#while in the hospital for a rare illness | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wheeboo · 8 months

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wilted | kim mingyu

SYNOPSIS. in which you've contracted hanahaki despite being in a relationship, and it makes you question everything. PAIRING. kim mingyu x gn!reader (ft. jeonghan) GENRE. angst, established relationship, hanahaki au WARNINGS. descriptions of illness (hanahaki disease), mentions of coughing and blood, mention of death, cursing, terms of endearment, miscommunication or honestly lack of communication, depictions of an argument, gyu is a little bit of an ass in this and i'm very sorry about that but it's for the plot, description of hospitals and surgery, unrequited love WORD COUNT. 6.1k

hanahaki disease ( 花吐き病 ) 𑁋 a disease in which the infected coughs up flowers due to unrequited love.

notes: this entire story was inspired from this post which i hoped i was able to stick to :)

A shift has never been this relaxing before.

Normally, you're used to the hectic hustle of weary students aiming to acquire their morning coffees before running to class and impatient corporate workers racing against the clock in the bustling jungle of the city. But today, the scene was drastically different.

The clear blue skies outside were barren of any existence of clouds, the sun rays pouring in through the café windows like warm honey and casting ornate patterns of light and shadow on the rustic wooden tables that filled the vast space. In the midst of this fresh and sunny afternoon, you find yourself standing idly behind the counter, fingers rhythmically tapping on your phone as you shoot a text message to your boyfriend.

[ 04:39pm | y/n ] gyu ! should i bring home something for us to eat tonight? been craving that gimbap from a while ago 💕

The message sends before your attention would be halted by the chime of the doors opening.

You've worked as a barista in this café for the past year while searching (or struggling, to be honest) to get a job in the field you sought for. It's easy to give yourself credit when it comes to plastering on the brightest smile on your face every time the bell above the doors would ring. You can be having the worst day of your life, yet you've mastered the skill of hiding your worries beneath that obnoxious apron and sage green logo-emblazoned hat sat on your head.

It's a bit different this time when the customer who walks in is someone you're beginning to consider a regular at your café.

"Ah, Mr. Yoon," You greet him with a shake of your head and a wide grin. "The usual today, I'm presuming?"

"That is, if you can stop putting down 'Mr. Yoon' on my cup than my first name," he responds teasingly, and it makes you lightly chuckle as you lower your gaze to start tapping in his order on the screen.

Mr. Yoon, as he preferred to be called initially as a running gag, had become a latest fixture in the café, like a light-hearted charm that captures the attention of both you and your co-workers. It's rare to see people like him walk in. His visits were characterised not just by his liking for the café's signature caramel macchiato, but also by the easy banter and warm camaraderie he shared each time he visited that makes your busy shifts a little more bearable.

"Okay, Jeonghan," You reply playfully, reading out his order even though you know it's correct. "One caramel macchiato with a pinch of wit, coming right up."

He lets out a chuckle as he hands you his card with a wink. "You're the best, you know that?"

You flash him one last smile before facing your back towards him to prepare his order. "Flattery will get you anywhere, Mr. Yoon."

You take your time in creating his order, looking up briefly to notice he had sat himself down at one of the tables in the corner of the café. You carefully pour the steamed milk over the espresso and caramel, and when you finish, you place the perfectly crafted caramel macchiato on a tray and carry it over to Jeonghan's table.

"Here you go, Mr. Yoon," You say with a smile, bringing the tray down and placing the cup in front of him. "One caramel macchiato, just the way you like it."

Jeonghan takes a moment to properly observe it, as if examining the crevices of each layer in the cup, before leaning back in chis hair and crossing his arms together. He lets out a relaxing sigh.

"Congratulations, you've earned yourself a perfect score this time." He turns the cup just slightly to show off that you've indeed put the order down under his first name.

You roll your eyes. "Well, I'm glad to have gotten it right."

"It's about time, don't you think?" Jeonghan queries, before taking a sip of the drink, eliciting a satisfied hum. "Mmh, but it was definitely worth the wait. Thank you, Y/N."

You grab the empty tray back in your hands. "If you need me, you know where to find me."

Jeonghan just shoots you one last playful smirk in your direction before you turn away to head back around the counter, pushing yourself through your next set of customers.

However, as time continues to pass so torturously slow, an unusual sensation begins to creep into the core of your chest.

It's like a subtle tickle, a slight tightness to your trachea that you merely dismiss just as fatigue from the dry air as you strap the lid on the order of a cup you're preparing. You take a moment to rub your chest absently, hoping the discomfort will pass, but it lingers.

Yet once you set the order down on the customer's table and dismiss yourself back behind the counter, you let out a small, involuntary cough into the palm of your hand. It's nothing, you tell yourself. You're probably just coming down with a minor cold.

But then, you see it𑁋a very small delicate, pale pink petal resting on your hand where you had covered your mouth, and that's when you feel your heart drop down to your feet.

This can't be happening, You think frantically. Not now. Not like this. You glance around nervously, hoping no one else was watching or waiting for you at the front. The café is still bustling with customers, and the regular chatter continues, completely oblivious to your growing panic.

As you stare at the petal, it begins to crumble, disintegrating into tiny flecks that drift away like dust in the wind down to the floor below. The feeling in your chest, however, remains, and it intensifies. It's like a weight, an ache that refuses to dissipate, and sets the adrenaline to your limbs as you dash towards the employee's only restroom, locking the door behind you.

You place your hands on either side of the sink, the coughs leaving your mouth now bouncing off the walls of the restroom. The coughs wrack your body. Each one doesn't bloom out a petal, but as you release one last cough, you watch as another petal slowly floats down in the sink below your gaze.

Then you look at your reflection in the mirror, and it reveals nothing out of the ordinary. No flowers sprouting from your mouth or bloodstained petals; it was purely only just... fresh petals.

Your mind runs circles. It physically hurts to even think, like twist and turns on an abandoned dirt road. If what you're suffering from is really what you think it is, then your thoughts dash back to him. To Mingyu, whom you've been with for the past two years, and the thought of him makes your heart race. Thinking about him helps just slightly, but not entirely, yet... what is causing this?

You're still in love with Mingyu𑁋you know you are.

You splash cold water on your face, trying to collect your thoughts and the pain wracking your chest. This can't be happening. It's impossible that you'd suddenly develop Hanahaki for someone else.

You quickly take out your phone from your back pocket, punching in your passcode and sliding to your text messages. Your fingers instinctively land on Mingyu's text thread, punching in words in a panic for some help. But when your eyes trail to the last message you sent to him, you notice that it was simply left on... seen.

That's when another cough racks your body, and you can't help but watch in horror as more petals, delicate and pink, fall into the sink, before wilting and crumbling down the drain. It felt like they were mocking you in shame.

Hanahaki disease. An illness described to be acquired from unrequited love.

The doctor explained the options to you: surgery to remove the flowers with the risk of losing your feelings for the person you love, medication to suppress the symptoms with the risk of some side effects, or the most common method𑁋reciprocated love. If the person you love returns your feelings, the disease will fade away on its own. However, if those feelings remain unrequited, the flowers will continue to grow, ultimately suffocating you.

And you would die.

Because that's exactly the kind of news you wanted to torment your life with. It's like a fucking parasite, a cruel insidious joke taking root in your chest. A fucking plant is growing in your fucking chest. Hanahaki disease was rare, but it had chosen you, and it had chosen to do so at the most inconvenient time.

You've heard the stories of the disease from the countless articles you searched on your phone the moment you got back into your car. You've also heard these stories growing up like an urban legend, even in its rarity, at some point becoming deathly afraid of it when you were younger, yet your own family had reassured you that no other person even down to your ancestors had ever been affected with the disease.

You're the first person. How fucking lucky are you.

You were lucky enough to catch it in its early stages, explaining to the doctor that you had never once had any other signs show other than today.

"It doesn't mean you have a lot of time to pick a treatment option," the doctor had said to you as you blankly listened. "I recommend getting it treated as soon as possible, no matter how early it may be, because waiting it out could be detrimental to your state. I'm going to prescribe you some medication to help reduce your symptoms. You can pick up at the pharmacy after this."

But you just... don't understand. None of this has been making sense in your head; it's just been buzzing painfully with confusion, and if anything, making you feel even worser than the actual disease plaguing your body itself. You've always been faithful to Mingyu; you've never harboured romantic feelings for anyone else other than him. You tell him that you love him, and he tells you that he loves you too.

Yet here you are, coughing up petals that seem to defy logic and the rules of this damn disease, trying to think of someone, anyone, who may have slipped past a crack in your heart somewhere.

But it all draws a blank, yet it's the only thing in mind that can be causing all this.

The doctor's words echo in your mind. Surgery came with the risk of losing your feelings for Mingyu, something that you couldn't bear to imagine. Medication can help suppress the symptoms temporarily, but it wouldn't cure the underlying cause. That left you with the most daunting option𑁋reciprocated love.

But how could you possibly explain this to Mingyu? How could you tell him that you were coughing up petals because of some inexplicable turmoil in your heart that had nothing to do with him?

You can't do this. Not right now. God, you need sleep.

"Gyu?" You call out, your voice echoing within the quietness of your shared apartment.

Stepping into your apartment, you're initially met with silence, but it wasn't until you hear a door shut that awakens your senses, and you see Mingyu stepping out of your shared bedroom. For a few moments, you let your eyes trail over him, seemingly dressed up like he was going to an outing, and you feel your lips twitch unconsciously.

"Babe?" You call out again, a bit louder this time, and it catches Mingyu's attention.

A faint smile crosses his face as he makes his way toward you, and for a second you can feel something catch in your throat once you can feel his warmth touch your skin.

"Hey," he greets you calmly, pushing away a strand of hair behind your ear. "How was work?"

"It was..." Tell him, Your mind urges. Tell him right now. "...fine. Nothing much today."

"That's good," he responds, locking the watch on his wrist in place.

"Are you going somewhere?" You ask him quickly, shifting your eyes up and down and over his form.

Mingyu's expression changes slightly, becoming almost tense, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes before it changes back to that lazy smile he had on before. You swear that if you weren't so hyperfocused with every fibre of your being pulling you back, you wouldn't have noticed.

"Just some dinner with the guys. Haven't seen them in a while," he responds coolly, brushing past you for a moment to grab the keys hanging next to the door. "Do you want me to bring you something back?"

You watch Mingyu's every move, the unease and some discomfort from the disease in your chest growing by the unbearable minute, even with the increasing tension in the room that's absolutely suffocating you at the same time. This isn't the time to let your guard down, but you're torn between the fear of losing him and the need to protect him from this awful reality.

But... he's going out? And he didn't tell you? Nor even bother responding to the text you sent him earlier? He was probably just busy, You think. Like he always is.

"No, it's alright." You take a chance and step up to him, planting a brief kiss to his cheek. You feel a little bit better doing that. "I'll just heat up something from the fridge. Have a good time with your friends, okay? I love you."

Mingyu smiles softly at your gesture, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. And you swear you notice a distant look in his gaze, or maybe you were just imagining things and it's just another symptom of this stupid disease and your fervent overthinking. The dimness of your apartment didn't help either𑁋his eyes just looked drained of any colour. Maybe he was just tired.

"Thanks, Y/N." He offers one last smile, but there's something lacking in his tone that you can't quite place, and it's anything but comforting you at the moment. "Love you too."

Your heart quickens just a bit at that, the corners of your lips edging up just slightly as you watch him. He grabs his jacket and heads for the door, and you're left behind in nothing but the silence of your place.

And all at once, you feel all the discomfort you were trying to hide finally spill out from your lips, coughs leaving your mouth like a downpour, each one a bit more painful than the last. You double over with one of your arms wrapped around you and the other clutching at your chest as if trying to physically grasp the pain and pull it out of you.

"Shit, dammit," You murmur weakly, bringing your hand down from your mouth to see a few petals fluttering to the floor, feeling the tears brimming at the corner of your eyes.

You bring yourself back up, opening up your bag and taking out the medication you picked up from the pharmacy earlier. Trailing down to the bathroom, the medication bottle rattles loudly in your shaky hand as you fumble to open the cap. The pills inside are small and white, and the label on the bottle provides instructions for dosage. With shaking fingers, you fish out one pill and place it on your palm.

Then you take a deep breath, attempting to steady your nerves, and then swallow it down with a gulp of water from the bathroom sink.

You hope that it will provide some relief, even if it's just temporary.

You don't know what time Mingyu comes home that night. You heard him come in, but don't have the energy to properly acknowledge him. So you stay low to your sheets, feeling some residual discomfort crawl back into your throat when you hear him open the bedroom door.

You wish he can hold you𑁋it's all you want right now. His comfort, his large arms wrapping around you like how he used to do so before, how he would kiss the top of your head and your shoulder before holding you close in his embrace, the way it felt so right and safe being in his hold because you know it's enough to make all your worries disappear in an instant.

But he doesn't, only sliding into the empty space next to you, and you're afraid that if he does it just might make you feel even worse. You barely feel his warmth on you. Yet you miss him; you miss everything about him. And you still love him. You always have.

You always will.

...right?

It's not right to tell him right now.

You certainly wouldn't like it if someone was staring at you, but you can't help it, not when Mingyu is the only other thing in the room you could possibly look at.

It's been more than a week since you found out you have Hanahaki. Each day you would wake up in an absolute coughing fit, the petals coming in more frequent amounts than before. The medication has helped to lessen the symptoms, yet the side effects are taking a toll on your body. You're constantly fatigued, and your appetite has declined just slightly. You feel like a prisoner in your own body, all because something beautiful and deadly is growing within you.

Mingyu still doesn't know about it. And deep down, you can't shake the feeling that something is... different.

He used to be so attentive with you. Now, he often seems preoccupied, lost in his own thoughts. He no longer surprises you with sweet gestures or random acts of affection, and the warm, lingering kisses that he would leave to your lips have turned into quick pecks on the cheek, or simply, just nothing at all. You hardly wake up with him right next to you because of his work, and the shared laughter and late night conversations have nearly ceased to exist.

You remember the days when Mingyu used to look at you with such warmth, love, and adoration, but the spark that used to light up his eyes has dimmed. You barely feel it anymore. His replies to your questions asking about his day are kept brief. You would excuse it as him simply being exhausted, but there's a persistent feeling in your chest, and it's not just from your illness.

"Gyu?" You call out for him meekly from the kitchen, watching as he doesn't peel his eyes away from his laptop screen, only lifting a brow up slightly. "Are you busy later?"

"Yeah, I am. I got invited to a company dinner later this evening."

There's a visible downturn to your lips at his words, but he doesn't see it𑁋doesn't bother to see it, anyway.

"Oh." You feel it crawling up your throat again. "Okay. How about tomorrow?"

Mingyu finally looks away from his laptop, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he sighs. "Tomorrow's not good either. I have a meeting with a client, and it might go late."

"Maybe the day after tomorrow?" You suggest, some desperation creeping into your voice.

Mingyu seems to hesitate for a moment, and you hold your breath, hoping for a glimmer of hope, something. But then he shakes his head. "I can't promise anything, Y/N. I'm sorry. I'll be sure to make up to you, okay?"

That's what you always say.

Will you ever make time for me again someday?

You swallow hard, feeling a lump in your throat. The realisation stings, more painful than the illness taking form in your lungs.

"Okay," You mumble, your voice barely above a whisper. "I understand. It's okay. I love you."

A brief, long, pause. "Love you too."

But it's okay, because you still love me.

Then you find yourself swiftly retreating into your bathroom, heart heavy as you grab a tissue and let out a few coughs into the tissue. More petals fall from your mouth, before you crumple the tissue and toss it into the bin next to the sink, then splash some water on your face to hide the tears that threaten to escape.

You don't know what to do.

You can't even bother to see how much pills you have left because you feel like you're taking ten of them every damn day. You have yet to tell a soul, and you know that you should before it's too late, but who you can turn to? You have no one𑁋you can't even figure out yourself why this is even happening to you without feeling like you're going absolutely manic.

It's been hard trying to hide the fallen petals away from Mingyu, or away from anyone, in fact, and you find yourself coughing up more petals even when you're just in the same room as him. You always have to discreetly spit them into a tissue or rush to the bathroom to dispose of them, hoping he doesn't notice.

You hardly even see Mingyu anymore. It's either he's always called into work, has something important to do with the guys, or you feel it snaking up your throat painful enough for you to not make a move. The words stick in your throat, and the fear of losing him freezes you up. You can't help but blame yourself for being so distant around him.

If you've really fallen out of love out of him, if you did supposedly fall for someone else, wouldn't that mean that... you're leading him on? It's a thought at the back of your mind, but the guilt gnaws at you day by day like the ever-growing branches piercing through your lungs.

It's frustrating. All of this frustrating, and it's obviously spilled into your work performance as well. You can hardly perfect orders without making mistakes, and your once bright smile has faded into a forced, weary expression. Your manager and co-workers have given you concerned looks, but you've brushed them off, simply claiming it as stress or lack of sleep.

But it doesn't hit hard until today, because it happens so fast𑁋the metal tray you're holding loudly suddenly crashing down to the floor. One moment you can't breathe, and the next you're letting out hacking coughs into your hands, knees dropped to the floor with the spilled coffee staining your pants and shoes.

The café erupts into chaos as some customers quickly rush to your side, a hand still covering your face. You can hardly respond to anyone from the intense heaviness to your chest and dry pain to your throat.

You feel the petals tickling the skin of your hand, quickly crumpling them up in a fist and stuffing them inside the pocket of your apron.

"Y/N, are you okay?" a familiar voice asks worriedly, Jeonghan's voice, who you served earlier, and you catch a glimpse of him kneeling down beside you.

You can't look at him. Tears well up in your eyes, but you blink them back, doing your best to keep whatever you had left of your composure. You force a weak smile as you bring your hand down to the side.

"Yeah," You croak out, voice raspy and barely audible. "I'm fine, just a little dizzy."

Jeonghan doesn't seem convinced, his eyes trailing over you carefully. You only look past him and keep your gaze low, but it wasn't until you catch sight of a fallen petal resting by your shoes.

And he also sees it as well. Jeonghan's gaze flickers downward, his eyes narrowing as he spots the pale pink petal, and something in his expression changes.

Then he looks back up at you, giving a faint smile, yet serious look.

"Let me take you to the doctor," he urges.

"What? Jeonghan, I can't𑁋"

"I'm taking them to the doctor," he tells one of your co-workers passing by with a broom to clean up the mess you brought to the floor, completely cutting off your words.

You can hardly believe your eyes and ears right now. Your co-worker only nods and quickly takes over your duties while Jeonghan helps you to your feet. Despite your protests, he guides you outside the café, keeping a loose grip on your arm before you get yourself to separate from him in a brief panic.

"Jeonghan, you can't just𑁋just take me out of work like this."

He shoots you a bewildered look. "You're sick, Y/N. It's obvious."

"I know, and I'm fine. It's just stress and bad sleep. Please, just take me back to the café𑁋"

"You have Hanahaki," he says flatly and outright. "I've seen you cough them up. You don't have to hide it from me."

Jeonghan's words hang in the air like an anchor sinking in the ocean. You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest, and your mind races to find some way to deny it, to deflect the truth. But deep down, you know he's right.

Jeonghan, however, doesn't press you for an explanation. Instead, he takes you by the wrist gently and drags you to his car parked nearby.

"Jeonghan𑁋"

"I've had it, Y/N. I've had Hanahaki before," he confesses, a solemn look to his face as his words sink inside you.

You're quiet for a few moments as his words hang suspended in the air, a heavy silence between you two. Hearing that kind of news is from him is oddly... both surprising and comforting, knowing how how rare the illness is. But maybe just maybe, he might understand what you're going through, even if you can't seem to understand yourself.

Once you finally slide into the passenger seat of his car, you manage to get your voice back.

"You've... had it? I mean, just... what happened... how did you get rid of it?"

Once the car engine roars to life, Jeonghan just releases a small chuckle.

"It's the usual story: you fall in love with someone who doesn't love you back. It was terrifying, you know, seeing bits of your feelings turn into something physical like that. I waited too long, so I ended up getting the surgery." There's a shadow of some passing tree branches that cast on his face for a moment. "They never told me the surgery would also mean that my feelings would completely disappear, but it was the only way to save my life."

His face remains calm as he continues to drive, keeping his eyes on the road while your own thoughts were juggling together like a tangled mess of strings.

For a moment, Mingyu's face flashes in your mind, and you wish he were here with you. But you're torn. You don't want to burden him with this.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that," You finally say, keeping your voice low. It was all you can say at the moment.

Once the car stops at a red light, he turns to you with a small, sad smile. "Don't be. It was a long time ago, and it taught me a lot of lessons, you could say. I survived, and you will too."

Another round of silence passes through the car, but this one feels less heavy, more contemplative. You watch the passing scenery outside the window as your thoughts continue to whirl like a storm within your mind. Knowing that Jeonghan survived offers a glimmer of hope, but it also deepens your sense of isolation𑁋that you can't lean on Mingyu for support in the same way.

You don't want to lose your feelings for him. You've already built this start of a future with him, and you can't bear the thought of basically removing him from your life for no solid reason.

"I-I have a boyfriend, you know," You blurt out, interrupting the silence, hearing Jeonghan let out an acknowledging hum for you to go on. "We've been together for the past two years, and whenever the... coughing, petals, all this started happening, it confused me."

"The heart is a complicated place," Jeonghan assures you.

You faintly smile at that. "I still love him, I'm sure of that. I know I do. I've never had feelings for anyone else. I just... I can't figure out why this is happening, why I'm coughing up these stupid petals in the first place, and it's been eating me up inside. It hurts."

Jeonghan listens intently as you pour your heart out, his eyes fixed on the road ahead but his attention fully on you. When you finish speaking, he clears his throat.

"You haven't... told him yet, haven't you?" he asks softly, breaking the silence.

You shake your head. "No, I haven't. I-I've just been... scared that I've been pushing him away, leading him on and I don't know about it. What if... if my heart is just betraying me? And now, with this... I don't know what to do."

Jeonghan's lips purse together thoughtfully.

"I think... If you know you love someone, you do," he says. "But... what makes you certain that he loves you back in the same way?"

Jeonghan's question hits you like a ton of bricks. It's a question you've been dying to avoid for this entire time, a fear that's been lurking in the shadows of your heart and the deepest corners of your mind.

What if... Mingyu didn't love you back?

The thought startles a cough out of you and you hastily bring your hand to your mouth, suppressing it as much as you can, the fragile petals fluttering out and settling on your lap. Squinting your eyes just slightly, you notice how they appear more redder than the usual pink you were used to seeing. You clench your hand around them, knuckles white from the tension, and swallow hard. Jeonghan shoots a quick glance of worry in your direction.

"I... I don't know," You utter out shakily. And what if I don't want to know?

The rest of the car ride is relatively quiet with the occasional taps of Jeonghan's fingers on the steering wheel, but not uncomfortably so. You can sense the concern radiating off Jeonghan, but he doesn't push you to talk further.

"You need to talk to him, Y/N," is all he says after turning into the parking lot of the doctor's office.

Once you get out of his car, you turn back to Jeonghan and give him a light wave.

I know, You tell yourself in your head. I know I do.

You stare blankly at the dark red petal in your hand, its edges slightly crumpled from where it had been caught between your trembling fingers. You can hear the faint ticking of the clock on the wall itching at your skin, a constant reminder that time is passing, and you're running out of it.

Balling the petal in your hand, you stand up from where you sat on the bed and march out the bedroom. For a second, you felt like you weren't in control of your legs, yet you know you have to take advantage of the chance to muster up the courage to finally tell Mingyu everything.

Not just about the Hanahaki, but about... everything that has been suffocating you inside. It's all you've been thinking about for the past few weeks. When you step into the living room, you spot him sitting at your small dining set, focused on his work as ever with the laptop screen in front of him casting a glow to his face. He doesn't even look up when you announce your presence near him, and your heart clenches at that.

Taking a deep breath, you speak up, "Mingyu, we need to talk."

Mingyu doesn't look up, his focus still on his work, brows furrowing together. "Can it wait, Y/N? I'm in the middle of something important."

You hesitate for a moment, feeling something inside you wince at his words. "No, it can't wait. It's about us."

"Y/N, it's one in the morning right now𑁋"

"Do you even still love me anymore?" The question leaves your mouth all at once, and you swear it even freezes this exact moment that you are in.

The room falls into a suffocating silence. Mingyu finally tears his gaze away from the laptop, his eyes meeting yours. In that moment, you see a complex mix of emotions in his eyes: surprise, guilt, and something else you can't quite place.

"I..." he starts, voice shaky. "Y/N, you can't just𑁋"

"Just answer the fucking question, Kim Mingyu." You clench the petal in your hand, feeling its dry, sharp edges dig into your skin. Then you realise the harshness to your words, softening your eyes and lowering your voice. "Please."

The room seems to close in around you as you wait for Mingyu's response. His hesitation hangs in the air, and you see the way his shoulders slump and the way his face contorts as he struggles to find the right words to say to just a simple question.

"I... I don't know, Y/N."

His words stab your heart. It's getting hard to breathe, but you can't let yourself cough now. Not in this moment. The petal in your hand crumples into dust as you clench it tighter.

"What the hell do you mean, you don't know?" Your voice trembles as you ask, searching his eyes for any sign of reassurance. "You either love me or you don't, just tell me, for God's sake."

Your frustration is evident, tone catching him off-guard. Mingyu's gaze drops to the table, and he lets out a heavy sigh.

"...I'm sorry, Y/N. I-I'm so so sorry."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you can feel the tears welling up in your eyes. This is what you've been afraid of, what you've been trying to avoid. But now that it's out in the open, it feels like a heavy weight has been lifted, even if it's crushing you at the same time.

And then, you feel it𑁋a sharp pain to your lungs that makes you gasp as if you've been stabbed by a searing blade. The room spins as you struggle to catch your breath, your hands trembling as you clutch your chest, letting out harrowing coughs after coughs. Mingyu jumps up from his seat, immediately racing to your side.

"Y/N?! Shit, Y/N, you're bleeding𑁋"

You can't respond, the pain in your chest and the taste of blood in your mouth overwhelming your senses. You hold onto him for support as another bout of coughing consumes you. This isn't how you wanted to reveal your condition to him, but there's no hiding it now.

You feel the way Mingyu scoops you into his arms, the blood from your mouth and the petals staining his shirt as he reaches for his phone to dial emergency services. His voice is helpless and frantic, and within seconds, minutes, maybe even whole hour, you hear the distant wail of approaching sirens.

The soft hum of machines echo through the air as you stir awake, eyes fluttering open and the blinding white lights above blurring your vision. The first sensation that you register was the overwhelming scent of disinfectant filling your nose, sharp and pungent. Then came the dull ache in your chest that makes your breath quietly hitch.

Blinking your eyes open, you realise you're in a hospital room, the pale morning light filtering through the curtains. The sight of white walls and strange medical equipment, an IV line running into your arm, makes your heart race anxiously. You try to take a deep breath, but then you feel that ache in your chest again, and it makes you groan.

Just then at that moment, a young looking nurse enters the room, her eyes widening when she catches sight of you awake and distressed.

"Easy now," she says, rushing to your side and gently pushing you back down onto the bed. "You've just had surgery. You need to rest."

Surgery...?

You could only nod weakly, your throat too dry to speak. You watch as the nurse adjusts some of the monitors and checks your vitals, making sure everything was in place.

"Everything went well during the surgery," she reassures you. "But the hanahaki flowers had grown more aggressively than expected and showed signs of piercing through your lungs. It's a good thing we performed the emergency surgery when we did."

Hanahaki... The word lingers in your mind as you try to make sense of it all. Memories began to resurface: the petals mixing with your blood, the coughing fits, and... Mingyu. It all seemed so distant now, as if it had happened to someone else.

"You were lucky that we caught in time before the growth would have overtaken your lungs," the nurse says sympathetically while writing down your vitals on a chart.

Lucky. How ironic. You were alive, yes, but at what cost? You couldn't help but wonder if the surgery had taken more from you than just the hanahaki flowers.

And then it hits you.

There's no trace of the pain that had clawed at your chest for so long, except for the skin atop your heart where you can feel the incisions. The hanahaki flowers are gone, removed during the emergency surgery, but there's something else missing too𑁋your feelings, your love, for Mingyu.

You feel nothing. No pining, no longing, no aching heart. It's as if a weight has been lifted from your chest, but the emptiness is... disquieting, unnerving, just a void, a hole in place of where your warmth resided in.

You're no longer in love with Mingyu, just like he is for you.

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @ylliris-hanniehae @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair

#kflixnet #k-labels #caratsland #seventeen imagines #seventeen angst #seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #mingyu imagines #mingyu angst #mingyu x reader #kim mingyu imagines #kim mingyu angst #kim mingyu x reader #svt imagines #svt angst #svt x reader

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bratzforchris · 1 month

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Goldfish

Summary: Matt has a chronic illness that the nurses at his local clinic are all too familiar with. The new nurse in town hasn't had a chance to meet him yet, but what happens when she does?

Pairing: Matt x nursefem!reader

Warnings: Mentions of needles and blood, chronic illness, use of medical steroids, flirty nurse!reader (this is all fiction!), Matt is 20/reader is 23, Matt has a service dog!!

Word Count: Just over 2k

A/N: This is lowkey inspired by the experience I had a few days ago with a flirty nurse while I was in the ER (I'm still thinking about him--had me giggling n kicking my feet n shit like I was in a rom com [this is definitely a story time]). ANYWAY, Matt has PFAPA (my chronic illness!) here. It's usually a childhood thing, but some rare cases like myself don't grow out of it. You can read more about it here, if you'd like. Enjoy!!

Matt Sturniolo is all too familiar with his local pediatric emergency room. In fact, he’s been there so many times that the nurses have started to treat him as less of a patient, and more of a friend. “Hey Matt!”, “How’s YouTube going, Matt?”, “I remember you!”, “I saw you last time!”, and the list went on. Some might ask why he still went there at almost 21, but when you had a chronic illness, it was best to see the people who had been caring for you for years if you could. These nurses had been caring for him at least once a month, ever since he was 12, and were usually quite skilled in how to manage the brunette’s comfort.

Matt had PFAPA, which left him with high fevers and extremely sore, almost strep like sore throats every month. It was a miserable thing to live, and it really impacted his happiness, especially on days like today when he was having one of the worst flare ups he’d had in a long time and both Nick and Chris were unable to come along with him to the doctor. Luckily for Matt, he had his service dog, Emily, with him, but he still longed for a human companion as well. While some people wondered why he ‘needed’ a service dog, Matt’s disability was invisible. Emily would let him know when his flare ups were starting as well as laying on him to soothe his body aches and chills and helping with his anxiety at doctor visits.

The nurse tech took him into the back rather quickly, running their usual tests of strep, the flu, and COVID. About 98% of the time, they would all come back negative, but the hospital staff liked to do all they could to make Matt more comfortable. Sure enough, the nurse practitioner stepped in about 30 minutes later, a sad look on her face.

“How are you feeling, Matt?”

Matt shrugged, grimacing as his throat ached when he swallowed. “‘M not great.” he murmured, petting his pup’s head softly as the anxiety welled in his chest.

“Well, everything came back negative,” she told, a sad look on her face. “We can test you for mono, though. You have a lot of the symptoms for that. That one is a blood test. We’re also going to give you an IV since you’re dehydrated.”

That sentence alone made him want to cry. Despite the tattoos and piercings he had, Matt hated medical needles. They hurt and they freaked him out. Sensing his anxiety, Emily scooted closer to Matt, whining softly and butting his leg with her head. Matt pet the dog’s head softly, steadying himself to get his breath. “Okay…” he breathed, steadying himself.

The nurse practitioner patted his leg gently, hurrying out of the room to attend to her other patients. Matt began to panic, his breathing rapidly increasing as tears welled in his eyes. He didn’t want any of this. He just wanted them to tell him what was wrong so he could get some meds, go home, and sleep. Patting the bed he was laying on gently, Emily hopped up, curling into Matt’s side. The pooch rested her head on her owner’s chest, subconsciously working to slow the brunette��s heart rate.

A few minutes later, another nurse and a lab tech stepped into the small room he was in, holding a tray full of supplies. Matt squeezed his eyes shut tightly at the sight, already dreading the feeling of getting blood drawn. Both healthcare workers were very kind, of course, whispering soft nothings to him as they patted his leg and prepared to draw his blood. They promised him that the procedure would be quick and easy, but those words never mixed well with a chronic illness.

“Your vein rolled because you’re dehydrated. We’re going to have to draw from your other arm.” the lab tech informed him.

“O…kay.” Matt whispered shakily, trying to get his breath and the feeling in his hand back.

The brunette knew that it was okay to cry, but that didn’t make it any less embarrassing. He was a grown man, laying here in a kid’s hospital room, trying not to cry while they tried to draw his blood again in his right arm. Unfortunately for Matt, the dehydration he was experiencing from his extremely sore throat caused his vein to roll again.

“Oh sweetheart,” the nurse said sympathetically, patting his leg. “We’re going to give you a minute, okay? Let’s get some water and Gatorade in you before we try again.”

Matt just nodded as he was passed a mini water bottle and a cherry Gatorade. He was hearing their words, but honestly, he didn’t care. All he knew was that he was going to be poked and prodded again, and he didn’t like it. Emily snuggled into his side, whining softly and brushing her sandpaper tongue against her owner’s arm, trying desperately to get Matt to feel better.

“Alright, honey,” the sweet, older nurse stepped into Matt’s room again, holding a fresh tub of supplies to draw his blood. “Let’s try it in your left hand, okay?”

Because chronic illness never made things easy, the third time was still a failure, leaving Matt with an already bruising hand and tears pricking his eyes. Before he knew it, he was being shoved a packet of goldfish crackers, a popsicle, and more water, being informed that he had to eat before they could try again. The snacks felt like swallowing shrapnel, making the boy cringe every time he had to swallow.

“Hello, oldest patient of the day!” You cheered, practically walking into Matt’s room on a cloud of glitter.

Matt jumped in shock, petting his dog’s head to calm his racing heart. “...hi…” he mumbled.

“They called me in for backup,” You explained, a smile on your face. You absolutely loved nursing, and every day at your job truly felt like a gift. You’d graduated from nursing school last year at the top of your class and had been working in the pediatric emergency room ever since. It wasn’t every day that you had a patient who was 20, but you didn’t mind. “We’re getting this blood draw this time so you can get the fuck out of here,” You slapped a hand over your mouth. “Shit, I’m sorry. I hope you don’t mind if I curse.”

For the first time all day, a small giggled made its way out of Matt’s mouth. “No, I’m okay.”

“I see you have a buddy,” You commented. “That’s nice.”

“She helps my…anxiety.” Matt seemingly chose his words carefully, but they still made you smile. It was clear that the boy had a bond with his pup.

“I’m gonna look at your tonsils first so we can get you some medicine to help you swallow and then we’ll draw your blood, okay?” You asked, wanting to make sure your patient was comfortable with everything.

At the mention of a blood draw, Matt’s blue eyes widened with anxiety, his body becoming visibly tense. You had become in tune with this, sliding on a pair of pink latex gloves and patting the soft material of the pajama pants on his knee.

“Hey, look at me,” You murmured softly, waiting for his response. Once Matt had looked at you, you chugged on. “We’re just chilling, okay? I’m not going to do anything yet.”

Matt nodded, letting out an anxious breath he’d been holding. “Okay.” he whispered.

You grabbed the flashlight to look in his throat off the wall. “Alright, I’m pretty sure you know the drill,” You chuckled. “Open and say ‘ahhh!’...oh yeah, you’ve got an icky throat. That looks like it hurts. Although…did you have a blue popsicle? You’ve got blue tonsils. It’s rather endearing.”

Matt flushed, his ears going red as he nodded. You smiled softly, throwing away the cap and hanging the flashlight back on the wall. You gave the boy the steroidal liquid the nurse practitioner had drawn up for him to ease the swelling in his throat, a blush creeping onto your face as Matt scrunched his eyes up at the disgusting taste, quite literally making grabby hands for his Gatorade.

“Fuck, that’s gross.” he whined.

“At least you got it over with!” You hummed cheerfully, in a small aim to make him feel better. “Unfortunately, it’s time for the bad part, but we can make it a little less shitty if you want? Maybe you could play me some music? Something you like, okay?”

Matt fiddled with his phone for a moment before landing on Dominic Fike’s latest release. You smiled at the lyrics, releasing this was one of your favorite songs at the moment. You prepped the materials needed to finally get Matt’s blood drawn for the mono test, patting his knee gently in an effort to calm his trembling frame as he rubbed his pup’s head.

“Hey, can I tell you something?” You whispered shyly, setting him up for the procedure. “You’ve got goldfish in your teeth–it’s really cute.” You giggled, your own cheeks becoming red.

The brunette whined, breathing deeply as you began to draw his blood. “That’s embarrassing.” he grunted.

A few deep breaths and small, sad noises later, you had finally gotten the sample needed. “We got it!” You told Matt excitedly, placing a Barney band aid across the site. “All done!”

You bustled around the room, making sure Matt was comfortable, throwing away your supplies, and making notes on your clipboard. You helped the boy drink water and got him (and Emily) a blanket, before taking his samples down to the lab to get checked out. By the time everything was said and done, an hour had passed and Matt was asleep against the small bed when you knocked on his door.

“Hey sleepyhead,” You giggled, stepping into the room. “Nice nap?” Matt fisted his eyes, nodding as you went over his discharge instructions. You always hated releasing patients with no explanations or answers as to why they felt so bad, but in cases like Matt’s, that wasn’t always possible. Your best bet was to make him as comfortable as possible here. “Do you have any questions?”

The brunette shook his head, finally able to speak now that the steroids were beginning to work their magic on his throat. “No, but thank you. You’ve been the best nurse I’ve had all day…maybe even ever.”

You blushed at the compliment, helping the boy stand since you knew he was already exhausted, dehydrated, and lightheaded from having his blood drawn. “Do you need help getting to your car? I actually just got off.” You murmured shyly, glancing at the clock on the wall.

Despite Matt’s steadiness on his feet and his grip on Emily’s leash, the blue-eyed boy nodded all the same, a quietly flustered look crossing his face. You smiled yourself, maneuvering Matt out to his car with a firm, yet gentle hand on his lower back. Thankfully, the waiting room had quieted down quite a bit now that it was nearing the evening, so no one questioned or pulled you away from walking Matt out. It was a slow trek with your patient being a bit unsteady on his feet, but you didn’t mind. Matt’s presence made you happy in an odd sort of way; you hated that he wasn’t well and that this would continue to happen for him, but you couldn’t stop your mind from thinking about seeing him again.

“I um…I hope this isn’t weird, but I would really like to see you again. Maybe another time? When you’re not in pain?” You coughed and chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of your neck.

He smiled as he slid into the driver’s seat, rubbing his aching head that was seemingly getting better just by being around you. “I’d like that,” he offered. “I’d like that a lot, actually.”

Matt didn’t end up leaving his trip to the hospital with many answers beside the usual ‘It’s your chronic illness’, but what he did end up leaving with was your phone number scribbled onto a pink sticky note that he had been given in the parking lot.

tags ♡: @jake-and-johnnies-slut @chrissfavwh3re @suyqa @chrissturnswife @mbsbaby @herxysc-blog @lovingchrissposts @caffeinatedscorpio @spencereidenthusiast @crazychrisl0v3r @sturnioloxlver @whicked-hazlatwhore @blahbel668 @sturncakez @junnniiieee07 @biggesthat3r @sturniolowhore @patscorner @julesgrl @0strawberrysorbet0 @strombolilovr @matt444nixi @remussbitch @devthepoet1221 @mattyblover07 @loisnotaa @mollyquinnxoxo @graysturns @pepsicolapussy333 @ginswife @emmagirouard @athaliahxoxo @bitchydragonparadise @ilydeaky @soggyslugg169 @m00n-0n-paws @books0fever @stingerayyy2 @sunsetsturniolos @mimi-luvzyu @raysmayhem-72 @faygo-frog @oobleoob @billsslutt @aemrsy

note ♡: if you'd like to be added to my taglist, click here <3

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thingsthatmakeyouacey · 7 months

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Inevitably, when bridge and highway protests happen, someone pulls up a report (original article) about an ambulance or organ transplant that couldn’t get through. These seem like, and maybe are, genuine concerns but I want to highlight three things:

1. Protestors often let ambulances through.

2. The purpose of protest is to disrupt. And I don’t just mean disrupt traffic or even civil norms, I also mean power and narratives of power.

What happens when, in our minds, we hold a kidney transplant speeding down a road in San Francisco alongside the 117 health facilities (21 hospitals, 41 ambulances, 53 clinics) that Israel has targeted as of the 15th, in addition to not only ceasing electricity but preventing the pittance of fuel let through the Rafah crossing from going to hospitals or sewage or water, while laying siege on numerous hospitals, shooting anyone who leaves those hospitals, bombing medicine stores and water lines into hospitals, deploying white phosphorus, in addition to leveling entire neighborhoods? Rendering the medical system as merely first-aid? Intentionally generating a sewage crisis to foment a public health disaster? All of this in an ongoing pandemic during which Israel denied vaccines to Palestinians?

What happens when we say: in this metropole, in this heart of empire, my life is no more valuable than a Palestinian’s? A life-saving treatment, the protection of an incubator, the expediancy with which I am served, the rare and precious donated organ is the right of all? That urgency is a luxury the West manufactures and ringfences for itself? That moralistic appeals to the disabled and the ill and those who love us should always, in the same breath, apply to Palestinians?

3. And so, rather than this meaning “it’s OK if an American dies from lack of care due to this action,” we are being asked to consider what power means, and who holds it: these disruptions, if and when they actually happen, demonstrate that the power to make it stop does not lie with protestors. Even if they throw their keys off the bridge. The power to make it stop lies with the US government. It can stop this—all of this, since we have established that an American life has an equal right to existance as a Palestinian’s—if it calls for a ceasefire. It can stop this if it divests from the murder machine that is both itself and Israel.

#murder -#gaza #& something to be said here of that divestment being connected to the shit healthcare situations we have in settler states #imagine if 1/5 of our federal income tax didn’t go to the military but instead healthcare infrastructure

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circeyoru · 4 months

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Angelic Doctor

[Human!Alastor x Disguised Angel!Reader]

Part 1 (here)

Part 2

You were one of the rarer angels that could travel between Heaven and Earth with the purpose of spreading good. Your job was to pose as a regular human and do good wherever you were for the people, that is until you were given the opportunity to ‘die’ and rid yourself of the false human identity you have

One of your identities was in New Orleans, Louisiana. You were one of the rare female doctors on staff at the hospital, you followed the ways of the humans with their medical practices even while you could have used your healing powers behind closed doors. But you just didn’t when human ways could heal, just needing more time and resources. You only used your powers when it was a dire situation and the patient didn’t deserve death, particularly souls that would do good or spread good

Your angelic moment was brought out when you were suddenly met with a runaway offender who had been released from prison on good behaviour. The man was begging for you to hide him or bring him somewhere safe because he wasn’t familiar with the surroundings, your angelic eyes caught the colour of his soul - light red, so he was destined for Hell. Against your better judgment, you brought him to the hospital for treatment

Sadly, the next day when you returned for work, the man was found murdered in the bathroom with organs missing, only to be found in the donation box. You were beyond distraught and took some time off. It wasn’t that you were overly sensitive about the death of the man, it was more so that you didn’t protect him well enough. Who knows, if he was let out because of good behaviour, perhaps he could be changed. After all, his soul was yet to be dark blood red, so there was still time to save him from damnation in Hell. That was your job as an Angel!

You have yet to meet one that was impossible to be changed, irredeemable ones, and you met one sooner than expected. You heard him before you met him. While the radio was broadcasting in the cafe you frequent before your work hours, the moment his voice was echoed in the room, the patrons would speak softer to hear his voice. You have to admit that his voice was melodious and he sure has a way with words, with his charisma, you figured that he was a good and honest person, favoured and have a place in Heaven

Oh how wrong were you

You remember it so clearly, the moment you met him, face-to-face, a chance encounter where he protected a fair lady that was you against a drunken man, your eyes widened when you got a good look at his soul the moment things were resolved. A blood-red soul, nearly black. A serial killer that was suspected to be a cannibal as well roamed the street, striking fear and worry to the good people. That was him, Alastor the famous and beloved radio host

Alastor had heard of your lifesaving work all around town, pun intended. People sang praises of you no matter how small or big of an injury or illness that you had cured. In fact, he had put his trust and faith in you when he enlisted his sick mother into the hospital, although you were only a small-time doctor and one who was in training since you were a transfer from the town over

His mother’s doctor in charge was more than unwelcoming since he was a greedy and unethical man, how he wished he could just off the man and have the hospital staff change doctors. But you were under that doctor’s guidance, he did his research. If that doctor were gone, you would be transferred away. So he put up with it

While Alastor didn’t have the time to meet you face to face since there seemed to never be a moment where he caught you on break or free during his rare visits to the hospital, he could only watch you from afar

Don’t think he didn’t catch the way you’d keep his kind sick mother entertained while he wasn’t around. If it wasn’t him catching you leaving the room, it was his mother who spoke highly of you when he apologised for keeping her waiting. For some reason, his mother was always more energetic after your visits, like you were a breath of fresh air in a polluted fog

However, the tragic news of his mother’s passing came and it just so happened to be during the days when you were off duty, on vacation as it were. He took some time to adjust, only really bouncing back when he received a handwritten letter that was addressed to him (the family of the mother, professionally) expressing your condolences and that you assured him his mother was a pure and loved soul who would be welcomed in Heaven where paradise awaits

His killing took a different turn, he didn’t want to kill the innocent and pure, no one like his good angelic trainee doctor, no, death should be for the wicked. So he played god on another level, hunting down the no goods of the city and feasting on them like they were animals in the slaughterhouse. His slaughterhouse, or cabin in the swamps

Imagine his surprise when one of his killings brought him to you. You, the kind now full-time doctor, took his prey to the hospital to nurse him back to health. Oh, but that prey was no good, that prey was an enemy to the kind children you’d smile and teach and a vermin that took what it couldn’t have. So he waited until you were out of the building and began his work. This time, instead of feasting on the organs, they looked to be in good condition to donate to someone in need of it. And into the organ donation section they go

It was one fated night that you and Alastor had your one-sided reunion. Like a heroic knight in shining armour, he rescued you from the brute of a drunk man. “Are you alright, dear?” He’d ask, he figured you were in a state of shock from the ordeal so he brought you to a diner and gave you space to breathe and recollect everything. He would have to deal with that drunk man who gave his angelic doctor a fright at a later time

For now, he can finally get to know you. Of course, he’d keep his double life a secret, but surely his charming radio host self can blind you enough that you fall for him first, right? Then he can slowly plan your days together like his mother would want for him. Until his time is up and he’d be in Hell

Note: Another one! Cause I'm in the mood for writing, plus I have the time~ ლ(´ڡ`ლ)

Should I do part 2 for this one? There's still some ideas left ~(˘▾˘~)

Circe Y.

MASTERLIST

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor x you #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor headcanons #alastor imagine #alastor x y/n #hazbin hotel oneshots #human alastor #Angelic Doctor #Circe's Nighty Writings

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sickuma · 11 months

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Hello, this maybe kinda out of the fiction you always write. But can i ask for some doctor x reader fanfiction? Make it angst please, i will pay for my therapy bills!! 😁😁😁

PATIENT AT ROOM 224 — a Miguel O'hara fiction.

❱ The first actual request ill cover! I have a few lined up but I wanted to do this one first since I got the idea^^ tysm for the request <3 I hope this is to your liking (●'◡'●) Also if some things don't make sense, I barely know things about hospitals pardon me, I'm 15 and have yet to learn more about such gaahhh this one is pretty long!

ꜝ？ Warning. . angst! mentions of chronic illness, death, and such. ﹟paring | doctor Miguel x patient reader

➴ SYNOPSIS — You suffer from an illness without a cure, and your doctor Miguel tries hard to fasten the pace of formulating that cure. Time is not in your favor, you have one wish and it's to see the ocean for the last time. Along with your goodbyes, he revealed a confession.

NEPENTHE — (n.) An ancient Greek word, nepenthe is defined as a medicine for sorrow. It is a place, person, or thing, which can aid in forgetting your pain and suffering.

It’s been four years,

Four years since the hospital became your home, four years since this became your reality. Exactly four years since you’ve been a prisoner of your own health, in constant risk of losing your life. It took a while to accept, but four years have passed, and you knew there was nothing else you can do but sit and wait for the inevitable.

A part of you never let go of that speck of hope,

Maybe you still have a chance, maybe you can still live. You want to live. Despite being quiet and accepting of your situation, the fear was undeniably there, and it grows every day. You don't want to die, you’re scared, it’s frightening.

It seems you’re not the only one feeling that way,

In front of you stood your doctor, Miguel. He’s been in charge of you for years now, he’s been there since the very beginning. It’s starting to feel like he’s the only person you have ever since your family seldom visited. He had a nonchalant disposition, a permanent scowl on his face, and yet he feels homely.

“vitals are stable,” he spoke flatly, scribbling something on his paper. He had the glasses he wears on certain occasions, looking serious as always.

On most days he’s kept to himself, and on some rare occasions, he would speak to you. Things that aren't needed for your health, basic conversations that brought your head out of your wilting life. You appreciated that, knowing he isn't the type to converse or talk about personal topics. You always notice how his eyes look when he’d lay them on you,

Sorrowful? You’re unsure. But there’s definitely a hint of sadness in them, the type of look someone gives when they need to get something off their chest as if he needed to say something urgent. He never does.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, placing his clipboard down the table. Looking at you expectantly, his tone was gentler, softer, something his colleagues would find unusual. You smile at him like you always do, which he always found pleasant. “Just like the usual.” “No aches? How about your difficulty with breathing?”

“None.” you lie, You know it’s stupid to be lying to your own doctor but the last time you told him about it, he looked destroyed. You find out he didn't sleep a wink that week, checking the lab and giving them consistent assistance in finding the cure. Breathing isn't that hard—you've grown used to it. You didn't want to cause him that state ever again. You're aware of your condition, and you can almost predict what the future will be, there was no need to stress him out more than he already is.

He looked at you, searching for any signs of lies only for you to chuckle at him. Stifling a laugh which actually made it difficult to breathe, but that didn't matter. “I’m feeling great.”

He sighed, taking his glasses off to massage his temple. “Are you okay?” you ask, tilting your head slightly. “Just worried.” you smile at his response, it’s nice to know someone cares enough to worry for you. But surely he’s only doing it for the sake of his job, it’s his duty to worry for you, still it felt nice.

“Do you think I’ll ever see the ocean again? I want to visit the beach, is there a chance?” you drift the subject subtly. It was your turn to look at him expectantly, for a brief moment he had a look of guilt, you know well why. “If I can, I want to see the ocean again.”

“Soon,” he mumbles, turning away from you to open a drawer. “You just—I’ll take you there. When things get a little loose, I’ll take you to see the ocean.”

“You will?”

He was shaken, stumped but he can't let you see that. Gathering what’s left of his solace, solace which you've been providing for the last few years. "We'll see the ocean."

"That's a promise."

The reason why he’s so gentle with you, why he sugarcoats the rough truth as much as he can, why he promises you such things, he doesn’t know why. With you he feels a sense of solace, was it when you speak? The sound of your voice? that mellow look in your eyes? What is it? Countless sleepless nights were earned simply because he tries to find the answer, no matter how much he distances himself to do his job properly and realistically,

You would always be sitting up on that bed, glancing up at him with your tired expectant eyes accompanied by the gentlest smile he has ever come across with. Before he knows it, he’s promising you a cure that probably won't be formulated until a few years. Until you’re not able to wake anymore.

“Rest up, I’ll do another test tomorrow.” “Do you really promise?” you pry, looking up at him with a smile. A genuine one.

“Yeah, I promise.”

﹐

“The patient at room 224, [name] right?” another doctor spoke from behind him, stopping him dead in his tracks, hearing your name. “Their vitals. It wasn't stable.” “You’re lying to them, Miguel.”

Miguel breathes in, turning to look at the owner of the voice. His gentle complexion faded away, replaced by his common scowl. “How long will you foolishly wait for this cure?”

"It takes years, Miguel. Centuries even, to formulate a cure, you of all people know that." the man spoke with worry, Miguel knew he was only concerned and yet he felt almost enraged.

"I don't remember asking for your opinion."

"This isn't about opinions. That person, they're suffering. God, we need to let them rest, we have the family's wish." argued the man, he now had a frown on his face clearly unsure of Miguel’s intentions. “You’re letting their weak heart grasp on a false hope.”

"What about their wish?" he was angry, and he expressed it freely. “The family’s wish? The same family who barely visited them?”

He breathes in his frustration, he can't afford to lose his cool. Especially now that you're in a terrible state.

His colleague was silenced. Looking at him with hesitance.

"Why are you insisting so much? You're a doctor, they're your patient. You have a duty."

"That duty is to protect and keep them alive," Miguel interjects, he’s had enough of this argument, he hated it. He hated how right his colleague was, and yet he choose to be stubborn. "They want to live."

"And I'll make sure of that."

"You have never been this determined for a patient, especially when you know full well what the outcome will be." he waved his hand upwards, stressed at Miguel’s foolish antics "It's inevitable. It's a chronic illness for God's sake."

For the first time, he's stumped, he doesn't have the answer. All he knows is that he wants to keep you alive, he needs to keep you alive,

For your sake or his?

He stares at you, lying on the bed just as you've been for half of the year. Exhaustion is evident even with your sleeping form, Your life was faltering, you know it, He knows it. And yet for some reason, it's a fact he can't accept. For years of his profession, not once has he cared this much for a person.

It was more than that.

For years of working in this hospital, not once has he been fazed over a patient's condition. No matter how heartless that sounded, he never cared to this extent.

Yet the idea of putting you down hunts him. The idea of putting you down as if you're some sort of animal without control over your own life, without a say in your own life. It taunts him,

To the point he struggles to sleep, often staying up to check up on the cure's status. Staying up worrying about the passing time,

"If I can, I want to see the ocean again."

His eyes squint in conflict, memories of your sorrowful wish passing through his mind. If he could show you the ocean, he would. If he could show you the world you missed out on, he would. You deserved it, more than anyone, you deserved everything he can give.

He felt enraged, not because of the workload he has to push through. But for not knowing why it hurts him so much to witness you wilt, he feels confused and conflicted. The growing ache in his heart adding up to his stress,

“I'll talk to them tomorrow Miguel.” his colleague decided sternly, “ill tell them the truth and they will decide. You can watch but you can’t oppose.”

He walks away, leaving Miguel before he could even respond or disagree. Frustration surges through him though it can't compare to how helpless he felt. This was his only way of helping you, even that can get taken away, it feels like a stab in the throat. Slamming his office door shut, he sat on the chair, palming his face. “fuck.”

﹐

“What's happening here?”

Miguel spoke with a perplexed look, there were about 4 people inside your room. Papers in their hands. While you laid on the bed, signing the papers obediently, looking even weaker than the day before. “Miguel!”

You greet him with that stupid smile you always have, why were you smiling? Miguel could feel his nerves rise, seeing all the people and how they looked at him with fright.

“[name] what’s this?” he looks at you, pushing through the people to draw near you.

“They're fixing the documents for the euthanasia.”

He didn't open his mouth to speak for a few minutes, gathering enough strength and making sure he heard you correctly. “Get the hell out.”

He didn't need to repeat it, a man took the signed papers from you and everyone left the room shortly. Leaving you with an angry man who used to be the gentle Miguel who visited you daily to promise you a better life. “Why?”

He asks. He knew he was acting out of line as your doctor. But at this moment he wasn't your doctor, he was Miguel. The man who soothes your sleepless nights, the man who sticks with you even off duty, the only man who cared enough. He didn't say anything else, he simply looked at you with disappointment and sadness,

“They told me the pain only gets worse from here,” you humor a laugh. “If there's a worse pain than what i have right now, I don't think—I can only imagine what that would be like.”

“You didn't wanna die.” he interrupts, a frown evidently shown on his face. “You told me, you're scared.”

He looked almost devastated, well he is. It was obvious just from the look of his eyes, he wanted you to answer, and he wanted you to answer truthfully.

You breathe in, the smile falling soon enough. “I know, I am, I really am scared.”

“But I've been—it’s been like this for four years, how long will I trap myself in this situation? How long will I keep making myself suffer? Im just… tired. I want to live, I really do but if living means staying inside the hospital walls and consisting of lab tests, excruciating pains, and breathing difficulty, then I don't think that’s living at all.”

He looks away, dawning on him just how selfish he sounded. Asking you why, barging in hoping to convince you otherwise. It was selfish of him. All this time he was focused on what he wanted and needed, constantly going to extents just to save you for his sake,

He nods, “I'm sorry I just—” he paused looking back at your eyes. I really wanted you to stay he wanted to say it out loud, but he felt it was not necessary. “When is it?”

“Tomorrow.”

His eyes widened briefly, looking at her with disbelief once again. “So soon?” his voice was weak, a fleeting look of desperation in his eyes.

“I asked for that.” you looked away fiddling with the blankets. That’s when he noticed you weren't sitting up like you usually were, if his predictions were correct it was because your body was too weak to manage sitting up. It was once again this illness, slowly eating away your life against your will,

He felt his heart sink deeper, feeling more affected than he ever was. He wanted to shout, he wanted to convince you to retract your signage, anything to make you stay, but that wasn't his decision to make.

It was yours, it was your right.

He won't defy you as everyone else did. If it’s truly what you wish then he would support you, no matter how heavy it feels to the heart, he’ll wholeheartedly support you like he always has.

“Then…”

He pauses, causing you to look back at him weakly waiting for him to continue.

“I promised to take you to see the ocean right.”

It was his turn to look away, suppressing the tears that threatened to fall. Its been decades since he last cried, yet he finds himself weak for you, refusing to let the tears fall. Not wanting you to see just how affected he was, he didn't want you to worry knowing you will.

“Let's go see the ocean, okay? Before you go,” he had to pause every few seconds, afraid another word will cause him to break down. "Like I promised."

“Let’s go see the ocean together.”

﹐

It was almost dawn, he never left your room ever since that conversation. He stayed all day and during the night, watched you fall to sleep, rubbing the back of your hand as you doze off. He felt his heart break with every passing hour,

Knowing that it’ll come eventually. The time he’ll have to let you go.

He watched as your calm expression fall to slumber, it was the first time he’s ever seen you so serene. You would always have this tired expression as if everything in the world pained you, for some reason he knew some parts of that was true. This life truly failed you, you deserved better.

Yet you smiled and accepted your fate. He could remember just how happy you looked when he broke the news about the ocean,

At that moment, he witnessed genuine happiness from you. It was the first time he saw your full smile, it wasn't a half smile, not a small one, it was real. And he loved it, he wanted to look at it forever, to admire it as much as he can. Perhaps that's what made this so bittersweet,

Despite his desire for you to stay, he prioritized what you wanted, what you needed.

As long as you’re happy, he's at peace.

“[name], it’s time to go,” he whispers, gently waking you up. Stuffing his keys deep into his pocket, “Let’s go see the ocean, amor.”

He didn't care about what he was saying nor what he just called you, he was just focused on fulfilling your wish. He needed to hurry before the sunrise, he wanted to watch it with you. If this would be the last sight you see before you go, he wanted it to be the most beautiful youve ever seen.

Your eyes fluttered open, greeted by Miguel picking your limp body up in his arms to carry you toward his car. He was gentle, careful not to hurt or cause you discomfort, it made your heart leap with joy and ache at the same time,

“We’re going to see the ocean now?” you ask excitedly, a bit of rasp to your voice from the sleep. His face scrunched up, biting his lip to suppress his emotion.

“Yes,” he responds, attempting to sound just as thrilled as you are. “Yes, we are.”

The drive wasn't long, nor was it eventful. It was mostly silent, with a few remarks from you ranting about how much you loved the beach as a child and how excited you are to see it along with the sunrise. He was fulfilling two wishes of yours, you couldn't be more grateful.

On the other hand, he drove silently. Responding to your stories ever so often, occupied with his sinking heart. He was happy, truly, seeing you look so lively,

It was the most life he’s ever seen from you in your four years of seeing each other in the hospital walls. It hurts him a tad bit, how easily pleased you are, how failed you are by everything in your life.

He had to gather himself, he needs to be happy for your sake. Seeing you peer through the window with a smile, it was like your eyes were shining with excitement, it caused a bittersweet smile to his lips. “We’re here.”

The two of you were just in time, a few minutes before dawn passes with the sunrise on its way. He carefully picked you up from the car, seeing your smile from the corner of his eyes, it was the brightest, at least the brightest smile he's ever seen from you. And you smiled a lot all throughout that four years.

He felt the sand sinking his shoes as he walked with you in his arms, walking until he reached a spot he deemed perfect. “I can stand,” you eagerly spoke, looking at him expectantly.

He would've refused if this was just a normal day, but this was your last day. He wouldn't reprimand you any joy you want. With support, he drops you carefully, holding your waist and your hand on the other. Your legs trembled, they hurt but you ignored it, too busy looking ahead to even feel the excruciating pain all throughout your body. He made sure to hold and support you properly,

“It’s pretty,” you mumble, mesmerized by how the sun slowly made its way to exposure.

You looked ahead, while he looked at you. “It is.”

He knew it wouldn't be long until the tears form, so he savored the moment to admire your face before his eyes blur out with tears. “Should we sit?”

You nod, looking at him briefly before you return your gaze to the front. Taking in the breeze and the scenery, it was painful yet beautiful. You wouldn't ask for more,

“Thank you, Miguel.”

He was silent, letting you speak. “I never thought I could be this happy, but I’m really really happy. My heart could jump!” chuckling at your own words, you turned to him. Tears were evident from your eyes, he disliked it, it made his tears threaten to fall as well. “I really really am happy. Truly.”

“No,” he spoke, looking ahead this time. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for everything.”

You looked at him in confusion, letting out a short laugh. “But for four years i was just at that very bed. What did I do for you worth gratifying for?”

“Existing.” he says calmly, “thank you for existing.”

It was your turn to be quiet, looking at him and observing his expression carefully. It was the first time he outwardly showed emotions, tears brimming in his eyes. They made yours fall even more. “Thank you for existing and waking my heart.”

“Waking… your heart?”

“Yes,” he responds, with a smile. The very first time you saw his smile, it was a sight truly. A beautiful one, almost on par with the ocean and the sunrise. “Thank you for making me love again.”

His words were unexpected but you kept quiet, taking in his confession. He was pouring his heart out, calmly and painfully. It was almost confusing, yet it was beautiful.

“I loved you the moment you smiled at me. The moment you looked at me in a way only you will—I know it’s odd, I know it’s unusual but I haven't stopped loving you since.” he looked back at you, holding you in his arms as you both sat on the sand.

He had a look of hurt, but a look of acceptance mixed in with a thousand emotions he had on display “When I look at you, I don't want to look at anything else but you.”

“I want to care for you, I wanted to protect you—I wanted to save you.” he was letting himself cry. For the first time in years, he allowed himself to be vulnerable “I won't ask you to return that love. Because it's yours and yours only.”

“Miguel.” you barely whispered, ignoring the pain that gnawed on your body.

“I'll keep loving you,” “I'll love you today, ill love you tomorrow, I'll love you forever.”

You both were a crying mess and for some reason, it felt right. The serene breeze of the ocean, the light of the sunrise. It was a perfect moment, the pain was indescribable but none of you would have wanted anything else at this moment. You didn't speak, only looked at him as he does to you. Even without words he knew, the way you stared at him with tears-stained eyes, he knew you understood, he knew you heard him.

He stifles a short laugh, “It's a bit unfortunate for me but if I were to fall in love once more, I’ll choose you over and over again.”

You laid your head on his chest, letting him hold you in your last moments. Closing your eyes, pushing out the tears which didn't seem to stop,

“Until I'm nothing but a fading memory to this world, ill keep loving you even then.”

“If I was given a chance to live, I would have wanted to spend it with you like this as well.” you smile at his chest, intertwining your fingers with his. Feeling yourself falter and falter every passing moment, “There wasn't a moment where your love wasn't reciprocated, Miguel.”

He held you, tightly but gently. Tight enough to not let you go, gently enough to allow you to feel his love. Your words strike his heart in every right way, in every painful way.

“Thank you for unknowingly saving me.”

As the sun rise, the silence of the place allowed him to grieve, giving him space to accept what has passed. He stared ahead, caressing your hair gently, as you depart in his arms. Where you belonged, where you wanted to be.

It was a wonder why the skilled doctor always had a scowl on his face, who knew the patient at room 224 was all it takes to wake his sleeping heart.

this was a fun to write (●'◡'●) bandaids for everyone?

( :̲̅:̲̅:[̲̅:★:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅)

this is unedited!!!

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alloftheimagines · 1 year

Text

joel miller | the cure

masterlist | taglist | ko-fi

words: 3.5k

warnings: episode nine spoilers, canon level violence, probably incorrect medical stuff, joel murdering a bunch of people but in a sexy way, angst, she/her!reader

prompts: reader swaps places with Ellie (either as the one who’s immune or maybe they both are but Ellie isn’t put in that situation with the hospital), and reader is the one Joel rescues.

I’d love to request 13 and 70 from the prompt list you reblogged, with Joel Miller please! I adore your writing ❤️

“I won’t let anyone hurt you, you’re safe with me.”

“After everything we’ve been through, you still don’t think that I love you?”

tags: @sweetbabygirlsworld @m4tthewmurd0ck @domaniquessidehoe @spideysimpossiblegirl

When Joel wakes in the hospital alone, he knows something is wrong. The last he remembers is you and Ellie at his side as you searched for a way into the hospital, Ellie reading her puns aloud while you rolled your eyes and tried (failed) not to laugh.

He sits up quickly, heart pounding against his rib cage. He feels like sand is falling through his fingers, grain by grain. He’s woken up and lost something again, and this time you aren’t here to tell him it was just a dream. It’s real now, and the harder he clutches, the quicker he loses his grip.

As he stands on wobbly feet, the door creaks open. Ellie appears, and a kernel of relief drops to his stomach. Just one, but it’s enough to ground him for a minute.

And then he sees her red-rimmed eyes and pale face, and the kernel explodes, raining down more panic. You’re not with her. Where are you?

“Ellie?” he whispers, pulling her in by the shoulder and checking her body for any injuries.

Her throat bobs. “They took her. They took her to surgery, Joel, but they wouldn’t take me. I think… I think something is wrong. I think—”

“You’re awake.” Marlene steps through the door with a pleasant smile, and Ellie’s voice fades quickly. “Sorry we had to knock you out. They didn’t know who you were, not until they brought you in.”

“Where is she?” Joel asks, his voice steady and low, like gravel crunching under heavy boots.

Marlene slips her hands into her pockets, and there is something, a quick flash, in her dark eyes that Joel is too worried to miss. She’s good at blinking it away, but it’s too late. He saw.

“She’s already in surgery.” With a sigh, she pulls Joel and Ellie’s belongings from the table and hands them over. “You did a good job getting them here, Joel. So good we decided it wouldn’t be right to operate on Ellie, too. Not until we know for sure their immunity can help with the cure.”

Joel’s eyes narrow, his fingers curling into fists at his side. He grabs the bags roughly, all too aware of the way Ellie is shrinking into his side as though afraid. “So how long will it take? When can I see her?”

Pressing her lips together, Marlene’s wary glance passes between Ellie and Joel. “To test for a cure, we need to take the cordyceps from the host’s body. Do you understand what that means?”

He doesn’t, not at first. Not until he thinks of all the things he’s been told about the illness over the years. The way you spoke about it when you told him you couldn’t get sick and how the Fireflies believed a rare fungal infection you battled as an infant, years before the outbreak, left you immune to cordyceps. Because that infection altered your body’s immune system, and…

And the way fungal infections are recognised by your brain.

“Cordyceps…” He feels dizzy. Sick. “Cordyceps infect the brain. Removing it…”

Removing it would mean removing you.

Killing you.

Marlene nods, sympathy softening her features. Fuck her sympathy, Joel thinks as his blood begins to boil, bones stiffening with that protectiveness he’s always let consume him when it comes to the few people he loves.

He lurches forward on that primal instinct alone, because there is no way in hell he can let you die. “You’ll kill her!”

Guards filter into the room immediately, shoving Joel so the backs of his knees knock against the bed.

Ellie is trembling beside him. “Did you even fucking tell her?” she yells. “Does she know that she’s going to die on that fucking operating table, you piece of shit?”

“I’m sure she’d choose it this way,” Marlene snaps. “You’re the alternative, and we weren’t going to make a fourteen-year-old a martyr. Not if we don’t have to.”

“Martyrs choose to be martyrs!” Joel’s voice bellows like thunder through the room as he struggles against the armed guards. “You had me bring her here to fucking kill her!” The words shatter against the wall like ceramic as he realises the twisted truth of them.

He hauled you and Ellie across the fucking country… for this. To have you laid out like an animal and experimented on. Killed. You’d never shown any hint that you thought this was how it would end. You’d talked about going back to Tommy’s after all this was over, getting a house for all three of you. Your face lit up when you told Ellie she’d have her own room, and you’d glanced at him with both a question and a promise glinting in your eyes because you both knew. There was more to this now than when you’d begun as frosty acquaintances stuck on the same path. You’d gotten close, spent freezing evenings huddled by the fire and drinking whiskey from Joel’s flask. You’d saved his life more times than he could count and vice versa.

He’d torn down his armour for you despite his better judgement, because he couldn’t help but fall for you even if you were too damn young and pretty for him. Even if he was certain he was no good for you.

This morning he’d woken beside you, bathed in your light and warmth, and he’d been certain something had changed. That all the pain he’d experienced in his life finally had a reason and he could let it go, start fresh. Be yours rather than lost and bitter and alone. His cheeks had ached because he’d smiled and smiled and smiled, every time you spoke, every time you looked at him.

They can't just take that away. Not for a cure that might not even come to work. Not for anything. Damn it, he hasn’t come this far to lose you now.

“I’m giving you the option to leave,” Marlene says. “To get out of here and take the kid with you. You get to keep her safe because Y/N took her place. So let it go, Joel. Leave now, calmly, and let us do the rest. We could have a cure in a year’s time, maybe two. Do you understand that? All of this could be over soon.”

He knows better than to believe that after all he’s seen. It was never the infection that was the problem. It was humanity — and the absence of it when civilisation deteriorated. It was the Davids of the worlds, it was Fedra, it was murder and fascism and blood and sacrifice and ruin.

And why the hell should you have to die for a world that never gave you a damn thing? You, who still knows how to love and go gently, protect and fight for what matters? Why should he have to lose the one good thing he's known in this life?

The answer is simple: he shouldn’t. He won’t.

A veil of eerie calm passes over him. He nods, and the guards relax. Ellie is shouting, swearing, thumping him on the chest as he’s escorted out with her in tow. He leaves Marlene behind. Lets her think he's leaving quietly.

And then knocks out the guards and steals their rifles, forced to be part of the world that doesn’t deserve to be saved.

Because there is one thing that does deserve it, still, and he’ll fight like hell to keep it.

***

He moves through the hospital like ripples through a lake, fracturing everything in his wake. He shoots without hearing the gunfire, without feeling his finger on the trigger. He told Ellie to run and hide, but she was too stubborn and too worried about you to agree, so now she follows behind him, squeezing her eyes shut each time a Firefly falls. He doesn’t want her to see this, but there isn’t time to stop it now. He knows she wants you safe as much as he does, and that has to be enough.

It feels like hours before he finds you in the operating room, surrounded by nurses and doctors in blue scrubs. Your eyes are closed, your body still, and for a moment he thinks he’s too late. His knees threaten to give out as he barges in, weapon poised, Ellie close behind. You’re tethered to wires and IVs, but he sees no blood, no evidence that they’d already begun.

“I won’t let you take her!” the doctor says, wielding his scalpel. Joel shoots him, and he crumples to the floor without a whimper, without anything.

The nurses cower. Joel can taste their fear like metal, but he can’t feel it. It seeps into him like a ghost’s touch; unable to scratch his surface, but still able to penetrate. He can’t focus on it. Not when you’re still lying there, looking so small, so unlike you, in a hospital gown.

“Take out the IVs,” he instructs, his voice unwavering as he motions to you.

The nurse shakes her head.

“Now!” he bellows, and she’s smart enough to listen. She pulls the wires from your hand before stumbling back again.

Joel pays them no more heed as he steps towards you, his breath ragged as he smooths the hair from your face. You don’t react, don’t move, but you’re unharmed. Thank god, you’re unharmed.

“I got you, baby,” he whispers, his hands trembling as he slips one beneath your legs and the other around your back, scooping you up. “I’m here. I’m here now.”

You sink into his chest, and he knows that no matter what he’s done, no matter the horrors he’s committed, he made the right choice. Perhaps not for the world, or for the families of the people he’s murdered, but for you, and for Ellie, and for him. For his own little universe, where love has finally blossomed after a twenty-year drought.

That’s enough for him.

***

You wake feeling groggy, the sun dappling your face and a strange hum beneath you. It takes you a moment to realise it’s a car engine, and you frown, sitting up with a start. The back of Joel’s salt-and-pepper head is the first thing you notice, and relief floods you — intensified when you find Ellie in the passenger seat.

“Mornin’, sleeping beauty.” Joel glances at you through the rearview, his cheek pinching with a concerned smile. “How you feeling?”

A million memories try to soak into your mind at once. You remember almost nothing since approaching the hospital with Joel, and your body feels heavy. You look down to find you’re not in your own clothes, but someone else’s.

“What happened?”

Joel’s jaw sets, and a shiver rises inside you, because you know him, and you know that something has gone horribly wrong. His knuckles are white over the steering wheel, and neither he nor Ellie will meet your gaze as he speaks. “We’ll talk about it when we’re off the road.”

“No. Talk about it now,” you demand. More images flood back. You were in a hospital gown, being prepped for surgery. Marlene… Doctors and nurses…

The cure. They decided to use you, not Ellie.

“Did they… did they do it?”

With a sigh, Joel veers off the road, parking up beside a thick, shadowy treeline. The sun is amber in the sky, setting or rising, you don’t know.

The silence blankets you when the engine dulls, and your heart thuds as you try desperately to meet his eye. He keeps looking down and around, anywhere but at you. You try to get Ellie instead, fingers curling into the spongy seats as you lean forward. She only fidgets with her backpack. Her hands tremble.

“Somebody needs to tell me what the fuck is happening!” you snap, because it’s your body, your duty now, and why won’t they look at you? Why won’t they say a word? You went through hell to get to Utah, for Christ’s sake. What was it for if all you get is this confusing, awful silence?

Without a word, Joel opens the car door, instructing Ellie to give you a minute. You follow, your legs no longer feeling like legs and your mind clouded by fog. Both your doors slam shut, and you lean against the car for support as he finally turns to look at you. His expression is unreadable, and that makes you afraid. It reminds you of the day you met him, when he held a gun to you before you could reach for your own. When he was just a stranger who Marlene had sworn could get you to the Fireflies' base.

When he speaks, though, he’s anything but cold. “I couldn’t let them do it,” he whispers, pain straining his voice.

Your face creases in confusion. “What? After everything we risked, everything we went through—”

“It would kill you!” he shouts. And then, lower: “They were going to kill you. Take the cordyceps out of your fucking brain and leave you… gone. Did you know that? Did they tell you?”

You’re speechless, your throat thick with fear, shock, and your stomach churning with nausea. “That’s why they didn’t want Ellie.”

“They figured murdering a fourteen-year-old was a step too far.” Bitterness soaks his words.

You massage your temples as you try to process it, but at the forefront of everything is guilt. You feel sick, shivery, wrong. You’re the world’s only hope… and you haven’t given them what they needed.

And then you think of Marlene, who promised you so much. You were her friend for years. She looked you in the eyes before surgery and told you you were doing the right thing. She sent you to your execution.

The worst part is that if you’d known it would kill you, you probably still would have agreed if it meant fixing what the infection has broken.

You glance at Joel as you understand all the things he’s not saying. “What the fuck did you do, Joel?” you breathe shakily.

His mouth stretches into a thin line of devastation, and he doesn’t have to say it. “I couldn’t let them… I couldn’t. It wasn’t right.”

You doubt whatever went down on Joel’s end was right, either. There’s no way the Fireflies would have let you go without a fight.

Oh, god.

You sink against the car, panic rising in you. When Joel tries to grab your hand, you tear it away, surprising even yourself.

“Hey,” he says, pleading. “Don’t do this. I had to keep you safe. I had to…”

“It wasn’t your choice!”

“It sure as hell wasn’t yours either!” Joel blurted, anger roughening the edges. “They were just gonna take you away, no fuckin’ warning, no askin’, no nothin’! It’s sick!”

“I’m just one person, Joel. They were trying to save the world!”

“You’re the only fuckin’ person who matters! You, and her!” He jabs a finger in Ellie’s direction, mouth curling with something foul. “It ain’t your responsibility to die for this world. They said it might not even work, made it sound like they were just using you as a lab rat. And what would you be saving anyway? You wanna sacrifice yourself for a world where the government scares everybody into submission and rapists and murderers and fuckin’ cannibals run the place? Huh?”

You flinch at the memory of Silver Lake and David, and how it had felt to lose Sam and Henry months before. Joel’s right; it’s hard to want to save the world when the world has done nothing but kick you down, again and again.

But whatever Joel did, whatever pain he’s left with… you don’t want the stains on his soul to be in your name. He deserves better than that.

When you say nothing, Joel softens, running a hand through his bristly beard as his eyes begin to glisten. “When are you going to understand, darlin’...? I’d never let anyone hurt you. Not if I could help it.”

Your chin wobbles with the promise of tears as you look at him properly for the first time. He looks tired, drawn, haunted.

You did that. Or, rather, he did that for you.

“Marlene… where is she?” You’re afraid to ask, but you have to know.

He gulps, bowing his head. “Gone. They’re all gone.”

“Shit.” You hiss the curse as the tears finally fall, rocking against the weight of what you now know to be true.

“She was never going to stop,” he says.

“I was… I was supposed to be the cure, Joel.” The words rattle in your broken chest like a song scratched out on old vinyl.

He shakes his head. “Not like this. Not if it kills you.”

“I can’t…” You want to break, and you look at him and wonder how he’s still standing. What the hell did he do to get you here, get you safe? Slowly, you put your hand on his chest. “God, Joel. What… I can’t be worth all this. I can’t be responsible for all this.”

“You ain’t responsible for anything. I made this decision.” He covers your hand with his own, and you feel his chest thumping. “I did this.”

“That’s what I mean. I don’t want this for you. I don’t…” You stifle a sob. “I was just your fucking cargo. Why would you do all of this? Why would you stop them from finding a cure, stop them from changing the world, for me? You have to live with that. Not me. I know you, Joel, and I know you don’t need another thing weighing on your soul like this. I can’t be the reason you do. I can’t…”

Surprise flickers across his features. “After everything we’ve been through, you still don’t get it, do you?”

You blink, lost, and he squeezes your hand tighter, his forehead close enough to brush yours.

“You still don’t know that I love you.”

Your world stutters to a stop with those words. Of course you’d known there was chemistry burning between you, palpable enough that sometimes you can barely breathe. But you never thought Joel would let himself love.

And yet here he is. Destroying the world to save you and his girl. You’ve seen the way he’s warmed to Ellie. It shouldn’t surprise you that you matter too. But you’d never believe a man like him, a man who breathes grief and hostility and strength, could soften for you.

“I’m not… I’m not proud,” he says. “I know the mark this’ll leave on my soul. But Jesus, darlin’, my soul was already black and damned before you met me. I’m willing to carry it. I’m willing to do whatever it takes if it means you’re still here with me. I don’t know what sort of man that makes me. Not a good one, that’s for sure. But I couldn’t just let them kill you. I couldn’t do that. Not for anything. The cure might save the world, or it might not. But I saved my world in that hospital. I had to. Please understand, baby… I had to.”

A tear rolls down his cheek. You catch it with the pad of your thumb even as your own face remains damp and awestricken. You don’t understand. You’re not sure you ever will. But you love him anyway, because you’ve never known somebody to fight for people the way he does, and he’s a good father, a good brother, even when he isn’t. Even when he’s forced to make bad choices, do bad things. He never pretends to be a hero, never asks for redemption.

But he’s asking you now — begging, even — to understand, because he loves you and because he couldn’t give up on you, and that means something. That means everything.

You press your lips to his, and they’re rough and shaky and new. He pulls you closer, clutching onto your shirt like it’s all he has to hold onto.

You don’t know what it means. You don’t know what happens next, or whether it’s right to go on living when you could be saving the world.

You only know that you’re not ready to die yet, not when there is so much of him left to love, and so much to experience with Ellie. God, you dread to think what she saw in that hospital.

“Is Ellie okay?” you ask tentatively as you pull away.

Joel glances into the car. “She needs you as much as I do.”

And you need them, more than you ever planned for. You lean into Joel’s chest and close your eyes, exhaustion weighing on your bones but fire kindled in your heart.

“C’mon, baby. Let’s go home,” he says into your hair.

The world is still broken, but you get to go home.

That has to be worth something.

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gorboble · 3 months

Text

So, Meta Flowey. Encore Flowey. whatever you wanna call it. I wanna discuss it rq

I believe I have a pretty solid explanation for the specimens (intentional by the devs or not,) and I've come to one conclusion: They're based on childhood fears. Let me explain each one.

Clay

This one is a bit obvious, at least to me. I think it's based on how kids will see claymation and get scared of it, you know? Like Mabel in that one episode of Gravity Falls. Might have something to do with Uncanny Valley.

Polygonal

Another obvious one. This is based on late 90's games when 3d was becoming a thing. The kind that is mostly good fun until one moment when the scariest enemy known to man comes out and has you quit the game for 6 months. Like Majora's Mask! Every kid was scared of that game, weren't they?

Patchwork

Creepy dolls, and such. Maybe just the slight discomfort you feel when you go into a room in grandma's house, the one where she sews blankets and toys. I always had a slightly unnerving feeling when it came to stuff like that. This one might be a little more personal, but it's valid.

Now, these next ones weren't so obvious. I had to do a little reaching for them.

Mechanical

It just wasn't quite obvious to me at first. This one is based on how heavy machinery may scare children and make them nervous. It's unknown and foreign to them. They don't know anything about it, but they have a feeling that they'll get hurt if they aren't careful with it (and they're right! machinery will kill you if you're not careful!)

Also guns. Guns can be scary to kids. I hope.

Organic

Now, I would say this one is the fear of doctor visits. But... it's gotta be more than that. You hear the beeping and see blood cells and such. You probably won't see that at a check-up. I think it's a bit deeper than that.

I think this is the fear of going to hospitals in general. A bit more serious than the doctor's office. It could be for a serious, painful disease the child has contracted, or... it could be visiting a loved one while they're in medical care, maybe after a horrible accident, or a terminal illness. The song supports this sort of dread regarding the inevitable loss of family. And the beeping at the end... yeah. This one is pretty grim.

Paper

specimen paper was the hardest phase to think about. Mostly because... who the hell out there is afraid of paper? I know there's a phobia for it, but it's rare.

So, I looked further into it. Paper airplanes and paper balls are flying around as attacks. And in the music? Laughter and talking.

I think this is bullying. It doesn't play into the... paper flowey, but I couldn't find any other fitting explanation. At least for this theory. Because, again, paper isn't exactly a common childhood fear that people have. Neither is bullying... but it's a huge issue in schools and is a lot more scarring than something you might find scary as a 6-year-old.

Also, note how Flowey doesn't move in this phase. Along with the organic phase. They feel really empty compared to the others, in a good way. It paints the picture of darker memories than just a scary enemy you encountered in SM64. It could also bring up some questions about Clover's past..

remember this post was entirely theoretical and probably not intended by the devs. i just wanted to write this lol. anyways i think im done. i wanted to make this post for a while now but i just now got to it at like midnight on a Friday ok byeeeee

#uty #undertale yellow #flowey #flowey the flower #flowey undertale #flowey uty #meta flowey #clover uty #clover undertale yellow #uty neutral route spoilers #uty spoilers #uty neutral route

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 2 months

Note

AITA for yelling at my uncle for wanting to emmigrate?

cw; brief mention of animal death.

For context: I am from Brazil. São Paulo city, more specifically. Brazil is considered dangerous due to high crime rates, and my city, with over 11 MILLION habitants, is no exception. But socioeconomic segregation is pretty intense here, and if you're in a "good" class neighborhood and have a little bit of streetsmarts, you will be mostly safe. I for one have been lucky enough to be born into a middle class family and have never been so much as pickpocketed, but I know of lower income friends who have been robbed. It's still rare in our circle.

Now, I have this uncle. Him and his wife have even more money than my family – they lead a very, very comfortable life with yearly trips to Disney parks, something that's very common among Brazilian upper class. And they recently have decided they want to migrate to Florida, US, seemingly out of nowhere. Their main excuse is that they don't want to raise their 7 year old son in a "dangerous place", when they live in a safe appartment complex and they've never even been robbed.

I voiced my concerns to my uncle. I was afraid that they wouldn't be well received by a country that has such extreme anti-immigration policies, especially when none of them can speak more than a few words of english and, while his wife is white, my uncle is visibly latino. Even if they get the papers right and migrate legally, they will still face a whole lot of prejudice. Plus, they would have to quit their jobs for that, and while they both have degrees, I still think it would be quite hard for two immigrants who barely speak the language to get jobs to keep their lifestyle, and I'm not sure if that's the best way to raise a young child. It really seems to me like they're persuing a fairytale idealized dream.

But the worst part is the entire thing with my grandmother. She's in her late 70s, very emotionally frail and has had a fair share of health issues. Ever since her dog passed months ago she's been severely depressed, and because she couldn't leave the house due to the dog's separation anxiety, she doesn't have any friends and has almost no hobbies. Her favorite thing is having us over – especially my uncle's son, her youngest granchild. So of course when my uncle tried to gloss over all my points I had to bring up how terrible it would be for my grandma (he knows it will be bad, he's keeping it a secret from her because he thinks she could possibly fall ill again). But he still didn't listen.

I was so angry I started yelling at him. I brought up how he didn't even visit his mother the last time she was hospitalized (she was anaemic and could have died) but he had all the time in the world to go to Disneyland whenever he pleased and said he doesn't really care about his mom or his child, that's why he's leaving. He's just falling for his wife's Disney obsession.

Looking back on it, I think I might have taken it too far, but I meant everything I said. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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gotta-pet-em-all · 2 months

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Pokemon-induced healing

And why you fuckers shouldn't rely on it for everything, Arceus fuck stop forcing your poor Chansey to take care of wounds that you should seriously go to the hospital for

* * * * *

okay. SO. To preface this, I volunteered in a Pokemon center for a while. And while this was just a volunteer position and not something I had medical training for, I've also got personal experience. Due to my poor coordination and shitty connective tissue, I tend to fall over, bump into things, and bruise very easily. So trust me when I say I know what I'm talking about.

So, how does pokemon healing work?

That's a fucking complicated question. So, let's start with the healing moves and narrow it down. The main ones I'm going to be talking about here are Heal Pulse, Life Dew, and Floral Healing.

Actually no I'm not qualified to talk about Floral Healing. If any comfey trainers wanna add on, feel free.

Heal pulse and life dew! So, Heal Pulse is the one I have the most familiarity with, and it's essentially a wave of energy that encourages your body to accelerate the natural healing process. No, it does not artificially age you, and it will not reduce your lifespan, but let's be real for a moment. If you get injured and need healing that much, your lifespan may be in danger for other reasons.

However. There are other dangers to it that really aren't talked about a lot, namely: repairing tissue damage, and infection. There are a lot of situations in which heal pulse can be risky:

-injured person has an artificially suppressed or otherwise compromised immune system.

-injured person has a heart condition, particularly where arrhythmia is a symptom

-injury is infected or contains foreign substance

-dead tissue is still attached to affected area

And I'm gonna break down one by one, why all of these are bad!

So, it's not quite as well known, but heal pulse actually does have an impact on the immune system. In ancient times, it was believed that cursed pokemon would make you sick when they healed you, but in actuality, this phenomenon was simply the pokemon kicking the immune system into gear for a minor/dormant infection that would have happened anyways. However, this can be dangerous for people with a compromised immune system, because you're basically trying to squeeze blood from a stone. In most cases, it can make their immune systems worse, and while this is thankfully temporary, it's still deeply unpleasant and may interfere with someone's plans because you've abruptly shunted them to the hospital when they were going to have brunch with the girls this week instead.

Next is arrhythmia. I've got this one, it flares up from time to time. I cannot stress enough that disabled people are everywhere. We don't just exist as tokens at the edge of your imagination. We're probably at the grocery store or on public transportation. It may just be that I'm a bit jaded, but it pisses me off more than anything that I have to experience symptoms when I would love to be frolicking through the woods. Anyways, heal pulse relies on the heartbeat to synchronize with and distribute the energy-- so when the heartbeat is uneven? Things can start getting a lil fucky. Usually this results in dizziness, nausea, feeling flushed, and on rare occasions fainting. People with heart conditions are more common than you think, please ask us before messing with our bodies.

Third thing is infections. Remember how I said that heal pulse kicks your immune system into overdrive? Well, the immune system is responsible for expelling all foreign matter from your system, not just illness. This is why you'll want to make sure to clean a wound first, unless it's urgent. You can skip the wound cleaning part if it's an emergency, but... it's not really pretty. Seriously. I don't advise it.

Fourth reason! Okay, so, this is gonna be a little gross, but let's say you trip and skin your knee. It's bleeding, you've got a weird little flap of skin hanging off. Normally, that skin will turn white (or at least it does for me; I have light skin, but I'm told it may turn a pale greyish color for people with dark skin. That said, I'm gonna be real. I do not want to look up pictures, so I am trusting the dark skinned folks reading this to know what dead/peeling skin looks like for them) and eventually fall off. HOWEVER. If you apply heal pulse to it? There's a decent chance that your body may attempt to revitalize the dead skin at the same time as it scabs over the wound and then the skin closes up and eats the scab. It won't kill you, and eventually the extra flap of skin will die, but it's still. Geh. It's really not pleasant. Don't do it.

If this sounds fucking horrifying, that's because it is! All of these things are fucking horrifying to happen to your body! Don't ask me how I know this!

Now that you've all been suitably terrified of the dangers of heal pulse, let me introduce you to an alternative: life dew! Life dew does not interfere with arrhythmia, can be stored with special preparation, and generally has much weaker effects. It tends to help with the process of clotting and scabbing more so than healing, so if you've made any mistakes, they're generally easier to remedy.

Pokemon healing, like any other type, requires consent. Yes, there are exceptions-- sometimes a person cannot reasonably consent in their current state, or there was an accident with a wild scyther and consent is the last thing on your mind with all the blood everywhere. Even so, please always keep in mind that you need to respect the sanctity of other people's bodies and take accountability for your actions as a trainer.

That's all!

#rotomblr #pokemon irl #pokeblogging #fluff and the disabled agenda

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wardenparker · 9 months

Text

The King's Queen - chapter 4

Javi Gutierrez x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Prince Javier of the Balearic Islands has always known that one day he would have to follow in his father's footsteps to be the caring and steadfast king that his people deserve. What he did not know is that he would be stepping into the next phase of his life alongside a woman he has never met before - and amidst a rocky sea of unusual circumstances of every kind.

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 11.3k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: arranged marriage, age gap, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol, mentions of American politics, deceased parents* Illness/cancer, not the world's best father/son relationship, character death, parent death, hospital Summary: There is sad news to be delivered to the people and decisions to be made, but the one thing you can promise Javi is that you will be beside him while he makes them. Notes: Guys this is just...this is a really hard chapter, so we tried to keep it short and push through the topic respectfully. And, of course, gif choice has no reflection on the reader's physical appearance.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3

You are a godsend and Javi is happy you are with him, unable to think of what might have happened if you had not been there for him as chaos and confusion swirls around you both. His brow furrows and he shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”

"The doctors will tell us what happened." Javi had told you that his father did not have much time, but from his reaction you doubt this is what he meant. "Can you tell me what happened?"

“I do not really know.” It seems almost like a blur. “My father had a meeting, and I was walking beside him when he suddenly froze and started to gurgle before he fell out of his chair.”

"And you had not been doing anything strenuous this morning?" You don't believe that anything he could have been doing would have caused that reaction from his father, but the doctors will surely ask and you want to be able to tell them in case Javi is too upset. "Did he seem upset or not himself while you were looking at rings?"

Javier’s eyes close guiltily. “No— but….” He sighs heavily and opens watery eyes to find yours. “The ring is…special.”

"Special...to him?" Trying to figure out if the king may have been upset or under some kind of stress isn't simple – not when you would hazard to guess that he rarely shows any real emotions whatsoever.

“It was…the ring my mother wore.” Javier admits. “My father was pleased with the idea. But urged that you should pick your own band.”

"It doesn't sound like he was upset about the choice, or that it caused any tension." Although you do squeeze his hand a little tighter. "You...you really want me to wear your mother's ring?" Your own mother's engagement ring is in a safe somewhere meant to be passed to your brother's future wife, so the idea isn't strange to you at all. In fact, it's reassuring. It shows just how sure about the idea of the two of you together that he has become. He would never even think of giving you something of his mother's if he thought badly of you in any way.

“I would love it. It is special and I think that you would wear it well. Treasure it as I do.”

"I will." You can promise him that without hesitation, and you bring his hand up reflexively to leave a kiss on his knuckles. "It does not sound to me like he was upset by anything that happened this morning. The doctors will tell us what has happened, and we'll go from there."

“I’m not ready.” Javi admits quietly. “I thought I had more time. I need more time. I need to tell him things.” There had been a time where he had imagined his father would always be there.

The unfortunate reality is that he may not have time. There is a chance that today is the day the king dies, and you hate to be the one who is detached from the situation enough to actually have that thought clearly. “Think of what you want to say to him,” you encourage him instead, trying for optimism. “When he has had some rest, I’ll leave you and your father to talk.”

“Please stay.” His eyes turn towards you, soft and begging. “He— he approves of you. Never would have allowed my mother’s ring if he didn’t. Please.” His fingers tighten against yours. “I feel so alone.”

“Okay.” Your free hand comes up to him, cupping his cheek gently, and you nod. It seems like that feeling of childlike fear when a parent is sick doesn’t change even as you get older and it breaks your heart to see him so sad. “I’ll stay. You don’t have to be alone anymore, Javi. I’m not going to go anywhere.”

“Thank you.” Javi sighs, shaking his head. “I know it seems ridiculous, but he has always been there. I had hoped the doctors were wrong. There could be some kind of miracle.”

“It isn’t ridiculous to have hope, or to love your father.” In fact, it’s fairly refreshing as political parent-and-child relationships go. “We’ll do this together. Whatever this ends up being.”

“It’s good you are here.” Javi had dreaded your appearance, but it seems like his mother had chosen perfectly when she had insisted that her friend’s daughter was perfect for him.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner." It's obvious to you, even after a day, that things have been difficult for him for a while now. It feels like a failing on your part, somehow, that you weren't here to be by his side much earlier.

“I do not know that you could have been.” Javi admits, looking down at your joined hands. “I don’t know if I would have been as accepting. But I am glad that I am.”

"I am glad, too. I wouldn't want to make your life more difficult than it already can be." There is quiet between you in the car for a moment as it speeds down the city streets. The hospital cannot be too far – the island simply isn't that large. "Your cousin is...forceful." You murmur, hating to break the silence with it but wanting to at least breach the topic in private.

“Hm?” Javi looks away from the road, his eyes fixed on the ambulance where his father is being transported.

"Lucas." You prompt quietly. "He seemed...very ready to take charge."

“He is always very eager to help.” Javier frowns slightly, the unease whenever he is brought up starting to make his stomach roll. He bites his lip and wonders what you thought of the man who had been deemed more worthy than he had been to marry Gabriela.

"Does he help you often?" It did not seem as though help had been first on his mind, but rather entirely railroading over Javi to take over the situation.

“He is more than willing to help, although my father normally assigns him tasks that take him away from the palace.” He tells you.

"I see." That seems like a deliberate choice, but you don't have enough information on the situation yet to determine more. Instead you squeeze Javi's hand gently. "Is it alright with you that I have chosen Gabriela to be one of my ladies? If it will make you uncomfortable, I fully understand. She just seems a very kind woman to me."

“She is a wonderful woman.” The bittersweet ache that normally occurs when he sees her or hears about her doesn’t come this time. “As long as you know our history and are okay with it, I do not see why you should deprive yourself of her company.”

"It's one of the reasons I chose her," you admit. "Because I know that she has been important to you and sometimes people like that are hard to find." There are plenty of women who would be worried that Javi might begin an affair or make her his mistress, but somehow you just can't see that as a possibility. He doesn't strike you as that kind of man to begin with – and if he is? Then he would find a way to take a mistress regardless of the situation. You would rather it happened with your knowledge and someone you know rather than as a trussed up little secret to end up in the papers.

He stares at you for a moment, unable to believe that you are so incredibly gracious. You will make an excellent queen, one that will be kind to his people and help him bring his country into a new era of health and prosperity. “Thank you.”

"I care about you very much," you tell him softly, already feeling the deep impulse to say more but knowing that this is not the time or place for such a confession. The car turns abruptly, following the ambulance around a curve and then tips downward as though it is going down into a tunnel. You have to assume that the emergency vehicle and your car are allowed under the hospital for security reasons and you're grateful that at least there will not be onlookers or cameras down here. "Whatever happens, I am right here," you remind him as the pulls to a stop.

Javi takes a deep breath and nods before he steps out of the car. His hand still in yours, he turns to help you out of the car and immediately turns to watch his father being rushed out of the ambulance.

"This way, your Highness." The guard that had been riding in the car with you is already following after the gurney and has a hand out to guide Javi alongside him. The look he spares you is polite but noncommittal, having seen the way you handled Prince Lucas at the palace. "His Majesty will be seen to immediately, but you will be able to wait in his room for news."

“Thank you.” Javier nods. “I want a media blackout in the hospital.” He tells the guard. “No news of my father’s condition is to get out until we know more.”

“Yes, your Highness.” The man immediately taps his watch to check a message, and you realize you have been wrong about this person’s job title. He wears a uniform, but a less elaborate one than the other guards and that seems to be for a reason. “I am ordering a blackout at the palace as well, until you are ready to deliver an official statement.” This must be the king’s personal assistant.

“Yes.” Javier nods, his jaw flexing slightly and his face suddenly a lot wearier than it had been. Weathered by the sudden onslaught of responsibility. “That would be best. Nothing is to come out until we have determined what our course is going forward.”

“Very good.” The man nods, continuing through the halls at the prince’s side until he glances again toward you as board an elevator together. “Your Highness, at the risk of being impertinent?”

“What is it, Julius?” Javier asks, frowning slightly. His father’s man has never been one to mince words and he knows that his father probably is more candid with him than Javier.

“The hospital officials will be reticent to speak in front of your guest,” he is doing his best to be polite, but this situation is slightly more important than basic manners would usual cover. “Do I have your permission to assure them she is to be treated as family?”

“Absolutely.” Javier turns towards you and asks permission silently. “Are you comfortable with that? I had— my plan was to formally propose tonight.” He admits quietly.

“I am perfectly okay with that. Formal proposal or otherwise, I’m not leaving your side.” You assure Javi, and nod to the man he has called Julius. “Whatever today holds, we will respond accordingly.”

“I was planning on making it special.” Javi murmurs sadly. “Having your favorite meal prepared and served out by the cliffs. Moonlight and fairy light proposal.” He chuckles. “One of my ancestors had a good sense of humor and there is a glass slipper in the royal collection. I was going to put the ring in the toe of the shoe.”

It sounds perfect, if you’re honest with yourself. Like a real life fairy tale. And you hate how defeated Javi looks over something so romantic. “It sounds utterly romantic. And we can still do all of that,” you promise him, voice soft and gentle to be reassuring. “A worrying day does not have to rule all of our decisions. And we can even decide to wait if you prefer.”

“I don’t know if that would be prudent.” Javi sighs, wishing that the king had not collapsed. “I am the next in line for the throne. My people need to see that I am strong enough to carry them.”

“You are strong enough, but I am here with you. And you know my answer.” It isn’t meant to be cruel or cold, and you squeeze his hand in yours as the elevator starts to slow. “If you had the ring with you, I would wear it immediately and we can have our romantic dinner as soon as timing allows.” It isn’t ideal. Not to either of you. But right now idealism matters much less than the reality of the situation.

His brow furrows a moment and it’s going against everything in his entire body to do it, but he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a surprisingly nondescript box. “I do have it.” He offers quietly. “Are you sure?”

“It may surprise you to hear it.” A glance to your left and you see Julius dedicatedly studying the elevator wall facing away from you. You turn a smile back to Javi and nod. “But I have no hesitations. Whatever hardships you face, I face them with you. Whatever joys we have, we have them together.” Years have come and gone where you had questioned if you had any ambition to be a princess. To be a queen. But the moment he smiled at you, the truth washed over you like a wave — your ambition is him. To be what he needs. And tonight or tomorrow or whenever he decides to formally ask the question, you’ll tell him then that you’ve started falling in love with him.

“I have had no question where my life was directed.” Javi admits. “Since my first breath, my path was determined and shaped for me. And even though you were also selected for me, I am surprised by how earnestly I look forward to our adventure together.” He smiles, not as brightly as the night before, but it is sincere. “That is what it will be. Our adventure.”

“I have always known it was an honour to be chosen,” you tell him honestly as he lifts the brilliant diamond ring from the small leather box. “But now that I have met you? I am excited for it.”

“I hope that you stay excited.” He hopes as he takes your left hand and starts to slide the ring onto your finger. “It will be difficult at times.”

"There are things worth fighting for." The heavy meaning of the ring isn't lost on you, but you watch him slide it into place with a feeling of deep, true pride. "I will always fight for you and at your side." The elevator stops almost as soon as you finish speaking, and Julius turns after softly clearing his throat. "God save the Princess of Mallorca," he intones seriously, though the smile on his lips belies him. He was listening to every word and he is glad to hear such honesty from you. "After you, your Highnesses."

It's nearly surreal, hearing 'the Princess of Mallorca' and for the first time, feeling as if this is his decision. He decided that the despite the personal termoil that is going on, he would go through with the plan that had been laid down. Modified of course, but the there was no hesitation on his part when he had time the think about it. "Get used to that." He warns you.

"For your father's sake, I hope to remain princess for a good long while." You promise him, but even in spite of that you can't help smiling slightly. Deliberately tangling your right hand in Javi's left means the ring on your left will be on display for anyone who catches sight of you ask the three of you walk swiftly down the corridor and maybe it's a little bit of that American 'image is everything' mentality that makes you think of it but that might not be a bad thing. Some things are symbols for a reason, and engagement rings are a very important symbol all on their own.

Javi smiles and applies the tiniest bit of pressure to your hand, although he doesn't think that will be the case. The very serious expression on the medical staff's faces was telling him more than anything else. They are all very concerned about the King. "You will be a beautiful princess." He promises.

"Your Highness." A tall man with shock-silver hair and a deliberately calm demeanor despite his solemn face approaches you and Javier with his arm outstretched. He is wearing a white coat with his name embroidered on it and a laminated badge that marks him as the head of the hospital's oncology team. "Your father is being examined. This way, please." There is medical staff and security everywhere, but no one speaks as you, Javi, and Julius are ushered into a room on the left side of the hallway. Once the older man shuts the door behind the four of you, a pinched if polite smile is the most he can manage. "I need to know everything you can remember about this morning and what happened when the king collapsed." The doctor asks, although it is urgent enough that it could almost be perceived as a demand. "Even the smallest clue may help us determine the course of his treatment."

Javier nods, frowning as he sits down. Starting to go through the entire morning slowly, mentioning every wince and shift of pain in the King's seated position in his chair. "He took his medication right before we left the royal safe." His frown deepens. "He does not like when anyone sees him take it. Even me, normally."

"He has the medication on his person?" The doctor has been listening attentively, nodding along with the prince's recounting of the morning activities. "We will put it safely with his things," he assures Javi when the younger man nods. "His physician is with the examination team. For now all I can tell you is that we are working to stabilize him."

"Does it— does it look dire?" Javi asks, almost afraid of the answer, but he also needs to know. "Do you think it was a heart attack? A stroke?"

"It does not appear to have been a stroke." The doctor pauses, clearly not wanting to deliver the news that the prince has asked for. "But it is very likely that it was a heart attack. A severe one."

Javier's eyes close and he sways slightly on his feet, absorbing the news and nodding after a moment. "If it was a heart attack, what are his chances?"

"We do not know yet." It would be impossible to guess, and this man is certainly not going to be the one to choose statistics out of thin air. Not when it is the king's life at stake. "We will do everything in our power to help him. But...it is probably best to be ready for unfortunate news."

As much as he doesn't want to hear it, Javier appreciates the candor of the comment. He reaches out and takes the doctor's hand and shakes it firmly. "Please." He asks, keeping his voice low so it doesn't break. "I know you will, but please do everything in your power."

"We will, your Highness." As solemn as the moment is, it is honest. And the doctor excuses himself from the room with a polite nod.

"Shit, shit, shit." Javi's head drops the moment the door closes and the three of you are alone. "It's— he's going to die."

"We don't know that." Immediately putting your arms around him, it's all you can do to rub his back gently and offer him a safe place to exist with however it is that he's feeling. "Heart attacks are not always fatal."

“The doctor did not seem very optimistic.” Javi sighs and looks towards Julius. “Did he?”

"I would say that he was cautious." Julius answers, not inclined to be very optimistic himself. "Your Highness, there are certain...protocols that should be observed. In the event of an emergency." While it is obvious that the prince does not wish to hear any of this, it is the man's job. "With your permission, I will have black clothing brought from the palace and retrieve the draft of the palace's formal statement that your father last signed off on, for you to make adjustments to as you see fit."

“Yes.” Javier nods solemnly and then looks to you. “Include a black outfit for the princess as well.” He instructs Julius. “If a statement will need to be made, I want it to be done from the palace. If the king is dying, I want him transported back. He should pass in his own bed.”

"Yes, your Highness." Julius nods in much the same way the doctor did before excusing himself from the room, already extracting a cell phone from the pocket of his suit.

“This is really happening.” Javi sags under the weight of it all and collapses down into a chair in the room. “He—” he can’t say the words and shakes his head, eyes closed and face pinched in pain.

"We're alone," you urge him quietly, glancing up at the door to make sure no one can see in and only seeing the back of Julius's suit guarding the entrance to the room. You immediately pull the second nearby chair up beside Javi and take up the soft circles you were rubbing on his back just a second ago. "Let it out. Now is the time." As far as you can tell, the next time the two of you leave this room, there is a chance that you may be bringing the king home to die. And if that is the case, you want Javi to have had a chance to vent his fears and frustrations in private.

The tears don’t come like he had thought they would, but he holds his head in his hands. “I should have more time.” He chokes out. “I need more time with him.”

"The doctors will find out what has made him worse." Certainly he looked ill last night at dinner, but not on the verge of collapsing. It is beyond you to know exactly what to say, but you hold on to him with everything you have and let him breathe as best he can.

“Sí.” Javier nods and is eternally grateful that you are here with him. He doesn’t know what he would do if you weren’t, probably collapse into a pile of worry and fear. “They must. Few know of his condition as it is, but his doctor is here.”

You are used to waiting hours for news from medical staff even in the case of an emergency. This is not, apparently, how it works when you are royalty. Or perhaps when it is just this specific situation. When the door to the room where you are sitting with Javi reopens some half an hour later, Julius and the silver haired-doctor are accompanied by another man – a physician in scrubs who looks like he has just aged a decade in the last hour. “Your Highness.” The man bows his head deeply, regret and respect lying heavily on his shoulders.

Javi knows that his father is either gone, or there is no hope, just from the tone of the man’s voice. He stands and takes a moment to roll his shoulders back, taking a deep breath as he walks towards the trio. “Sí?”

“It was a blood clot that caused the heart attack.” Despite being almost twice the prince’s age, the man seems reticent to make eye contact, and it is no wonder. No physician ever relishes delivering news like this to a family. Least of all when your patient is the king. “We detected a second very near to his lungs.” He swallows, hands already wrung out with worry. “But the king’s heart is already failing. I—I am afraid I cannot even guarantee that he will make it back to the palace before he passes.”

“I see.” It’s a miracle that Javi didn’t fall to the floor at the news, perhaps he has already accepted the fact that his father was going to die today. “If the king cannot be transported, he should stay and be made as comfortable as possible.” Javi tells the doctor. “Is he awake? In pain? Does he know?”

“He is awake.” The royal physician nods solemnly. “And mostly aware. Though he has been given an appropriate dose of medication to manage his pain.” With a nod to the door, all three men bow their heads. “He has asked for you, your Highness.”

“Take me to him.” Javi turns back towards you and reaches out his hand for you to join him. He knows you will come, and that you will make the king happy when he sees the ring on your finger.

The group of you is formidable as it moves down the hallways, turning together down a long passage and coming to a stop at a doorway blocked by two uniformed palace guards. They instantly move out of the way for Javi and the door is opened, allowing your party inside. The king in a hospital bed is not a sight anyone relishes. He is pale and visibly weak but seems to be aware as he turns his head slightly to see his son walk into the room.

“Papa.” Javi rushes forward with you, not caring about royal protocol. He cares about spending the last moments with his dying father.

“Mijo.” The pain of breathing has been eased by medicine, but it lurks somewhere in the background like a knowing predator. “Let Julius help you. Papers in,” He breathes deeply and it is obvious how much effort it takes. “My desk.”

Javier nods, reaching out and taking his hand. “I will.” He promises him. “I will make sure everything is exactly how you would wish it.” He knows that he has long disappointed his father, but he won’t let him down now. He wants him to have peace in his last moments.

“Be careful—” Miguel coughs, the inelegant force of it shaking his body. “With trust.” It is not precisely what he means but the medicine makes out frustratingly difficult to think of the right word to use and he frowns slightly. “Choose one person to tell your secrets.”

Javier frowns slightly and nods. He’s already decided to trust you and motions behind him to beckon you closer. “Mamá was your confidant.” He knows that because she had told him so as a little boy. “I will choose my wife, my queen as well.” He takes your hand when you stand beside him and pulls it forward gently. “It is done, papá.” It doesn’t matter that he still needs to formally propose, he wants his father to know that he is taking his future role seriously.

“You.” The king looks up into your face with such utter seriousness that you stand stock still in the face of it. “You will not fail my son.” It is clear it is an order, but somehow there is an edge of fear in the thought, as if he simply has forgotten – or maybe never knew – how to plead.

“No.” Shaking your head, your other hand goes directly to Javi’s shoulder and squeezes it reassuringly. “I won’t. I promise.”

“She has chosen her ladies-in-waiting.” Javi assures him. “She had chosen well, and will be well served for the crown and our people.” He smiles. “You have done well for me, father.”

“Stay.” Again the order seems like it might have once been a request, but the king has long forgotten how to make them. Instead he holds his son’s hand with what strength he has left and shakes with the effort of a breath. “Stay.”

“I am not leaving you, Papa.” Javier chokes out, tears swimming in his eyes. He’s not a doctor but he can tell that his father is about to draw his last breath. In just the last few moments his breath has become rattled and his skin taking on a waxy appearance. “Never. I am here.”

It will be recorded in King Miguel’s story that his last thoughts on this Earth were of his wife – the way he gasped her name before exhaling deeply one last time making you so utterly sure that he must have seen here there in front of him in the room even as he held Javi’s hand. Long silence in the space seems to have swallowed the hearts of every witness: the doctors present alongside Julius, yourself, and Javi all sharing a moment of contemplative grief in the room with the now deceased monarch.

Until Julius’s deep voice vibrates softly through the space. “The king is dead. Long live the king.”

Javier’s eyes close and he swims in his grief for a moment. Allowing himself to grieve his father, despite the monumental moment that is the beginning of his reign. “King Miguel rests. His reign is over.” He murmurs quietly, leaning in and kissing his father’s hand.

“God save the King.” Is a mighty sentence to be heard spoken by the men surrounding you, and you find yourself murmuring the words along with them like you have been swept up in the tide of the moment. It is as heartbreaking as it is groundbreaking, but you stand back and let Javi absorb it for himself for now.

Javi stands and lays his father’s hand over his chest. His shoulders roll back, and he straightens before he turns around. His eyes are still grief stricken, but his face is composed. “Handle his body with care.” He instructs the doctors, “thank you for your efforts in making him comfortable.” He tells the doctors before he steps closer to shake their hands.

The transformation is, sadly, one you think that his father would have been proud of. To see gentle, hopeful Javi feel the burden of the world on his shoulders only solidifies your resolve to be by his side. You listen as Javi gives his thanks and instructs again that the late king’s body be delivered to the palace with care.

“We will, your Majesty.” The doctor who had worked on the king nods and he slips out of the room to inform the discreet staff of the procedures.

Javi turns towards Julius. “My father’s statement, have someone bring it to me immediately. I wish to release the announcement within the hour.”

"If you would prefer to make the address from the palace, I will have your valet meet you with your change of clothes in your office." It is his now, as the office that once belonged to King Miguel has instantly become his son's. "I have an electronic version of the statement for you to read in the car, your Majesty." A few strokes of his fingers on his smartphone and the file is instantly sent to Javi's phone. That is all it takes these days. Julius had always had electronic copies of things kept at the ready even though the late king preferred paper.

“I believe that it would be fitting to have the address be from the office,” he agrees. “Have the mirrors covered with black drapes and find the official photograph from my father’s sapphire jubilee.” He orders Julius. “I will read the speech in the car and make any adjustments I see fit.”

"Yes, your Majesty." This transition may have come sooner than Julius had expected, but he is grateful to see that the prince's first steps as a king are outwardly smooth and confident – even if he does not feel it in himself yet. After a few keystrokes on his phone, no doubt sending directions to the staff at the palace to have things ready for the new king's arrival – the older man turns his head to you. "Flores has things ready for you on our arrival, your Highness. It would be prudent to report to your suite immediately, change, and be on hand for the king's address."

"Perfectly right." It is the thing that will benefit Javi the most, and that is what you're here for.

“Julius.” Javier turns towards the man who has advised his father for years in an unofficial capacity as his personal secretary. “I would like you to stay on in my staff.”

If he was expecting it or not, the small and nearly pleased small that graces the man's face temporarily is full of gratitude. Some new monarchs replace an entire palace staff in order to have things their own way. It seems the new king will not follow that path, and Julius nods deeply as you walk together. "It will be my honour, your Majesty."

Javi turns towards you, and takes your hand. “I do not want the joy of our announcement to detract from the nation’s mourning.” He explains quietly. “However, I want you there with me.”

"Perhaps having a new beginning to look forward to will ease the pain that comes with mourning." You hold onto his hand tightly, offering him the supportive smile that no one else around you can muster at the moment. "I'll be right beside you. I'm sure whatever Flores has picked out will be appropriate and I can be shown to your office immediately." Having promised him that he wouldn't have to do any of this alone, you intend to keep your word.

“Thank you.” His hand squeezes yours and he sends you a grateful smile. “This is not how I wished today to go, but I am grateful you are here with me.”

“Nothing is ever exactly as we plan it.” He is holding the hand is adorned with his mother’s ring, and the metal bites into both of your hands ever so slightly. Like the physical representation of the promise that binds you together. “But I would not be anywhere else.”

“I appreciate that.” Javi murmurs seriously, reaching up to cup your cheek gently. “Let us go prepare the country for bad news.”

******

The drive back to the palace is not quite as efficient as it was to the hospital, but when you return there is an air of questioning about nearly everything. Of course no one has been told much of anything beyond Flores and Javi’s valet having prepared mourning clothing, but you give his hand a squeeze in the hallway before you leave him to change your clothes. “I’ll be with you soon,” you promise, the look of solemn seriousness on both of your faces sure to alert some eagle-eyed staff to what is to come. “As quickly as I can be.”

“Take your time.” He insists. “Take a moment, I know it’s hard to deal with.”

“I’ll take a moment later, when we can take one together.” Your hand is on his cheek like his was on yours earlier, and you would kiss him if things were less public or less strained. But for now you swipe a bit of moisture away from his eye. “I will meet you in your office, and we will do this together.”

“Thank you.” He murmurs softly, showing his uneasy emotions to you for the first time since he has immediately become king. Unsure of why he has someone so amazing in his corner, it bolsters his confidence.

“You’re going to be wonderful, querido.” Something instinctive tells you that. A certainty you can’t name. “Go with Julius and change your clothes. Fix your speech. I’ll be back to you before you even remember I’ve gone.”

He nods once and turns on his heel to follow the man who is now his personal assistant through the wing to get to his rooms. Although he will be moved into the king’s chambers after the funeral.

As quickly as you can move down the hall to your suite without drawing attention to yourself, you’re eternally grateful to find Flores in your sitting room with your jewelry box when you come through the door. “We need to be quick,” you tell her, already unpinning the hat you had been wearing all day before now.

“Yes, your Highness.” She quickly takes the hat from your hand and moves to your dress and unzips it. There can be no modesty between you and your lady’s maid. “I have a Dutti black sheath dress laid out for you.” She explains. “They are a Spanish designer but have a design branch here in Mallorca.”

“I should not be surprised that things have already been acquired for me, should I?” No doubt the late king had your sizes on file and things ordered as soon as he sent for you. He was an efficient man and that was a virtue for him in his position. “Is it appropriate to work out of my own jewelry box for now? It’s not unlikely that the king will want me beside him when he makes his address, and I don’t know if having me in borrowed jewels right away would be seen as the appropriate choice or like an American is barging into the palace head first.”

“The piece from the royal family you are wearing will be very visible, but there is also a selection of jewelry that King Miguel, may he rest, had pulled to round out your welcome wardrobe.” She explains. “He had known you would pick your own style, but he had ordered that this be made available to you as a working example.”

“Flores, you’re invaluable.” As soon as your bright, floral sundress can be whisked away, her capable hands are directing you into a sleek black sheath dress that will hit just below your knees and make you look suitably official for your first appearance as the Princess of Mallorca.

Unlike other kingdoms, who might only have given you the title once you were married to Javi, here it is bestowed on the woman who is to be married to heir to the throne. There will be a small ceremony at some point – you have no idea when – where Javi sets a tiara on your head for the first time. And then you will be the Crowned Princess of Mallorca – the future wife of the king. It’s all based in medieval traditions and regulations, but since you have spent most of your lifetime making yourself aware of the traditions, at least you know what is coming.

“I think…before we get into the crowned jewels…there is something in my jewelry box I would prefer to wear.” Looking up at her in the mirror, the dress is immaculate but your eyes land on your maid’s face. “There is a little silver box that has a pair of pearl earrings and a matching bracelet. They were a birthday gift from the late king. It…would be nice to honor him that way.”

That would be perfect and the way Flores smiles and nods shows you that. “It would be most fitting, your Highness.” She agrees and moves towards the box that had been unpacked that contains your jewelry. “Shall we reset your hair or just your makeup?”

“Just makeup, I think.” The hat you had been wearing had the virtue of being small and not making much of an impact on the way she had styled your hair this morning. “I have no idea what the rest of the day will hold but it would be best to do something neutral, I think. Soft.”

“Yes.” She nods and gives you a small smile. “We will make you look both strong and soft. A welcomed haven for our King Javier.”

“He’s doing well so far.” For as few orders as he has had to give so far, he has been level-headed, reasonable, and gracious. “One of the most difficult days of his life and he has been nothing but kind to everyone around him.”

“He is a good man. A kind one.” Flores nods in approval. “Unlike some, he does not take the staff for granted or abuse them.”

"As long as we are on the topic." You have a feeling that you know precisely who she is talking about, and glance up at her again as you sit in the vanity chair for her to touch up your make up. "I know there hasn't been much time, but have the Countess and Dama Maisie been able to settle in?"

“They have, your highness.” She informs you with a small smile. “Unfortunately, the suite where the Count normally stays has been taken so he had decided to go back to his estate.”

"Oh, how unfortunate." But the knowing sparkle in each of your eyes when they meet in the mirror says otherwise. "I do hope the countess can be persuaded to find comfort and some relaxation without his presence."

“She seemed positively sublime when she was finished settling in and had a tea service sitting in front of her.” Flores giggles quietly.

"I am extremely glad to hear it." And really, you are. Whatever is happening with Gabriela and her husband, it cannot be allowed to get worse. A small shake of your head accompanies the thought and you reach for the earrings on the vanity in front of you while Flores attaches the bracelet to your wrist and hands you a soft, dusty rose shade of lipstick. "Shoes, and then I will be ready. Unless you see something out of place?"

“You look perfect, your Highness.” She tells you with a smile. “It is not the introduction I would wish for you to the country, but you will win their hearts with your respectful honor and kind heart.”

“I don’t think this is the introduction anyone wished for, but it’s the one we have so we must make the best of it.” That’s your mother talking, but you don’t mind it. Sometimes her voice comes through at the best of times.

There are a few extra touches, just to make sure that everything is perfect and then Flores steps back. “You are ready.” She announces with a nod of her head. “I shall walk you back towards the king’s office, unless you wish to go alone?”

"Between you and I?" You shake your head at yourself before smoothing your hand over the dress nervously. "I may get lost if you don't. It's a miracle I managed to find my own rooms on my own."

“It is confusing as first,” she agrees, quickly putting away the cosmetics and ushering you towards the door. “You will soon know it better than anywhere else you’ve lived.”

Setting off down the hall in all black does draw a bit of attention from those people who know who you are – but that number is still so slim that most of the palace staff still seems to considering you invisible. The five minute walk from the residential wing to the king's office is brisk, though, and the footman at the door is taking his job incredibly seriously today.

"The Princess of Mallorca." He announces in a somber and low tone, just as you walk past him.

Javier looks up from the speech and for a moment, he is breathless. You are dressed impeccably, not that he had any doubts that you would be. The dress is respectable and looks lovely on you. Standing, he motions you closer. “Come. I would like your opinion on the speech.”

"Of course." He has changed as well, as you knew he would. Gone are the linen shirt and loose pants that he had been wearing just twenty minutes ago and now he looks every inch a royal in a bespoke black suit. Even the square in his pocket is immaculate. Despite the tragic circumstances, he looks stunning.

He pulls out the seat for you, sitting you behind his father’s — his desk. “Please, give me your honest opinion.”

The page and a half long speech is eloquent, as you knew it would be, and concise. It addresses the handing over of power with clear love for the people. It assures of stability and continued progress. It even has a line deliberately mentioning the new king's intended which Javi has scratched at and edited in his own scribbling handwriting to include your name. It is very...official. And while that is not a bad thing, the bit of it with the most emotion seems to be the part that Javi has added in by himself. "You might make sure to mention that he passed peacefully," you suggest, indicating the paragraph where the late king's illness is mentioned. "It will give people comfort to know that he was not in pain or afraid at the end."

Javi nods seriously. “Yes, I will include that in the speech. Thank you.” Biting his lip, he looks around the office nervously. “Other than that, it sounds good?”

“Yes.” Your hand finds his on top of the desk and you repeat that gentle squeezing motion you’ve both become accustomed to so quickly. “It sounds very kingly. And comforting. The country may be shocked to learn of the loss but they should also feel like you have things under control, which is as close to perfect as we can hope for under the circumstances.”

As long as you believe in him, Javi feels like this might actually be possible. He’s not sure when you became such an important figure in his life, but it is clear that you are vital to his reign as king. “Then that is what we will go with.”

“Short and sweet, as we say in America.” You smile warmly, hoping to give him another moment of reassurance before Julius clears his throat politely.

“This will be an interruption of regular programming, sire, and it will be live. It will take only a few minutes to contact the news channels.”

“Okay.” Javier nods. “Make the calls. I want to be on the air in ten minutes.” He decides.

“Is there anything I can do besides be here?” Whatever he could ask, you already know you’ll do it. The deep initial connection between the two of you has been cemented in a way that no one could have guessed at but has so far made you nearly inseparable.

“Not that I am aware of.” Javi is grateful that you are so willing to jump in and do whatever is necessary. “Are you ready to become known as the Princess of Mallorca, officially?”

“I’ll do my very best to live up to the title.” Given that the last Princess of Mallorca was his mother, you don’t take the title or the responsibility lightly. “Perhaps tonight we can still enjoy a dinner together? Even if it isn’t as elaborate as what you had originally planned?” You know he’ll be exhausted emotionally and mentally after today, but the hope is to give him something to look forward to. A bright spot after a day that has held so much darkness.

“I think that would be nice.” Javi sighs softly. “It might be later than expected since I have to have a meeting with my cabinet and advisors.”

“You do what you need to do.” You promise him quietly. Julius is supervising the entrance of a woman with a television camera with the utmost seriousness and you wouldn’t want to distract him. “I still have an appointment to keep this afternoon and I have a few things to go over with Flores. When you’re ready for me, just call and I will be there.”

“Thank you.” Even though the woman is there, he’s leaning in to press a respectful kiss to your cheek, lingering slightly. “I hope you enjoy your appointment.”

"I think it will be significantly less nerve-wracking with Maisie and Gabriela there." Shifting away from his desk after you squeeze his hand tight in yours, you nod to the woman with the camera and Julius beckons you out of the way to stand by his side.

"If you would stay with me, your Highness," he murmurs quietly as the technician begins to set up the shot and speak to the king at his desk. "I believe it would do him well if he could see your face during the address. Sometimes the presence of the ones we love is all it takes to get through life's hardest trials."

Javi sits down behind the desk, fiddling slightly with his royal seal that is pinned to his suit jacket. He’s terrified that he will fail, but now the time has come that he cannot fail. The country is his to rule, the people his to care for.

A little fussing on the camera woman's part is all it takes, and the room is oddly full by the time the red light off to the right of Javi's desk begins blinking to signify the countdown to being on the air. A few members of the staff have filed in quietly behind where you and Julius are standing, silent as stagnant air but eager to witness this historic moment.

Once the light is solid, Javi begins to speak: “Today, I address you from the royal palace to bring you sober news.” He recites from the speech. “King Miguel has passed away peacefully this morning at eleven forty-three at the royal hospital following a medical event.”

The small group of people around you cross themselves or press their hands to their hearts. Even Julius nods his head. You never take your eyes off Javi, though, nodding to encourage him and breathing deliberately to remind him to do the same. The sort of things your mother used to do with your dad before campaign events.

“King Miguel led our country with compassion, wisdom and an infinite love for his people.” Javi praises. “His presence will be missed and our grief palpable as we move forward into a new time.”

He's doing so well. As far as you know it is the first televised speech Javi has ever made in his life and you give him a discreet thumbs up from behind the camera line.

“I understand that there will be worries about the future,” he personally shares those worries, but he can’t say that to the country. “Rest assured that the transfer of power had already been anticipated with the arrival of the Princess of Mallorca, future Queen.”

When he says your name you could not possibly stand any taller or feel any prouder. He had penned the words into the speech himself and the emotion behind them rings with intent, making your hand move to your chest with a very different feeling than everyone else in the room. Every end is also a beginning, and as devastating as that end may be for some, you cannot help but be excited for the beginning you and Javi face together.

“Tonight, we will remember King Miguel, celebrate his life and his reign over the people that he had dedicated his life in service to.” He looks into the camera solemnly and with a quiet pride. “He was a king, a leader, a diplomat, but he was also a man. A husband to his beloved wife and a father. The king took his last breathes with his wife on his mind.”

There is a shadow of a sniffle from behind you and one of the older members of the house staff crosses herself again. You can make out just the mouthing of a blessing from the corner of your eye. Queen Gloria was adored; you know that well.

“I will leave you with a message of hope and remembrance. Grief and joy. Mallorca is a strong nation and while we will remember King Miguel as one of the best monarchs of our illustrious history, the path forward will be forged on the service he has provided his people. Good day and God bless you all.” Javi signs off and holds the camera’s view until the red light goes dark.

You are the second to move, only stepping out from behind the camera when you see the woman operating it switch off the unit and look away from her monitor. "You did splendidly," you promise him, moving directly back to his side at the large mahogany desk.

His hand reaches for yours, for comfort and assurance. “Thank you. I was hoping that my voice was not wavering. I felt like I was about to cry.”

“No,” you shake your head. “Not wavering. You sounded moved, but not unsteady.” In fact, you smile at the honesty of the thought. “He would have been very proud.”

“You think?” He asks, his brows raised and his face nearly pleading with you to be serious. He still wants his father’s approval now, especially. He had left the care of an entire country in his hands. It was much more than a mere inheritance.

"I absolutely do." With no thought to the other people in the room, you bend down to leave a kiss on his cheek the way he did with you earlier. "That was a wonderful way to greet your people as their new king."

“I don’t feel like a king.” He admits with a rueful chuckle. “I thought there would be this moment where it just clicked, but there wasn’t.”

"Maybe there wasn't a time that you felt it." It is unexpectedly intimate, the way your fingers seems to develop a mind of their own and brush one tousled curl away from his forehead. "But the rest of us did." He had transformed almost instantly, and you had seen the different set of his shoulders and the way his head came up a little higher since then. "When you stood up from your father's bedside, every one of us in that room knew it had happened."

“My greatest fear is to let him…them—” he motions to the staff behind you and the rest of the kingdom. “Down.”

"That is not a bad fear to have, querido." You've settled into it. You like the little pet name for him and it seems as though he doesn't mind it either. "But we cannot let it make you too afraid to act. Be afraid, but do things anyway."

“You are very wise, margarita.” He murmurs, leaning into you for a moment and pressing his head to yours. “Very wise.”

“We both have things to do.” If you don’t remind yourself – and him – of that it would be all too easy to get wrapped up in each other. Instead you smile softly and let your hands linger on his arms for a second more. “But call for me and I’ll be there. Especially for our meal.”

“Sí.” He nods and would like to linger but Julius is giving him a discreet look. He needs to convene the council immediately. “I will see you later, Princess.”

Javi's day will be absorbed in policy and in ritual, but yours will be dizzying in a different way. Walking back to your suite, there is no mistaking the reaction that people have to you now. That broadcast went out to the entire country and as such the entire palace has been informed. King Javier I has stepped up to his responsibility and has announced the arrival of a new princess. You're met with bows and curtsies instead of disinterested looks, and the doors to your suite are opened for you a whole six feet before you could reach it yourself.

"Your Highness." Flores is beaming as she rushes towards you, her own station elevated by the news that you are the next queen of Mallorca, although she is more interested in your reaction. "How has the change been?" She asks. "Nearly instantaneous, sí?"

"Very much so." And as dizzying as that is, you are glad to see that Flores is only excited and nothing has changed here. Not in this room, at least. "How long do we have until the dressmaker arrives?"

"They will be here in ten minutes." She checks her watch. "Would you like to change into something else, or greet the dressmaker in your current outfit?"

"This will be fine." There is no need to change a third time only to have to essentially undress to be measured and fitted for new clothing. "Perhaps it would be prudent to have the Contessa and Dama Maisie brought in before her arrival?" You glance at the clock on the mantle across the sitting room and bite your lip when you look back to Flores. "And maybe a tray? I know teatime isn't exactly Spanish but we have all missed lunch due to the commotion."

"I can have a light fare brought in for you and your ladies, as well as the designer?" She asks. "Tapas?" She knows that today is a trying one for you and she wishes to make sure that you have everything you need.

"That would be wonderful." You have seen already how invaluable Flores is going to be to helping you navigate your way through things, but she seems to prove it continually. "I am..." You sigh, floundering as you look for the word, and ending up with just a shake of your head. "Scattered. I am scattered, I think." Without Javi to focus on, the threads of your concentration seem to just slip away like waves from the shore.

“You are not scattered.” She shakes her head and frowns at you. “You must select a personal assistant.” She reminds you. “Someone to keep your schedule for you and coordinate your needs.”

"I wish my brother was here," you admit quietly. "He would be able to manage everything beautifully." Despite your father's insistence that Sebastian would be a Senator just like him one day, you know your older brother. He is a far better hand behind the curtain than the man standing in front of it.

“The Princess can ask anyone to join her team.” Flores hums. “If your brother was willing, I know that there would be no reason to deny him. Although it is a very…personal position. Even keeping track of your menstrual cycle.”

For a second you almost ask why that would be necessary, but you swallow the question when you remember that royal heirs are a necessary part of the job. Because what you have isn't just a job. It is an entire life that is dedicated to an entire country. And just as Javi can't let them down, neither can you. "He has had to take care of worse," you acknowledge with a half-laugh. "I'm going to call him." The decision is instant, and you even feel a little lighter for it. "Would you be kind enough to see to a tray and have my ladies join me in a few minutes?"

“Sí, su alteza.” Flores nods and curtsies before she starts to hurry out of the room. She will make sure that the tapas will be enough to fuel you through the day and give you a selection of the chef’s specialties.

Taking a deep breath, you dig your cell phone out of the purse that you had left sitting on your vanity from this morning, and sit down in the beautifully crafted chair to select your brother's contact information and hit Send. As a staffer in your father's office you know he's busy, but hopefully not too busy to take a phone call. After all, two in the afternoon in Mallorca is 8 a.m. in New York City. He probably hasn't even left for the office yet.

“Hello?” He rattles off his name and title since he uses his cell phone for more business than anything else.

"Hey." You relax instantly at the sound of his voice. It's so easy to picture him standing in the living room of the apartment you shared until just two days ago, mixing his coffee. If you strain, you can even hear the spoon in his travel mug. "It's me."

“Hey!” His voice ticks up and he immediately stops to think about the time difference between him and you. “How is it going? The prince? Is he a jerk? Do you want to come home? I’ll hide you from dad and the whole Balearic Island kingdom.”

"Actually?" You sigh a little at the question. "He's a dream. Manners, romance, and insanely attractive to boot. I—" There's no use beating around the bush, and you don't really have time for it anyway. "Seb, his father died today. Barely two hours ago, actually."

“Oh god.” He’s not without compassion and he hums sympathetically. “I am so sorry. I— it hasn’t broken over here yet.”

"Javi just announced it on the air about twenty minutes ago." You're used to being close to a news cycle, but this is the first time you've ever been directly a part of a breaking story. "So, um...your sister is officially a princess... No doubt Dad will be annoyed that I told you first instead of him."

“What he doesn’t know.” Sebastian practically rolls his eyes through the phone.

Both of you laugh softly, knowing how true it is, and you nod against your phone. "I have a weird question for you, Seb."

“How weird could it possibly be?” He snorts. “You are in a modern day arranged marriage and it seems to be making you happy.”

"The thing is..." He's right, again, and you're glad for the little reprieve in what has been an otherwise stressful day. "There's a lot going on here. As I'm sure you can imagine. It's a lot to manage and my lady's maid is amazing but there are some things that are just...outside of her wheelhouse." For as composed as you have been with nearly everything else today, you are sitting at the vanity biting your lip as you tilt your head back and close your eyes. "I need to hire a personal assistant, Seb. And I honestly can't think of anybody who knows me better or can manage all the crazy stress better than you can. I mean hell, you've survived being Dad's assistant. There's no way literal royalty could be more demanding than that."

The pregnant pause on the other end of the line grows as Sebastian thinks. He knows the job would be stressful but rewarding. Plus, he would be able to see his sister, something he had missed in the short time you have been gone. Getting off dad’s staff would stop the comments about running for his seat when he’s ready to retire. “How soon would you need me?” He asks.

“As soon as you can get here.” The utter relief that runs through you has you sagging in your chair. “And if you decide you hate it or it’s too much, I will totally understand. But I—” You sigh down the line. “I really appreciate it, Seb.”

“Give me two days to settle my affairs here.” Already his mind is whirling and he’s making lists of things he needs to do. “I’m assuming the necessary visas will be available?”

“I’ll have Javi’s assistant make sure everything is in order, and we’ll send the jet for you.” The wheels in your mind start turning on other things, and you glance up at the clock again. “You’re the best brother in the world, you know that right?”

“Of course I am.” Sebastian chuckles, knowing you would say that regardless. “I’ll see you in three days, honey. Hold it together until I get there.”

"I'll get everything ready for you here." Whatever that will mean. But you'll find out from Julius everything that will be entailed. "I owe you, Seb. And I'll call Dad now so that you don't have to break it to him."

“Are you sure you want to do that?” He winces and figures that you are better off not dealing with the headache.

“How much yelling do you think there’s going to be?” You ask honestly, wondering if he might have a point. “I have an appointment in a few minutes.”

“Dad?” Sebastian snorts. “At least twenty minutes.” He rolls his eyes. “Plus a lecture and a tirade. You save yourself the trouble and I’ll tell him that I went to work for a Republican.” He jokes.

“You’ll be disinherited.” Huffing a laugh, you nod even though he can’t see you. “Thanks, Seb. And remind him before he decides to call and leave me a furious voicemail that I’m royalty now. So making me cry might be treason.”

He’s laughing as he says goodbye and hangs up, immediately calling his father to start the ball rolling on changing his entire life, just like you had. You calling him had been a godsend, he had been unhappy with his current direction and had no interest in running for office himself.

Your phone is barely down on the vanity when the doors to your suite open again, letting Maisie and Gabriela inside. They have changed into black clothing as well, in accordance with officially being a part of the royal household as of today, and you pull yourself up to standing when the door shuts again behind them. "How are you both doing?" You ask, not knowing how close either of them may ever have been to the late king.

“It is very sad.” Gabriela sighs and shakes her head. Even though she had been denied the pleasure of marrying Javier, she had tremendous respect for Miguel. “I think that the entire country will be mourning for a long time.”

"His reign was long and influential." Having taken the throne at just eighteen years old, being king was his entire life. And the people of the Balearic Islands would not soon forget him. "Although I am relieved to say that he was not in pain, at the end."

“Yes.” She agrees, nodding her head and folding her hands together in front of her body. “That is the most we can hope for.”

"Gabriella, if you need some time to yourself, I completely understand." Stepping closer to her, you don't want her to feel forced or invalidated in any kind of sadness she might be feeling. Especially when today has taken such a drastic turn.

“It is better to focus on the future than the past.” She smiles sadly and shakes her head. “Keeping busy will be good for me.”

“If you ever feel overwhelmed or like you need to have time to yourself, will you please tell me?” It can’t be something many princesses have ever said to their ladies, but if anyone expected you to be a ‘normal’ princess they have another thing coming altogether. “That is for both of you,” you insist, looking to Maisie as well.

“Thank you, your Highness.” Maisie nods. “I must ask, is there something you would like us to call you in private? Or would you prefer to keep to formalities?”

"I like nicknames," you admit, thinking fondly of even the few times that Javi has used your new pet name. "My mother called me Daisy, and I was always very fond of that."

She tilts her head and nods, smiling softly. “I like that. If you wish, it is completely acceptable for your ladies to call you by that.” She assures you. “Although, only in informal situations and when we are alone.”

"I would like that very much." In fact it's oddly comforting, and you're smiling when the door to your suite opens once more.

“Your Highness. My ladies.” Flores nods respectfully as she wheels a silver service cart into the room. Laden down with fresh squeezed lemonade, a pot of tea and three tiered displays of tapas for you to snack on while you are consulting with the dressmaker. “Please let me know if there is something you wish to have in addition to this.”

“Flores, you are a wonder.” Maisie hums happily.

“She is.” There is nothing that could possibly make you disagree with that, and you lend your maid a smile. “I called my brother, after we spoke. He’ll be here in a few days. Thank you for encouraging me.”

“That is wonderful.” She smiles and starts to set up the food and drinks. “José, the butler, will be escorting the dressmaker here when they arrive.”

"Then let us snack while we can." Maisie grins conspiratorially, shooting you a playful wink. "Before we must have ladylike manners again."

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit

TKQ: @storiesofthefandomlovers @mimimarvelingmarvel

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Javi Gutierrez #Javi Gutierrez x reader #Javi Gutierrez x you #Javi Gutierrez x female reader #Javi Gutierrez x f!reader #Javi G #The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent #TUWOMT #royalty au #arranged marriage #parent death #heart attack #hospital

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giveamadeuschohisownmovie · 8 months

Text

For my first thought about “Saw X” (once again, highly recommend), I’m really impressed with how the movie managed to make their concept work. It’s mainly because the story of “Saw X” is really hard to pull off.

Not a lot of movies and shows can portray the kidnapper/torturer/evil mastermind as the protagonist while the victims are the main villains. Because, obviously, no one wants to be rooting for a character who is tormenting other people. It’s like making a version of “Squid Game” where you’re supposed to root for the VIPs, that’s a hard sell.

But, there are the rare few that manages to pull this off. “Hard Candy” is one of the best examples of this since the victim is a pedophile murderer while the torturer is Elliot Page. “Don’t Breathe” is an accidental example since even though we’re supposed to root for the victims, they’re not so easy to side with since they’re burglars who robbed a blind man.

So “Saw X” had a tough sell since we’re supposed to be on Jigsaw’s side for once. But honestly, I thought they nailed it. Not only are the victims horrible people (scammers who prey on the terminally ill), the story doesn’t force you to like John Kramer. John is entirely unapologetic about his actions as Jigsaw and the movie doesn’t try to justify him, especially by having Amanda question John’s choice of putting Gabriella into a test (she was a drug addict). Instead, the story naturally puts you on John’s side by focusing on his internal dilemma; fighting his cancer.

The first third of the movie was entirely devoted to John dealing with his cancer and how he was dreading that he was almost out of time. It humanizes John and makes you feel really sorry for him, even knowing who he is. What I like about this is that it’s not forced sympathy because the audience has known about John being a cancer patient for over a decade by now. Focusing on John’s disease and mortality makes sense is what I’m saying.

Even Jigsaw’s friendship with the little boy Carlos makes sense since John wanted to be a father. The one thing that people can say was a little forced to make you sympathize with Jigsaw STILL has precedence in the series, which is really rewarding for people who’ve watched every “Saw” movie. Nothing felt out of place for John’s character, it’s like a legit tribute to the character.

So when you learn that the doctors were all scam artists, it’s natural to side with John since:

1) They did it to themselves

2) You feel for John since you watched at least 30 minutes of him trying to fight the disease

3) You feel angrier towards the doctors since they’re arguably worse people than John

4) The lead doctor reveals that she knew John was Jigsaw and continued the grift anyways, so they have really no excuse

It’s like “Don’t Breathe” again, where both sides are horrible people, but the more sympathetic one gets to be the hero. And I’m all for it, because fuck medical malpractice/grifters.

(Side note: I feel like another way the movie got us on John’s side was that he stayed true to his word. If you pass the test, you get to live. During the movie, he makes sure Diego survived since he passed and asked that Gabriella be taken to a hospital after she freed herself. It’s honor, but in a fucked up way, which is appropriate for the character)

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ahundredtimesover · 2 years

Note

we need a please love me argument or something drabble from after they got married and confessed their love for each other!!11!

Hi, they're back! Just a reminder to think of OC's personality bc this is already a 'fight' for her hehe. I don't know how this is bc I'm not in my best form but I still hope you enjoy 🥰

Title: Please Love Me Bonus 07 - The Fight

WC: 14,953

Tags/Warnings: angst; mentions of pregnancy; hospital setting/talks of illness that might be inaccurate (I just based some off my own experience)

Series Masterlist

It started small.

It was a fleeting moment that you barely missed it - one exhale and you felt that knot in your chest that once was familiar. You brushed it off, not thinking much of it. It wasn’t the first time, yet all those other times, once was enough and it didn’t happen again.

But this time wasn’t like that; this time, you felt it once, then another time, then another, the long intervals between knots getting shorter and shorter.

You try to even out your breathing, grounding yourself so you can listen more to what your body is saying, to what your heart is saying. It starts to work as you count the seconds and the minutes because it starts to go away. It may have taken a lot longer, but just like those other times, this one ends, too.

You’re unable to process what just happened as your phone rings, your husband’s sigh greeting you on the other end.

“Hey, Kook. Everything okay?”

“No. One of the associates gave me wrong figures and I overlooked some elements for my presentation tomorrow,” he groans. “I was gonna stay up late in the office but I’m too pissed off. Are you still at the studio? Can I pick you up?”

“Yeah, I’m just working on my last design,” you reply, already packing up. “And sure. I can call your favorite Japanese restaurant and we can pick up the food on the way home. Is that okay?”

“Yes please. That’s what I really need right now. And you. Be there in 15.”

“I’ll see you, hun. And chin up, you’ll be okay.”

He hums his goodbye and you feel the tiredness from his voice, and the earlier ache in your chest is now replaced by worry for your husband.

Jungkook rarely lets the toxicity of his job affect him, so hearing him frustrated is something you’re not used to. You feel for him, as the new project he’s taken on is a big one, and you just know he wants nothing more than to prove himself to his family this once. He’s begun having bigger responsibilities after all, and he’s said as much that he wants to step away from his brother’s shadow and be his own self, show that he’s just as capable and can get things done his way, too.

A small smile tugs on your face, knowing that a good meal and some encouragement from you might do the trick. You call the restaurant and head outside once he messages that he’s nearby.

Mr. Yu, the chauffeur, stops the car and Jungkook exits, enveloping you in a hug and mumbling his hi. He doesn’t even give you time to properly greet him back, as his body curls into yours and you feel him exhale - a deep one, as if he’s been holding onto his breath the whole day.

“Hi,” you smile, kissing his nose. “The food will be ready in a while. Let’s pick it up and we can talk, okay?”

Jungkook nods and leads you inside, immediately taking your hand like it’s his lifeline. He asks you about your day first and you narrate how it went - ocular of a hall you’ll be designing and then art class for the kids in the afternoon. Then he talks about his - the tense meeting with the staff member who gave him outdated information, the conversation with his father about the expectations for this upcoming project, and having to skip lunch to help his Japan team troubleshoot something.

“I’m exhausted and my head has been hurting all day but I’ve got so much to do,” he exhales deeply before falling into your lap, your hand reflexively combing his long locks that has him moaning at your touch.

“Hmm. And how much coffee have you had today?”

“Five cups,” he answers with his eyes closed, his breathing steadying now as you start to massage his temples.

“That’s 3 cups too much, hun,” you say softly; he said he’d regulate his caffeine intake and you know he’s been trying.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he sighs. “It’s just been tough, but this is nice. Let’s eat then I can work in the dining room while you watch Masterchef or something?”

You hum your yes, saying you’ve actually got some design studies to work on so you can both work together downstairs.

And that’s what happens as you put away your dirty plates after dinner and settle in your respective spots. Jungkook likes to work with you around when he’s at home, only staying in his office off your bedroom when he’s pulling an all-nighter. Having you close calms him down, he’s always said, as your soothing voice and presence give him the most comfort, even if it’s just a quick look at your expression as you watch TV or your sweet laughter or your tender words.

“You look serious there, babe,” he looks over at you from the dining table. “You’ll get wrinkles if you frown too much.”

“I can’t find the right art piece for this one wall,” you groan. “This is gonna keep me up.”

“Maybe you just need to sleep on it. I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” he comforts.

“Hmm, maybe,” you say, your body slowly giving up as it yearns for the bed, chest pains already forgotten. “Join me?”

You walk towards him and sit on his lap as he asks you to, your arms wrapping around his neck.

“Probably in 2 hours or so. I wanna get this presentation finished tonight,” he pouts, apologetic.

“Okay. I’ll wash up and go to bed. Rest soon, okay?”

He holds you a little longer for his goodnight kiss, tickling you before letting you go.

You walk to your room and fall asleep right away, suddenly feeling as if you’d run a marathon today when your body hits the bed. It seems to have been happening more frequently, though - feeling incredibly tired at the end of the day, whether you had a full-packed schedule or a light one. You went to a boutique store yesterday and painted at home then felt dizzy and faint by the evening.

It’s 4 hours later when you suddenly wake up, a mix of that knot on your chest and shortness of breath almost jerking you off the bed. But you catch yourself, turning to the side to see if you’d somehow disturbed Jungkook’s sleep, but you’re surprised to find he’s not there. You see light coming from the office and your husband’s mumbling, and so you get up and walk over to him.

“Kook, it’s past 2,” you stand by the door and sleepily call out to him. “Come to bed.”

“Baby, what are you doing up?” He turns to you with a frown, his long locks almost covering the glasses over his eyes.

“Just woke up. It’s hard to sleep without you,” you frown back.

“Sorry. I’m finishing up already,” he turns again towards his laptop.

“You can do that tomorrow. Just wake up early but sleep now. You’ve had a long day, come on.”

With you standing behind him and your arms around his neck, you pepper his cheeks with kisses to further convince him, knowing you need to shower him with affection so he’d listen to you.

And it works, as he chuckles and turns his laptop off. He heads to the bathroom to wash up while you lay in bed facing his side as you regulate your breathing again, feeling the tightness subside with every set of breaths.

He lies down next to you and kisses your lips before you turn around so your back faces him, his arms enveloping you, with him pulling you as close as he possibly can. Jungkook buries his head in your neck and finds his peace there.

“It’s hard to sleep without this, too,” he hums. “Love you. See you in my dreams.”

It started small, like it always does.

A pinch in the muscle - one, two, three seconds longer than usual; one, two, three instances more than what you’ve been having. You try to take a breath, knowing it’s what’s always worked, but it doesn’t this time. This time, your chest feels tight, too, like something is keeping you from breathing, like you’re gasping for air in the large space of the art studio.

“Hey, do you need some help to pack up?” The teacher for the next class asks; you can already hear the giggles of her little students not far away.

You try to pick up your tools from the desk but your hands and arms feel numb. This will take time, you think, so you smile at her and nod, letting her put away some of the palettes that your kids have left behind. You walk slowly, unable to fully feel your legs, too, and that’s when you start to panic.

“Everything okay?” She looks at you worriedly. “You look a little pale.”

“Oh? Just tired, I guess,” you fake a smile. “I’ll just, uh…”

“Rest, ___. You’ve been working hard on your project and your exhibition. You don’t want all that to catch up to you.”

Too late, you tell yourself, as the helplessness that once was familiar starts to overtake you. You just nod and assure her, then fortunately manage to walk out the street for fresh air and take some medicine. You’re relieved that those at least work, lessening the pain that you’re feeling.

But you know you’re not out of the woods yet, and so you raise your arm to hail a cab, thankful that the hospital is only a 15-minute drive away.

You settle in the backseat, ready to dial Jungkook’s number when you read the text he’d sent an hour ago - I don’t know why I’m so nervous, babe. I’ve barely eaten anything all day. But thanks. I’ll let you know how it goes.

You’d messaged him earlier, wishing him well for his presentation today, and you know how much this means to him. He’s worked so hard on this; it’s a big project and the directors have got their eyes on him. There’s no way you’ll add to the stress that he’s been experiencing for the last few weeks.

It’s a little past 2 and he’s set to present a quarter before 3. His palms are probably already sweating as he dries them on his shaking legs. He’s never been nervous for any of soccer matches even when he was a teenager, but you’d understand if this is the one thing that’s making him lose his cool a little bit; he may never directly say it but you know he just wants to impress the big bosses, and that includes his father and yours.

You decide against calling him for now. Your breathing has evened out already, and you still think it’s just one of those moments and there’s nothing to worry about. You were always told that this could still happen, after all, but that doesn’t necessarily mean a relapse. It happened a few years ago and all you did was have a change in medication and all was fine after. Like then, this may as well be just a minor thing that you can easily get over on your own. You’ll call Jungkook after you know more about what’s happening to you, knowing he’ll be asking anyway, and not giving him an answer immediately will just scare him.

The emergency room has less people than you expected, although you can say you’re probably the calmest out of all the patients there. Given, you’re in one piece and not puking your guts out so you believe you’re fine, but the attending physician doesn’t seem convinced, as you narrate what you’re feeling.

“Your heartbeat is irregular and your blood pressure is quite low,” she informs you after doing the basics. She looks through your record and confirms your condition. “No relapse since your surgery 15 years ago,” she reads. “No reported abnormalities, no alarming findings… but these are still from last year.”

“Yes, I’m due for my annual check up in 2 months,” you say, as you sit on the hospital bed.

“Well, seems like you’re due now,” she hums, excusing herself to make a call then returning to you. “Dr. Kwon is just finishing with surgery so he’ll see you after, but I’ll have you run some tests already. We’ll call you for x-ray in a while. We’ll take blood samples as well just to be sure.”

You nod, suddenly feeling nervous. These tests are routinary for you at this point; you take it every year every time you have your check-up, the one you’ve been having since the surgery that corrected your heart over a decade ago.

But you’ve never had to come back to the hospital out of your usual schedule ever since you fully recovered. Because any pain you’d felt since then was never serious; it never lingered, it never left you feeling breathless or numb. It never got you feeling weak, and it definitely never had you feel this anxious because it had never hurt this way.

It’s 3:30 by the time you finish filling up all the forms, and though you know nothing more than an irregular heartbeat and low blood pressure, you decide to send Jungkook a text to let him know where you are, knowing his presentation would be done by now. But right as you’re about to, the technician calls your name for the x-ray, and it’s not until several minutes later when you get your phone back and decide to just give him a call.

He doesn’t pick up after the third try, so you go for your next option and call Junghyun, as he knows that you only ever call when something is up.

“Hey, ___. You okay?” He answers.

“Hi. Is Jungkook still presenting?” Your voice quivers.

“He’s done but he’s somewhere in front answering questions,” Junghyun responds.

“Did he do well?” You ask, wanting to know.

“He was really nervous but everyone was impressed,” the older man smiles. “Were you the one calling him? He left his phone in his seat and I saw it light up.”

“Yeah, I, uh… Once he’s free, can you just let him know that I’m in the ER? My chest felt tight and—”

“You’re what?” He almost yells, his voice in a panic. “What happened? How are you feeling now?”

“I’m fine… I think,” you sigh. “It was just chest pains. I’ll see Dr. Kwon in a while then I’ll know more.”

“Fuck, okay. Who’s with you?”

“Just me.”

There’s a pause in the other end. “What are you doing now?”

“Waiting for the next tests. Can you, uh, can you let Jungkook know once he’s done there?”

“I’m telling him now, ___. You’re in the emergency room and he needs to be there with you.”

“Okay,” your voice shrivels, not used to Junghyun’s authoritative tone. “I’m being called for my ECG. I’ll, uh, I’ll be waiting for him.”

Junghyun drops the call and returns to the conference room. He immediately walks to his brother and whispers what you’d said.

Jungkook’s eyes widen in shock, worry and distress painting them. He quickly excuses himself and runs out the door, leaving the older man to explain to their father and yours what had happened, both of whom panic as well and make calls.

It’s another red light that Jungkook beats, and he makes it to the hospital in 15 minutes, almost half of the usual time it takes to get there from his office. He asks around the ER where you are, and he’s directed to a room where he finds you lying in bed, looking perfectly normal, save for your furrowed brows as you seem to be answering messages on your phone.

“Baby!” He exclaims, rushing towards you and taking you in his arms. “What happened? What hurts?”

“Hey, honey,” you look up at him and smile nervously. “I’m fine, I just…”

“Babe, you can’t be fine when you’re here. Your check-up isn’t due in 2 months. What… what brought you here?”

“I was, uh, I was having—”

“___,” the familiar voice of Dr. Kwon calls out for you, prompting you to turn to him. “I wish I could say I’m happy to see you before our scheduled check-up, but it’s never a good thing seeing a patient here before I’m supposed to.”

“Hi,” you smile, returning his hug. “I suppose it isn’t. But I didn’t know what to do. It was getting too painful.”

“Tell me what happened,” he instructs.

And so you do, telling him of the times you’d experienced this since your last meeting, and how it had hurt too much earlier, forcing you to come here. Jungkook holds your hand the entire time, and you’re immersed in your narration that you miss the way his jaws clench and unclench as he listens to your stories.

Clearly this isn’t the first time it’s happened, although it’s the first time that he’s hearing about it. It seems like you’ve been experiencing this and chose not to tell him.

“What do you think may have triggered it?” Dr. Kwon asks.

“I don’t really know,” you shrug. “I mean, I’ve sort of been doing the same things - working at the firm, doing my own pieces, teaching art classes… just focused on my regular job.”

“Looks like it’s 2 jobs too many,” he responds, his eyebrow arching the way that doctors do when they catch you doing something you shouldn’t.

“I rest and exercise and take my medication,” you counter. “All the work is fine. It’s an imperfect heart we’re working with, you know?” You giggle, trying to diffuse the tension.

Dr. Kwon just shakes his head and returns to his records. “So you’ve got the x-ray and ECG done. You’ll have blood tests after this then we can do the 2D echo in the evening after I schedule it. I’ll need you to be confined for the other tests.”

“What other tests? Can’t I come back tomorrow and do them then?” You ask, not really keen on spending the night at the hospital.

“It’ll be easier to monitor you from here, especially since the pain seems recurring. But I’ll schedule the stress test and MRI tomorrow morning so you can go home right after,” he responds. “Better ask someone to pack you and your husband some clothes. I’ll have the nurse pick you up to bring you to your room; just wait here.”

You nod as Jungkook lets go of your hand.

“You’ve had 2 tests done already? What time did you get here?” He asks, his voice low and disappointed.

“Around 2:30,” you respond casually.

Jungkook feels his own heart rate shoot up. It’s 4PM, and he’s sure it was just half an hour ago when his brother had cut off their discussions to tell him that you’d called about your whereabouts. The fact that you didn’t call him - your husband - much earlier is making him incredibly upset. He wants to ask you why you’d delayed it, why you’ve been keeping all this from him, when you planned on telling him if it didn’t get this bad.

But knowing you, you’d pick up on this, and he doesn’t want to add to you feeling any more pain that you apparently have been experiencing, so he takes a breath and lets things go for now, and he just nods.

He gazes at you looking pale and nervous, and he tries to think of how you may be feeling - back in the hospital when you’d believed everything was already okay.

“Baby,” he says, cupping your face so you’d look at him. “We have to believe that things are fine, alright? That this isn’t serious. Worrying too much might make things worse.”

They’re things he doesn’t fully believe in himself. He doesn’t know what’s going on. He never experienced this with you; he hadn’t even known about your condition until 3 years ago, and he doesn’t know how you are when you’re in pain and what you need him to do or be for you. But he has to put aside his own concerns because this is about you, and the only thing he knows to be right now is strong so you can take that strength from him, too.

You smile, much more genuinely than you did earlier, and Jungkook thinks it’s a good first step.

“I’ll be okay, hun. Sorry I pulled you out of your meeting. Junghyun said that you did well, though,” you say, pulling him into a hug, your arms finally wrapping around his waist while his envelopes around yours.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t really matter. You were here in pain while I was doing my presentation when I could’ve been with you,” he replies, trying to temper his voice. “I could’ve screwed up or completely missed it for all I care.”

“Nonsense, Kook,” you turn to him again. “You’ve been working so hard on that. I managed to get here on my own.”

You rest your head on his torso, not seeing his hardened and helpless face at how you casually dismiss what you’re experiencing and talk about his work like it’s all that matters when you’re the one in the hospital right now.

You still should’ve called, he wants so badly to say. I would’ve come here right away. But he decides against it. He was never good at bottling his feelings; he supposes he needs to learn that from you. He does it anyway, knowing that this isn’t the time nor place to get mad at you for it.

“Kook, can you be the one to talk to my mother?” You ask, giving him your phone. “She’s been calling and I’m too dizzy to rehash everything.”

“Okay, I will,” he responds, guiding you to lay on the bed and letting you take a nap first.

He calls your mother, then his, then your brother and sister, and then Nari and Yeji. There are so many people to update about your status but he pushes through it, despite the same words of you experiencing pain and needing to be monitored for the night becoming harder and harder for him to say.

“She seems fine, just looks tired as of now,” Jungkook informs each one. “We’ll know more tomorrow.”

They’ll drop by in the evening, they all say, and he’s thankful that there’ll at least be distractions, and he won’t have to be with you alone for long. He supposes that’s better, otherwise he’ll be tempted to push for answers on why you kept all this from him.

He calls Mr. Yu and Mrs. Na and instructs them to prepare your clothes for your stay and bring them over to the hospital. “Please buy a box of macarons on your way here,” he tells the chauffeur. “And her chamomile tea as well.”

Jungkook sits on the chair next to you and watches you take your nap. He sees you take deep breaths and he can sense your struggle, causing him to worry once more. You catch yourself and jerk awake.

“Was it hurting again?” He asks.

“A little,” you respond, raising yourself up off the bed.

“Just keep breathing. Here, drink some water.”

You follow as he says, and that’s when the nurse arrives and informs you that the VIP room is ready. You’re led there by wheelchair - an all too familiar scene - and Jungkook helps you lie down on the bed. The nurse takes blood samples and informs you of the scheduled test in 2 hours then leaves you right after.

“Tell me about your presentation,” you urge your husband. “What did they say?”

Work is the last thing that Jungkook wants to be talking about right now. He hates thinking about being in that room while you were here and all alone. You smile tenderly, as if you really want to know what took place, so he forces himself to think about it.

“That the project proposal was well-designed and well-thought out. I set out the plans and the entire process and got to show the expected outcomes and return of investment,” he explains. “They said it was sound and profitable, and that they were surprised I pulled it off on my own.”

“It’s silly that they still doubt you,” you frown. “Of course you’d pull it off. You’re innovative and incredibly hardworking, honey. They should know that by now.”

“Nah, I'm used to it,” he shrugs. “They’d take every chance they get to remind me that I’m not my brother.”

“And you aren’t, because you’re your own self with your strengths and own conviction. And don’t tell Junghyun, but you’re definitely funnier.”

Jungkook manages to chuckle a little, and your smile grows at the sound. “That last bit is definitely true,” he hums. “Thanks, babe. Though I didn’t mean to be so down.”

“Not at all. I just wanted to remind you of how good you are,” you comfort him, reaching out your hand that he takes. You sit up and pull him close. “You’re so good at so many things. Remember that.”

You cup his cheeks and kiss his lips, something you realize you haven’t done since he got here. It’s slow and gentle, which is exactly what you need after a scary experience; all you’ve been wanting is his touch and the comfort you get from being close to him.

Jungkook indulges you, kissing you back with just as much tenderness, and you smile against him, knowing that whatever happens, you have him next to you. And as long as he is, there’s nothing to be afraid of.

The knock on the door pulls you both apart, and you hear the familiar voices of both your parents and siblings who all hug you one by one.

A flurry of questions about how you’re feeling and what will happen next overwhelm you but you should’ve expected this; no one really thought you’d be back here after all these years.

Shortly after, your friends arrive and you have to say the same things, and you fumble for Jungkook’s hand next to you to keep you stable.

You dislike this part - the one where everyone is worried and no answer or assurance from you would be enough, and you hate that they have to go through that anxiety of not knowing as well. But you just smile through it and downplay the pain.

“It’s probably nothing; it’s more like a precaution thing, you know?” You reason. “I’m fine. Please, don’t worry too much.”

You mask the desperation with your smile, and you’re almost glad that Dr. Kwon enters and informs you that the nurses will start prepping you for your 2D echo.

“Mr. and Mrs. Kim,” he greets. “Not so great to see both of you.”

“Likewise,” your parents chuckle. “It’s never a good thing being back here, huh? But what happened? Why is she experiencing this so suddenly?”

“Well, your daughter did say that the chest pains have been recurring,” he responds.

“They have?” Your parents frown at you.

“They weren’t that bad,” you reason. “I mean, they weren’t painful to warrant a visit.”

“But this time it was,” Seokjin crosses his arms, looking disappointed. “And to the emergency room at that.”

“I didn’t faint or anything,” you reason. “Look, I’m fine now. It’s probably just stress. ”

“___, what did I say about stress? You’re not just like anyone who can experience it and then be fine. It’s not that simple,” Dr. Kwon warns.

“I know,” you whisper, feeling like that 13-year old child again who felt helpless when she was first told of the many things she couldn’t do despite having a normally functioning heart already. You’d like to think you’ve followed all the rules since then; it’s just lately when you’ve been more brave and wanting to do more.

“But is she going to be okay?” Soyeon asks this time.

“I suppose. The test results aren’t alarming and it seems it’s still bearable, but we’ll know more tomorrow,” he responds. “For now, she just needs to rest and take things easy.”

Everyone nods in agreement. The door opens with the nurses taking you away to be prepped. Jungkook kisses your forehead and tells you to just push through it and that it will be fine; you always said you disliked the pain from this specific test.

Back in the room, Jungkook feels light-headed. Perhaps he’s still reeling over seeing you on a hospital bed, being wheeled out and leaving him behind to wonder how much pain you’re in or how your heart looks like. Maybe it’s being in the room with your family and friends and all their questions that he doesn’t have answers to. He thinks it’s this new experience for him - this kind of fear that he’s never experienced before. It’s probably all of those, so he excuses himself to buy some snacks in the store just to get out of there.

Seokjin promptly follows his brother-in-law. “I want some snacks, too,” he responds after the younger man looks at him questioningly.

They walk in silence for a while before Seokjin asks. “Did you know about the other times?”

“No,” Jungkook almost whispers, his hands in his pockets as he mindlessly walks down the hallway. “She also only called earlier after 2 tests were done. I feel so fucking useless.”

“Hey, you aren’t, okay?” Seokjin sighs.

“If I wasn’t then I should’ve known about all the other times, and I could’ve convinced her to get checked earlier. Then she wouldn’t have needed to come here like this; then it wouldn’t have been this painful,” Jungkook responds, his voice more helpless now.

“Kook, you wouldn’t have known if she hadn’t told you. You’re not together 24/7. I love my sister but sometimes she tends to brush things off like that, thinking that the short-term burden of her sickness will just go away. But not this time. We just have to believe it’s not serious.”

Jungkook just nods, all the thoughts screaming at him and he just wants to lay next to you but also be away from you because how could you keep something like this from him.

There aren’t any more words exchanged, but Seokjin stays with his brother-in-law as they buy snacks and walk towards the wing where you are, probably currently squirming in pain as your chest is being pressed to get that image of your heart.

It’s some time later when they hear Dr. Kwon’s voice, calling for them.

“Jungkook,” he says. “It’s not surgery. You don’t have to be waiting here.” There’s a soft smile on his face, however, so that calms the younger man down a little.

“Just wanted to immediately know how she is,” he responds. “___ said she doesn’t like this test.”

“Ah, yeah she doesn’t,” Dr. Kwon chuckles. “She would pout her way out of even if she knows it won’t work. She did say she wished you were there with her though, holding her hand.”

“But what did you see?” Seokjin asks.

“A tired heart,” Dr. Kwon replies. “I honestly hope that’s all, but I’ll have to look through all the test results to be sure that there isn’t anything else.”

Your husband and brother sigh in relief.

“But keep an eye on her, okay?” The doctor tells Jungkook. “She mentioned feeling pain when she’s asleep so watch out for that. She just needs to breathe and be soothed. The tests tomorrow will tell me more but I can already tell you that she needs to rest.”

“I’ll make sure of that,” Jungkook responds, his eyes softening at the sight of you smiling when you see him.

“You were waiting for me?” You ask.

Jungkook only nods but your brother responds, “everyone was so noisy in the room so we walked around. And got some snacks.”

You smile at them as they walk with you while being wheeled away to your room. You enter and sense the aroma of beef bone soup, and Minhyuk grins proudly at your satisfied face.

“You always said that hospital food didn’t excite you,” he says.

You express your thanks and the nurse announces your need to rest after dinner, prompting everyone to decide on leaving already.

Seokjin, who’d earlier sensed your husband’s own stress, whispers to him. “Just hold it in for now, okay? She’ll be alright.”

As the last parson leaves, Jungkook sits next to you on the bed and you both eat the delicious meal. He surprises you with the dessert he had bought and prepares your tea as you like to take before sleeping.

“Thank you, Kook,” you exclaim, kissing his cheek. “I’ll just wash up so we can both rest.”

“Do you need help?”

“I’m fine, I can do it in my own,” you assure him, disappearing into the bathroom.

Left alone for awhile, Jungkook takes to heart what your brother had advised him - hold it in for now. Knowing that you tend to absorb your husband’s own emotions - as you’d said once that it’s natural for you, that it’s how you get to empathize with him - he does as he’s told. He holds it in - the disappointment, the sadness, the doubt… and tells himself that this is about you and what’s best for you right now.

You finish up and he helps you in bed, then he washes himself, exiting the bathroom in his shirt and pajama pants.

“Do you want me to sleep next to you?” He asks. “You always said it’s hard to sleep without me.”

He gives the idea, knowing that it’s the only way for him to know if you feel pain while in slumber. He doesn’t think he trusts you in telling him otherwise.

“Yes, can you?” You ask excitedly.

“I guess? It’s a big bed. I’m sure we’ll fit.”

So he scoots in next to you as you give him space, and you immediately wrap your arms around his torso as he wraps one around your shoulder. He supports himself against the headboard with his other arm behind his head.

He lets you listen to his heartbeat, confident that they’re perfectly normal, as if he isn’t buzzing deep inside.

“So how was your day going before all this happened?” He asks to eliminate the silence that’s suddenly feeling awkward for him.

“I was just at the studio,” you respond, snuggling next to him and enjoying the comfort of his warm body. “I got to finish a design study and then had class with the kids.”

“Did it start hurting then?”

“Hmm, right after, just when I was fixing up,” you say, slowly dozing off.

Having your class schedule memorized because it’s your favorite thing to talk about, Jungkook knows what time that was, and he knows you could’ve informed him then if you wanted. But you didn’t.

“So you just came here on your own?”

“Yeah,” you hum. “I hailed a cab. It’s a good thing that the hospital’s just near the studio.”

What if it wasn’t, he thinks. What if you were driving when it happened? What if there were no available cabs and it took long for you to get here? What if you were somewhere else where no one knew you? What if something worse had happened, and then he wouldn’t have known it at all because you waited so long to call him?

“Why didn’t you call me?” He manages to ask.

Somehow he has an idea of what you’ll say. You’ve only been married awhile but he knows enough about your courteousness, how you don’t like to burden other people, how you always put others before yourself. You’d developed that attitude because you don’t like being fussed over; you dislike having others worry about you. He noticed it earlier when you took his hand and held onto it tightly as your loved ones asked how you were feeling. And so he knows what’s coming next. He just didn’t think it would hurt and anger him this much.

“You were busy with work, Kook,” you mumble, and he knows you’re about to fall asleep. “Felt like I could manage and I did.”

What if you didn’t, he thinks again. What if it was someone else who’d called him? What would he do then?

“Sorry,” you add. “Just didn’t want to worry you.”

He hears you take a long breath and the succeeding low snores let him know you’ve fallen asleep. It’s been a long day for you, after all.

It’s been a long one for him, too. But unlike you, he’s filled with too many emotions to fall asleep. And contrary to what you wanted, he’s worrying even more. He’s worried about your condition. And he’s worried about himself.

Hold it in for now, Seokjin had told him.

Jungkook will try. But he doesn’t know for how long he can, and he doesn’t know how he’ll deal with you - how you’ll deal with it - once he’s unable to keep it in anymore.

Jungkook didn’t get a wink of sleep. Other than being unable to because he wanted to make sure that he’d be awake should you feel any sort of pain, he also couldn’t help but think about what you’d said.

In your few years of being married, you’d had small and brief arguments, mostly stemming from how incredibly different you both deal with emotions and conflict.

You tend to be unnecessarily courteous at times and too patient. You also prefer to let tension fade rather than addressing it, so more than half the time, any negative emotions you have are kept in and rarely ever mentioned. You don’t hold grudges, though, and you easily forgive, unlike Jungkook who’s always very transparent about what he feels. He talks about things, and he always talks about them with you, whether it’s about you or something else.

Despite all this, your little misunderstandings never escalated. They never really lasted, because more than half the time, he’s the one crawling next to you, hugging you tightly and saying that he doesn’t care whose fault it is, just that he wants to be okay again. He admits that a lot of times, it’s on him. He gets too emotional, too proud, too shortsighted, and unable to let things go. But right now, he doesn’t care if he’s all of that. He’ll feel what he’s feeling; he just won’t be able to express it fully.

The knock on the door puts him out of his thoughts. The nurse enters and Jungkook has to wake you for your MRI and stress test today.

“You’ll be okay to wait here?” You ask, as you watch him from the bathroom door.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Just think about what you’ll do this morning. Don’t worry about me,” he says dryly.

“Okay, I’ll see you after.”

You’re wheeled out and Jungkook allows himself to fall asleep. He’s still exhausted from preparing for his presentation yesterday, and he’s dealing with too many thoughts in his head about you, about both of you, and an hour or so of slumber is what he needs.

He’s awoken by a phone call over an hour later, and he’s reminded that he failed to inform his team that he won’t be going to the office today. Perks of being the CEO’s son, he tells himself, but he also can’t bring himself to think about work and the project that he has to fine tune for immediate implementation.

All he can think about is you. And despite feeling anger and hurt, he also just wants you to feel okay. He hopes that deal that your parents made with the universe when you were born - the one where they asked to keep you alive and they’ll give you a life you’ll be happy with in return - holds up for the longest it possibly can. Regardless of what he feels about you, he also knows that seeing you smile can make him forget about his own pain.

And that’s what happens, albeit temporarily, when you return to the room and see a breakfast spread prepared for you, one that Jungkook had asked Mr. Yu to buy.

You smell the carnations that’s come with your meal and your face lights up.

“Where did you get this, Kook?”

“There’s a flower shop in the other building,” he responds. “Thought that can make you feel better.”

“Of course,” you say, walking towards him where he’s seated on the day bed. “But you’re also here and that's really all I need.”

Then why didn’t you ask me to come earlier, the question rings in his head. But he lets it stay there. For all the times that he’d willingly and easily put you first, he didn’t think that holding all his emotions in for your sake would be the hardest.

He hugs you back then lets you rest your head on his shoulders as you talk about the tests and that you have 2 hours before Dr. Kwon can meet you for the results and diagnosis.

You and Jungkook use the time to eat, take a shower, and pack your things. It’s not long after when you’re in your cardiologist’s clinic where he explains your condition.

“As I suspected, your heart is overworking,” he says. “Fortunately, the tests show no holes, no enlargement, or any other complications.”

You breathe a sigh of relief and take Jungkook’s hand. You didn’t want to be thinking of the worst and this is definitely not it. It had hurt so much yesterday that you were almost sure there was something severely wrong again, but this is actually welcome news. At least it’s something you know; it’s something that you can deal with, and it’s something you can easily address.

“What’s causing it?” Jungkook asks.

“Stress, perhaps. And lack of sleep,” the doctor answers, turning to you. “I know you’re eating well and exercising, but there’s still so much you’re doing. All that mental and physical and emotional exhaustion pushes your heart to overwork, to pump blood more than it’s capable of doing.”

“What does this mean, then?” Your husband asks once more. “I mean, what should she do? Will it get worse? How can we prevent this from happening again?”

“She should rest. And I mean, rest.” Dr. Kwon glares at you to emphasize his point. “Take a few days off from work, do some very light exercise, and have a change in medication. It will only get worse if she doesn’t let her heart breathe, if she doesn’t let it take its time to do its job properly. I know it sounds simple but that’s really it; there’s no shortcut to it. It’s just something to be done consistently.”

“Okay,” you hum. “I can take the week off. I can just turn over my design studies at the firm and then get back to it after. And the kids will understand if I don’t see them this weekend. My exhibition also isn’t in 3 months so I have time to get back to my pieces.”

“___, I don’t mean to rest for just this week,” he responds. “You’re gonna have to rethink all the work that you’re doing because it’s too much for you, and this isn’t me telling you what you can or can’t do. Your heart is functioning normally, but it’s still relatively weak, weaker than a normal one’s. Sure, there are things you can do now that you couldn’t before but being perpetually stressed isn’t one of them, okay? And I feel that as long as you’re doing all those things at the same time, you’ll always be at risk.”

“So you’re telling me that I have to let one of those go?” You look up at him, feeling heartbroken that you’re gonna have to give up one of the things that’s been giving you so much joy.

“It’s more practical than cutting off your time in all those. It’s still work, ___. As long as you’re doing all of them, you’re gonna keep spending time on them, and you won’t even notice it.”

You sigh, knowing he’s right. You do so much on a normal day; work doesn’t end even on the weekends. It just doesn’t feel that way because you get to do it at home and you manage your own schedule and you genuinely enjoy it, but you have been feeling the exhaustion all over your body. You know there’s more to lose if you don’t follow his orders.

“Okay then. The next exhibition will be my last for a while,” you announce, deciding right then.

“Are you sure, babe?” Jungkook asks, surprised. He thought for sure that that would be the last thing you’ll let go. “Don’t you have invitations in Paris and Mexico?”

“I can pass,” you smile faintly. “I’ve still got commissions that I’ll spread out. I’m sure the patrons will understand. There’s this big project at the firm that I’m so excited to do and I can’t abandon my team. And the kids…” you sigh, “I love them too much. They take my stress away so I can’t let go of the art classes that I teach.”

“But you’ve been waiting for the shows, too,” Jungkook reminds you. “Those are huge and not easy to get invited to.”

“I know but there’s gonna be another time,” you say. “And if there isn’t, then that’s fine. I can always paint, Kook, even when I’m gray and old. But all the other things? I can still manage them. I wanna help my team, I wanna teach the kids… those things matter more.”

Other people always matter more, Jungkook tells himself. Your art is what you’ve loved your whole life, he knows that much.

“It’s really up to you, but it’s good that you’ve thought about it already,” Dr. Kwon says. “You just really need to stabilize your heart for now. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“I will,” you smile at him. “And uh, I just want to ask. This won’t affect any future pregnancies, right?”

You nibble your lips, and Jungkook can see the nervousness in your eyes.

“Not unless it’s immediate. Are you both—”

“No,” you interject. “I mean, if it happens then it does but we aren’t really… uh,” you turn to your husband, knowing that despite the last conversation you had about this months ago, you’re still unsure of how comfortable or open he is talking about this. “We haven’t planned everything out yet. But I just wanted to make sure that this whole… overworking heart thing isn’t going to risk me and our future baby. I don’t… I don’t know how I’ll handle a complication.”

“Your condition will always be a factor but you’re not in any more risk than you were before this incident,” Dr. Kwon assures you. “You don’t have to give up everything. But just always consult and make sure you rest. That's really all I can tell you.”

“I’d give it all up when I’m pregnant if I need to,” you giggle, missing the way Jungkook’s gaze saddens at your words.

Clearly that desire hasn’t waned, and the worry on your face at the thought of what this scare could mean to your future family - one that he’s still not able to give you - says a lot. But that scares him, too. Would you be open about your struggles once you’re pregnant unlike what you’re being now? Would you be honest and open? Would you let him carry your burden with you?

“Well, I guess that’s it, then,” Dr. Kwon announces, handing you the prescription of your new medication. “I’ll see you again in 2 months for your regular check-up.”

You bid your goodbye and head out, taking Jungkook’s hand as you walk to pay the bills. He doesn’t say much, merely humming to your musings the whole time - when you head to the car, on the way home, and when he decides to take an afternoon nap.

That night, after you both had food delivered for dinner and have washed up, you wait for him in bed as he sends emails to his staff. You kiss him goodnight and turn your back towards him, ready for his tight hug and his nuzzle on your neck. But he doesn’t.

He merely gently lays his hand on your hip and doesn’t pull you close. He doesn’t kiss your shoulders nor tell you he loves you or that he’ll see you in his dreams like he always does.

There’s silence where there shouldn’t be, and you slowly fall asleep to drown out the worried thoughts in your head. Maybe he’s just tired, you reason to yourself. Maybe he’s still processing what just happened. Either way, it’s just tonight, and you know your husband - he’d never been able to resist you. And you let that comfort you. Tomorrow, things will be back to normal. Tomorrow, you’ll wake up and fall asleep in his arms again.

The mid-morning sun peeking through the blinds provides you with much needed warmth that you’d missed last night. There was no arm wrapped around you, no hot breath on your neck or soft lips on your skin. It felt cold, even with the blanket covering your body, and you have half a mind to go to Jungkook’s office for that morning kiss that you didn’t get and which usually wakes you a little everyday.

But to your surprise, you hear his voice, deep and low as he gives instructions to whoever it is he’s speaking to. You get off the bed and find him in his office nook, in an online meeting with his team. As it looks, he probably decided on working from home to look after you.

You know that he has to iron out details of the new project and delegate tasks to his team. Those from the Busan and Daegu offices have to be briefed, too, and you can just imagine how much is on his plate yet he’s home because of you. Sighing, you turn around to head to the bathroom when his voice stops you.

“___? Everything okay?”

You look at him and see that he’s turned off his video, his questioning eyes greeting you.

“Yeah, just feeling a bit bad that you have to be home when you should be out there with your team,” you share. There’s a small, selfish part of you that’s glad that you get to spend time with him, though it’s not something that you say.

Jungkook shrugs. “We can manage. Are you feeling better? No pain or anything?”

“Better, yes. And no, no pain,” you reply. “Have you eaten?”

“Yeah,” he responds. “I asked Mrs. Na to stay over for the next few days since I’ll be working from home and I won’t be able to cook for you. She’s downstairs so just tell her what you want.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll go there, then,” you say dryly. You wish he could join you but then again, he’s working from home; he’s not on a break or anything.

“Just call me if you start to feel anything different.”

You nod and quickly wash up before heading to the kitchen for breakfast, chatting with Mrs. Na. It’s been a while since you’ve caught up with her, the woman who looked after you growing up.

That whole morning, Jungkook heads downstairs twice only, both times to grab coffee and ask you if you’re feeling okay. You are, and much as you want to tell him not to worry, you want him to seek you out. It seems as if that’s the only time he’s interested in speaking to you, anyway. He’s worked from home a few times and just like when he pulls all-nighters, he’d always insisted on having you close by.

Not today, though. Ironically, it seems as if he’s home to keep you at a distance. That night, he sleeps late, and so do you. You wait for him to come to bed, ready for even his slightest touch to assure you that he’s here. He does come to bed at 2AM, but the touch doesn’t come. You take a peak over your shoulder and there he is, on his side of the bed, with his back turned against you.

Jungkook insists on seeing your families that weekend - Saturday with yours and Sunday with his. Being out of the house to feel the fresh air seems quite the experience. You’ve only been cooped up in your house for a few days but you already feel like suffocating, even more with your husband’s passiveness towards you.

Just as he continued to work at home, so did his minimal conversations with you and absence of affection. He’s kissed your hand a few times and it was only because you were cupping his cheek, but he doesn’t do more, doesn’t say more. You’ve come to expect nothing from him, if you’re being honest.

You watch from the kitchen of Junghyun’s home as Jungkook speaks to Yeri, massaging his temples, and your sister-in-law, a doctor, seems to be instructing him on what to do and what to take, scribbling something on a pad and giving it to him.

You reckon that his headache hasn’t gone away, but you wouldn’t know how painful it is because there’s nothing about him now that he’s sharing. He used to pout at you to tend to a small paper cut but somehow, he just can’t bring himself to tell you how he’s feeling and where it hurts.

“You holding up okay?” Junghyun interrupts your thoughts.

“For the most part, yeah,” you respond, glancing at your husband again who’s now laid his head on the couch, his eyes closed shut.

“And the other part?” Junghyun cocks an eyebrow.

“Just worried about how stressed Jungkook is,” you sigh. “I wish he’ll give himself time to rest. He barely sleeps. I… I don’t feel him close, especially at night.”

“Well, the project is at its planning stages and he’s managing all the teams from home,” the older man explains. “And then there’s you.”

“Me, the burden,” you sigh, hating the thought.

The older man is familiar with your musings. It’s why you didn’t want people knowing about your condition; it’s why you didn’t want Jungkook to know. You always despised being someone’s baggage, and right now, Junghyun thinks it’s what you feel.

“You really scared him, you know?” He nudges your shoulder to get your attention back that’s focused on your husband. “He’s experienced a car accident, getting lost in a cave, skydiving… yet he’s never been more scared than finding out that you were in the hospital. He looked even more helpless that he wasn’t there with you. And as his brother, I was afraid of how he was gonna take it. You know how he is.”

“Exactly. He worries a lot. Too much sometimes,” you agree.

“As he should, especially since you don’t. Or at least, since you don’t show it.”

With your silence, he knows he’s right.

“You were scared, too, weren’t you?” He asks this time.

You nod, fighting back the tears. “I’d forgotten how it used to hurt. I kept thinking that it was gonna subside, you know? That it was gonna go away right away but it didn’t. And I just didn’t want him to worry too much. I didn’t want him to be scared because I was. I didn’t want him to carry that with him if there was a chance that it really was nothing. I don’t like seeing him helpless, Junghyun. I don’t like seeing him feel like he’s not enough to make it not hurt.”

“I don’t think that’s something you can control, ___. You’re his weakness. There’s nothing that scares or hurts him more than your fears and your pain. That’s kind of what love is, you know?” Junghyun continues. “That’s part of being married. And when you have children, you’ll learn that it’s part of being parents, too. You can’t be the only one carrying it all. That’s what having a partner is all about. It isn’t just you. And it isn’t just about you.”

Jungkook wakes up from the nap he didn’t realize he’s taken and finds you, wrapped in his brother’s arms who seems to be whispering something in your ear as well. He can sense it’s another one of those comforting things that Junghyun’s always given you, and while Jungkook has long accepted that special friendship you share with the man you look up to, it doesn’t take away the small bit of envy over the fact that you trust Junghyun, that you let yourself be honest with him.

It’s an accepted fact by everyone, including Seokjin who knows that his overprotective tendencies compared to Junghyun’s calm nature have led you to open up to the latter one more.

But for Jungkook to see you get comfort from someone else who isn’t him and be hurt by it makes him feel hypocritical, especially since he’s been distancing himself from you, too. He only checks up on you just so he won’t lose his mind, but he doesn’t know anything else.

Are you scared or worried? How bored are you at home? What do you wish to do? Is there a place you want to go to? Do you miss his touch as much as he misses yours? Does it hurt you to be close to him as much as it hurts him? Do you feel angry and disappointed like he is?

Jungkook wouldn’t know. He also doesn’t know how he can love someone so much yet feel so powerless, so useless, so hurt by them. Your love always made him better, but he didn’t think it would ever let him down like this.

It’s not pure jealousy he feels when you finally pull away and smile at Junghyun. It’s a mix of emotions, really. Jungkook wants to comfort you but he feels upset. He misses you but he doesn’t want to say anything that would hurt you. He wants to be the one you run to but he can’t bring himself to be close to you. He wants you to feel his love but he doesn’t know how to show it.

You meet his eyes as you turn towards the living room, but Jungkook looks away. He busies himself on his phone and keeps to himself during dinner. He holds your hand during the car ride home when you reach for him and then lets you lay his arm on your waist when you both sleep that night, with your back against his chest while he feels you still so far away.

He doesn’t get to sleep much just like every night. He worries you’d feel pain again. Somehow he wants to be alert enough to know you’re still breathing; he needs the sound of your soft snores to assure him that you’re alive, that you’re still next to him despite his unwillingness to be close.

Is this what love is like behind closed doors? He’d been surrounded by his family and yours and only seen the happy parts of it. When it came to Jungkook’s past relationships, he broke it off after the first fight because he didn’t think it was love if it hurt or made him angry like that.

But now there’s you, and even if he feels every possible negative emotion out there, all he thinks about is just how much he loves you. All he knows is that he can’t live without you. But right now, he also can’t deny that he’s upset.

Maybe love is like this, he thinks. Once the honeymoon phase has lapsed, your differences surface, and you have to learn how to navigate it all without losing yourself and the other person, without drowning in the depths of both of your shortcomings, and then coming out the other side still intact and willing to learn and grow.

Monday comes and you wake up to the sound of keyboard typing once again. Jungkook hasn’t been going to the office despite needing to physically meet the teams who’ll be working on the project, and you hate that he feels like he has to babysit you even if you’re perfectly capable of looking after yourself. Mrs. Na is home; you don’t want Jungkook to have to give up even more than he needs to.

You don’t bring it up though, not wanting to interrupt him during his incredibly busy day, as he goes from one meeting to another. It’s the next day when you wake up to the same scene that you finally suggest going back to work.

“Hun, you can go to the office, you know?” You say sleepily as you stand by the door. “I’m sure it’ll be easier to manage everything from there. I’m fine here, I promise.”

He turns towards you as he types on his phone. “And if you aren’t, would you call me?” He looks at you pointedly. “Will you let me know this time?”

They don’t seem like rhetorical questions, but they’re not something you want to answer, given the hint of bitterness in them. Jungkook says it blankly, almost devoid of emotions that it shakes you because of how unfamiliar he sounds.

You don’t answer, and he faces his laptop to continue with his work. “I’m fine here,” he repeats your words. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

You let the next 2 days pass while slowly retreating into yourself. You’re bored out of your mind but you can’t do anything remotely productive or entertaining. Much as you can sneak in time to paint, there’s no thought or inspiration that’s pushing you to create something. The TV shows suddenly seem boring without Jungkook to talk about them with, and even your books can’t keep your attention long enough past one chapter.

It doesn’t help that you can hear your husband’s frustrated groans as he gets off a phone call or as he types away. His raised voice echoes from his small office down to the living room. You want to let him rest, relieve him in some way, or comfort him like you used to do, but you don’t think any of those would be welcome. He’s told you enough with the absence of his touch that he doesn’t want any of that.

If you’re being honest with yourself, you don’t think he wants you right now either.

Jungkook surprisingly goes to bed early that evening, and he’s tucked under the covers by the time you lay next to him after a warm bath.

“You feeling alright?” He asks with his eyes still closed, as he feels the dip on the mattress.

“Yeah,” you muster enough energy to respond.

“Okay,” he hums, turning to his side away from you again and by now, you’d be surprised if he didn’t.

You turn on your side, too, content on just imagining his soft smile and the sparkle in his eyes when he speaks to you. Those have gone away somehow, and there’s a twitch in your heart that’s not caused by overworking; it’s caused by the feeling of distance you didn’t think you’d ever feel with the man you’d promised to love your whole life.

It’s afternoon the next day when you find yourself more frustrated than anything. You wanted to go to the park and get some fresh air but Jungkook insisted on going with you, commenting once more that you may not call him if something comes up. It usually takes a lot to make you irate but his snide remarks and aversion towards you have slowly been eating you up inside.

You decided against going out, not wanting to take him away from work, especially as you’d heard him raising his voice at someone on the phone, his groans echoing throughout the loft once more.

You always loved being around Jungkook. Whether he was busy at work, frustrated over something, or being needy or clingy, he makes you feel wanted. It’s the random kiss on your cheek or his loving glance or the way he’d affectionately call you ‘baby’ or when he’s finally next to you and he doesn’t want to let you go. But right now he’s being confusing - he wants to be where you are but he somehow finds it difficult to be around you, to talk to you, to look at you, to be close to you.

“You should go for a run or head to the gym or something,” you tell him from the living room when he heads down to the kitchen for a glass of water.

“Why should I?”

“So you can release your frustrations elsewhere,” you turn to him, looking him straight in the eyes but he looks away. “Your desk will break if you hit it one more time. And you’ve been snapping at your staff and that’s not how you should be treating them. Just go, take a break. Work can wait. You just need to clear your mind.”

“And if I go, would you call if something happens?”

It’s that line again, but by now it’s gotten old.

“Nothing will, and if something does, I won’t be alone,” you respond. “Yeji and Nari are coming. I asked them over, so you can go spend time on your own. I know you want to, since you can’t seem to stand me. You won’t talk to me, you won’t look at me… might as well just spend a few hours away from me.”

Maybe then you’d start missing me, you don’t say.

“Fine, I’ll go when they get here.”

He doesn’t refute, he just accepts. In your mind, that’s him agreeing. A part of you hoped he’d say you’re wrong, that you’re just imagining things, or maybe explain why he’s been acting the way he has. It isn’t like him to bite his tongue and not express himself through words. He’d never had a problem doing that, you remind yourself.

It isn’t like you to let your emotions get the better of you, too, as you let a tear fall when he heads back to your room with no other words said.

He hears your friends arrive, as not long after they do, he hurries down the stairs and walks out the door, his jacket hood over his head and his gym bag slung over his shoulder.

“Okay, talk to us,” Nari says, as she watches the exchange between you and your husband, a rare sight indeed, as all she’s known of both of you since falling in love was that unabashed joy and affection that’s infectious and heartwarming.

Folding your knees and hugging them tightly, you pout then let the tears fall. “He hasn’t held me since we got back from the hospital,” you say. “He barely talks to me, he doesn’t look at me. He’s cold and irritable and distant, l…”

You take a deep breath and lean onto Yeri’s shoulder when she pulls you for a hug. “He’s been working at home but his presence is so intimidating and tense.”

“Maybe it’s just work,” your best friend reasons as she hugs you tighter. “Isn’t there a big project that he got approved? It might just be the pressure, you know? And what happened to you is worrisome. Maybe it’s all just piling up.”

“But he’s never been like this,” you insist, sniffing and trying to find your voice. “He doesn’t just ignore me or act like I’m not around. Even with our small arguments before, he’d never spoken to me coldly or bitterly. He’s never…” you trail, feeling the ache in your heart at the newness of this, of this feeling of being unwanted or needed. “Oh god, I feel so silly. I totally sound like a spoiled, bratty, needy wife.”

“Hey,” Nari nudges you and takes you from Yeri, wiping away your tears and urging you to stop excusing your feelings. “You aren’t being silly. If he’s making you feel that way, then he should be a grown up and tell you directly why, not ignore you and make you feel bad about it. You just went through something terrifying, ___. He should be comforting and taking care of you.”

“Do you know why he’s acting that way?” Yeri asks now. “Because I feel like I do. I mean, knowing you and him, it’s not that hard to figure out.”

It’s your tear-stained face and pouty lips that give it away that you have an idea, too, and both women know that as your best friends, they need to be on your side while also knocking some sense into you.

“Why didn’t you tell him what you’ve been experiencing?” Yeri continues. “Why did you keep it all from him?”

“I thought I could just brush them off without having to make him worry,” you finally answer after a long beat of silence. “If it was nothing, then I didn’t want to burden him with unnecessary things.”

“___, we’ve talked about this,” Nari groans, frustrated because this has always been her issue when it comes to you, how you just brush things off for fear of worrying your loved ones about your condition, without realizing that you’re making the other person feel distrusted, unworthy, powerless. It’s this unnecessary courtesy that she always felt you developed as a coping mechanism because of how overprotected you were growing up, being doted on and treated like a fragile doll who couldn’t break a sweat or be inconvenienced in any way.

“It’s hard to unlearn,” you mumble, knowing what she means. The only way you felt like your illness would stop defining you was if people didn’t know it still affected you.

“So what, you’ll just let it affect your health again like this? And now your marriage, too?” She counters. “I know you don’t want it to, so unlearn it faster. And talk to him. It’s the only way.”

You nod, knowing that some days, you just need your best friends to spell out the things you already know, because somehow it makes sense when they’re the ones telling you.

You sit in between them, anxious about how you’ll face Jungkook when he returns. You were never good at this, and during the few times you and your husband had fought, he’d been the one to initiate talking and working things out, insistent to hold onto your promise to each other of not sleeping until you’ve resolved your issues, no matter how late it already is. But now, he seems to be the one who’s letting it drag on, not wanting to address it or even acknowledge it.

Nari and Yeri help you prepare dinner, as you’d let Mrs. Na go home to attend to family matters. The stew smells amazing, but to be honest, you don’t really have the appetite for it.

They leave after cleaning up, and you’re left with your own thoughts in the quiet of the loft that’s gotten colder, lonelier the past week.

Your heart leaps out of your chest at the sound of the door opening, and you watch in pain as Jungkook merely walks past you and heads towards the stairs.

“Kook, talk to me,” you beg, voice low yet desperate. “Please. I can’t do this anymore.”

This stops him in his tracks and he turns around, his jaw clenched and his eyes unreadable.

“I can’t,” he says, turning away.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to say things I’ll regret. Because I’m angry and upset and I can’t express any of that when you can have another relapse or something.”

“I don’t care,” you exclaim. “Say whatever you want to, and say it now. Because that’s way better than you blatantly ignoring me. Your hurtful words would be better than none at all.”

“Yeah, because I’m the one who’s hurting you, right?” He says, his voice getting louder now. “I’m the one who doesn’t trust you, who’s not honest with you, who keeps secrets and shit… I’m the one who’s at fault for worrying about you being in pain and then being upset that you kept it all from me. Right? You’re the only one who’s hurting? And not me?”

“That’s not what I meant,” you huff, feeling the tears pool in your eyes again.

Jungkook decides against saying something, exhaling deeply instead and massaging his temples as he paces around the living room.

“I was in that fucking room presenting some fucking project while you were in the ER, all on your own, taking tests and just waiting to be told if your illness is back,” he says, seemingly restraining himself.

“If I could spare you the worry, I would,” you argue. “I just wanted to make sure that it wasn’t anything serious before—”

“Before calling?” He scoffs. “You’re my wife and I won’t forgive myself if anything bad happens to you! So what, you were just gonna wait there for bad news and not let me be there for you? What if it was worse and you didn’t manage to get in a cab? What if the hospital was far away and you fainted? What if something was wrong with your heart again? And then I wouldn’t have been there because you didn’t fucking call! Because I didn’t know you were experiencing all that in the first place! Because of all the things that you chose to keep from me, it was this. As if hiding it from me our entire lives wasn’t enough.”

There it is, all the what-ifs in Jungkook’s mind that he’s always been so scared of. He’s never brought himself to envision you in any sort of pain but then you were, and the intense fear of what could’ve happened swam in his mind, and there’s nothing worse than feeling powerless to protect the love of his life from all that.

“If this is about you feeling guilty that you’re not able to do anything–”

“Fuck it is! That and more!” He yells, the frustration overtaking him. “Don’t you get it? I can’t stand you in pain, and I can’t stand it when you feel like you have to bear it on your own, like you have to spare me or something. Yeah, I’m fucking terrified, but I’m still your husband. And you tell me these things,” he heaves. “I’m sorry I worry, or that I overreact or become dramatic and overly cautious, what do you expect? But you can’t hide this from me. I can’t not be your first call. That’s not fucking fair.”

“Kook, honey, I’m sorry,” you cry, trying to reach out for him but he pulls his arm away.

“Are you? You knew what you were doing, ___. You chose not to tell me the first time, and the next, and the one after that. And I had to fucking learn it from my brother again and I just…” Jungkook stops, and you look at him to see that he’s crying, the pain in his eyes so piercing that it’s probably gonna haunt you for days.

“I know you’ve always turned to him and he’s someone you can be honest with but… why can’t you trust me that way?”

“You know that’s not it,” you try to explain. You know that as much as you can reason that you only called Junghyun because Jungkook wasn’t picking up your calls, your husband would argue that you could’ve called way earlier, and he’d be right.

“Then what is it, ___?” He asks, and you realize that the most painful thing he can say is calling you by your name.

“You… you’re always the first for me,” he continues. “Whatever I’m feeling, whatever I did that day, you’re the first person I think about, the one I need to tell everything to; you’re always my first call. It’s always you because we promised each other. Through the good and the bad, it’s me and you. And keeping that promise was never hard because I want it to be you. Because I trust you. And to realize that it’s not the same with you just fucking sucks, okay?” He huffs, sounding defeated.

“What else are you not telling me? That you’re taking more art classes because being with those kids compensates for us not yet having our own because I’m fucking terrified of what that would mean for your health? I mean, how the hell can we have our own kids if you can’t even communicate with me? If you can’t even tell me what you’re feeling? If you don’t even trust that I’ll do everything to ease your pain and be there for you? How could you think that anything else is more important than you are?”

The sob that escapes you is immediate. The scene feels familiar, as the last time you’d cried this hard in front of Jungkook was years ago, in this exact spot, but this time, you know this is on you.

His words should be comforting - he loves you, and he loves hard, he loves openly, bravely, unapologetically. But all you can see is the hurt in his eyes. And all those times that you promised yourself that you wouldn’t let your illness define you feels stupid and hypocritical now, because here you are, hurting the man you love because you wanted to carry the burden on your own. But as you’re learning, being someone’s partner means sharing all that with them, and trusting that you’ll pull through together.

Jungkook watches you cry and this feels familiar, too. He never really fully got to remove this very scene from years ago out of his mind no matter how hard he tried. Nothing hurts him more than seeing you like this, but much as he wants to hold you in his arms, he’s afraid to find out that it wouldn’t be enough.

“I’m not really hungry,” he finally says, changing the subject because he honestly can’t bear talking some more. “I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight.”

He turns around and heads towards the hallway and closes the door, leaving you rooted on the ground to watch him walk away.

There’s a different kind of pain that’s filling your entire body. The one caused by your illness is purely physical, as if you could feel it only the very structure of your organ - it’s straightforward and familiar, something that medication and a few breaths could relieve.

But the one you’re feeling now is different - you feel it all over. There’s a ringing in your head of all the things that Jungkook had said. Your mind is going through all the times he’d called you first, or put you first, or followed through his promise of sharing his world and his heart and his soul with you. There’s that feeling of something missing - his fingers in between the spaces of yours, his arms around your waist, his soft lips against your own. There’s that absence of the affectionate tone of his voice and his boyish laughter, and it’s like without those, you can’t hear anything at all.

The past week has felt like a month of being without him, or at least, being without his comfort and security. It’s like being stripped off of your basic necessities - everything is hard without him, everything is worthless and unhappy and incomplete without him.

Is this what it feels like when you carry everything on your own? When you restrain yourself from sharing your fears and your burdens and your pain with someone else? Because sharing the joy - the good things - doubles it; and now you know that sharing the bad things increases it, too.

You sigh and wipe your tears, thinking of how much more you need to learn about love and marriage and being someone’s lifelong partner. Your grandmother once said you’re so full of love, and you wonder how you could’ve possibly failed at giving it to the person you love the most.

Knees bent against your chest, you hug yourself for that warmth you need, but you aren’t enough for it, as you should know by now. On the other side of the door in the hallway is the person you need, the person you want, the person you love, and there’s no way that you’re going to let him sleep all alone tonight.

Mustering up the courage, you get on your feet and stand outside the room. You want to keep a promise this time, about not sleeping until you’ve both resolved the issue, or at least made up somehow. You don’t want him to go through even just one night thinking that you don’t care enough to face him, to be uncomfortable, to be accountable, because you are. And you want him to know that.

The door creaks open and you find Jungkook in bed, lying on his back with one arm over his eyes. It’s already been half an hour and you’d be surprised if he’s still crying. But you don’t miss his clenched jaw and fist, the frustration clearly still evident.

You walk towards the other side of the bed and slowly position yourself - close enough for the distance not to feel too much, but far enough for him to still pull away.

You reach out for his hand and he flinches a little, but when you uncurl his fingers so you can caress them, he lets you. The sight of your name tattooed on his finger makes you cry again.

He doesn’t like playing soccer or hitting the gym with his ring on, but he doesn’t want - “even for a second,” he’d said - for there to be no trace of your marriage on him. “Seeing it makes me smile,” he’d told you. “I got to marry the prettiest woman on earth and I know when what I do is over, she’ll be there waiting for me.”

Jungkook has always put you first, in every sense possible. Junghyun told you once that his brother has always sought a high from being reckless, from doing what he wanted, when he wanted, but he’s never wanted to do anything right as much as when it comes to loving you.

“I don’t have an excuse for how I handled things, and I handled them pretty terribly,” you start, your voice shaking. “I never got to outgrow that selfishness, that need to always prove to everyone that I can handle things on my own. And it’s because of that that I hurt you, Kook. It’s because of that that you’re feeling like I don’t trust you, that you’re not my first call. And I’m so, so sorry.”

His lips quiver, and he nibbles them to keep himself from sobbing again.

“I’ve needed help and assistance for more than half of my life and that feeling of weakness frustrates me; it makes me uncomfortable because I don’t like burdening others. And you’re right, I’ve been unfair to you; I’ve been unfair to us. It’s this fear of disappointing you, of seeing you scared that makes me think that you don’t need to know trivial things like that and I was wrong. I’m so wrong, Kook,” you continue.

“Because all I’ve wanted this past week was to be with you and tell you I’m scared, that I miss you, that I wish you could comfort me, that I’m so bored and that I want to go out but I want to go out with you. I wanna tell you that my students sent a video, hoping that I’m feeling better and that they’ll be waiting for me. I wanna tell you that I learned how to make egg noodles, and that I’m craving pork soup. I wanna tell you that the medication and rest are working because the chest pains are gone but the palpitations are few and far in between now.”

Wiping your tears, you see that Jungkook is pressing his arm harder on his eyes, and the way he heaves tells you that he’s crying just as much as you are.

“You’ve always tried to understand me and give me my space,” you say. “You’re patient when I don’t open up right away. You make sure to make things easy for me, that I always feel protected and loved and I don’t ever want to take that for granted, Kook. I want to be better; I’ll do better. I’ll love you much better. I just—”

Dark, glassy eyes that are looking at you cut you off, and you see the sadness in them, the care and affection and apology and forgiveness. And somehow, this makes you cry even more.

Jungkook gently nudges your hand that’s still holding his, and it’s your cue to throw yourself next to his side, your arms immediately wrapping around his torso. He’s warm and safe like you remember, even more when he tightens his hold after you cry harder, with your head laid on his chest.

You can hear his breathing and his occasional sniffles. You try to inhale his scent with your stuffy nose, but even if you barely can, you know he smells like comfort, and like always, he smells like home.

“I don’t like it when you cry,” he says softly after a while. “Doesn’t crying make you palpitate or something?”

“A little,” you respond, peeking up at him. His eyes are drier now, but they’re focused on the ceiling. “It was faster earlier but it’s slowed down now.”

“I’m sorry,” he turns to you. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to say those things the way I did.”

“Don’t be,” you respond, wiping your tears. “I had to hear them, and I don’t blame you for how they came out, either.”

“I… I don’t think I’m angry anymore but I’m still upset,” he says softly, apologetically. “I wish I wasn’t but I just…” he trails.

“It’s okay,” you look at him and smile. “I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry. Take your time. I’ll just be in our room.”

“Okay,” he mumbles.

He kisses your forehead, and the feel of it is all you really need to assure you.

It’s not ideal. You wish you could sleep next to him, maybe talk about how the past week has been or apologize some more. You don’t want to focus on the fact that this would be the first time that you’d sleep separately. It happens, you tell yourself. You’d rather that he’s honest with you like this, something you couldn’t be to him and you owe him his own space and time.

You kiss his cheek and get off the bed. “I’ll leave the stew in the oven in case you get hungry. Good night, Kook,” you say, and head out the door.

You settle for fruits for dinner, barely having an appetite as well. You take a long, hot bath and think of all you’ve done, where you went wrong, and what you can do after all this. You meant what you said that you’re going to be better. You always knew you were lacking in many things; you’ve been told that communication isn’t your strongest suit. But you can’t let the doubts creep in because you know Jungkook, and you know you. The last thing you’ll ever doubt is how much you love each other.

Maybe love is like this, you think to yourself. It hurts because it matters, and people fight because there’s something to fight for but it’s the kind of fight where nobody loses. You and Jungkook are different people and maybe that’s why it works the way it does, but it also doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t constantly work hard to meet each other in the middle. He does, and you will, even harder than before. Being loved by Jungkook is a gift, and being able to love him is a privilege.

You think about this even more as you lay in bed. It’s colder without him next to you; it feels empty. But you can sleep well knowing he’s taking his own time just downstairs, hopefully missing you, too.

He asked you to trust him. You always thought that was easy and that it just meant being faithful, that he wouldn’t hurt you. You realize now it’s more than that; that despite the fights and the fears and the tears, it’s trusting that you’re both going to be okay.

You fill your mind with Jungkook’s smile, knowing that maybe in a few days, you’ll be blessed with that sight again. You don’t know how many scenes and memories you’ve gone through when you feel a dip on the mattress next to you and Jungkook’s arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you close to him. He nuzzles your neck like he always would, and though he doesn’t say or do anything else, you know that this is his way of telling you that he trusts you, too. That he trusts both of you.

Maybe love is like this - it's when you hold each other the tightest after a fight; it’s when you pull the other close even if neither of you wants to say anything; it’s when you’re upset but not enough to spend a night apart. Maybe it’s when you can be honest about being mad but not doubting the other person’s devotion.

Jungkook’s warm breath against your skin eases your mind and your heart, and you know that whatever happens tomorrow, you’ll wake up with him next to you. It’s been a tough week and a hard night but you think that maybe, this is when you learn to love each other even more.

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