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This Was An Ouch. But Soooo Well Written. Angst Hit HARD.

this was an ouch. but soooo well written. angst hit HARD.

everybody loves somebody | pjm (m)

➥ PAIRING: jimin x fem!reader

➥ SUMMARY: In a world where there’s a chance for you to contract a deadly disease the specific moment you come to the realization that the person closest to your heart will always be out of your reach, you find yourself coughing up blood stained flower petals after your best friend – and fuck buddy – Park Jimin, tells you he’s been seeing someone.

➥ GENRE: angst ⋆ smut ⋆ unrequited love

➥ CATEGORY: one-shot

➥ WARNINGS: explicit sexual content, fwb, hanahaki disease, heavy angst (and im talking HEAVY), unrequited love, mentions of death, mentions of blood, mentions of injury, arguing, vomiting, gagging, mentions of cheating, oral sex (f. rec), unprotected sex (stay safe!), creampie, excessive drinking, some suicidal thoughts, passing out, hurt no comfort, surgery, medical procedures, physical pain, sad ending, minors DNI

➥ WORDCOUNT: 11.7k

a/n: ahhh!!! im excited, ive had this idea for about a year and i’m happy it’s finally here ! im pretty sure this is the angstiest thing ive ever written so read at ur own risk lmao 😭😭 ;; i’ve tweaked the hanahaki disease a bit, in this universe you contract it the moment you realize the person you have feelings for (whether you’re aware of those feelings or not) is unattainable in a romantic sense. do keep that in mind <33 & the flowers arent random, theyre the birth flower of the person ur in love with. enjoy 🫶🏽

a/n 2: i might rewrite this. after rereading this i realize i dont like it a lot cjdncknf

⋆ MASTERLIST & CONCEPT VIDEO ⋆

The pharmacist places 2 boxes on the counter in front of you, absentmindedly explaining what each of the products inside are used for but you aren’t paying much attention to what she’s saying. The thought of your aching foot is all you can really think about right now, hoping you won’t accidentally put too much weight on it.

You sprained your ankle at work earlier today and it hurts like a bitch. You softly sigh as you lean onto your crutch, wishing for the elderly lady to finish talking so you can pay and head home.

With your phone now vibrating in your coat’s pocket, you finally have something interesting to pay attention to. Your free hand dives into the pocket on your hip and you pull out your phone, your eyes squinting when the phone screen lights up with a new notified text message.

[5:49PM]

from: My idiot

I’m right around the corner, see you in a bit

You smile at your phone as you read the new text from your best friend, the urge to just snatch the boxes off the counter and pay the lady is growing by the second. Luckily, the lady notices you seem in a hurry and puts the boxes into a plastic bag as she waits for your payment.

You give her an apologetic smile as you slide your phone back into your pocket and take out your wallet, struggling to get your card out but you eventually do and quickly press it against the payment terminal. The payment goes through without you needing to give in your code and you slide your card back into your wallet.

You thank the lady quietly before taking the bag and slowly walking out of the building, looking around to see if your friend’s car is in view.

You spot his car slowing down in front of you, watching as the car comes to a halt. He gets out and jogs to your side, his black hair bouncing. He keeps telling you to ‘take it easy’ as he takes the bag from you and helps you into the passenger’s seat. You glance at his outfit, knowing he has just clocked out from work.

He’s wearing a buttoned shirt that he hadn’t buttoned up all the way so you could see the silver necklace clinging around his neck. Black jeans hugged his amazing thighs, in which his shirt was tucked into paired with black ankle boots. He jogs around the front of the car and hops behind the steering wheel, kissing your forehead as he always does when he greets you and whenever you part ways.

You smile and thank him quietly, buckling your seatbelt as he buckles his own and starts driving the familiar way to your home. The smell of food enters your nostrils and you look over your shoulder to notice a plastic bag probably full of takeout food he picked up on the way to you placed in the backseat.

You feel like the luckiest person to have someone as thoughtful and considerate as him in your life, you hadn’t even asked him for it. You never had to ask him for anything. He bought some just in case you hadn’t eaten.

You could’ve very well already eaten but then he’d say something along the lines of ‘eat it tomorrow then’ or ‘have some more’. He’s such a worrywart but your heart bursts every time he does something for you because you love how much attention he pays to you.

The song playing on the radio is some sappy love song that you don’t pay attention to but it reminds you of the text you just got from him for some reason.

“I told you not to text and drive,” you sigh, slapping his knee as you lean back into your seat, referring to when he texted you that he was around the corner. He sends a glance your way before he starts the car and starts driving, a shit-eating grin forming on his lips.

“I’m serious, Jimin,” you whine annoyingly, snatching the phone that was between his thighs and placing it in the cupholder next to the gear shift. He chuckles quietly and rubs your knee in return, mumbling a quick worthless promise about how he won’t do it again.

The rest of the ride to your home is quiet but comfortable, the both of you just humming along to the music on his radio. Soon you reach your block and the motion of Jimin parking his car makes you unbuckle your seatbelt. When the car completely stops, you open the door but he immediately jumps out and almost runs to your side to help you out.

“I sprained my ankle, I didn’t give birth.” The joke makes him shake his head in disagreement, dismissing your playfulness about the situation as he hands you the crutch and takes the bag of pharmaceutical products as he helps you out of the car. After making sure you’re stable, he swings open the door to his backseat and reaches for the bag of food. He gives you a couple ‘be careful’s and ‘watch out’s as he helps you onto the steps of the entrance to your apartment.

He uses the emergency key to your residence he got from you because he doesn’t want to make you look for yours. You roll your eyes as you walk into your lobby, hearing him press the button on his car keys and locking his car from a distance as he enters the lobby after you. He closes the door and helps you into the elevator, pressing the seventh floor button and leans against the elevator wall, his eyes now staring into yours.

“How long do you get to stay home before you have to go back to work?” he asks you, his free hand gripping the metal handrails against the wall on his right side.

“Three weeks,” you sigh in content, happy you finally get a break from work for the first time in the year you’ve worked there, your first job fresh out of university. He drops his head in jealousy, shaking his head. He runs his hand through his black hair and lifts his head again, making eye contact with you again.

“I don’t mean to call you lucky for being in pain…but you’re lucky,” he jokes, making you chuckle at his words and watch the little screen in the elevator that tells you which floor you’re on, realizing you’ve arrived at the seventh. He steps out first and holds his hand against the sliding doors of the elevator, making sure it doesn’t shut on you as you limp out.

You finally arrive at your front door and insert your key into the keyhole before he can, muttering a quiet statement about being able to handle yourself. He pretends he doesn’t hear you and just pushes the door open when you unlock it, letting you in first before entering and kicking his shoes off.

Without even needing to be asked, he places the bags on the small table by your entrance and drops to one knee to help you out of your shoes, making sure to be careful with your injured foot. He places your shoes neatly by the door and helps you take off your coat, hanging it up on your coat rack.

He grabs the bags and walks into the living room, placing them on the dining table. He finds his way into the kitchen and comes back out with utensils, plates and cups. You limp to the dining table and sit in your usual seat and watch as he sets the table quickly, a small smile sitting on your lips. It’s almost…nostalgic.

You and Jimin go way back, your first meeting was on the first day of sophomore year in high school. He had just moved from the big city to your small, beloved hometown. Back then you weren’t exactly the best of friends but after sharing classes everyday throughout high school, seeing the only familiar face in university is the true reason why you two grew so close. Always hanging out, looking out for each other, caring for each other. He was one of your best friends, and still is to this day.

It inevitably reminds you of the first time you had sex with him. And the time after that. And the time after that. And after that time. And after that.

However, nothing romantic ever happened between you two. Neither of you were interested in that, not with each other. At least, that’s what you thought.

You don’t like to call him your ‘fuck buddy’ or ‘friends with benefits’, generally because you just didn’t like those terms, not to describe him of all people. You feel like it undermines the bond you two share.

He’s just…your best friend. That takes care of you and helps you when you need it. That you take care of and help when he needs it. That you sometimes have mind blowing sex with – that was it. You just know in your heart, you could always and forever count on him and vice versa.

You have a lovely dinner with him, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. After feeling like you had been sitting there for 30 minutes, your eyes trail to the clock and you realize 2 hours have already passed. You slowly rise to your feet and start piling the dirty dishes on top of each other – but not for long as Jimin reaches forward and slaps your hand away.

“Ow!” you shriek, “what the hell?” You look down at the man who just smacked your hand, gently rubbing your knuckles with your other hand. He has a stern look on his face, his eyes widening – telling you to sit the hell back down while he takes over, gathering the dishes and used napkins.

“You do know I’ll have to do this by myself when you’re not around, right?” Annoyance is present in your voice, your eyes watching him sternly as he simply shrugs.

“What makes you think I’m not going to be here everyday for the next three weeks?” he hums as he walks into your kitchen without listening to what you have to say about that. You hear him turning on the tap water and loading your dishwasher.

Rolling your eyes, you shake your head as you wipe down whatever mess you two had made with one of the left over napkins. You throw the dirty napkin with the mess on the table into the bag he brought the food in, waiting for him to return.

It doesn’t take long for him to walk back into the room, he takes the bag off the table and throws it in the bin before returning to your side and helping you out of your seat. You could do all of these things by yourself and even though you pretend you’re annoyed – deep down you enjoy his proximity and concern.

He assists you to your bedroom, letting you sit down on your bed. Your eyes follow him as he’s in search mode, looking for comfortable pyjamas you can wear. He knows the way around your room like the back of his hand – explanations not needed.

(Read: he’s been in your bedroom almost everyday since you started living here 3 years ago.)

After he places the neatly folded clothes on top of your dresser, he walks up to you and hands you your makeup removal wipes as he tugs on your shirt.

“Jimin! I can do this myself,” you groan for the nth time today but he doesn’t listen as usual. However this time he taps your lips once slightly to shut you up as he raises your shirt over your head. His eyebrows raise and his bottom lip sticks out when he notices you’re wearing his favorite bra, an apologetic look on his face as he gently places your shirt on your bed.

“I wish I could destroy you,” he mumbles quietly with a pout on his lips.

“You know we can still fuck, right? I’m just not doing anything that involves me putting my weight on my foot.” Your fingers rub circles into your eye with the makeup wipe in an attempt to remove your eyeliner and mascara – but the growing grin on his lips doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Oh? Like what?” he purrs.

“Well,” you say, trying to think of sexual positions you can’t do with an injured foot. “Basically only missionary.”

He begins to unbutton his shirt but his phone vibrates, so he continues with one hand as he takes his phone out of his pocket and looks down at his phone. You can’t tell what it is but his face shifts, something you can only assume is because of whoever just texted him. He reads whatever it is he was notified of and quickly types a response, throwing his locked phone somewhere on your bed.

By that time, you’ve finished wiping off your makeup and you place the used wipe on your nightstand. Jimin is standing in between your legs, just staring down at you as he unbuttons his shirt. He rubs your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, inserting the tip of his thumb into your mouth.

You slowly close your mouth around his thumb, the tip of your tongue circling the tip of his finger without breaking eye contact. You move to unbuckle his belt but he stops you by grabbing your wrists, his fingers wrapped around them tightly.

He shakes his head, making you relax your fingers. “No. Tonight, I’m spoiling you.”

He drops your hands and you let him gently push you back onto your back. He helps you lay down, making sure your head is comfortably on your pillows. He carefully helps you out of your pants, throwing it somewhere on the growing pile of clothes on the floor. He lays on his hip horizontally on the bed, placing his hands on the back of your knees and gently holds your legs back, being wary of your injured foot.

He starts by placing gentle kisses through the thin fabric of your panties before helping you out of your panties as well. He throws them off the bed, holding your legs back again. When you don’t feel anything for a few moments, you look down at Jimin in between your thighs. He’s just staring at your sex, insecurity seeping into your stomach.

“Is something wrong?” you ask him, trying to suppress the concern in your voice.

“No, just admiring what a pretty pussy you have and how I should do this more often.” He licks a stripe up your slit and begins circling your clitoris with his tongue. You hiss slightly, running a hand through his hair and gently tug at it.

He looks up at you — you can’t even see the smirk on his face but you can definitely feel it against your skin.

He pulls away to spit on your pussy, using his fingers to spread his saliva all around, making your hips jolt. He starts sucking on your clit with so much fervor that you can already feel your stomach clenching.

“If you keep doing that, I will–” You don’t even finish your sentence because Jimin has plunged 2 of his fingers into you, massaging your inner walls whilst sucking on your pulsating clit.

He rotates his fingers so he can curl them, a smirk on his lips as he uses his other hand to press you down and stop you from bucking your hips up into his face. He continues the torturous assault on your g-spot, enough to send you over the edge.

Your entire body clenches as the sensation of pure pleasure and bliss spreads through every single one of your nerve endings. Pathetic moans spill from your lips and white spots take over your vision as you squeeze your eyes shut.

You cry out his name with a thrust of your hips, grinding into his face as you orgasm. Your hands tightly grip his hair as he keeps sucking on your clit, your legs uncontrollably jolting under him. You’re on the verge of sobbing as Jimin keeps going, his torture never ending and your legs fall limp as your orgasm comes to an end.

“Already? You must’ve been really horny,” he chuckles as he wipes his chin with the back of his hand. You glare at him with a scowl on your face and he just throws a wink your way.

He gets onto his knees against your mattress and unbuckles his belt. He tugs his pants and boxers down his legs, his erection slapping against his stomach in the process as he hurriedly kicks the remaining clothing off the bed. He crawls back over to you, wrapping his hand around the back of your knee and slowly spreads your thighs again.

He positions himself at your sex, glancing up at you as if asking for permission. After you finally catch your breath, your gaze shifts to his and you realize he’s waiting for your confirmation. He impatiently slaps his dick against your pussy, urging you to give him permission. You bite your lip and nod at him, your hands gripping onto the sheets on either side of your hips.

You don’t think any longer about it as he slides into you, placing his hands on the back of your knees again and gently pushing them back, still wary of your injury. He begins to thrust slowly, gently and delicately rolling his hips against yours. You don’t think you have ever had sex with him this sensual, except for maybe the night you let him take your virginity.

A pathetic moan spills from your lips, your eyes dropping down to where you’re connected and watching how he slides in and out of you so gently yet so passionately. It feels weird. In a good way.

Whenever you two fucked – which was at least 3-4 times a week – it was usually pretty kinky and on the rough side.

This just felt like…love making. But you quickly shut that thought out because you know Jimin is just trying to be thoughtful of your injury.

He motions for you to hold the back of your knees and you do. You idly watch as he places his hands on your mattress, on each side of your waist. Your eyes watch as he lowers his head and gently sucks on your right breast, his tongue circling your nipple. Your head sinks into the pillows, pressing your cranium deeper into the pillows as lewd moans escape your pretty lips.

Jimin grins against your skin when he hears you moan for him, his thrusts slightly picking up the pace as he raises himself back up to face you. He moves up, placing his hands on your pillows, on each side of your head. His chain dangles in front of your face, a sight that always drives you crazy.

Soft moans spill from his lips too, his eyes boring into yours as he bottoms out. Your mouth falls open at how full you feel and Jimin’s consistency never falters as he continues to thrust into you, the pace not fast but not slow either. Just perfect.

“I’m…going to cum soon,” he warns, spreading his legs further apart to support your thighs so neither of you have to hold them back. This allows you to reach for the back of his head and you pull him close to press your foreheads together, giving you both the ability to watch him slide in and out of you.

“Cum inside,” you quietly moan, eyes still on where you’re connected. The command takes Jimin by surprise, his hips stuttering for a moment. What made you break your own rules?

The rules both of you agreed on is that you would have raw sex with only each other and protected with other people, but no cumming inside. Yes, you are on birth control but it was too much of a hassle to clean up.

“Are you– are you sure?” he asks you, lifting his forehead slightly off yours to be able to read you better, his thrusts returning to the perfect pace.

“What? Are you scared? I said put a fucking baby in me before I change my mind,” you grunt as you let go of his hair, pressing your head back into your pillow and you never break eye contact with him. He knows it’s just a figure of speech but the choice of words drives him fucking crazy.

Your pretty eyes, your dilated pupils, your furrowed eyebrows, your slightly parted lips and the soft moans leaving your lips make him act before thinking.

Before you realize what he’s about to do, Jimin leans down and presses his lips softly against yours. For him to do that is so rare, so very rare, specifically in an intimate situation like this. You have kissed each other before but it was usually rough and sweaty and heavy and horny and used to get ready or in the mood to have sex.

However in this moment you don’t only not mind, you enjoy it. Maybe a bit too much. Maybe somewhere even hoping for it to happen.

Your heart pounds in your chest, you want to pull him even closer. The taste of him drives you crazy and you want more. More of him.

But now his thrusts were getting a bit rougher, his lips still on top of yours, his tongue licking into your mouth. If he notices your hand reaching down and rubbing your clit furiously in an attempt to orgasm together, he doesn’t comment in it but he does speed up the pace of his hips.

He moans into your mouth as his hips stutter and warm ropes of his cum shoot into you, his thrusts getting sloppy. But he keeps going nonetheless, his moans turning into groans and grunts as you clench around him.

Exhaustedly, he keeps thrusting to help you reach your climax as well, luckily it doesn’t take long after for you to cum, his lips never leaving yours. Your second climax hits you like a ton of bricks, gushy sounds and slapping noises get quieter as the both of you come to a full stop.

You get why people say to not let someone kiss you whilst they’re in missionary, especially when they’re cumming inside of you. Because it really did make you think that maybe one baby isn’t so bad.

He kisses you long after both of you orgasm, after he’d stopped fucking into you. Your hands are on his face as you kiss back with equal fervor. His soft lips on yours feel like you’re literally being kissed by clouds, his naked body still on top of you makes you feel like you’re being caressed by angels.

As if a pile of bricks drops on him, he pulls away abruptly without looking at you. He immediately drops his head into the crook of your neck and stays inside of you, feeling some of his load leak out of you but neither of you really care. At this moment you feel strange. That climax was just – strange. The best you ever had – but strange.

Probably the best either of you ever had.

You’re reminded of what you told him in the heat of the moment and the kiss. The kiss.

You know Jimin well.

You know damn well he’s staying like this, hiding his face in the crook of your neck because he knows how awkward this is now, avoiding your gaze, avoiding your questions, avoiding everything.

But are you in any position to question him? You were into the moment just as much as he was. Hell, you might’ve liked it even more than he did.

It doesn’t last too long before he pushes himself back up and pulls out slowly, reaching for the used makeup wipe on your nighstand to wipe some of the leaked cum from your mattress and quietly hops off of you.

“I uh–” he starts, “I’m going to take a shower,” he mumbles, placing a box of wet wipes on your nightstand before he hops off your bed and quietly enters the bathroom. You hear the water running and for a moment, you don’t really do anything. You stare at the ceiling.

What the hell was that?

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You haven’t seen Jimin since that weird night. You have never felt this strange about the sex you two had. Whatever the hell happened, it couldn’t be the end of whatever you had, right?

Spoiler alert – it was, in a way.

Because here Jimin stands, a week after no speaking – the longest you’ve gone without talking – in your living room, fidgeting with his sweatshirt.

“I– uh…want to talk about why I left so suddenly.” He looks at the floor, avoiding your gaze. You’re seated on the couch and usually he’d sit by you, rub your feet, play with your hair, anything. This time he stands there in front of you, nervously avoiding your gaze.

“It’s okay, Jimin, really,” you chuckle, trying to brush it off because it genuinely isn’t a big deal. The thing that bothered you about it wasn’t the act itself, it was the no texts – no calls combo for a week after. You aren’t just one of his hoes. You’re his friend. His best friend.

He shakes his head, “No,” he pauses, “No, it’s not – I’ve been seeing someone.”

Oh.

Mind racing. Mouth empty.

Who?

When?

Why?

No, not why. Both of you have always supported each other in your romantic relationships and respected it. That meant obviously no sex and less hanging out.

Instantly, you’re reminded of that night. The way he looked at his phone when he got that text…seemed off. It makes sense now. Leaving so suddenly. No texting. No calling. No randomly showing up in your home, using the key you gave him.

You wonder what it was that made you feel weird about that night, before knowing he was seeing someone.

Was it the fact that you allowed him to ejaculate inside of you for the first time? Maybe it was the intimate way Jimin had kissed you. Like mentioned before, obviously the two of you had kissed before but usually it was after a night out and the both of you were drunk and horny and it was rough and sexual and needy and hot and heavy and loud and it always led to sex. You had never just gently kissed each other, not in that way.

The pieces finally start falling into place. He left in a hurry that night because he felt guilty. To that person, to you, to himself. It wasn’t fair to anyone.

“Is that why you just shut me out for an entire week after…” you pause, realizing that night will now forever be an awkward topic for the both of you to talk about, “…that night?” you finish, swallowing in an attempt to get rid of the lump in your throat.

“I’m sorry. I know our communication has been impeccable since the start and we always sort stuff out but…it was different this time. It is different this time,” he slowly takes a seat across from you, folding his leg and placing his right foot on top of his left knee.

“Y/N, I really like them and it’s serious,” he says, a serious expression on his face as he finally makes eye contact with you for the first time. For whatever reason there’s a sharp sting in your chest, the words taking you by surprise. He anxiously waits for your response but nothing comes out. You’re just…staring at him.

“Please, say something,” he pleads, he can’t stand the silence. Not from you. Even if Jimin is falling in love with someone else, he can’t imagine ever living the rest of his life without you. Maybe that isn’t fair to his partner but you are too important to him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you blurt out. You didn’t mean to make it sound like you are hurt, but you fail at hiding it. You actually are.

He takes a deep breath and rubs his eyes, letting all of it out in a deep sigh. He knew the question was coming and he knows you deserve the truth.

“I was planning to, I promise – but things kept getting in the way. Then you sprained your ankle and when I helped you undress and saw what you were wearing and…I just–” he stutters, a slight tremor present in his voice. “I felt like telling you in the moment would’ve ruined it.”

“In other words, you saw me wearing something I wore for you and felt bad about what? Rejecting me? Is that what that was? Pity sex?” you question, your cheeks starting to heat up and your eyes staring at him in disbelief. His eyes widen at your assumption, shaking his head quickly as he drops to his knees in front of you, holding your hand in his.

“No, no! Not at all, you know that!” he claims desperately, his eyes still wide in hope you’d believe him but you just feel…humiliated.

“How long have you been seeing them?” You cut him off, staring at your hands in his hold. You can sense the hesitation, his eyebrows twitching at the question. You know him, he’s trying to look for a way to be careful with his words after what just happened.

“…About two months.”

The feeling of nausea makes you rise to your feet immediately after those words leave his mouth, his eyes following your face as you get up.

“Get the fuck out.” You point towards your front door, keeping eye contact with him. He immediately gets up, his eyes wide with confusion and concern. At this point it isn’t even the revelation that makes you want him to leave, it’s the unbearable feeling of your chest being on fire.

“Wait–”

“You kept fucking me while you were taken?” you snap at him, pushing him back towards your front door by roughly pushing against his chest. You can tell he wants to stop you, grab you by the wrists, defend himself, but he also knows you’re right, it’s unacceptable. You’re reminded of all the times he had fucked you into his mattress, into your mattress, these past two months.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I was selfish and took advantage of the situation,” he whimpers as he owns up to it, his back now against your front door. “But it hadn’t been that serious in the beginning and I just now realiz–”

“Why the fuck did you kiss me like that?” you hiss at him and a quick, sharp cough follows your words.

“I–I was caught up in the moment and I thought it was going to be our last time toget–”

“Wait a second–” you pause, the look of realization taking over your face. “Did you imagine or pretend that I was them?” you ask, accusatory. You watch as he starts quickly shaking his head in panic, his eyes wide and eyebrows furrowed.

“What the fuck? No. I would never do that, Y/N, what the fuck do you take me for?” he snaps right back, his cheeks reddening and his irises slightly shaking as his gaze jumps from your left eye to your right consistently. You can tell that by his reaction, he’s being sincere. Your assumption is way out of line, especially with how well and how long you’ve known him.

Another cough irritates your throat and you start to feel insanely nauseous. As soon as you’ve made it to the front door, you quickly open it with one hand as your other hand shields your mouth. You notice the concern in his eyes but before he can ask anything, you let go of the door handle and hold out your hand to him.

“Give me back my keys. There’s no need for you to have them if you’re dating someone,” you say, your voice coming out muffled because of your mouth being covered by your hand, another few coughs escaping your throat. You hold your other hand out to him.

He takes a breath to start protesting but notices the seriousness in your eyes, the look of defeat immediately plastered on his face. He shoves his hand into his pocket and places the cold, metal key in your palm.

He slowly backs out of your apartment, his hand running through his hair, a habit he’s had ever since you’ve known him. He keeps eye contact with you which allows you to notice the tears pooling in his eyes but you don’t care at the moment. Right now, you feel nauseous, shocked, disgusted, pained. You want to throw up your guts.

You slam the door shut in his face but there is no more time for you to make it into the bathroom. You feel something coming up your esophagus, already coming up the back of your throat. You immediately fall to your knees, coughing some more into your hand.

Cough.

Gag.

Cough.

Gag.

Until you notice something sitting on your tongue.

You slowly lower your hand from your mouth, taking a look at your palm to notice it covered in saliva and blood. Your eyes shoot open at the sight, a frown on your eyebrows. You have never coughed up blood before. But the shock doesn’t stay for long because you remember something else is still inside of your mouth.

You slowly open your mouth, pushing your index finger and thumb inside until they meet whatever it is sitting on top of your tongue. You squeeze it in between the pads of your fingers and slowly pull it out, your eyes following your fingers as they do.

It’s small and white, as thin as a leaf. Then it dawns on you.

A flower petal, but not just any flower petal.

A petal of the Bridal Wreath Spirea flower.

Jimin’s birth flower.

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Days have passed and you haven’t seen or heard from Jimin, your condition has been getting worse. Days have turned into weeks. Weeks have turned into months. Violent coughs would erupt from your throat, always leaving your hands covered in sticky saliva and blood with a scent of nectar that was left by the flowers growing in your lungs.

You have already visited multiple doctors and they all say the same thing: get the disease surgically removed. You have your doubts obviously, since they have also made you aware about the new procedure.

Apparently with the original surgery, only your romantic feelings for that person would be removed in the process but this procedure has been discontinued for 10 years already, since some victims would develop romantic feelings again for the same person or another person which makes a second surgery extremely dangerous.

That is why the new procedure completely removes your ability to ever love again.

To live but to never love.

It’s why you’ve been scared shitless to agree to the surgery. Never loving anyone again? Is that really a life anyone would ever want?

You haven’t told anyone yet. Of course you haven’t, you’re terrified. The thought of something growing in your lungs that will eventually suffocate and kill you is a scary thought for anyone. Perhaps the scariest of all is the one fact that you had been ignoring all this time.

Being in love with your best friend, Park Jimin.

You still can’t believe this is where your life was headed. Dying? Over that piece of shit?

You shake your head, shutting out your own thoughts. Jimin isn’t a piece of shit. The opposite actually, you have never met anyone like Jimin. You had never even thought of someone being on this earth like Jimin.

He’s caring, genuinely. Compassionate. Considerate. Kind. Sensitive. He truly is one of a kind. And if that’s the norm, perhaps you are praising the bare minimum.

Like the time he raced for 3 hours to come pick you up from the airport after you’d been harassed on your trip. Or whenever he drove past your place and saw your lights off, he’d pick up food and drive to your workplace. Or whenever you weren’t at your best, he could tell and insisted on taking care of you. He noticed every single detail about you. Observed you every chance he got. It’s almost like he had a sixth sense.

He has been texting you since that fight but you haven’t replied, haven’t called him back and have avoided him like the plague.

You honestly don’t know if you’re ever going to tell him about it. Just because you know Jimin, and you know his heart. He’d never forgive himself for being the ‘cause’ of your pain, your suffering, your death. He would much rather take the burden on himself, he would much rather die.

The fact that it took Jimin falling in love with someone else for you to realize you had felt this way pisses you off. You could have avoided this. You could have made your move on Jimin, you could have started distancing yourself from him a long time ago. Anything to avoid this.

But guilt bubbles in your stomach. You know him, you know he's concerned, sick to his stomach. You owe him. He deserves to know you’re okay – even though you’re quite literally not.

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You find yourself at his doorstep, nervously fidgeting. You shift your weight from one foot to another as you gently knock at his door. It’s 11:19PM. You’re lucky he’s a light sleeper. You are out of your mind for even showing up right now, but the longer you stay away from him, envisioning him loving another person, the worse the coughing and vomiting becomes. And it’s been months since you’ve seen him.

The sound of the keys rattling against the other side of the door snaps you back into reality, your eyes blinking quickly as your gaze is now focused on the door handle turning.

As the door opens, you see the silhouette of the man who’s going to be the death of you – literally. One of his eyes is closed, the other is half closed and his lips puffy. His hair is messy and one of his hands is under his shirt, scratching his chest. His eyes shoot open at the sight of you, the door swinging open in the process.

“Y/N,” he breathes, sounding relieved to see you standing in front of him. You see him moving to take a step towards you, to hug you, to hold you. Until he noticeably stops himself, hesitant to walk any closer. You nervously rub the back of your arm and look to the side, wanting the ground to just swallow you whole.

“You uh– you want to come in?” he asks you, opening the door wider to make enough room for you to walk through but a frown sits on his brows as you shake your head at his offer.

“No, I…I don’t want…” Your gaze drops to the floor by his feet, noticing the unfamiliar pair of shoes by the doormat and another key bunch on top of the accent table by the door. “…To intrude,” you say, quietly. He notices your realization and swallows, scratching the back of his head.

“I’m just here to tell you something,” you sigh, a lump forming in your throat. You can’t tell whether it is from the anxiety or if it is another petal, but you swallow hard in an attempt to get rid of it.

“Tell me.” He steps out and closes the door behind him, making you instinctively take a step back. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants after rubbing the sleep out of his eyes to take a better look at you. After he does, that’s when he clearly sees how bad you look. You have lost weight, dark circles sit around your eyes, your skin is crude.

“Wow! What the fuck happened to you?” he gasps as he steps forwards, his hands reaching out to your cheeks and cupping them despite you stepping back. He firmly holds your face and stares at it intently, his eyes roaming all over your features.

Your heart jumps at his proximity, at his touch. The moment his skin touches yours, the burning in your chest disappears. His concerned eyes are searching yours as you blink up at him, his soft thumbs rubbing your cheeks. You swallow back the cry threatening to spill from your mouth.

You had wished he wouldn’t notice your state but it’s Jimin. He knows when you haven’t slept well, he knows when the barista gets your order wrong, he knows when you’re about to cry when watching a movie. Let alone the fact that you’re dying.

Right.

You’re dying.

You reach up to his wrists, gently tugging his hands off your face and dropping them by his sides.

“I’m going to tell you something and I want you to stay calm, okay?”

You honestly don’t know why you’re telling him at this point. Do you want him to feel bad for you? To be concerned? To give you attention like he used to?

You want to tell him because you don’t want him to wake up one day to hear you have passed away, right? You don’t want him to blame himself for not being able to take care of you. Yeah. You’re sure it’s that.

Maybe those things can coexist.

“Y/N, you’re scaring the shit out of me. Are you dying or something?” he humorlessly jokes, trying to make light of the situation in hopes this conversation stops being eerie and somewhat disturbing.

You look at him with guilt in your eyes, your lips parting because your mind is telling you to answer him and confirm his suspicions but your body isn’t listening. Your heart isn’t.

You notice the instant fear in his eyes, his breath getting hitched in the back of his throat. He slightly shakes his head, his hand reaching out to you but your body stops him before you can even think about it, a firm hand pressed up against his chest to stop him in his tracks.

“No, you damn idiot,” you lie.

You lied.

Why did you lie?

“I just– I came to tell you that I also met someone and I uh…want us to mend our broken friendship. I should also apologize for ignoring your attempts to fix our problems.” Your mouth blurts these words out before you can stop yourself.

He raises his eyebrows and a smile stretches across his face before he pulls you into a big hug, your face buried in his chest. You inhale his scent, your eyes prickling with tears. Being held by him stops the pain, it really does. The sensation of having flowers bloom in your lungs suddenly subsides when he touches you, when you smell him, when you’re with him.

He sways with you from side to side, kissing the top of your head and stroking your back soothingly, but your arms stay limp by your side. He takes a deep breath before he whispers, “If you ever need anything, just let me know. You know I’d die for you, Y/N.”

And it hurts. It hurts a lot.

“But wait–” he pauses, pushing you back by your shoulders slightly, “why would I have to be calm about that? It makes me super happy to know that I won’t have to worry about you anymore because I trust you and your gut, and I’m sure you chose the right person to take care of you like you deserve.”

Cough.

“Are you okay? Do you need some water?” he asks you, concern in his tone as he gently pats your back.

“No, I’ll be fine.” You shake your head. “It’s late. I’m going home, you should go back to sleep. I’ll talk to you later, alright?” You quickly brush him off and wave at him as you walk down the hall, into the elevator and disappearing before he can say anything else.

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You don’t know how long it’s been since that night in front of Jimin’s front door. Days? Weeks? Months? You had filled your work in on why you aren’t in any shape to come to work and thankfully they were happy to grant you time off.

The only thing you know, is you are on the verge of life and death. You don’t know what to do. Your condition is worsening and there’s nothing you can do about it. You could die at any given moment at this point and the thought of it is terrifying.

After contemplating the biggest dilemma of your life yet, you have officially decided to agree to the surgery.

You don’t want to think too much about it and risk backing out but you’ve pretty much made up your mind.

However, that’s not the dilemma.

It’s telling Jimin the truth or not that is the dilemma. Your biggest dilemma.

Should you tell him that you’ve got the disease? Should you tell him you’ve decided on getting it surgically removed? Should you tell him that it’s because of your feelings for him? He’d undoubtedly ask you that. He’d also encourage you to get the surgery.

You don’t want to worry him.

Would you worry him, though? You haven’t spoken to him in quite some time.

Of course he’d be worried. Jimin didn’t spend al those years proving to you that you’re his soulmate for you to wonder if he’d care about the fact that you’re actually dying.

But the surgery gives you the opportunity to never tell him. How would he ever know? He wouldn’t unless you explicitly tell him. There’s no need to worry him if you decide to get the surgery, he’d never have to know.

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You mindlessly scroll through your Instagram feed, eyes scanning the images and captions. You comment on a few of your friend’s posts, you check out your favorite celebrities’ new stories. Right when you think you’ve had enough, your curiosity gets the better of you and you find yourself looking up Jimin’s instagram handle.

Your heart skips a beat as a collage of him and his new partner fills your screen. You tap on the newest one, a picture of their laughter frozen in a moment captured at the edge of a small cliff. Both of them wore athletic attire, their bodies clinging to each other. It’s a scene of happiness, a stark contrast to the void that now consumes your own heart.

There’s a purple circle around his profile picture, letting you know he’s posted stories today. You know you shouldn’t watch it but your thumb taps on the icon before you can stop yourself. The sound of Jimin’s laughter rings in your ears as the video plays. It shows him and his new partner, immersed in joy and adventure at what appears to be an aquarium. Your heart clenches at the sight. You love aquariums. Jimin had always taken you to them whenever your dates turned out to be disappointing, whenever you had a shit day, whenever you wanted to go.

The burning in your chest intensifies, a constant reminder of the void that now occupies your own life. With a heavy sigh, you rise from your seat on the couch, a desperate longing for escape leading you to your cupboard. You rummage through it, searching for any trace of alcohol that could dull the ache in your heart.

As you take massive swigs of the alcohol, your drinking grows excessive. You prefer the burning in your throat from the alcohol compared to the burning in your chest from Jimin’s growing birth flower.

The drinking is a futile attempt to forget the image of Jimin and his new partner that had etched itself into your mind, burned into your brains and branded into the back of your eyelids. Tears well up in your eyes, blurring your vision, yet the image of them together persists, haunting you even when you close your eyes.

Loud sobs escape you, echoing through the empty room as the alcohol begins to take its toll. The stinging in your lungs gets intense, your mind still clouded with Jimin’s happy face and then it begins. The violent coughing fit overtakes you.

You double over as gags and coughs tear through your already burning throat, until you can’t contain it any longer. The view before you blurs through your tears as you vomit all over your kitchen floor, the acidic mixture mingling with blood and flower petals, symbols of the shattered fragments of your heart.

You sob uncontrollably on your knees as you’re hunched over, blood and saliva still decorating the corners of your mouth. You press your hand into your chest where your heart is located and cry, the torturous burning in your chest never subsiding.

It intensifies whenever you think of Jimin and you wish, oh how you wish you could just completely forget about him. What if you’d never approached him that day back in uni? Starting conversation about how he seemed familiar and him telling you that you went to highschool together? Getting fucked into his mattress a month later?

You continue to sob as the memories that are burned into your brain keep playing on a continuous loop, straight up mocking you.

Breathing is getting painful. Your hands are shaking. Your forehead is covered in sweat. You’re surrounded by blood, vomit and pretty white flower petals.

Everything fucking hurts.

That’s all you remember before completely blacking out, sprawled in your own vomit on your kitchen floor tiles.

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Your phone buzzes next to your passed out body.

[11:34PM]

My idiot

Missed call (1)

[11:36PM]

My idiot

I miss you. Up for dinner tomorrow?

You stir, body aching as you slowly regain consciousness. Memories of the previous night flood back and you wince at the realization of what had transpired. Sobbing, drinking, vomiting – a pathetic attempt to escape your pain. Your nose scrunches up at the stench of vomit mixed with alcohol and nectar from the petals.

With a heavy sigh, you remain still for a moment, staring up at the ceiling as your thoughts swirl within you. The weight of your choices weigh heavily on your conscience, adding to the physical soreness that’s spread throughout your body.

You finally push yourself up from the floor, your movements sluggish and labored. Every muscle protests against the exertion, a reminder of the toll your emotional turmoil had taken on your physical well-being.

Reaching for your phone to check the time, which is 3:03AM, a pang of anxiety shoots through you as you notice the notifications waiting for your attention. Jimin’s contact name plastered on your phone has your stomach twisting with a mixture of emotions.

You contemplate for a while before you unlock your phone and start typing out a message. You try to type out several responses, each one quickly deleted the moment you’ve typed them out.

– yeah sure

– i would love to :)

– sorry i can’t

– i miss you too

– i need you

– you fucking ruined me

– fuck you

– please come back to me

– i love you

You groan loudly and decide to just ignore him like you have the past several months. It never gets any easier. You lock your phone, setting it aside for the time being.

You lazily shuffle your way towards the bathroom, determined to find solace in the refreshing embrace of a shower. The warm water trickles down your body, offering relief from the ache that radiates through your bones.

Clad in fresh clothes, you make your way to the kitchen, your steps a touch unsteady. The sight of the aftermath from the previous night’s chaos greets you and you sigh heavily. Cleaning up the remnants of your despair has become a depressing task, the bloody flower petals mockingly laid out before you.

With each wipe of a cloth and each item placed back in its proper place, a small sense of guilt burns in your chest. You’re not sure why. Or to who. Jimin? His relationship? Yourself?

You blink your tears away as you continue cleaning up your kitchen, ignoring the burning in your chest and the lump threatening to bubble up the back of your throat.

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“I’m in love with you. It’s always been you.”

“What? Why did you wait so long to tell me?”

“Because I was scared.”

“So, you think it’s a good idea to tell me on the day of my wedding?”

You groan as you watch the two actors dramatically yell at each other in the sappy romcom playing on your TV. You roll over on your couch, fingers lazily reaching for the remote on the other end.

Oh, right. It’s been about a month since you’ve had the surgery.

You drown yourself in romantic movies and TV shows before you have to return to work in a few days, so you can feel normal again but you feel nothing. Absolutely nothing.

You don’t even enjoy the way your feet touch the cold tiles on a hot day, how the first sip of coffee tastes, eating your favorite meal.

You feel nothing.

If there’s anything you feel, it’s like a zombie. You don’t even feel human anymore and you realized directly after the surgery that you regret ever agreeing to it.

If you could turn back time, you would have just suffocated to death. Let your best friend’s beautiful birth flower bloom inside your lungs and slowly kill you, squeeze out every bit of oxygen you have left.

Because living like this isn’t the way. It isn’t living at all.

You sigh as you raise the remote, muting the TV with a single button and rise to your feet. You rub your eyes as you head into the kitchen to heat up yesterday’s leftovers. Your eyes idly watch the white container of Chinese food spin on the microwave plate and your ears are filled with the humming sound of the microwave.

You’re snapped back into reality when you hear heavy pounding on your front door. A frown makes it’s way onto your brow as you glance at the clock in your kitchen, 10:33PM. You aren’t expecting anyone.

You walk up to your door, wary of whoever is behind it. “Who’s there?” you call out, hand on the door handle.

“Open the fucking door, Y/N.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. Are you dreaming?

You’d recognize your best friend’s voice anywhere. Sweat collects on your palms, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip. The pounding continues and you realize you are in fact, not dreaming.

He sounds pissed. You haven’t spoken to him in a while, why could he be mad? Maybe specifically because you haven’t been talking to him.

You inhale deeply as you unlock your front door and try to peek your head around it but Jimin has other plans. He pushes the door further open and forces his way into your home, his arms roughly wrapping around you instantly.

You stumble back from the impact, your arms still limp by your side. His scent fills your nostrils, vanilla and a hint of wood and musk.

You’re surprised by the sudden intimacy but you don’t feel anything else. The man you loved, almost died for, is hugging you and you feel nothing like you did before. No pounding heart, no racing thoughts, no butterflies. Nothing.

You still appreciate his company as his best friend, of course. His proximity quickly makes you realize you’d still die for him, no matter what.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

The moment he says these words, your heartbeat stutters for a second. His heartbreaking tone of voice knocks the air out of your lungs. You gulp, tears threatening to spill from your eyes but you stay silent, not daring to speak up but you know you have to. “Tell you what?”

“Don’t.” He shakes his head as he pulls back, his hands tightly gripping your upper arms as he stares at you. His eyes are red and puffy, his nose glistening and it’s clear he’s been crying.

“How did you find out?” you quietly ask him.

Jimin’s eyes bore into yours as he takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he reveals the truth. “I bumped into your manager at a bar,” he confesses, voice tinged with guilt. “He told me about the illness and surgery, and I came straight down here.” He runs a hand through his disheveled hair, his fingers trembling slightly. “Are you okay? Have you healed?”

You nod in response, but the sight of Jimin standing before you is a stark reminder of the pain you had endured. The sight of him makes the scar on your chest burn uncomfortably. You shift uneasily, attempting to conceal the discomfort that coursed through your bones.

Jimin’s eyes searched yours, seeking answers to the questions that burn within him. “Who was it?” he presses, his tone laced with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

Your voice goes quiet, barely above a whisper, as you respond, “Who was what?”

His brows furrowed, frustration mingling with his concern. He steps closer, his hand gently cupping your face as he pleads with you to be honest. “The other person,” he clarifies, his gaze unwavering. “I just want to know who is stupid enough to not see you and cherish you like you deserve. And maybe have a little chat with them.”

Your silence speaks volumes, lips pressed together as you struggle to find the right words, the right way to tell him. You idly blink at him, eyes brimming with unshed tears, heart on the verge of breaking all over again. A pathetic cry threatens to spill from your throat, your inner conflict making it hard to even form a coherent sentence.

You muster the courage to meet his gaze as you gently tug his hands down from your face, needing the space to breathe, to collect your thoughts. “Jimin,” you whisper, pleading with him to just let it go whilst simultaneously answering his question.

Jimin’s voice cracks with vulnerability as he calls out to you, a plea laced within the syllables of your name. “Y/N.”

The longing in his eyes is matched by the frustration etched on his features. His eyes tell you that he can’t understand why you won’t confide in him, share your burden with him. “Why won’t you just tell me?”

“Why do you think?” You stare at him with a blank expression but you’re betrayed by the quiver in your lips once you literally see the gears in his head start to work.

The room falls into an eerie silence as the weight of realization settles heavily upon him. Your gaze drops down to look at the tremor in his hands as he slowly shakes his head, as if trying to deny the truth that had just been revealed to him.

He looks absolutely broken, causing your own emotions threatening to consume you as tears well up in your eyes, and you can’t help but drop your gaze to the floor. You reach up and rub your own arms absentmindedly, trying to find comfort in the familiar gesture.

The distress in Jimin’s voice stings, it does. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair, shaking his head in disbelief as his words escape in a pained whisper. “No. Tell me that’s not true.”

The only confirmation you’re giving him are your sniffles and lack of eye contact.

His eyes widen, the initial shock wearing off and the actual realization hitting him like a punch to the gut. He takes a step backward, his back hitting the wall opposite of you as he struggles to comprehend the magnitude of what he had just learned. “Fuck, I…” he pauses, “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice filled with anguish. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Confusion settles on your face once the apology leaves his lips. You knew this was going to happen if he ever found out.

You reach out and gently grasp his hand, “Why are you apologizing?” you ask, already knowing the answer to your own question.

Jimin’s face crumples as tears well up in his eyes, his voice shaking, “Fuck!” he yells, “I’m so stupid. I should have been there for you,” he chokes out, “You were… suffering on your own? All alone? Because of me?”

When he asks you this, you’re inevitably reminded of all the times you cried from the pain so hard that you passed out, all alone. The thought of Jimin suffering hurts enough as is, you understand why he’s so freaked out.

Your heart is being squeezed by his words, your own tears falling freely now. You take a step closer, holding his hand up to your heart. “Hey,” you whisper, “we are not going to do that, okay? None of this is your fault. It’s no one’s fault. I chose to avoid you, remember? Not the other way around.”

Jimin lets out a shuddering breath, his gaze locked with yours. He reaches up, using the back of his other hand to wipe away his tears, a soft sniffle from him makes you squeeze his hand. And then, in a moment of overwhelming vulnerability, he pulls you into a bone-crushing hug, desperate to hold onto the connection that had faded between you two over the past few months.

As Jimin holds you tightly, his sobs ring in your ears as his body trembles in your arms. You swear you can hear your own heart breaking at the hurt in Jimin’s cry, his body clinging to yours. A quiet sob comes up the back of your throat as you squeeze him, tears staining your cheeks.

“You endured all that pain alone,” he cries, his breathing inconsistent from the violent sobs leaving his body. You internally shame yourself for ever doubting Jimin’s love for you. He loves you. Just not in the way that would have saved you.

His words extract an ugly cry from you, the memories of you suffering playing on a loop in your head. “I was in so much pain,” you whimper, finally allowing yourself to be heard.

Soon, your cries subside, leaving behind a heavy silence.

As you pull away from him, you gently lead Jimin to the nearby couch, guiding him to sit beside you. Your hands remain tightly intertwined, your thumb gently caressing the skin of his knuckles.

With a deep sigh, he breaks the silence. “Was the surgery painful?” he asks, his puffy eyes searching yours.

You can’t help but offer a faint smile at his question, his worrywart tendencies making an appearance again. You’ve missed it. “Healing was a bitch,” you admit, “But other than that, physically, I feel okay.”

Jimin’s shoulders sag in relief. “That's good to hear,” he says, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. And then, his voice grows softer, “What about mentally, Y/N? How are you holding up?”

You blink at your hand in his, eyes reflecting a whirlwind of emotions. You take a moment to gather your thoughts before responding. “Honestly?”

He nods slowly, uncertainty flickering in his eyes, but a genuine desire to understand on his face.

You rub your forehead with your other hand, a gesture of weariness and internal struggle. You finally meet his gaze. “I regret getting the surgery,” you confess, words cutting through the air like a double-edged sword. “I would rather be dead than live like this.”

Shock and anger mingles on Jimin’s face, his brows furrowing as he processes your words. “Y/N!” he exclaims, his voice laced with a mixture of disbelief and frustration. You understand him, though. He had just sobbed for a good 5 minutes at the thought of you dying, and here you sit, telling him you would’ve preferred that outcome.

You shake your head, eyes reflecting the weight of your pain. “You don’t know what it’s like, Jimin,” you mumble, voice heavy with the burden you forced yourself to carry alone.

His expression shifts from confusion and anger to concern and understanding as he processes your words. He tightens his grip on your hand, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the skin of your knuckles. “I understand I might never fully comprehend what you went and are going through, but I promise everything will be okay,” he reassures you, gentle yet resolute.

You shake your head, “How can everything be okay if I’ll never love again?” Your voice pathetically quivers with vulnerability and despair.

Jimin’s thumb continues its gentle motion, his touch a grounding force in your fragile moment. “Don’t be pessimistic,” he implores softly, his eyes searching yours with unwavering determination. “You will find someone. I know you will. You’re the most loveable person I know.”

There’s a stinging in your chest again when you realize that there is something else you need to confess, something he still doesn’t know. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for his reaction. “Jimin,” you begin, voice quiet yet steady. “The new procedure.”

Confusion climbs its way onto his face, his brows furrowing. “What? What do you mean, new procedure?”

You exhale the breath you’d been holding, your fingers reaching for your phone. With swift motions, you pull up the relevant information and present it to him, eyes locked on his face, waiting for him to read and understand.

Jimin’s gaze drops to the screen, his face softly illuminated by the light of your phone. His eyes rapidly scan the words with growing intensity. As he absorbs the information, a frown climbs onto his features and he looks up at you, his expression still confused. “So... the old procedure only removes the romantic feelings you have for that specific person,” he murmurs, recalling everything he just read. “But the new procedure removes your ability to love altogether?”

You can only bring yourself to nod in confirmation. Jimin’s voice wavers with a disbelief as he questions the existence of such a procedure. “Why is that even a thing?” he mumbles in disapproval.

Your eyes meet his as you say, “Apparently, there were cases where people who had undergone the original surgery would fall into a one-sided love again, whether with the same person or someone else.” Your voice laced with a hint of bitterness. You could have avoided this. “And that makes a second surgery extremely dangerous, so they don’t perform it anymore.”

Realization slowly settles upon Jimin’s features as the weight of the situation becomes clear to him. He clears his throat, his voice faltering slightly as he attempts to articulate his thoughts. “Wait, so…” he begins, his voice trailing off momentarily. “You’ll never fall in love again?”

You simply nod again. The truth of your reality is painful to acknowledge and your heart bears the weight of that knowledge. “That’s...fucked,” he mutters. He clears his throat once more, his mind still reeling from the revelation.

A heavy silence settles between you two as you grapple with the implications of your decision. Nothing feels the same anymore and the weight of your circumstances hangs in the air, destroying any hope of normalcy.

You roughly bring your hands down to your thighs as you get up. “Have you eaten?” you ask gently, attempting to divert his attention from the painful truth you had just dumped on him. “I have some leftover Chinese.”

Jimin’s gaze shifts toward you after a few seconds of no response, his mind still caught up in his thoughts. “Huh? Oh... yeah, sure, I’d like some,” he replies absentmindedly, his voice distant. His gaze shifts back to the muted TV. He reaches for the water bottle on the table, taking a sip to clear his throat once more.

You return to the kitchen, closing the door behind you to give Jimin some time to process in silence as you reheat the leftovers in the microwave. There’s a distant sound coming from another room but the humming of the microwave makes it hard to make out. You place two plates and two forks on the counter, reaching for 2 glasses while you wait for your food to heat up.

However, your attention is abruptly diverted when the microwave stops and you realize the distant noise is incessant coughing.

Concern bubbles in your chest, quickly hurrying out of the kitchen with the hot container of food in your hands, only to be met with the sight and sound of Jimin coughing. “Are you okay? Do you need some water?” you ask, reaching for the water bottle in front of him that he could easily take himself.

Jimin tries to dismiss your concern, shaking his head as he musters a weak smile. “No, I’m fine, something must’ve caught in my throat,” he reassures you, only to be interrupted by another fit of coughs. His hand flies up to his mouth, shielding it as his body convulses with the force of the coughing and gagging.

Your stomach drops, a sense of foreboding creeping into your chest. “Jimin?” you call out, taking another step toward him.

Abruptly, Jimin’s coughing stops. He stays with his hand pressed against his mouth for a few seconds before he slowly lowers his hand, staring at his palm with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Jimin?” you repeat, your voice carrying an underlying wave of panic this time.

His shocked eyes slowly trail up to yours, his hand lowering further to reveal his hand to you. You gulp as you let your eyes trail to his open palm.

Your eyes widen, your breath hitches in your throat and the container of hot Chinese food in your hands crashes to the floor, making the contents splatter all over your carpet.

Amidst the saliva and blood coating his palm, there sits a singular delicate flower petal in the center of his palm, mockingly staring at you.

A petal directly plucked from your birth flower.

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⋆ MASTERLIST & CONCEPT VIDEO ⋆

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— enjoyed it? you can always show your appreciation by buying me some coffee if you want ☕︎♡

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