Minutes fade to hours and half of the day has already seeped through my fingertips. Why is the world against us? What if he continues to hope and dream? Life would continue the way it is, and though it seems like normal to him, I’ll be the one who’s being tortured. When I was younger, I wished to be a performer and everything went perfectly - ballet practices; piano, violin and flute lessons; joining the choir. Those first four years were really full on, but now, all my aspirations have gradually found their way into the drain.

  Now, all I dream about is freedom.

  Freedom from these white walls, freedom from confinement, freedom from the hospital, and also, freedom from Chanyeol’s illness. I’m being selfish, I won’t deny that, but I’ve played my part - for twelve years - and I think it’s reasonable for me to say I deserve a reward. The best reward for me wouldn’t be a summer vacation in a tropical island, but rather for Chanyeol to be cured and for every virus to be exterminated from his body. My first priority would always be to cure his cancer, but my second will always be to get my life back. Is that so much to ask for?

  A nurse texts me and my phone vibrates in my front pocket, I fish it out and my eyes skim across the words. ‘Give us one more hour. We’re nearly there.’ I groan and reply with an ‘ok’ before leaving the phone behind on the isolated chair.

   I find my way to the bathroom and rest my hands onto the rim of the sink, shaking my head as I count the number of medications just below the mirror. “Just give it up,” I mutter to myself, “The hospital should give up. Chanyeol should give up.” I rinse my face in the hopes that some of my worries would be washed away too. “Why don’t I give up?” I plan and write down a farewell note and leave it on the counter of the bathroom, the black lettering standing out from the white paper and walls.

  Dear Chanyeol,

  I can’t live like this anymore. There’s just too much stress and anxiety, I just can’t keep up with this. I have my future ahead of me and I’m sorry that you need to face yours alone now. I might come back, but I just don’t know. I need to go and chase my dreams.

  Goodbye Yeollie,

  Jennifer

  I scan the sentences over and over until I can almost memorise the shaping of every letter, but deep down, I can’t let go of the paper. I don’t want Chanyeol to see it anymore. He’s broken enough and this will only shatter him further. I hate what he’s done to my life, but I can’t bring myself to worsen his. He’s got it bad enough. My head goes in my palms and I’m regretting every second I spent on that letter. Remorse floods in and I scrunch up the note, leaving it in the rubbish bin below the sink. My eyes lift to the mirror in front of me and I cringe at the reflection I see of me. Dishevelled and unkempt hair, dark bags beneath my eyes, skin pale and hollow; I look in a state worse than Chanyeol.

  A knock then resonates through the wood of the door. The nurse said it was another hour, so at this point, my mind is perplexed. I head to the door anyways, praying that just maybe, it could be bad news, maybe the operation has failed and maybe, Chanyeol and I can taste freedom. That’s not the case. On the other side of the white wooden door is a male, not much older nor younger than Chanyeol and  I, and he’s holding a bouquet of freshly trimmed roses. The colour is bold and bright added with the fragrance dancing through the air.

  “Keep them away. The patient here is allergic to pollen,” I glance down at the male, but he only smiles, pushing the roses closer to my chest. “Did you not hear me?” I reject it forcefully and the bouquet ends up on the floor, and though I expect him to leave it there to wither, he picks it up again and makes a third offering.

  His hair is the colour of chocolate and his gentle smile is just as sweet, he has a border of eyeliner just around his eyes, but they don’t make him seem dark at all. “There’s no pollen, so don’t worry about that. I overheard the nurses betting when this patient will die and it makes me feel really sad, so I came to give these flowers. They’ll show the patient that there is a stranger who cares,” he coerces the roses into my hands and I’m frozen, trying to comprehend his words.

  “Nurses are betting?” That’s all I manage to get from his whole speech, my eyes drop to the floor.

  “Apparently this patient has been here for really long and they don’t think things will get much better. A surgeon wants to cut his life insurance too. I know the flowers aren’t much, but-”

  “Thank you,” I cut him off, “but there’s no point. Look, I’m his sister and I’ve suffered here too since his first day. I know what he’s been through and even though he’s made it this far, I don’t have high hopes for him. Thank you, but no thank you,” I place the bouquet back in his hands and just from this distance, the petals seem to brown and wilt, just a tiny bit.

  “My name’s Baekhyun,” he carefully takes the roses back and bows, “I’ll be a regular visitor.” He runs a hand through the strands of his hair, “I should get going. I’ll see you tomorrow,” leaving the roses at my toes, his melodious voice drifts off and he sprints down the white corridor, colliding with scrambling nurses as he runs.

  My gaze moves back to the vibrant roses and now that I’ve sort of accepted them, the colours have seemed to prop up and radiate. ‘Don’t give up!’ is clipped onto the bottom of the blue wrapper with a crooked smile etched beside it. I discard the note, but leave the wilting roses on Chanyeol’s bedside table.

  I don’t care if Chanyeol gets a thousand visitors with flowers. There’s no path his life can lead except for down. No matter what, he needs to give up - and one boy isn’t going to change that.

A/N: Though it may seem like all those other cancer fanfictions, but I promise you I have a few tricks up my sleeve :) I hope you guys like reading it~ Comments and subscriptions are greatly appreciated