Hoseok wakes up to the sun shining in his face. It bounces off the walls in waves, illuminating the sea green walls and pinewood floor that have both been dusted and scrubbed so they shined like silver, and sparkled like the clear night sky. It might have been pretty, if the circumstances surrounding it weren’t the opposite.

 

The day Yoongi came home about a week ago, Hoseok spent it on his hands and knees cleaning the entire apartment from top to bottom, freeing any crevice of grime and bacteria. Yoongi’s immune system was weak. The smallest infection could kill him, and even though it was only delaying the inevitable, Hoseok wanted to keep Yoongi around for as long as he possibly could.

 

Maybe that was selfish.

 

Carelessly, he throws the blankets off of himself and pads over to where Yoongi’s bed is residing in the opposite corner of the room. They both agreed, for Yoongi’s sake, that it would be best to sleep in separate beds. He gently presses his thumb and middle finger into his neck, ignoring the cold of his skin to feel for his pulse. Faint, but still there. Hoseok allows himself to smile a bit.

 

He examines Yoongi’s oxygen tank next, checking for external damage like scratches or dents, and mentally clears it when it checks out fine. He does a quick once over of the bed frame, runs his fingers over the expanse of the dresser drawers for dust, and checks over the room one last time before relocating to the bathroom on stiff legs, bypassing looking in the mirror to hop directly in the shower.

 

The hot water is like heated metal against his skin, sharp and concentrated in the narrow streams that feel like needles. It’s painful, but it’s the only thing that clears his head, and the only thing that allows his body to relax. He knew taking care of Yoongi was going to be difficult, but he wasn’t anticipating just how much of a toll it would have on his own physical being. His bones crack in his steps. His muscles hurt in places he’s never felt before, even with his dance background, and dark circles have formed under Hoseok’s eyes along with a clump of stress pimples conveniently located at the center of his forehead.

 

In short, he looks and feels like complete .

 

But he bares through it, because whatever he’s feeling, Yoongi is feeling tenfold. Really, he can’t complain.

 

When his skin is thoroughly red, he steps out of the shower, bypassing the mirror again and tiptoes around the room so to not wake Yoongi yet as he gets dressed for work, and checks the clock. Jimin was going to be here soon, and he hadn’t started breakfast yet.

 

“,” he mutters under his breath, bounding down the stairs two at a time. Like every day this past week, he keeps it simple, cooking up enough oatmeal with some fruit and pecans thrown in for the three of them. His culinary skills weren’t great, but they were decent enough to keep them fed ever since Yoongi’s condition worsened and he was effectively barred from the kitchen, and Hoseok was forced to step up.

 

It was…an odd adjustment. Not hard or troublesome, just odd. He’s never seen himself as the one to do the domestic work. He grew up with maids who did all of the cooking and the cleaning, and was the younger of two siblings, so he was always under the impression that he would be taken care of, not the other way around. He never guessed he would end up working a middle class job as a banker after dropping out of college to take care of his sick lover.

 

Life comes at you fast.

 

Hoseok removes the tea kettle when it whistle, using an oven mit around the handle to transport it from the stove top to the table-

 

“Holy !” he exclaims, placing his other hand over his heart at the sight of Yoongi in the kitchen doorway, resembling a small child with the way he swims in his pajamas, blue beanie pulled snugly over his head, tubes secured in his nostrils and his oxygen tank is by his side.

 

“What are you doing out of bed?” he asked, voice laced with worry as he sets the kettle on the table and bounds over to the older man, taking his face in his hands. “You know you’re not supposed to get out of bed until I come get you. You’re body’s weak. What if you fainted? Or you tripped and fell down the stairs, or-”

 

“I’m fine, Seokie,” Yoongi quietly cuts him off, scratchy and hoarse. “I’m feeling…I’m feeling okay today.”

 

Hoseok gives him a tight lipped frown, but doesn’t argue. “Well, breakfast is made,” he says instead, taking Yoongi delicately by the wrist and leading him to the table. They don’t speak. Their spoons clicking against their bowls is white noise in the background, just like it was yesterday, and the day before, and the day before.

 

They used to be able to talk for hours about nothing and everything, conversation naturally flowing from one topic to the next but after Yoongi fell ill, that changed. Soon they seemed to only be able to talk about his health, the cost of the chemo, and how they were going to pay the hospital bills (thank God Hoseok’s parents still loved him), so now they aren’t saying anything. Neither wants to drop a stone in the water. Neither wants to accidentally cause a flood, so they remain in this limbo state. An uneasy peace.

 

Hoseok collects the dishes when they’re finished, quickly rinses them and shoves them in the dishwasher as Yoongi watches him complacently. When he’s done he helps Yoongi to his feet by his underarms, and leads him back up the steps, his oxygen tank occasionally banging against the steps.

 

Yoongi relaxes back into his bed as Hoseok lays him down, careful not to let his weight go until he was completely settled, tucks the blankets around his small body and places a tender kiss to his forehead. His hand is on the door after briefly searching for his keys when Yoongi speaks up for the first time since coming down for breakfast.

 

“Who’s turm is it?”

 

Hoseok pauses, confusion wrinkling his brow before it dawns on him. He never told Yoongi who would be looking after him in his absence.

 

“It’s Jimin’s turn, today,” he answers, glances at the clock. “He should be here any minute now.”

 

Yoongi smiles, albeit close lipped. “Okay.”

 

Hoseok only nods before leaving the room.

 

 

 

Occasionally, in dead silence when there was nothing to fill the air except the noise of traffic, Hoseok thinks his thoughts are like fire. They start like fires do; a simple spark. Sometimes there isn’t enough substance surrounding it to keep the flame lit and it fizzles, a brief flick of passion before dying out, only to be forgotten about a moment later.

 

And sometimes, like today, there’s too much substance for it to catch and it blazes through him, up his arms and legs until he’s melting under the heat.

 

It started out innocent enough. They hit a slow hour at the bank, meaning Hoseok was left to his wits for a good majority of it, and his thoughts - like most of them - landed back to Yoongi. What was he doing right now? Was he eating okay? Is his blood pressure sufficient?

 

Was he still alive?

 

Though he new Jimin would definitely call him if that last one was true, but still. The thought of not being there in his final moments…

 

And this is exactly what he’s thinking as a man approaches. He doesn’t notice him at first, not until he hears a cough and jumps, finally paying the man in front of him his attention and having the decency to look somewhat embarrassed. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Namjoon looking his way. He ignores him.

 

“How can I help you, sir?” Hoseok says.

 

“I, um, I need to take out a small loan,” the man responds.

 

Hoseok consideringly nods, pushing his reading glasses up the bridge of his nose in attempt to redeem some semblence of professionalism. “Of how much?”

 

“Three million won.”

 

“If you could just follow me to one of our private rooms so I can run your credit, please.” Hoseok gets up from his desk and gestures for the man to follow him. Namjoon is looking pointedly at his back. Hoseok is still ignoring him

 

“What’s the loan for, if you don’t mind my asking?” he asks as they reach the door. Not that he actually cared. But he’s learned from experience that it’s best to make small talk before these things. Being friendly cushions the blow of getting denied.

 

“Oh um, it’s for my mother’s funeral.”

 

Hoseok freezes.

 

“She, um, she had cancer. cancer, actually. She passed last week.”

 

“Oh,” Hoseok croaks, voice wispy. “I’m sorry to hear.”

 

“Thank you, but it’s okay. It was only a matter of time, you know? She’d been fighting for years…it was bound to happen eventually.”

 

“I guess, if you look at it that way,” Hoseok whispers, fumbling for the keys on his belt. His hands are shaky, and he nearly drops them.

 

“I’ve sort of been preparing for the moment. You have a lot of time to prepare in five years. And maybe it’s better this way, you know. Now she doesn’t have to suffer.”

 

“Yeah,” Hoseok says, even though at this point his words sound muted, like he was hearing them from under water. He tries to fit the key in the hole, but at this point his whole body is vibrating so hard he keeps missing it, and eventually they slip from his hands.

 

“,” he mutters, not even taking a second to care that there’s a customer in front of him as he bends down to scoop them off the ground. But his hands are still shaking, debilitating his ability to keep a good grip on them and , he needs to pull it together, why can’t he-

 

“Sir, are you o-”

 

“Shut up!”

 

The man takes a step back, eyes wide and sporting a look between confused and offended.

 

“Shut up! Just, stop talking, okay! I don’t want to hear it, I don’t. I don’t, I don’t need it, I don’t deserve it. He doesn’t… he doesn’t deserve this-”

 

It takes someone wrapping their arms around him for him to realize he’s hyperventilating. His vision, blurry and unfocused, lands on Namjoon.

 

“Maybe you should take an early lunch break,” he says, and turns to the man. “I can take care of your loan request, sir.”

 

And that’s how he finds himself where he is now, staring at the walls of the break room, covered in obnoxious posters about just how wonderful(!) this bank is, team building and all that bull. The walls are white, as is the ceiling, and as is the floor. It makes his skin prickly.

 

The clock on the wall marks the seconds that pass. It’s been about 40 minutes since he’s been in the break room, yet he’s still not ready to get back on the floor, not after the scene he caused and embarrassing himself so severely that he’ll probably be hearing about from his coworkers for the next two weeks.

 

He works in a bank, for ’s sake. Half of the job requirement is being able to be a heartless robot, and here is having a breakdown in front of everyone all because Yoongi got sick and-

 

Stop right there, Jung Hoseok.

 

Roughly, he slams his body back into the chair, half eaten lunch laying sadly in front of him. He tilts his head back, lets his eyes close and focuses on his breathing. This always helped him relax, especially in his college days after a long day of practicing in the studio, or when he was frustrated from not being able to land a move quite how he wanted to, so he sat back against the mirror and just breathed.

 

His focus is impenetrable, so much that he doesn’t hear Namjoon until he’s pulling out the chair next to him and nearly falls out of his chair with the force that his head snaps up.

 

“Sorry,” Namjoon says sheepishly. Looks down, looks up, twiddles his thumbs. “How are you?”

 

“Um, I’m okay.”

 

“No you’re not,” Namjoon responds almost immediately. Hoseok is about to protest, but Namjoon beats him to it. “You’re not okay, Hoseok. I can see it written all over you. You’re not okay.”

 

Hoseok doesn’t respond to that. He keeps his mouth shut and averts his eyes instead, taking a sudden interest in a poster about taxes.

 

“It’s about Yoongi.”

 

Namjoon doesn’t phrase it like a question, and Hoseok can’t help but let out a humorless laugh that quickly turns into a sob. His hand comes to cover his mouth, but it only makes his eyes water, as if trying to keep his pain in through one outlet simply directed it to another. His shoulders shake as his eyes shut tight, and like a fire his entire being is lit.

 

The burn in his lungs expands throughout his entire chest as his tears fall down his cheeks, and Namjoon’s arms wrap around him for the second time that day.

 

Namjoon was the first person he talked to when he first started working here, and he was the only person besides their boss who knew about Yoongi. One could say they were friends, and Namjoon was oddly perceptive when he wanted to be. Of course he would see right through him. Hoseok doesn’t even know why he tried.

 

“He’s gonna die,” he whispers into Namjoon’s chest.

 

“Come again?”

 

“He’s-” Hoseok untangles himself from the embrace, “He’s gonna die, Namjoon.”

 

Namjoon’s eyes widen significantly before resettling. “You don’t…you don’t know that, Hoseok-”

 

“No, Namjoon, I do.” Hoseok takes a deep breath, wiping his tears with the back of his sleeve. “His doctor pulled the plug and discontinued his treatment. Basically said he was a lost cause.”

 

Namjoon notably swallows. “Oh,” he mumbles.

 

“And I can’t help feel like I shouldn’t be here. I should be at home. I should be the one taking care of him right now instead of Jimin. I should be the one feeding him and checking his pulse and helping him in and out of the shower. I should…I should be taking care of him. I shouldn’t be carrying on like everything’s fine when it’s so far from it.”

 

Fresh tears fall, but this time he lets them. Namjoon stares on with sympathy in his eyes but he stays silent. Hoseok starts speaking again when Namjoon stays silent.

 

“And sometimes… sometimes I feel like I hate him.” He turns to Namjoon again, bitter smile and tears running down his cheeks. “I was gonna be somebody, Namjoon. I was gonna be a dancer, maybe a really well known one too. I had an opportunity lined up to dance on tour with some of the biggest stars in the industry.

 

“But I didn’t take it. Because Yoongi got sick, and he needed me more. And I know it’s not his fault. God! I know it’s not his fault but I turned down the offer and I dropped out of college and got this stupid 9-5 office job to try to make ends meet because my parents can’t pay for everything and I made all these sacrifices but it was all moot in the end because he’s gonna ing die anyway!”

 

“It wasn’t moot,” Namjoon says finally, placing a hand on Hoseok’s back while the latter buries his face in his hands. “Hoseok, what you did was so selfless. And that counts for something, and maybe I don’t know much about the universe and all it’s wonders, but what I do know is that good deeds are always rewarded, someway or another. It wasn’t moot, Hoseok.”

 

Hoseok sniffs loudly, phlegm and mucus collecting in the back of his throat.

 

“And I don’t know Yoongi like you do, but from what you’ve told me about him, he wouldn’t want you to think like this. He’d want you to keep going. He’d want you to continue to live the greatest life you could. He wouldn’t want to be the thing that was holding you back from being happy.”

 

Hoseok laughs bitterly. Once again, Namjoon was right.

 

“How exactly am I supposed to do that Namjoon?” he asks honestly.

 

Namjoon his lips, contemplating. “I’m gonna be brutally honest here, okay?” He pauses and looks pointedly at Hoseok before continuing. “Yoongi’s going to die. There’s no avoiding it at this point. But, instead of spending the time you have left with him feeling sorry for yourself, fill it with happy memories. So when he finally does pass, you won’t look back on his final weeks thinking how miserable you both were.”

 

Slowly, Hoseok raises his head from his hands. “You mean like a bucket list?”

 

“Yeah, something like that. Why not?”

 

Hoseok thinks on that for the rest of his shift and until he gets home. The idea doesn’t spark and flare up, but it sits and simmers until it’s hot enough to leave him itching.

 

Jimin greets him as soon as he steps through the door with a loud “Welcome home, hyung!” from the kitchen. Hoseok follows the sound to see Jimin putting the last touches on dinner.

 

He smiles a bit. “Hey, Jiminie. How was it today? Everything go okay?”

 

Jimin tastes whatever creamy substance is on his fingers before replying. “Mhmm, yeah it was okay. Yoongi was surprisingly energetic today.”

 

Hoseok’s taken aback at that. “Really?”

 

“Well, as energetic as he can be,” Jimin amends. “He was sitting up today instead of laying down.”

 

“Oh,” Hoseok chuckles.

 

“And since you’re here that means it’s time to take my leave.”

 

Jimin turns the stove off and places the hot pot on a different burner. Hoseok fishes his wallet out of his bag, but Jimin puts his own hand out to stop him.

 

“Keep it,” he says with a smile, and shuffles past him to the door, throwing back a “Bye, hyung!” followed by the click of the door.

 

With a nod to himself Hoseok bounds up the stairs to he and Yoongi’s room. Yoongi’s on the bed, upright, as Jimin had said, with a book in his hands. He looks to be about halfway through. It isn’t until the door shuts that Yoongi looks over to him with a small smile. “Hey, Seok-ah.”

 

Yoongi looks just like he did this morning; thin and bony with bangs under his eyes and an exhausted air about him. His skin is still patchy and translucent, but there’s a sparkle in his eyes and a smile on his face. Namjoon’s words run through his mind again.

 

Instead of spending the time you have left with him feeling sorry for yourself, fill it with happy memories.

 

“Do you wanna go somewhere?” Hoseok blurts before he can stop himself.

 

Yoongi wrinkles his eyebrows. “Like where?”

 

Sometimes, Hoseok thinks his thoughts are like fire. And sometimes the only thing to satiate the blaze is to give it what it wants.

 

“Wherever you want.”