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seventeenmafiaau · 6 years

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Torture me - soulmate Wonwoo x reader - 500 follower special

Warnings: swearing, torture

Type: 500 follower special (I might even do a second part!).

Part: 2

Wonwoo groaned as his stomach began to hurt again. This had happened every month since around his 16th birthday. At first, he was confused, but after talking to his mum about it, she explained soulmates and how they work. His mum had explained that when his soulmate feels pain, he feels it as well. She explained to him that it was fates way of making someone care for their soulmate. The less their soulmate got hurt, the less they got hurt. She told him why she didn’t bother telling him in the first place - he had simply never mentioned unusual pain and so she assumed he didn’t have a soulmate. Wonwoo has experience pain but he had never said anything, he simply didn’t see the point. Once he was told about it though, it was like he couldn’t forget it.

When Wonwoo was offered a position in the mafia due to his friends influence, he kept the soulmate bond inside his mind. Wonwoo had decided to become the torture of the group. He found it calming to inflict pain without them being able to retaliate. Wonwoo would watch often as his victims would curl up in pain as Wonwoo broke another finger. Wonwoo never thought about how their soulmates would feel until after he had broken them for information. Wonwoo, at the start, felt bad. He would never wish this upon his soulmate, yet he inflicted it upon others.

Slowly, his thoughts dissolved and he became more cold. Wonwoo was growing older and he was yet to meet his soulmate. Wonwoo questioned if he ever would be able to meet them. Wonwoo never really left headquaters, he lived there, worked there and the only time he would go out was to do shopping. Wonwoo highly doubted that you would ever go into his head quarters. If you were apart of a mafia gang, the chances of you getting hurt frequently was high, yet you never were. Wonwoo had started to give and that was when he became more cold towards his victims. Wonwoo would try new methods of torture, ones that we more painful. Wonwoo saw his victims as dolls to take his anger out on.

As Wonwoo’s techniques grew, he also went out more. He started buying new tools to work with, it became like a game to him. Every morning, waking up with a simple thought. How many tools can I use on my victim today? Wonwoo would spend every session, trying to break his previous record. Wonwoo, at the prime age of 23 had disassociated himself from society.

As you sat and stared at their headquaters, there wasn’t much information you could find. You had been spying on seventeen for months now. Your boss, Taeyong had promoted you to head spy, just about Winwin and Jungwoo. Taeyong has stated that seventeen was both the best and worst mafia gang. Their numbers were large - yet not as large as NCT, their skills were varied and they each had a specialty, they were a close knit team and there was practically no information on them. He had spoken about how they were trying to form an alliance. Taeyong was suspicious of them, they didn’t need allies, yet they were trying to recruit NCT and Taeyong wanted to know why. Yet, as you spied on them, there was simply nothing. No one was attacking, there was no other spies that you could see and they seemed like a normal, running business. There was no patrols, the men left and entered when they pleased.

Taeyong was starting to become infuriated with the lack of information you were bringing back. It was a risk and you knew it was like giving your life away to the enemy, but if you wanted information, you would have to enter their headquaters and spy from the inside.

Entering the building was easy. You could simply walk through the door, there was no patrol or guards after all. The problem lied with what was beyond the door. There could be security alarms, guards, hell, maybe you would walk straight into one of them. You had to think of another way. As you climbed the tree near the base, you spotted a vent on the roof. Swinging your body from a branch in the tree, you flung yourself onto the roof with minimum noise. You opened the vent, dropping into the small, tight space and putting the lip back on the roof. You crawled around the vents, as silently as possible. As you crawled around what you thought was the hallway, you heard screams getting louder. In the vent, there was a small space releasing light. You crawled over to it, looking through the small spaces in the metal.

In the room, there was a man strapped to the chair. His face looked pained and horrified. Observing the man’s body, you could see much from the distance, but you did notice the excessive amount of blood that leaked out of him and pooled to the floor, around his feet. The next thing you looked at was the table full of tools. There was many things that you recognised on the table. Pliers, lighters, needles, water, material, rope, string, anything and everything. If you could think of anything that could be used for torture, this man had it. Some had blood around them on the table, others looked like they were yet to be used. You gagged at the sight, taking your eyes away from the table. The next thing you studied, was the man doing the torturing. His hair was a blond colour with chocolate brown roots. He had his hair slicked back and styled to what you assumed was his liking. He looked tall, measuring against the chair, he look approximately five foot eleven or so. His body type was slim, more lanky than built but still containing some muscles, evident through his mesh shirt. As you look at his face, you notice the blood splatters first. They coated the glasses he wore and other areas of his face. The next thing you saw was sure to haunt your nightmares. His lips were upturned in a sadistic smile. The way he looked down on the male in the chair as his hand reached the table for another tool. His eyes stayed on his victim while his hand reached, almost like he was trying to surprise himself with the tool he chose. Once his hand reached a sewing needle, you knew you couldn’t bare to watch the man suffer. Enemy or not, you were just a spy and this wasn’t for you.

You continued to crawl through the vents until you saw another opening, releasing light. In the room sat two men. Both sat to surround the computer. One had short, black hair and the other had short blonde hair. They seemed to observe the computer with curiousity and interest. You shuffled a little, looking for your view zoom. You had made a little noise, looking back at the boys, you released a sigh of relief. Neither of them had heard.

As you put the machinery to your eye, you zoomed in on the screen. On the screen was a video of a cat playing. Your hope deflated. You thought you had finally found the information you needed, but you were wrong. You flinched a little when the blonde one spoke.

“Hey, Woozi, I’m going to go report to S.Coups now.”

“Sure thing The8, don’t leave out any detail, you know how mad that makes him.”

“Of course.”

You watched as ‘The8’ left the room. You followed his steps as he stepped into the hallway. You caught a glimpse of the direction he was going and you followed through the vents. You stopped at another opening when you saw The8.

As you went to listen to the conversation, the vent gave way underneath you.

“I told you it was a spy.”

“Good work, The8. I should have expected nothing less from our spy.”

You were surprised. They knew you were there. You should have picked up on it from the moment you looked at the computer. Of course no one in the mafia would be looking and wasting their time on cat video’s. Even their speech to each other was suspicious. You were caught up in your happiness to have found information that you didn’t see all of the obvious signs.

“Jeonghan, take her to Wonwoo.”

“Of course S.Coups.”

The man you assumed to be as Jeonghan lent down to your level. His smile made chills run down your spine as he grabbed your chin in his hands.

“Oh hunny, you’re in for a big surprise when you meet Wonwoo. Don’t worry, he’ll take good care of you.”

You struggled as his arms wrapped around your frame, restraining you. As he carried you down the hall, the sadistic smile of the man flashed into your mind. You begged and pleaded to any higher power that it wasn’t him.

As soon as you reached the door, you knew where it was. You didn’t even see the outside of the room from the vent, but the way the screams pierced your ears, you knew it was him. The8, who had brought you with Jeonghan knocked on the door. The screaming halted. You felt your heart rate pick up, it felt like it was about to explode as you knew you would meet your fate before giving up NCT’s secrets. Once the door swung open, the sadistic man, covered in blood filled your vision.

“Jeonghan? Oh. What do we have here?”

“She was sneaking around the facility, can you get information off of her?”

“I haven’t failed you yet, help me get rid of this other guy. I’ve got all the information I need.”

You watched as the other guy screamed and pleaded to be saved. You watched as The8 entered the room, pulling out his gun. You closed your eyes as you heard the gunshot ring in your ears.

You felt a hand brush your cheek.

“Oh sweetheart, not a fan of blood? You better get use to it, because that’s going to be you if you don’t give up your information straight away.”

You gulped as Jeonghan pulled his hand away from your face and back to restrain you.

You watched as The8 dragged the body out of the room and Wonwoo dragged another in. Jeonghan places you on said seat, Wonwoo strapping you to the chair a little to tightly. It hurt your arms a little. You looked to see Wonwoo rolling his wrist a little.

“Are you alright Wonwoo?”

“Yeah, my wrists just must be sore from all the work I’ve been doing. Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

“Okay, I’ll stay for a little to make sure you’re okay.”

Wonwoo nodded before walking over to you. His face went from stoic to the sadistic smile that had engraved its way into your mind.

“I’ll let you pick, which tool do you want first?”

You remained silent as the man in front of you fawned over his tools, trying to get the ‘correct’ one for the job. When Wonwoo’s hand settled on the pliers, you felt your body tense and a shiver take over your body. Wonwoo walked over, grabbing your finger. As he placed your hand in between the two clamps, you brace yourself. He applied pressure until you heard something snap. You screamed in pain, but as your throat restricted you from screaming any louder, you heard another scream. Your eyes shot open. Wonwoo was kneeled over your lap, clenching his hand with his other. You took this opportunity to knee him in the face. As your knee connected with his nose as much as it could while being restrained, your face felt pain bloom there was well. It was then you realised. You had been told about this before. A soulmates shared pain. This guy. He was your soulmate?

“What the fuck is happening? Wonwoo, why are you screaming? Someone tell me what the fuck is going on!”

Wonwoo pointed a finger at you, his eyes never leaving yours.

“It was you! I can’t believe I just broke my soulmates finger.”

“Soulmate? Wonwoo, what the fuck are you saying.”

“You’ve heard it before Hyung. When your soulmate gets hurt, you take half of the pain. It’s fates way of making you protect each other.”

“Her? You can’t be serious. Your soulmate is a spy for the enemy!”

“Well, I didn’t fucking pick her Hyung. It just fucking happened.”

You watched a Jeonghan left the room in a rush. You felt your heart ache a little as Wonwoo hunched over in pain, but your own pain was still constant on your mind.

You thought about why your heart ached to get your mind off the pain. Was it because you were soulmates? Was this fates cruel was of connecting you two together? You broke out of your thoughts as the door swung open. Jeonghan stood there with S.coups.

“Wonwoo! Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“Help her! My pain will stop when hers does.”

“Wonwoo, I get that she’s your soulmate, but we can’t help the enemy.”

“Hyung, I get that, but helping her is helping me. I’m not just in physical pain, it hurts me mentally and emotionally too. Please, help her.”

S.coups looked at you, uneasy at his next move.

“Jeonghan, go get the painkillers.”

When Jeonghan came back, he helped you take the pain killers. It was twenty minutes until you felt them kick in. You weren’t as sore and you were extremely tired. You slowly dropped off to sleep in the chair.

When you woke up, your surroundings were unfamiliar. You used your hands to feel around you. Your hand brushed over the soft material and you knew that you were in a bed. You sat up a little too quick, but you had to get out of here. As you walked over to the door, you saw your finger was bandaged, ignoring it, you reached for the door. Before you could open it, it opened for you.

“How did you-“

“We’re soulmates. Your pain back when you woke up, so I felt it too. Don’t think your leaving so early though.”

The man in front of you - Wonwoo, smiled at you. It wasn’t the sadistic smile you had seen crowd his face. This was a real, genuine smile that graced his face.

“What do you mean? I have to leave.”

“I get that we’re soulmates, but you’re still the enemy and the rest of the boys won’t let you just walk out of here.”

“My boss will hunt me down if I’m not back.”

“Then how about an exchange?”

“Exchange? What kind? I still don’t trust you.”

“An information exchange. You came into our base for information. You want that information and we want to know why.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

Wonwoo looked at you, his eyebrows creasing. You already knew the answer.

“Aren’t you putting a little too much trust into this whole soulmate thing?”

“I’ve waited since I was 16 to meet you. I’m 23 now, I had given up hope. Like I was graced by an angel, you came to me.”

“You broke my fucking finger.”

“I didn’t know.”

“You know what, whatever. I get information first though.”

“Great, let me take you to the meeting table then.”

Please find part two attached!! 😊 it wouldn’t let me post it as one!

#seventeen #wonwoo #wanu #soulmate #mafia #fluff #x reader #reader insert #scenario #imagine

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cetaceans-pls · 6 years

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Kinkvember 2017: (16) Masks

I’m still, I’m still, an animal

Off days and days off.

DGM laviyuu, regular life AU

It doesn’t happen very often, but when it rains, it pours.

It starts small, with a scratch in the throat and a bit of a heavy head, but Yuu never really does anything in halves.

Lavi comes home from work two days after the first sniffle to find Yuu still in the bath long after it’s gone cold, rocking a fever and a red face on this frigid evening in autumn. Yuu isn’t passed out, but at that point it was mostly sheer stubbornness that had kept him going, telling Lavi to fuck off, he’s fine, even as Lavi dragged his flushed body from their tiny tub.

This late in the day there aren’t any clinics open, and calling a cab was a guaranteed way to agitate an already agitated Yuu who doesn’t trust other people with death traps masquerading as cars, so he gets Yuu dry and then bundles him up in layer after layer of warm clothes, ties a bow with a long fuzzy scarf around his neck, and off they go on Lavi’s little scooter, Yuu’s hands tied around Lavi’s waist with his own scarf because not all the will power in the world can guarantee Yuu keeping a solid grasp on him.

He can’t feel Yuu’s cheek against his back; they’re both wearing helmets, because safety first, but he can imagine the heat, somehow, and it freaks Lavi the fuck out.

The scooter doesn’t go as fast as he wishes it would; it feels like he’s having about 3.5 panic attacks every minute it takes to get there.

The hospital is mercifully empty, and Yuu gets wheeled off by a kindly nurse within minutes of Lavi pulling in. Registration is like getting his teeth pulled, of course. No, we’re not family. No, we’re not related. We’re just roommates, yeah. Came home, found him like that. Oh, I think his father’s overseas for now, can I stay so’s I can take him home? That’s fine? Thanks so much!

He doesn’t slur a twitch, doesn’t imply in any way that they’ve been in a relationship for over 10 years now, that he’s a Hell of a lot more worried than you’d expect a roommate to be. But they’ve tried the whole being-open thing, and Yuu was barred from Lavi’s hospital room when he had his appendectomy.

That sucked. This sucks. It all just-

Lavi sucks a deep breath through his teeth, and hopes that it’s not an issue.

It’s a bit of an issue.

Not a massive one; Yuu isn’t dying of something exotic and horrible.

It’s a bit of one; Yuu’s being kept for observation overnight, he’s deteriorated so bad, and he might be kept for two. Lavi isn’t allowed to stay overnight, it’s against hospital policy, especially since he’s just the Roommate. And he’s left with the horrible question of, to contact Tiedoll or non. On the one hand, Yuu would undoubtedly carry a grudge if he wakes up to his fawning, weeping father, and escape is impossible with an IV stuck in his arm.

On the other hand, not telling him feels like he’s doing a terrible thing to the terribly nice old man.

That’s a problem for Tomorrow-Lavi, right-now-Lavi decides, making his way home alone on a scooter that now feels too big and too cold.

Tomorrow-Now-Today-Lavi decides that he’ll tell Tiedoll once Yuu’s released and he’s feeling a lot better. Lavi also decides to not go visit for too long; Yuu gets sick so rarely that it’s a crapshoot to guess if this was caused by some super-superbug, or just the things that have gone on the past few weeks have taken their toll on the man. It could be both, but whichever it is, too much fussing can have the man tensing up something horrid. It’s a long couple of nights, and the only time he goes to visit is during lunch, Italian take-out smuggled in as he chats Yuu’s ears off about work and Yuu pretends the minestrone isn’t irritating the hell out of his sore throat.

Everything’s a strain. He can’t even leave with a kiss, because Yuu shares the ward with 3 other people, and now’s not the time to play Guess-How-Homophobic-These-People-Will-Be.

It’s rough rough rough, but Yuu makes sure that he uses his gorilla-level arm strength to squeeze the circulation dead in Lavi’s hand or shoulder once every visit, because if they can’t have a lot of physical contact, Yuu figures it’s best to address that with Extremely Powerful touching instead.

Lavi’s got a bruise around his wrist; it’s his pride and joy for the next few days.

Lavi calls in sick the day Yuu gets released, so he can go pick up the man and haul him home to where the apartment’s luxuriating in the heater being actually on for once. He waits in the waiting area as Yuu signs out at the reception, posture straight up and rigid as anything, which probably means he’s still woozy as all hell and is bound and determined not to show it.

He looks a little sweet, just for how different he looks to usual. Yuu’s long hair’s tied up in a messy bun to keep it out of the way, he’s got a surgical mask on because it’s just what you do when you’re sick in Japan, and he’s wearing Lavi’s winter coat because it’s the largest, fluffiest, warmest thing they have that’s still wearable. It’s a bit off to find it cute that Yuu’s not feeling all that great, but it’s not often that Lavi’s the one that’s in the position to be their Pillar Of Strength, and he can’t help but greet it with a bit of relish.

The scooter ride home is quiet, Yuu’s hands tucked neatly into Lavi’s pockets to ward off the chill, and they climb the stairs slowly to their apartment, Lavi keeping a warning arm around Yuu’s waist to stop him charging forward just to prove a point (as though Lavi doesn’t already know that there are mountain ranges less steady than Yuu-chan? Uhm???)

The apartment is comfortably warm, but Yuu doesn’t take off his coat, going straight to the sofa to slump tiredly in it. Poor darlin’, shared accommodations and the worst case of the flu has really taken the fight out of him, and Lavi would coo if he thought he could get away with it.

Sick or not, Yuu’s got a monstrous throwing arm and unerring aim, so instead he plops down on the couch next to him, and shoves Yuu over so that he’s lying down and his stockinged feet are on Lavi’s lap.

“How’re you doin’, Yuu-chan?” he asks, shrugging off his own jacket and draping it over Yuu’s cold toes.

“Better now that I’m out of that hell,” Yuu answers, voice an achy, throaty growl. He works his toes against Lavi’s thigh, abjectly miserable and determined not to show it.

Lucky that Lavi doesn’t need to see things to know things. He rubs his hands up and down Yuu’s legs, letting things slip into some quiet, the heater and the humidifier humming in the background.

When Yuu goes lax with sleep after a little while, stuffed nose making his usually quiet breaths now little snores, Lavi gets up carefully to go prep a whole lot of soup for dinner, and do some work from home. The weekend’s coming up, and he has time to be a good lover right back at Yuu.

It’s not a bad feeling.

It’s not a great feeling! Fuck, why won’t Yuu take off the mask!

Even pallid with illness and more than half his face obscured between the mask and his bangs, Yuu’s glare is still fearsome. “And get you sick before your presentation? The fuck I will, Lavi. And if you touch it I’m punching you.”

Touch.... it, huh? They’re in bed, settled in for the night, and the bit of white cotton feels like an impenetrable barrier. Yuu’s still spooning him, of course, arm protectively around Lavi and pointy chin digging into Lavi’s crown. Lower down on the bed so he can be tucked under Yuu, Lavi’s feet hang off the edge a little, but he’s a willing participant.

Making out’s off the table, with Yuu pointedly avoiding even breathing too hard in his general direction. He appreciates the care, he really, truly does, but it’s their first night back together after a bit of a scare, and Lavi’s wound up right tight.

“So.... th’mask’s a no go, is what you’re saying, yeah?”

There’s a bit of a pause, either because Yuu’s thinking about it or because he’s close to dropping of. “Literally said that already, but whatever, yes.”

Too much physical activity’s not recommended, but Lavi just wants to ease the edge off. He works his way out of Yuu’s tight, sure grip, and grins when he hears Yuu’s soft sound of displeasure.

“Take it easy, lover,” Lavi murmurs, petting Yuu’s waist. “Lemme get you off, because I really need my fix, ‘nd then we can sleep ‘nd you can rest all nice ‘nd fucked out.”

Yuu makes a move to sit up, but his elbow gives out and he lands back on the mattress with a soft ‘Oomph’. “We are not fucking, the virus could be in there, which part of I’m not going to infect you do you not-”

Lavi shushes him, reaching over to grab a condom from the nightstand and waving it where Yuu can’t miss it. “We’re also not gonna fuck fuck ‘cos you’re in recovery, darlin’. I’m going t’suck you off and get happy with m’hand, yeah, and then we can sleep in peace. All right?” He slips his hand under the fuzzy sweater, and rubs down Yuu’s waist.

The prospect of a blowjob is hard to ignore, even when one’s not at one’s best, so it doesn’t take much coaxing after that before Yuu’s rolling onto his back, legs spread just wide enough for Lavi to get between them and tug the sweatpants down.

Yuu isn’t hard yet, but ah, there certainly is an interesting of interest. Lavi presses a kiss to the still-too-warm skin stretched taut over Yuu’s hip, and settles in for a good time.

The sounds are awfully muffled, between the blankets over his head and the mask over Yuu’s face, but Lavi endures.

He doesn’t need to hear to know, after all. It’s easy easy easy, it’s second-nature at this point, to make Yuu feel good.

Lavi relishes in the familiar feeling.

He relishes a time when Yuu-chan wasn’t Hell Pissed at him. Was it only yesterday, that they were almost snuggling in bed after a softly-sweetly nighttime hanky-panky?

It’s all ruined, ruined! When Tiedoll barges in at the crack of dawn the next day with a spare key he convinced Yuu to give him in a moment of weakness. They’re dressed under the covers, so the old man doesn’t get an eyeful when he comes bearing gifts of fresh pastries and hot coffee straight to their bedroom.

If looks could murder, this would be quite the vicious crime scene, thanks, Yuu, but Lavi notes that there’s more colour in his skin, more shine in his eyes, even behind the blasted mask.

Lavi leans over to peck Yuu’s check, getting a bit of elastic on his tongue. “Always brighter after dawn, right?”

Looking from over the deathgrip/hug Tiedoll’s now got him in, Yuu flips him off.

It’s looking like it’s gonna be a great Saturday, god bless.

a/n: november has been really fuckin’ rough on me, so everything’s gonna go slow, but everything’s gonna keep going. gotta keep working on my creative outlet, or For Real school’s gonna eat me alive.

hope the end of the year’s going better for everyone else!

#laviyuu #lavi #kanda yuu #dgm #D.Gray-Man #regular life dgm au #i get sick when the seasons change #so i've gotten terribly familiar #with the inside of them masks

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dreamscript · 7 years

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The Countdown

Taehyung googles his symptoms and convinces himself he’s got a week to live, Yoongi’s coerced into helping write his will, and you’re just trying not to go insane.

a belated birthday present for the wonderful amazingly perfect @taesthetes !!! it’s three days late, unfortunately. See end for full list of disclaimers and notes.

6.7k words, fluff + comedy, taehyung/reader, normalverse

It begins with a cough.

A singular cough, insubstantial to the larger picture. Taehyung ignores it. That is, until suddenly his chest and throat seize and he feels this strange pressure and irresistible scratchy feeling that results in a whole slew of coughing and hacking.

With a grunt he slumps into his chair and immediately fumbles for his phone. The coughing’s stopped now, but the feeling of impending doom has yet to go away. As do the slightly woozy, borderline-feverish feeling and the sniffling of his nose.

Quickly, before he can possibly drop dead, he dials the number of the one person he can trust in times like these:

You.

(Because his actual doctor–who happens to be his longtime friend–is out of the country.)

// SEVEN DAYS LEFT

“–and my head feels kind of funny and my limbs are kind of sore and everything just kind of sucks, you know?” Taehyung babbles. You nod, half-listening, as you dip the towel into the bowl of water. So far, for the past thirty minutes, you’ve been on wet towel duty. All you have to say for yourself is that neither you nor Taehyung have had any experience in the medical field, and the only afflictions you can handle are a mild bloody nose and minor scratches.

Not fevers and what seems to be a cold, if not a flu. Taehyung tends to exaggerate a bit so you can never be too sure.

“You need to go see your doctor, Tae,” you say, changing the damp, now slightly warm cloth on his forehead. You gently press the cool towel to his skin.

“But I can’t.”

You frown. “What do you mean you can’t?” A question about his financial situation lingers at the tip of your tongue.

“Because he–Jin–isn’t here. Don’t you remember? We were all there last week when he told us he’d be out of the country. He said he wouldn’t be back till like, next month.”

You roll your eyes, all worries about money gone. Of course. He’s surprisingly picky about who gets to take care of him, especially for someone who is typically almost a bit too outgoing and open on a normal basis.

“Well I’m pretty sure all the other doctors in his office are just as capable,” you assure him. “Plus, it’s certainly not helping you at all just lying on the couch burning away.”

“No, no,” he mumbles. “I can’t–doctor’s office–far away.” He groans pitifully and reaches out to clutch your hand. The way he curls in on himself and buries his face into the pillow is so adorable you have to control yourself from squealing.

“Aw, look at you, poor little sick puppy,” you coo, reaching to stroke his hair with your free hand. “I get it, you’re feeling a bit too sickly to drag yourself out of bed and to the doctor’s office, right?” He nods. “Then I guess that’s okay then…but make sure you go there tomorrow. As soon as possible, really. Even if you’re feeling kind of shitty. Because the doctor’s will make you feel less shitty, promise.”

He makes a mumbling noise and it’s only then that you realize he’s drifted off to sleep. His hand is warm and soft. You give it a small squeeze.

Back at your house, you relax against the sofa and contentedly sip at the cup of hot tea. Thanks–sort of–to Taehyung, your day had been a bit more hectic than planned. Not that you entirely minded, really. Taking care of him would never be a chore, but it still doesn’t make it any less tiring.

Never have you thought of dipping towels in cold water as tiring, but you suppose anything, if done for long enough, can become rather physically taxing.

“So how’s Taehyung?” Jin asks through the phone. “I hope he doesn’t get sick or anything, the one time I actually have to leave for an extended period. And to a foreign country, no less.”

You groan and rub your temples. “He’s come down with a fever, but I have a feeling it’s just the cold that’s been going around. I still think he should go see a doctor, but he’s absolutely refusing to see anyone else but you.”

Jin curses quietly into the receiver. “Damn. Well, I highly doubt it’s anything terminal.”

“I’d hope not.”

“And it sucks that I probably won’t be able to make or receive any more calls after today until next month…” Jin trails off. “Actually, I think I might be able to do one of those internet calls. You know, through an app? Like LINE or Kakao Talk or Facebook Messenger?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Though you might need a VPN to use those features, especially if you’re not going to have any data. It’s finding a good VPN that’s hard.”

“Hm,” Jin murmurs. “Well, I’ll figure all of that out once I’m settled in. For now I gotta go–flight’s boarding. Talk to you later.”

// SIX DAYS LEFT

Taehyung wakes up god-knows-how-much-later, blinking blearily up at his ceiling. It’s dark and hard to make out, just like everywhere else in his room. Groaning, he turns on his side and shuts his eyes again–except he can’t really sleep since he feels sort of hot but he’s also kind of cold and–

His eyes fly open. This can’t be good. He probably has a fever, and everyone knows that fevers aren’t good. Weakly, he calls out your name, hoping that you’re still around. He frowns, slightly heartbroken, when you don’t answer. You must’ve left, then. He doesn’t exactly blame you. Of course you’d probably have other things to do, and sitting around in a quiet apartment with an unconscious body is probably not one of them.

But–never mind you. Right now, he’s got to worry about himself, because there’s definitely something wrong with him, and while it may just be some common cold, it could also be something much more serious…

(He recalls the last time he wrote a sickness off as “just a cold” he’d fainted, woken up in a hospital bed hours later, and was informed that he did, in fact, have pneumonia.)

Now without a caretaker (no matter how medically inept) and no one else to call upon (who wouldn’t ignore him for the first twenty calls and thirty-two texts he sends, that is), Taehyung turns to the only other thing in the room that could provide him the answers he so desperately seeks:

The computer.

You amble into your room, taking off your shoes and stretching. Your eyes scan the kitchen, searching for your phone; you know you’d left it somewhere before leaving the house…

Ah. On the counter.

You walk over and swipe it up, unlocking the screen to examine your notifications. You’ve gotten a few snapchats, two texts from Yoongi, and a missed call and voicemail from Taehyung. Three missed calls, actually. You frown. Tae typically doesn’t call–much less leave a voicemail–unless he’s got good reason to, and considering his condition from yesterday…

You groan. God, you’d almost forgotten. You feel awful now. An entire day has passed since you’d left him home alone, and you’d completely forgotten to check up on him…

With infinite guilt, you unlock your phone and resolve to call him up after listening to his voicemail. It’s really short–less than ten seconds long.

And for the first few seconds, all you hear is silence.

Well, suffocating static and Taehyung’s (at least, you hope it’s Taehyung’s) heavy breathing. Then–a choked sob.

“_______,” Taehyung wails. “I’m dying.”

And that’s all you need to grab his spare key and dash over to his apartment.

“TAEHYUNG!” You burst into his place unceremoniously, stumbling over your own toes in the process. With a swift backwards kick, the door is slammed shut and the keys land on the counter with a clink. “WHERE ARE YOU?

“I’m…here…” comes a weak reply. “Bed…room…”

You fling open the door to his room, bracing yourself to see a bleeding body on the ground–

He looks up at you with tired eyes, fingers twitching on his laptop’s keyboard. “So I take it you got my voicemail?” He groans and sets his laptop aside, shutting it.

You nod, slightly shaken. “So? What’s going on? Did your fever reach 104 degrees? That’s really bad, you know, we have to get to you to a hospital–”

“No,” he says, waving his hand slightly. “No, not yet.”

You stop in your rambling and stare at him, narrowing your eyes a bit. “If you aren’t in immediate danger, then why…?”

He takes a deep breath. “I’m not in immediate danger, but, god.” He runs a hand through his disheveled hair. “I googled my symptoms, you know, since no one else was around, and after much intensive research, I’ve concluded I have miraculously contracted a terminal disease. And I’ve only a week to live, at best.” Taehyung stops to look at you with baleful eyes.

“Taehyung…I don’t…” you chuckle out of the sheer madness of the situation. “I’m not comprehending. Sorry. If anything, I think you’ve kind of lost it, no offense.”

“Don’t you understand now?” Taehyung pleads, “I’m going to die.”

“No you’re not,” you reply tersely. You’ve had enough of this. He almost definitely has a cold, or something–you reach out and press cool fingers against his burning forehead. “Now go to sleep. You’re just sick–it’ll be fine. You’ll get over it soon.”

“But what if I don’t wake up? What if–”

“Taehyung,” you say, firmly. You look him in the eye for good measure. “Go to sleep before I make you.” You crack your knuckles threateningly and loom over him. Obviously, the situation probably isn’t going to end in violence–he never really puts up much of a fight anyway–but intimidation always seems to get him, especially when most vulnerable. Taehyung visibly gulps.

“Okay.”

// FIVE DAYS LEFT

Taehyung wakes up, feeling something hard pressed up against his cheek. Sleepily, grouchily, he blinks open his eyes, feels around with his hands to identify the unknown object. It’s his laptop. He grunts and wills himself to flop over onto the other side of the bed, though in the process his arm overstretches and brushes against the corner of his nightstand… and he feels yet another unknown object.

The sound of crinkling paper has his eyes opening again. Because he knows, for a fact, he did not write anything yesterday. Taehyung snatches the mysterious paper up, half surprised, half pleased to find that it is in your handwriting:

Tae, you are in idiot. Don’t scare me like that; I thought you were actually dying for a second there!

Anyways, here are your meds. Take them every six hours or so. Don’t overdo it or else you might actually die. Call me if there are any problems.

He grins at the note, feeling a warm something in his chest. And then he feels immediate panic because he’s then reminded of his current situation, entering into Freak Out Mode because he remembers he’s actually dying and he’s only got five days left to live.

Think, think, think, he tells himself. What do people do when their days are numbered and ending fast? They usually go and apologize to all the people they’ve hurt, make sure they don’t leave without regrets… and their things, what do they do with all the things they leave behind–

A will! Taehyung smiles wide at the sudden epiphany. He needs to write a will.

Except, the only issue is that he has no idea how to write one. As useful as the internet is, he’d much rather prefer the guidance of a trusted peer…

Someone like…

He smirks, reaching for his phone.

Yoongi.

“Fuck ya want?” Yoongi answers after the fifth call, which is unexpected. Taehyung had been prepared to make at least ten more calls.

“A favor,” Taehyung replies, almost giddy. A bit too giddy for someone about to write their will and is going to die in a matter of days. “I need you to help me write something very very important.”

“Gimme a damn good reason why,” Yoongi drawls, clearly still half-asleep. “Two seconds, Kim. Else I’ll hang up and block your number.”

“Well, if it’s come down to this,” Taehyung says, narrowing his eyes. “Should I remind you of the park incident? I still haven’t deleted the vid–”

“I’ll be there in fifteen.” And then Yoongi hangs up with a click and a beep.

Having shamefully forgotten about him yesterday, you naturally make extra note to remind yourself to go check up on Taehyung today.

When you arrive at his apartment, however, you are met with the rare sight of him and Yoongi, together, in a room, alone, sitting peacefully in front of a computer on the ground, working. You slap your cheek just to make sure you aren’t hallucinating.

You take a tentative step towards them. “Hello?”

Taehyung immediately straightens up and turns to look at you. “You’re here! Hi, wow! Come in, make yourself comfortable. It’s actually perfect that you’re here now, because Yoongi and I were just typing up my will, and I was just hoping, as one of my closest friends, that you’d come over and look at it, or something…”

What. You shift your gaze to glare at Yoongi. He intently studies the wall, seemingly blissfully unaware of your presence. Typical ass of a friend. Back to Taehyung it is.

“Why–what…”

“It’s because I’m going to die,” Taehyung explains, with infinite patience. “I need to write myself a will before that happens, so, so I won’t have any of you guys fighting for possession of my things, because we all know how bad those stories go, in which people start backstabbing and killing each other and–”

“Taehyung. You’re not. Going. To die.”

“Yes I am!” He looks desperately at Yoongi. “Yoongi! Tell her I’m going to die! You believe me right?”

Yoongi looks at him, then you. His expression looks dead. In fact, he looks much closer to Death itself than Taehyung does. “Yeah. Totally. Taehyung’s going to die,” he says tonelessly. “How unfortunate.”

You roll your eyes. No matter how sarcastic, you really weren’t expecting Yoongi of all people to play along.

“Okay, well, if you’re so convinced that you’re going to die, why don’t you go to the hospital then?” You glare down at Taehyung.

He shakes his head. Stubborn ass.

“Because I don’t trust any of the other doctors!”

You give him a look and he stares back up at you, wild-eyed.

“What do you mean you don’t trust any of the other doctors? Did something happen? Did you read the reviews online?”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s just–Jin is the only doctor I know who would hit me upside the head and tell me I’m being dumb. And I need to take care of myself. And that I’m getting kinda fat. Mostly he tells me I’m dumb though.”

You blink at him. Taehyung blinks back. You snap your head over to look at Yoongi, who shoots you a look from the corner of his eye. And, in that brief moment, it is tacitly understood between the two of you that if Taehyung were to die of anything by the end of the week, it would be the result of his own stupidity.

“You–you do realize what you just said, right?”

Taehyung nods miserably. “Look, it sounds kind of weird, but he’s the only guy who would do that and that just exemplifies the amount of trust–”

“But–Tae. Your argument is so fucking ridiculous I don’t even know where to begin.” You stare at him, shock still evident on your face. He scowls slightly. “Like. First of all, how the hell does insulting his patient make him a good doctor–”

“Because–!”

“Two, how does not insulting one’s patient make a doctor untrustworthy, and three, just what the hell?”

“Y-you just don’t get it!” he huffs, resigned. He crosses his arms childishly and coughs in indignation. “Jin and I just have a special connection!”

“Uh huh. That still doesn’t change the fact that your argument is ridiculous.” In fact, you think, it makes it even worse.

“Whatever.” His current attitude reminds you of your teenage years.

“_______,” Yoongi says quietly. “Leave him alone–he still needs to rest.” You side eye Taehyung, then turn back to Yoongi.

“Fine.”

As you and Yoongi leave, you can vaguely hear Taehyung sniffling about “fake friends” and “dumb doctors.”

“Taehyung’s really worried, you know,” Yoongi says. You roll your eyes and scuff your shoe against the sidewalk.

“No shit. I’d venture to say that he’s a bit too worried.”

“He’s anxious,” Yoongi says, slipping his hands into his pants pockets. You eye them enviously. Stupid guy’s pants and their absurdly big and deep pockets. “And also paranoid,” he adds after a moment. “Try to take his actions with a grain of salt, eh?”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “As if I haven’t figured that out already. It still doesn’t change the fact that he’s been so ridiculously stubborn on the matter, though.”

Yoongi shrugs. “And just yelling at him all the time isn’t necessarily going to make him have a change in heart, if he’s as stubborn as you say him to be.”

You frown. Just whose side was he on? “Oh? At least it helps me vent a bit of my frustration.” You know you’re sounding kind of petty, but you’re currently a bit more than irked. Can’t always keep up the Collected demeanor, after all. Life’s a struggle.

“I can see that.” Yoongi stops and turns back to look at you. “Just–keep his feelings in mind, okay? Pay close attention to them. And him.”

You give him a strange look. “What do you mean by that?”

Naturally, of course, Yoongi chooses not to answer. Instead, he takes a sharp turn, down an alleyway, slipping easily into the shadows. You roll your eyes. You’d expected just as much.

// FOUR DAYS LEFT

“I can’t believe I’ve got four days left to live and you don’t even care!” Taehyung moans mournfully, holding his hands out in front of him as if begging for you to give a fuck. You sigh and hit him on the head. Even though his fever has since died out (thankfully), he’s still absolutely convinced his situation is only getting worse, increasingly dire.

“You’re not going to die,” you say for the umpteenth time. “At least, not within the week. And not from whatever illness you think you have.”

“Bronchiectasis,” he says. “And it’s terrible!” He throws his hands up in the air now for added emphasis. “My lungs become irreversibly damaged and I can’t clear up any mucus and bacteria starts to breed and everything just gets infected–” he pauses to suck in air “–so then I won’t be able to breathe and then I’ll die. It can’t be cured either, by the way!”

“And you’re convinced you have this because?” Yoongi asks from the couch. He’d also decided to drop by, just to help Taehyung finish writing up his will. Much to your chagrin.

(You’d smacked him upside the head when you found out, hissing, “Don’t encourage him!” Yoongi merely shrugged, saying that Taehyung would eventually need to write a will, anyway. What better time than now to write it? “It’s called frontloading your work,” he’d said. Ass.)

“I coughed,” he says. “That’s on the list. And I’ve been coughing a lot.”

You stare at him, speechless, but with a million things to say. It’s just the matter of thinking of what to start out with that’s making it hard for you.

“Taehyung…”

He hurriedly holds up a hand at you. “No, no, I know what you’re about to say. Listen. It’s not just the coughing–you know. I mean, that’s the main part, but symptoms of bronchiectasis also include fevers and shit, too. And also the condition in which you cough up blood–hemoptysis, I think it’s called–which I haven’t exhibited–yet.”

As Yoongi looks on at the two of you bickering, back and forth, he can’t help but recall an earlier conversation with Taehyung:

“Hm, well, Jin is easy. I’d leave a note to him, telling him that it’s okay, it wasn’t his fault I died. What I had was terminal and irreversible,” Taehyung says, tapping his chin in thought. He frowns. “As I thought, coming up with last words is kinda hard. Like, a part of me wants to sound Cool and Collected while another part of me is totally freaking out and over the top emotional about it.”

Yoongi nods, not really listening. He’s trying to proofread Taehyung’s will, and, if he were honest, currently wondering just how the hell Taehyung managed to make it past middle school with his writing skills. There hasn’t been a single paragraph void of basic errors.

“And for Jimin, oh gosh, Jimin,” Taehyung groans. “He’s going to be so sad! In fact, I think he might pass out before he can even hear my final words to him. I think I need to say something comforting to him, maybe like ‘Even in death I’ll still be your best friend!’” Taehyung frowns. “No, no, that’s kind of dumb. Gah–I give up. I’ll think of something cooler later.”

Yoongi hums. “Have you thought about what you’re going to say to everyone else, then? What about me?”

“Hey, I can’t tell you that, can I? I have to keep it a secret, a surprise! It’s a surprise!”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Sure.” He deletes a gibberish sentence. “Then, what about, you know…her?”

At that, Taehyung quiets down. He lets out a soft puff of breath. “I–don’t know,” he says, finally. “I’m still so conflicted, Yoongi. I’m like, I want to tell her all the things, but then I’m still a total wuss, so…”

Yoongi sighs. Troublesome. “You know,” he says. “I really think that should tell her your feelings. If you don’t, we both know you’re going to be moving on with some serious regrets.”

Taehyung remains silent. Contemplative. He doesn’t talk for so long that Yoongi goes back to editing his will.

“Hey, Yoongi,” he says, quietly.

“Yeah?”

“When I’m gone,” Taehyung mumbles. “Promise me–you’ll…take care of her? You know, in a best friend kind of way. Look out for her for me. In my place.”

Yoongi studies his expression: forlorn, broken, anxious.

“Okay.”

Presently, he silently wishes Taehyung luck. Taehyung and you.

“–but since I’ve only got a few more days left, I’m bound to start coughing up blood, so when that happens, I’ll be sure to call you up so you can see the evidence for yourself.”

You sigh, exasperated. Just as you’re about to say something, however, Yoongi decides to bring the tension in the room down a notch, and unceremoniously drops Taehyung’s laptop in front of him.

“Enough with all the arguments,” Yoongi says. “Taehyung’s still got the final two sections of his will to write. Can’t have him dying with an unfinished will.”

Your reaction, for the most part, is expected. Which is why he’s able to dodge the pillow that’s hurled at him, remain impervious to your frustrated groan, and doesn’t even flinch when the door slams shut.

Yoongi smirks.

// THREE DAYS LEFT

Jimin comes over and visits on Taehyung’s supposed third-to-last day on Earth. He brings with him a bouquet of flowers–you’d raised your brows and he’d simply shrugged, unwrapping them from their plastic covering and plopping the colorful arrangement into a vase–and some of Taehyung’s favorite snacks.

Taehyung squeals with joy upon seeing the snacks, and then smiles brightly up at Jimin. His focus always seems to be on food. Unsurprisingly.

“Wow, thanks so much, Jimin,” he says, tugging open a bag of chips. “I didn’t think you’d come and visit, with you being busy with work and all…”

“Well, one’s always gotta make time for their friends, right?” Jimin bashfully scratches the back of his head. “Especially those in need.”

“Jimin,” Taehyung says, beginning to munch happily on the snacks. “You’re an angel.” The so-called angel laughs. Taehyung smiles back. The sunshine streaming in from the window glints off both of their faces in a manner that makes them look so innocent and happy…

Only for the moment to be ruined by Taehyung’s sudden coughing, and then his groans of not having an appetite and “if only this goddamned cough would go away!” With a flick of a hand you push him back and tuck him into his bed.

Jimin looks down at his friend, concern etched over his face. “What’s he come down with?”

“I’d say the flu, but he supposedly has this fatal bronchitis or something,” you say.

“Bronchiectasis,” Taehyung corrects weakly. “Unlike bronchitis, it’s irreversible and deadly. And I’ve only got three days left to live!”

Unsurprisingly, Jimin believes him. “What? Oh my god–have you seen a doctor about this yet? There has to be some way, you know. Just the other day I was reading an article about advancements in the medical field since the nineteenth century–I mean, come on. It’s still too early to lose hope, you know. I mean, it’s never too early, you just got to–”

“Jimin,” you say. “It’s okay. And no, he hasn’t seen a doctor about this yet, because he’s very distrustful of any doctor that isn’t Jin, who conveniently happens to be in China for a month. And he doesn’t have any sort of coverage over there apparently, so he can’t be contacted.”

Jimin gasps, covering his mouth with both hands. “Oh no, that’s just so–that’s so terrible!” He turns and looks at Taehyung, desperately grabs both of the boy’s hands. “I’m so sorry that this has happened to you, I wish I could do something…” You can see tears beginning to well up at the corners of his eyes.

Quickly, before the situation can get any worse, you remove Jimin from Taehyung and gently push him out of the room.

“Wait, I’m not done yet!” Jimin struggles against you as Taehyung calls out to him. You’re reminded of those dramatic scenes in movies and plays in which the star-crossed lovers are forcibly shoved apart by their own family and friends. Oh, the woe.

“Jimin,” you whisper into his ear. “He doesn’t actually have a terminal illness. Just extreme paranoia and gullible…ness.” He looks at you with confusion evident on his face. You manage to walk the two of you out of the room, shutting the door behind you.

“Huh? So was he just lying to me?”

You shrug. “No, as far as he knows, he was telling the truth. But the truth in his mind’s all twisted and fake. So he technically was lying to you, but without meaning to. Anyways, I’ve got to get back in there before the idiot starts thinking I’d abandoned him and begins to cry out–just ask Yoongi for the details.”

“Um, okay.” Jimin looks bewildered but pulls out his phone. “Tell Taehyung I gotta run. Work.”

You give him a nod and head back into the room, where Taehyung asks for a hug and then drifts off to sleep. After you hug him, of course. He smells like sunshine and happiness.

And also bitter cough syrup and feverish sweat.

// TWO DAYS LEFT

On his second-to-last day, you spend a good deal of the morning scrubbing at Taehyung’s carpet, wall, and just about every surface he’d managed to bleed onto.

“Ah’m goin’ tuh blweed out ‘n dah,” Taehyung says dramatically, voice nasally. He readjusts his grip on his nose, shifting the wad of tissues between his fingers.

“For once in a long time, I’m actually inclined to believe you,” you mutter. Hair tied back, you let out an undignified snort as you accidentally inhale the fumes of the carpet cleaner. “Seriously, how much blood have you bled out from your nose? This has got to be like your third nosebleed since waking up this morning.”

He grumbles unhappily. “Kin ah let go naw? Mah fungers are crampin’ ‘n ah bet mah nos-trols are misshap’n.”

You glance at the clock. “No, you can’t let go now. You’ve still got at least a minute left–bear with it. It takes time to form a blood clot, you know. And of course your nostrils will be misshapen. That kinda comes with the whole pinching your nose thing.”

He pouts.

You’re just making yourself a nice bowl of cereal–that you’d procured from Taehyung’s pantry, of course–when you hear a high-pitched shriek come from the bathroom.

“COME HERE!” Taehyung yells. “IT’S–IT’S HAPPENING!”

You jog over to the bathroom with building concern as he continues to shriek and yell and act completely out of his mind. The door is ajar, and you can see Taehyung bent over the sink, staring into it with undisguised horror.

“What’s happened now?”

He points at the sink with a shaking finger. “I–I was just washing up, when I started coughing a whole lot again, and then, and then I felt this kind of slimy thing at the back of my throat and–” you lean in to see what he’s pointing at “–THIS came out! I told you! I’ve begun to cough up blood! I’m a dying man.”

You let out a snort from your nostrils. Sure, true to his word, that is blood. But it is thick and dark, not bright and runny.

“The blood that you ‘coughed’ up is just the blood clot that formed from your nosebleed,” you say, with assurance. Mostly slight annoyance. You go to tug him out of the bathroom. “You’re not actually coughing up blood. The clot must’ve slid from the back of your nose to your throat–a common occurrence, by the way. You’re not dying. You’re fine.”

“But what if it isn’t? What if it’s truly hemoptysis?” he challenges. He refuses to budge. Sighing, you give up and reach down to one of the sink cabinets, finding a canister of salt. (Why he ever put that in there is a complete mystery to you, even after all these years.) Wordlessly, you fill a cup with water and shake a bit of salt into it, then stir the mixture with the end of his toothbrush.

“Here,” you say, handing the saltwater to him. “Gargle your throat with this. It’ll help, or some shit.”

Reluctantly, Taehyung obeys. He empties the cup out and rinses it, sets it out to dry.

“Good, now, sleep,” you say, pushing him out of the bathroom and to the bed. He manages to stop you at the living room, hanging onto one of the sofas for dear life.

“Wait,” he begs. “I don’t wanna sleep! Not yet!”

You raise a brow at him. “So what do you suggest we do instead?”

He looks up at you with a pout and those puppy eyes. Oh, you’re fucked. You’re a goner and you both know that.

“Can we…watch movies instead?” He sticks his lip out even more. You try to resist but immediately give up.

“Ugh,” you say, plopping down onto the sofa. You pat the spot next to you and Taehyung happily sits down. “Fine.”

He smiles widely and immediately turns to TV on, starting up Netflix. You smile wryly at his happy expression, defeated. Damn him.

Two and a half movies in and Taehyung’s softly snoring away on your shoulder, having lost his battle to exhaustion in the midst of the epic duel between Johnny Depp and Orlando Bloom in their scene from the first Pirates of the Caribbean.

You roll your eyes and mutter something about him being childish, and attempt to pick him up…only to fail. Heavy…

With a resigned grunt, you go to his bedroom to instead retrieve his blankets and a pillow, gently laying him down on the sofa. Just as you get up again, however, his hand shoots out to clutch at your wrist.

You look down at him, surprised. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Stay,” he rasps, completely ignoring your comment. “Please?”

You merely gulp and nod.

And stay you do.

// ONE DAY LEFT

You wake up in his apartment with a cramped back, having fallen asleep sitting up, slumped over the sofa and positioned on the ground. Urgh. You arch backwards, letting out soft grunts as your back makes satisfactory popping noises.

Taehyung wakes up an hour or so later, and by then it’s mid-afternoon. You proceed to shove some porridge down his mouth while he tries to weasel his way out of the “sick food.”

He fails, of course.

The rest of the day proceeds fairly normally, though there’s this strange tension that hangs in the air, and doesn’t quite make itself present until later in the evening…

“_______,” Taehyung calls. His voice is soft and vulnerable-sounding. As if any louder, he’d be overworking himself. He’s back on the sofa again, with you sitting on the ground next to him. Again.

“Yes?” Your tone is gentle in response. Absentmindedly you stroke his hair. You’d been using his current condition as an excuse to run your fingers through his soft locks–to “comfort him,” you’d justify.

“I’m sorry.”

Taken slightly aback by his words, you look down at him. “Sorry? What for?” Even though his sheer idiocy does get on your nerves at times, it isn’t necessarily something he has to apologize for. After all, sometimes one’s anxiety could get the best of them.

“For making you go through all this,” he confesses. “I know you probably have other things to do but–”

“Shut up,” you say. He looks shocked. “While it’s true that yes, I do have other things to do, taking care of you obviously takes precedence. I’m not doing this because I view it as some sort of job, okay? I probably wouldn’t do this if I didn’t want to…”

He smiles at you weakly. “Is that so?”

You nod. “Duh, of course. You’re important to me, so of course I’d do all of this for you.”

He hums contentedly and flutters his eyes closed. “In that case, thank you.”

“No problem.” You smile at him. He looks so peaceful.

“I mean, not just for taking care of me. I’m also talking about everything up until now, you know. So kind of thank you for being a great friend and sticking around with me. Even though sometimes you can be kind of a bully and make crude jokes that directly attack my manliness.”

You snort. “So much for sentimentality.”

He whines. “No, I’m serious, though! Thank you for always being there for me, and, and, helping me study, and do you remember our weird jokes about hula hoop mating dances and pterodactyl noises? Gosh, I miss those days. Oh, and thank you for teaching me how to play Mario Kart, and then for letting me kick your ass in said game–”

“Excuse you–”

“–and for accompanying me on our crazy 3 AM Pokemon Go night runs, for all those pizookies we shared and sweets you baked for me, and for letting me vent my frustrations about my dumb classmates, and, and–” Taehyung doesn’t get much farther because his voice begins to crack and the tears that have been fighting at the corners of his eyes have begun to free flow down his face. He lets out a choked sob and smears his snot on his covers. You’re slightly disgusted but also deeply moved by his words.

“Tae…”

“I just–I just,” he sobs. “I just wanted to say thank you, and that I really wish I had–had more time with you, and Yoongi, and everyone else. I know I probab-b-bly have a few more days t-t-to live, but I just wanted to get it out, you know? Before it was too late.”

“Tae, you’re not–”

“I know! I know you’re going to tell me that I’m not going to die, but what if? You can never be too sure and so I just wanted to tell you all that anyways!” He sniffles. “And finally, I know this is kind of random, but I really need to say it, and it’s kind of stupid that even near my own death I still am so fucking scared to say it but–”

He takes a deep breath.

“I like you. Like, really, really like you, more than a best friend. I know I always tell you you’re my closest friend, and that’s true, but like–oh god, I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore.” He pauses to let out a bitter laugh. His arm is slung over his eyes and so he misses the way your eyes widen and your jaw drops. “You probably think I’m kind of an annoying ass after this entire mess, but I just really needed to tell you, that’s all. Can’t go on to the next world with any regrets, I guess. I hope you find your happiness, I really do. I just wish–I just wish–”

“Taehyung.”

He whimpers and rubs his arm across his tear-swollen eyes. “Yeah?”

“I like you too.” Gently, you push his arm from his face. He looks up at you, teary-eyed and effectively shaken by your confession. You carefully press a soft kiss to his cheeks.

Maybe it’s from the sheer shock of the situation, or his sickness, or maybe both, but whatever the reason, Taehyung suddenly faints, passing out between his sheets. You sigh and kiss his forehead, bidding him an unheard “good night.”

// LAST DAY LEFT

The next morning, you get up early, roll off the sofa, and scare yourself shitless when you see a body directly across from you. Remind yourself it’s Taehyung. Get red-faced remembering last night. Then feel kind of sad, kind of annoyed, because the kid thinks that he’s still going to die. And that today’s his last day.

Thankfully, salvation comes in the form of a phone ringing. Or rather, an app on your phone ringing. An internet call.

“Are you serious?” Jin sounds livid. You wince as his voice reaches a painful volume level.

“Yes, Yoongi and I tried to assure him but he was just being too stubborn.”

On the other end of the phone, Jin lets out a slow, staticky sigh. “I can’t–I can’t believe this. I lose connection for a week and this is what happens!” You can imagine him throwing his hands up in the air in sheer exasperation. “Imagine what your lives would be like if I hadn’t installed that VPN and completely disconnected myself for a month!”

“I’d really rather not, thanks.”

Jin lets out another sigh. “Alright, well, since the kid’s so adamant on my professional opinion, then let me speak to him.”

“Um,” you say, glancing over at Taehyung. He’s still sleeping peacefully on the bed. “He’s not awake, yet. And even then I’m not sure, he may become kind of defensive or maybe he’ll insist that you have to personally inspect him or something.”

“Nah, it’s okay. I’ve got a couple of things up my sleeve.” You raise your eyebrow but decide not to comment. You’re not sure if you want to know.

“Er, okay,” you say. “I guess I’ll um, wake him?” A part of you doesn’t, not wishing to see this whole thing reach its resolution, to finally have to come to terms with last night’s whole rollercoaster of emotions.

“Please.”

“Well?” You say, a hand on your hip. “How did it go?” It’s a question you already know the answer to; it’s written all over him, from his flushed face to the way he awkwardly rubs the back of his head.

“Uh,” Taehyung says. “It was…reassuring.”

“And? Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

He looks down at the ground, thoroughly embarrassed. “I’m…an idiot.”

You grin. “Happy we both came to that conclusion.”

But then he turns to look up at you, and smirks. “But I’m still your idiot.” He pauses. “Right?”

You roll your eyes but hold your arms out to him. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought this was some elaborate plot orchestrated to get us together by Yoongi and Jin. But yes–you’re my idiot. Now, let’s go out and get some pizookies and pizza, yeah?”

He grins. “Sounds like a deal.”

“You’re paying, by the way.”

“What?”

happy late birthday cat, i hope you celebrated it well and had a lot of fun…! there’s no jungkook in this fic, which is unfortunate, considering your obvious bias towards him…. ;)))

speaking of biases, there is also unfortunately no taeyeon or ailee and i sincerely apologize for that…. i couldn’t think of a way to fit them in D:

i hope you liked this story, i had a lot of fun writing it, heh. <3333

#RAT LIVES ON

(also, i was thinking of a dumb pun by naming this story like “the catdown” instead of the “the countdown” yea hyeah that was bad ok bye)

a/n: yes, i know, the whole shit about the VPN was just me bs’ing. i just needed an excuse, lmfao.

anyways, this fic was inspired by “the last will and testament of uzumaki naruto” by blushinglotus on fanfiction.net

…ahem. i really do need to be getting back to doing my 100 pages of chem. and for once, i’m not exaggerating. i legitimately do have 100 pages to read and take notes on.

….i’m fucked.

#networkbangtan #btswriters #bts scenarios #taehyung scenarios #bts fanfiction #bts scenario #bts #taehyung #taehyung scenario #writing #fluff #comedy #normalverse #countdown #x: trying not to fail life

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