twenty two

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(Hoseok POV)

The scarf.

He saw the scarf in my suitcase.

"It all makes sense now." He stared at me, red eyes wide, trance gaze, as if he was alternating between reality and another realm. His lips quivered and he stared at the scarf in his hand, "it makes. . .sense."

He turned around and walked through the hall. I followed behind him, wanting to wrap my arms around him. But I too felt numb.

Yoongi entered the living room, looking around, as if he couldn't recognize where he was. His hands touched the walls, resting his forehead against it.

"It was you. They had said the pedestrian had life threatening injuries, injuries that couldn't be reversed." He closed his eyes. "Your hand tremors, pale skin, headaches, why the nurses wouldn't tell me why you were staying in the hospital. . ." he looked over at me, eyes brimming with tears, "why you take the same medication my mom used to."

I wanted to disappear. But I wanted to stay more.

"You have cancer."

"I do."

His eyes leaked at the corners and he slid down against the wall, pushing his hands against it, knees digging into it.

"And I made it worse, didn't I?"

I kept silent, watching his face break apart slowly, defeated face.

"Didn't I?!"

I flinched at his voice volume, nodding slowly. I walked over to him, sitting down beside him, trying to touch him and hold him. 

He flinched away.

He hugged his knees to his chest, face buying in them, rocking back and forth.

"You were the one I had hit with my car. You, you were — are — the victim of the car crash. . .I was — am — the culprit." He mumbled, voice fading. "Why d-did it have to be you?" His shoulder quivered and so did his voice and I found myself wrapping my arms around him, not an ounce of anger within me.

"Shh, it's okay. I'm doing fine."

"No. . .you're not. You're. . ." he lifted his face, eyes bloodshot red and wet, "dying."

His features broke.

"You're dying."

"But I'm dying loving you."

Yoongi shook his head, realizations seeming to hit him harder by the second because he flinched away from me again. He clawed his fingers in his hair, shaking his head, cheeks wet.

"You're dying and I'm the one who made it worse. I made it worse," he sobbed, racking his shoulders. "H-how much time do you have left?"

"I don't know."

"Stop lying!" Yoongi yelled, clawing at his own hair and skin.

"I'm not, Yoongi. I stopped counting my days."

Yoongi turned to me, grabbing my shoulders and shaking them, voice cracking with his pleas. "Tell me, Hoseok. How much time do you have left?"

"I don't know," I shook my head slowly, tears escaping my own eyes. I felt as if my layers were being picked apart again, helplessness only left.

"Why? Why did you stop counting them?" Yoongi's face lingered mere inches from mine, hovering between mine and his destruction.

I gulped, cupping his face gently with my hands.

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