BTS One-Shots (FLUFF)

⚝ Breathing pt. 4 (the final)

A/N: thank you with massive appreciation to @quokkaboysungie for coming up with the major plot of this chapter <33 also this is gonna get a bit sad so potentially have a tissue in case you're a crier

It was the quietest they had ever been with each other. No texts or calls for weeks on end; no late night, drunk-dazed stab of anger within words; no early-morning hungover apology like they used to share. 
And with all of this came the feeling of an absolute loser who didn't deserve anything- in other words, how Yoongi felt most of the time before he met Jimin. Now the harrowing feeling had returned, and with great fervour.
But as the time passed, months, Yoongi tried to forget about Jimin, although it was hard to. He worked late night shifts at strange little jobs, rehearsed with his band until the skin of his fingertips bled and tore, got drunk and high and slept with women he barely knew. Anything to get rid of the memories of Jimin. 

None of this worked, and that sweet fucking smile and those infuriatingly tender words and everything he wished was gone would always

come

back.

Rain-swollen clouds blocked out the morning sky overhead as Yoongi walked along the pavement. He had been out all night with some friends at a bar, and his head throbbed with a hangover. All he needed was to get back to his apartment, eat some bread, and sleep for the next 16 hours. He was not expecting a phone call from Jimin, that's for sure. 
Yoongi stared for a moment at the caller ID, the photo of Jimin he had taken two years ago on one of their dates; Jimin had finished a couple of weeks of IMRT (intensity modulated radiation therapy) which had gone well, so they went out for dinner at a Vietnamese restaurant to celebrate. Jimin's eyes were bright and his smile taking up a lot of his face, a cannula trailing from his nose and over his shoulder. Secretly, Yoongi missed those times.

Before the call rang out, Yoongi pressed accept and held the phone to his ear. 
"Um, hi..." he said awkwardly.
"Yoongi? Oh thank god. Where are you?" 
Slightly taken aback by how desperate Jimin's voice sounded, Yoongi replied, "What? Why...?"
"Please, I need help. Where are you?"
"Near the train station. What's wrong?"
"I was going downstairs from Tae's apartment, I got dizzy, my chest hurts stabbing kind of-" he broke off, coughing hard "and everything's blurry-" He started coughing again; it sounded like the type of cough that tore at your throat and left it raw.
Struck with a deep worry for Jimin, Yoongi remembered where Taehyung's apartment building was and began walking quickly in that direction. "Stay on the line. Which floor are you on?"
Jimin weakly replied, his voice raspy, "F-floor two."
"Are you sitting down?" Yoongi could see the apartment building at the far end of the block.
"yes.."
"Good. Just stay on the line." Yoongi dashed into the building and started up the stairs. "Stay on the line." By now, he was just saying this to himself, knowing that Jimin would barely be able to hear him in the physical state he was in. Jimin's racking coughs we heard faintly as Yoongi reached the second floor, then silence. 

Jimin's figure was slumped on the ground, his phone a few feet from his hand. Yoongi hung up the call and swiftly knelt by Jimin's side; he gently shook Jimin's shoulder.
"Jimin- Jimin, come on don't fucking die on me-"
The ill one stirred slightly, a harsh cough racking through his body, blood spattering on the carpet. "Y-yoongi-" 

Yoongi pulled Jimin upright by the waist and held him gently against his body; Jimin's head rested on Yoongi's shoulder as he kept wheezing, droplets of scarlet staining the shoulder of the well one's hoodie.  
With his remaining hand, Yoongi dialled the hospital. A ragingly calm woman answered and politely asked what the situation was; there wasn't really a way to describe it other than 'my ex is dying and coughing up blood- his lungs might be collapsing I don't fucking know- he has lung cancer" blah blah along with the address of the building. As he spoke, he could feel a lump forming in his throat, and he resisted the urge to slap himself across the face. There was no use for crying when there is nothing you can do.