February 1st
4 years ago
Taehyung's soft breaths fill the room, his small body curled up on the couch in my studio. Although it resembled more of a playroom now - toys strewn across the floor and piled high in a toy box pressed against the wall.
Slowly but surely, as Taehyung spent more and more time with me in here, he was taking over the room.
I don't really mind it, though. And while I'd never admit it aloud, I liked seeing him getting more comfortable in here - with me - so I can't complain.
Not that I would anyway, what with Taehyung's confusion these days.
Every day he wonders more where Jimin is, why he never spends any time with him.
I want to reassure him, to tell him that Jimin loves him more than anything. He's just busy, I want to say.
But the words always die on my tongue, drying up before they can get pass my lips.
Because the confusion wasn't only Taehyung's - it was mine too.
In reality I have no idea what was going on with Jimin anymore than my son does.
Ever since Taehyung's party Jimin's been distant. He's always going out to appointments, but won't tell me what they're for or why I can't go with him.
And even when he is home, he might as well be anywhere else. He spends most of his time in bed and although he sleeps almost constantly, the bags below his eyes never get any lighter. He makes excuses as to why he can't eat dinner with Taehyung and I - his favorite one being that he ate before.
As if I wouldn't be able to tell that that was a lie. I don't know if he thinks I don't notice the weight he's lost in the past month, but I know it can't be healthy to skip that many meals. On the rare occasions that I can force him to the table, I watch as he moves his food around his plate, not really touching it except for a few tiny bites just to please me.
Sometimes I'll come down from putting Taehyung to bed and I'll find him in the living room, curled up on the couch and staring at the wall, this look of pure hopelessness etched into his features.
Those are the worst times - the times when he lets his mask slip and I can see the things he's hiding from me. I've asked him about it multiple times over the weeks and every time he brushes me off, telling me it's no big deal or that he's just tired.
I stare at my computer monitor, right into the eyes of a smiling Jimin. He beams at me from inside my editing program and I can't help but wonder where that smile went. Just when did it start to slip away from me? How long has it been since Jimin smiled at me like that?
When did this Jimin, all smiles and loving life, turn into the one that looked like he couldn't bear the weight of the world anymore?
And why didn't I notice it sooner?
A quiet knock sounds on the door, Jimin's head poking inside. He gives me a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Where's Tae?" he asks quietly. I spin in my chair, pointing towards where our child sleeps on the couch, the stuffed sun he got from Hoseok cradled in his arms. A genuine smile spreads across Jimin's face at the sight and relief washes through me at the show of emotion.
It had been so long since I saw him so genuine that I almost want to cry at the sight of it.
"What's up?" I ask, standing. I bounce from foot to foot, feeling ridiculous for the nervousness coursing through my veins. Jimin and I were married, for crying out loud. What was there for me to be nervous about?
But I know that I fear he's about to tell me what I've always known. That he's too good for me. That I don't show my emotions enough for someone like him, someone so bright and cheerful.
That there was no way for his brightness to strive within my darkness.
"Do you think we could have some us time?" He chews on his bottom lip, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. I recognize these little tics - they're what he always does when he's nervous. "Taehyung's asleep after all and I feel like it's been forever since we spent some time together."
"Of course." I press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Let me just put him to bed and then I'm all yours, okay?"
"I'll be in the living room - with movies and hot chocolate waiting for you," he tells me as I lift Taehyung gently into my arms, trying to not wake him. We part ways when I reach the stairs, me heading up while Jimin goes to the living room.
I tuck Taehyung into his crib, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Sweet dreams, Tae. We love you so so much," I tell him. A small smile spreads across his face, but his eyes don't open and his breathing is still even. I switch on his nightlight and close the door, leaving it open a crack.
Jimin, true to his word, is waiting for me on the couch - two steaming mugs on the stand next to him and a movie already on the TV. He lifts the blanket he's wrapped in as I approach. "Ready to get cozy and probably fall asleep in a position so uncomfortable we'll be sore for days?"
Laughing, I slide in, tucking the blanket around us and pressing a kiss to Jimin's temple. "It's worth it."
He hits play and rests his head on my shoulder, getting comfortable as his favorite movie - The Notebook - begins to play.
Over the course of the next two hours I watch Jimin's face more than I do the actual movie. One second he's crying, the next he's laughing. All at a movie he's no doubt seen a million times.
He's too precious.
When the ending credits start to roll, I shimmy out from underneath Jimin to put in the next movie - Tazza, one of my own personal favorites.
I freeze with the disc halfway to the DVD player when Jimin whispers from his spot on the couch, his voice almost nonexistent.
"Can I tell you a terrible thing?"
I turn my head towards him slowly, my heart bottoming out. He looks so small, curled up in our blankets, and I almost tell him no. If I don't hear it, then maybe whatever terrible thing he's talking about will just go away. I want to shove my head in the sand and ignore whatever he wants to tell me.
But I can't, so of course I say-
"Of course, you can."
"It seems that I'm sick," he says slowly, wrapping up tighter in the blanket.
"Sick?" The words sounds foreign on my tongue. "Like a cold?"
He watches me, pity and tears in his eyes. He shakes his head, sniffling. "No, Yoongi. Not like a cold."
"Th-Then what?" I ask, my voice rising. "Is it a mental thing? Is that why you've been pulling away? You know I've had experiences wit-"
"Yoongi," he says sharply. I shut my mouth tight, grinding my teeth so hard I'm pretty sure our neighbors can hear it. "I'm sick," he repeats, his voice breaking slightly. "And I've only got a few weeks."
The disc drops from my hand and I'm sure it clatters against the floor. But I can't hear it. I can't hear anything except those words over and over again: weeks, sick, weeks, sick.
They play in my head like a twisted lullaby, singing my soul to sleep with every verse.
"No," I whisper, finally finding my voice. "You can't be." I swallow, my hands shaking as I wring them in front of me. "It has to be a mistake. It has to be-"
"Smell me, Yoongi."
I snap my head up at his strange demand. "What?"
"Smell me." He moves the blanket, letting it drop to the floor. I get my first sight of his legs in weeks and my breath catches in my lungs.
Bruises litter his once-tan skin, the purple splotches glaring at me from their spots.
"What happened?" I move to take a step closer, but he holds out a hand and I stop. "Your legs, Chim. Why are there so many bruises?"
"I'll explain after you do what I ask."
And so I do. I suck in a deep breath through my nose.
Jimin's scent swarms me, but something's not right. Jimin doesn't smell like this. He smells sweet, like strawberries. Not-
"Rotten," the word breaks from my lips. My legs give out and I fall to my knees in the middle of the living room, tears pricking at my eyes. "Why do you smell like that?" If I could scream the words, I would. But my body is betraying me, shutting down to protect itself.
A bitter laugh leaves Jimin's lips, but soon it wars into a broken sob. I want to go to him, to take him in my arms and stop him from saying his next words, but yet his lips still form the words. "I'm dying, Yoongi."
My heart stops, my blood freezing in my veins. Dying? How could Jimin - my bright, happy Jimin - be dying? He's right in front of me, his heart still beating, but suddenly the space between us seems insurmountable. How could the love of my life be dying? This wasn't the type of thing that happened to us. It happened to strangers, to people that we didn't know.
But yet it was happening to Jimin, the person I knew more than myself.
But weeks? Was all he had really weeks? How did we go from the rest of our lives together to having only weeks-
Anger rushes me as it all clicks in place. "How long?"
"How long what?"
"How long have you known you were going to die?" I yell, my anger giving me the strength to stand. "How long have you known that our days together were numbered and you let me live in ignorance?"
"The doctor told me about his suspicions when I went to my appointment on the day of the party. But we didn't get any definite answers until a few days ago, when my tests came back."
He's known since Taehyung's party?
"And you didn't think that I would want to know, even if it was just suspicions?"
"I didn't want you to worry-"
"News flash, Jimin! I love you! I'm always going to worry." The tears that had been wavering on my lashes finally break free, my words coming out as half-sobs. "Did you think that I wouldn't be worried this passed month anyway? Watching as you receded more and more into yourself. As you lost more weight." I sob, and the sound doesn't convey just how truly broken I feel. "I was terrified, every day. Every day."
"Yoongi-"
"I thought you were going to leave me," I laugh. "And now I almost wish that was the case. At least then you'd be somewhere on this Earth and not-" my voice, and anger, fades out as I struggle to say the word. In the end I give up, letting myself drop on the floor next to Jimin. I lay my head in his lap, my tears dropping onto his pajama shorts. "I need to know, Chim. All of it."
"I have Ewing's Sarcoma," he starts, his hand running through my hair absently. "It's one of the more aggressive bone cancers. If you find it early on, it's actually rather easy to treat. But if you find it later, the chances of survival are very very low. We're talking a percentage in the single digits." He's quiet for a second, his hand trembling in my hair. "Stage Four, they told me. The worst case scenario. They suspect that I've been sick for a while. But with the accident last year and having a baby, I've probably brushed off almost all the symptoms as just exhaustion or just straight up ignored them because I didn't have time to worry about it."
"If I had just-"
"Stop," he shushes me. "We're not going to play the blame game, Yoongi. If I couldn't tell that something was wrong with my own body, how were you supposed to know? You were just as exhausted as I was."
"What are we going to do?"
He sucks in a breath, his voice wavering. "They gave me the choice of whether or not to treat it with chemo. They said the chances of it helping are pretty low and it will make me feel terrible, but it would be an attempt to save me. Or I can choose to not do that and just live my best life for however long I have left."
"There's a chance you can live, right?"
"A very small-"
"But it's still a chance?" I sit up, feeling my resolve set in. Jimin nods and I cradle his face in my hands, gently as to not hurt him. Watching him now, I can see how carrying this for so long by himself has hurt him, his shoulders curved under the weight of his own mortality. "We're going to fight, Chim. Every day, even the worst ones, we're going to fight for your life. Okay?"
His eyes tear up, his bottom lip trembling. "But what if-"
Climbing on the couch, I pull him into my arms. "No but's," I tell him. "You're good, Jimin. We're good. And terrible things don't happen to things that are good."