with this thing attached to me is going to be hard,” namjoon points out, glancing at the iv drip that is his lifeline, and jimin smiles, squeezing his hand as tightly as he can.

“i wonder if we can take it off for a few minutes,” he voices, and then namjoon’s excited, bouncing in his seat on the bed. jimin giggles at how happy namjoon is, presses his lips against namjoon’s dimpled cheek and tells him to finish his food. jimin slips outside to find hoseok, because if anyone is willing to give namjoon a few minutes of freedom, hoseok is the person to ask.

he slurps through his plate and drinks the cup of water empty, mouth chewing carefully and slowly as jimin had commanded earlier. two minutes pass before jimin’s back, a wide grin on his face, and he doesn’t have to say anything before namjoon’s clambering out of bed, slipping on his shoes and making his way towards jimin as fast as his legs can carry him.

“five minutes,” jimin breathes as soon as they’re outside, the bench they sat on eternities ago empty of their warmth.

namjoon twitches eagerly.

“five minutes,” he agrees, and jimin carefully undos the cords, carefully detaches him from his medication, and pushes his lifeline under the shadows of the willow tree.

jimin grips his fingers, squeezing his hand one last time. “ready?”

namjoon grins, and without another word they’re running, screaming at the top of their lungs, past the fountain in the centre of the courtyard, past the children who race against them, past the doors the lead back into the dim hallways of the hospital. they run, and namjoon feels his breath escape him, and there are tears in his eyes as he thinks, this is what freedom must taste like.

five minutes are gone as soon as it came, and they’re back under the willow tree, jimin’s hands pulling out special equipment to re-attach the drip back into him. namjoon’s still panting, still grinning from the exhilaration, and laughs loudly for everyone to hear. jimin’s giggles dance with his, their fingers intertwined as they walk back inside.

“feel better?” jimin asks, and namjoon moves forward to kiss him on the lips. he doesn’t care if the doctors see, if jungkook makes exaggerated gagging motions from his little coffee cart, if taehyung screams loud enough for the whole hobby to hear. he kisses jimin deeply, memorises his flavour, and remembers the little curve of his lips and the smile on his face.

when namjoon releases him, they’re both trying to catch their breaths, and namjoon grins at the cherries on jimin’s cheeks. “loads better.”

“get a room!” jungkook screams, and namjoon has half the mind to flip him off. the gift-shop-slash-coffee-stand owner is laughing, the high five he shares with taehyung echoing through the empty lobby.

namjoon simply rolls his eyes, guiding jimin towards the elevator. jimin presses the number five and leans into namjoon, pressing one last kiss onto his jaw.

“i’m glad you feel better,” he whispers, and namjoon buries his nose in jimin’s hair, breathing in his scent. strawberries.

“as long as i have you, i’m alright,” namjoon teases, and jimin laughs, body flinging and head shaking at his flirtatious attempt.

when they return to his room, hoseok’s waiting for him, standing by his bed with a smile. he’s holding a clipboard and a pen, a machine beeping by his side. namjoon smiles at him, silently thanking him for the chance to escape his cage, and hoseok just grins back, patting the empty bed.

“sit, namjoonie,” he directs, and namjoon obeys, settling beneath the white sheets once more. hoseok’s tinkering with his iv, adding an extra dosage of his medication while scribbling things on his clipboard, pen moving in quick strokes. the nurse turns his gaze on jimin and smiles softly. “you can go home now, jimin. you look tired.”

jimin shakes his head.

“i’m fine,” he promises, clutching onto namjoon’s hand, the pressure between their palms increasing with every insistent syllable. “i can stick around a little longer.”

hoseok’s smile turns soft.

“i know you want to be with him as much as possible, but you need to take care of yourself, too.” scribble, scribble, scribble. “namjoon will be fine. i’m working overtime today. he’ll be with me.”

there’s a trace of hesitance on jimin’s face, and namjoon knows he wants to protest again, to offer taking up hoseok’s shift, but they know it isn’t possible. jimin’s already worked overtime yesterday to be with him, and the day before that to cover for a friend, and even if he isn’t exhausted, his position will never allow him to fill in for a registered nurse. so namjoon squeezes his hand instead, pressing their palms together, thumb stroking the surface of jimin’s skin calmly, languidly. he feels jimin relax, feels jimin’s grip on him slowly fade, and namjoon releases their hands, opting to instead move his fingers through jimin’s hair.

“i’ll be here tomorrow,” he promises, and kisses the crook of jimin’s neck. he knows hoseok is busying himself with the equipment to give them some privacy. “go home, baby.”

his boyfriend sighs.

“okay,” jimin agrees before looking at namjoon, smiling tiredly. “okay.”

jimin leaves the room, not without giving namjoon a final kiss and hoseok a wave, and namjoon watches him move around the hallway towards the staff room to gather his things. a few minutes pass by and jimin’s walking past his door, eyes lingering inside as they lock gazes that whisper all the things they wish to say.

it’s silent for a while as hoseok wraps up his task, quiet for a minute or two as he settles into the empty seat. he pinches the skin beneath the blanket, and pain jolts up namjoon’s spine; the patient glares, and the nurse simply laughs.

“you seem happy,” hoseok comments, leaning back into the chair. namjoon just hums.

“i am,” he agrees, and lays back down to stare at the ceiling.

sometime last week, hoseok had reminded him of the glow-in-the-dark stars hoseok used to have in his room, and the next day, the nurse brought back a pack of stars much similar to the ones in the past. they spent the afternoon copying constellations they found online, and even though the room isn’t technically his (even though he’s stayed in it for four months now), the staff never said anything as they watched hoseok and namjoon decorate the sky. even taehyung dropped by to help until duty called him back moments later. hoseok stares at the stars with namjoon now, a wistful smile on his face.

“you two look good together,” he murmurs, voice not loud enough to disturb the calm between them. “you really love him, don’t you?”

“it’s been a month,” namjoon argues, frowning at his words; since when had time mattered to him?

hoseok must think the same thing, because he’s repeating namjoon’s thoughts out loud. “time doesn’t define love, namjoonie.”

“you’re right,” he agrees, but the words are an attempt to convince himself of such thoughts. “you’re right.”

“of course i’m right,” hoseok teases, tone light, and the silence settles in again. the nurse hums some tune namjoon doesn’t recognise. it’s probably a girl group song; hoseok’s always been into that kind of thing.

the stars are bright on the ceiling, and he looks away, looks at the whiteboard on the wall across from him, looks at the words chronic myeloid leukaemia. for the first time in a long time, he finds himself hating his disease again.

“how much longer?” he asks, voice raspy as tears beg to be released. he’s not dumb; he knows why hoseok decided to work overtime tonight out of all nights, why he urged jimin to go home despite having a good forty minutes left before his shift would have ended. he knows the real reason hoseok stayed; after all, there was a reason why he stayed back all those years ago when they were eighteen, promises made between hoseok and his mom and his doctor.

hoseok’s lips quiver, and he moves forward to touch namjoon’s hand, gripping onto his fingers as though to convince himself that yes, namjoon’s here, namjoon’s alive. there are tears in his best friend’s eyes, and namjoon’s sure there are tears in his, too. both their fingers are turning white from hoseok’s deathly grip but they don’t care.

they don’t care because the pain they’ve been ignoring has returned full force.

“he said—” hoseok tries, but ends up sobbing instead, and namjoon scoots closer, collecting the older male in his arms. “he said you—you don’t—you will—”

“it’s okay,” namjoon promises, running his hands through hoseok’s hair; he remembers all the times he’s done this before, when they were kids, coming home with bruises and scratches from falling off bikes. when they were teenagers, hiding in the closet of hoseok’s bedroom as they cried over heartbreaks and hoseok’s parents’ divorce. when they were twenty-one, lying on the grass of the hospital courtyard with curses on their tongues and namjoon’s life on the line. namjoon holds him tighter and forces his own tears away. “just—just let it out, hoseokie. just let it out.”

hoseok wails louder, and seokjin—kind, passing seokjin—is nice enough to close his door, a sad smile on his face as the doctor grasps the situation before him. hoseok sobs, shoulders shaking, face tainted with big, fat tears, and he screams into namjoon’s shoulder, screams until his throat is raw.

namjoon’s quivering, too.

“two months,” hoseok manages, and namjoon sucks in breath. the number has never been that low before; even when he was eighteen, they said he had ten months left—ten beautiful months that turned into eight years. it was a miracle, they said, called him a fighter, they had, and namjoon used to believe that maybe, maybe he could outrun death.

apparently, the world wants to prove him wrong.

“you’ve got two months, namjoonie. doctor kim—seokjin—said you’re getting worse real quick; you’re no longer diagnosed with chronic leukaemia, joonie. you’ve now gone into the acute stage.”

namjoon cries then, his tears falling so fast, and now it’s hoseok’s turn to hold him, the both of them shaking from the pain that claws through both their hearts. they sob into each other’s shoulders, screams muffled by each other’s shirts. a minute passes before it turns into two and thirty, and by then hoseok’s only sobbing, and namjoon’s already numb. he detaches himself from his friend, lips quivering at the revelation that his death is so close, so near.

“i gotta—i gotta tell him, hoseokie,” he whispers, and hoseok nods, still sobbing onto the sheets. “fuck, i’ve got to—i can’t—”

“i know,” hoseok whispers back, and he’s whimpering at the thought. “this sucks.”

namjoon chuckles darkly. “it does.”

“it isn’t fair,” hoseok argues.

“life’s never fair.”

“you’re twenty-six, joonie,” hoseok continues. “and—and jimin’s twenty-five, and you both don’t deserve to go through something like this when you’re barely thirty—”

hoseok abruptly stops, hiccuping now as he tries to collect a few stray breaths. namjoon presses his lips together, fingers shaking on his lap, and reaches out to hold onto hoseok, to hold on to the one person who’s been through it all with him.

“ ‘the course of true love never did run smooth,’ ” he whispers, and hoseok’s crying again, shoulders shaking strenuously as he releases short breaths.

namjoon just sits there and watches hoseok change the words on the slate.

jimin finds out the next day. namjoon doesn’t need to say a word because jimin sees the change on the whiteboard opposite of his bed, and then there are tears streaming down his face, no sound coming out of his mouth. he doesn’t look at namjoon with pity, doesn’t yell at him for how unfair life is, doesn’t rush to hold him as though they’re in their final moments together. instead, jimin slides the tray of food onto the table as usual and wheels it over to his bed.

this time, the oatmeal is plain, and it tastes as bitter as the mood of the room.

“how long?” he asks.

“two months,” namjoon replies.

jimin nods, mouth curving into a smile that’s not quite there.

“two months is plenty of time,” he lies, and namjoon nods along with him, trying to believe the nonsensical words. trying to continue to dream. “two months is enough time.”

namjoon just nods again and eats his oatmeal raw.

“maybe a miracle will happen,” jimin urges, curled against namjoon’s side.

it’s been five weeks since namjoon found out about his death stamp, four since his body has begun to rapidly collapse on itself. now he’s got three weeks left to hold on to.

namjoon laughs, his voice coming out shaky and fragile; these days, he’s too weak to even move around his room. his hair has started falling out, and even though he’s far from bald, it’s still scary how fast he’s decaying on the sterile bed. he coughs once, eyeing the medication on the iv pole beside him. he’s been switched to something stronger, some kind of chemotherapy that hopefully will give him another month or so. another month or two.

“i highly doubt that, baby,” he rasps, letting jimin stroke his hand the way namjoon used to stroke his.

“the chemo’s showing good results,” jimin reminds, but they both know that’s not what seokjin said. they both know jimin left out the words not and enough because they only want to hear the good. “a miracle can still happen, hyungie.”

“it can’t,” he chants, shaking his head. “it can’t, babe. a miracle—fuck, a miracle is a longshot. if a miracle is going to happen, it’s not happening fast enough.”

jimin smiles. “ ‘even miracles take a little time.’ ”

“ ‘the trouble is you think you have time,’ ” namjoon quotes, and jimin scoffs, puffing out his cheeks as he glares at him. namjoon snorts, kind of.

“i’m pretty sure cinderella’s fairy godmother wins over buddha.”

“of course, baby,” he muses. “a fictional character holds more truth than a wise sage who started a religion.”

namjoon doesn’t tell him the quote isn’t even real, that some guy on the internet slapped buddha’s name on it and called it a day. it’s one of the reasons why he likes the quote—that even fabrication can lead to reality if one believes hard enough.

but now, he isn’t so sure anymore.

jimin scrunches his nose, and namjoon coos. “can buddha turn pumpkins into carriages? no. i don’t think so.”

he guffaws this time, and jimin smiles wider, both their eyes crinkling until they’re squinting at the sun. jimin’s grip on his hand tightens, and he reaches forward until he’s buried into namjoon’s hospital gown, breathing soft and steady and slow. namjoon wraps his arms around him, letting jimin breathe him in.

“it’s not fair,” jimin whispers, the gown absorbing his voice. “you’re still so, so young. you deserve a few more years—a decade or two, even. you deserve to grow old, and have kids, and meet grandchildren and—you don’t deserve this.”

namjoon weaves a hand through jimin’s hair, moving up and down as he rubs comfort into his spine. “ ‘a heart that loves is always young.’ in the end, love, it’s never going to be fair.”

jimin’s working overnight again, working late just so he could stay with namjoon longer. now, jimin squeezes into his room as often as possible, presses himself against namjoon’s warm body as much as he can, and kisses namjoon’s lips for as long as he wants. he has a few minutes left until his shift ends, and namjoon’s just woken up, eyes still heavy with sleep he doesn’t want to catch up on.

there are tears in jimin’s eyes, prickling at the corners, and he holds them back, instead opting to smile lovingly at the man beneath him. his thumb dances across namjoon’s cheek, and namjoon’s ghost against his skin, both of them gazing at each other as he fights to stay awake.

“ ‘how lucky am i to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard,’ ” jimin whispers, and namjoon smiles, the dimpled grin he hides now appearing once more. an angel—jimin’s his angel. “i love you, hyungie. i love you so much.”

“i know,” he croaks back. “i love you. i know.”

it’s three in the afternoon on jimin’s off-day when the pain in his bones are too much, and he’s screaming for hoseok, begging him to make the pain disappear. he’s got tears in his eyes, something he only reserves for emotional pain, and hoseok’s shaking as he does his job, hands moving mechanically through years of practice.

“make it stop, hoseokie,” he rasps, and hoseok smiles, squeezes namjoon’s shoulder as a few other nurses come in to help wheel him out.

“i’ve got you, buddy,” hoseok promises. “i’m not going anywhere.”

“he needs more blood,” seokjin concludes. “yoongi, what’s his blood type again?”

“a positive,” is the response.

namjoon looks around the room through heavy eyes, searching for hoseok, hoseok, hoseok.

“he can’t be in here,” yoongi explains, and namjoon realises he must’ve chanted his best friend’s name aloud out of fear. his fingers shake. “i’m sorry, namjoon, but you’re stuck with me and my crew.”

“i need hoseok,” he breathes, mouth quivering. “please, hyung—i need—i need my best friend.”

yoongi opens his mouth to protest, but seokjin shakes his head, squeezing his shoulder tightly.

“i’ll go get him,” the doctor promises, and then hoseok’s back, face streaked with tears as he takes his place right beside namjoon, where he always has been.

“i’m sorry, i thought you wouldn’t notice—”

“don’t fucking lie to me again, jung,” namjoon croaks, but there’s no malice in his tone. just a warning. a careful warning.

hoseok smiles. “yeah. i won’t. i promise.”

“you better,” namjoon mutters, and yoongi presses his body down.

“we’re going to administer the medication now,” the nurse mumbles, and hoseok moves to the corner so yoongi could work, and namjoon just lies there, thankful for the painkillers seokjin forced into his body moments earlier. he feels needles prick his skin and he closes his eyes, listening closely for hoseok’s breathing to calm him down.

he feels seokjin’s hands on his bicep.

“try not to tense your arm, okay?” the doctor soothingly says, and namjoon nods, afraid to use his voice.

he feels the needle prick into him, and he knows he’s now undergoing blood transfusion.

the nurses all back off, and seokjin smiles.

“all done, namjoon,” he announces, and hoseok’s back at his side, fingers digging into the palm of his hand. “we’re going to leave you here for a few more hours, alright? just until the blood transfusion is complete.”

hoseok’s the one who replies for him, and everyone’s suddenly filing out, leaving him and hoseok alone in the strange calm of the icu. they’re quiet for a moment, and hoseok’s humming his girl group songs again, their hands locked in a firm grasp.

namjoon starts to feel sleepy.

“hey, joonie?”

“yeah, hoseokie?”

“ ‘we’ll be friends forever, won’t we,’ joon?”

he smiles at the ceiling. “ ‘even longer.’ ”

the need to sleep is far too strong, and soon slumber is tugging at his eyes. he turns to look at his best friend, squeezing his hand gently to get the elder to look at him. the last thing he sees is hoseok’s face tainted with silver tears, running down his cheeks as a final goodbye.

he doesn’t wake up the morning after.