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most people are born, they grow up, go through life experiences as a teenager, as a young adult and then as an adult. they find someone to love and settle down, have a family, a house, a future with someone, and then they retire, they enjoy the rest of their years in life.

they grow old and then, they die.

jimin isn't most people, jimin doesn't get to have all that, for some odd reason, god— he assumes it's god, or he guesses there's some higher power controlling all this bullshit called life. this higher power has decided to give him something shitty, decided his life wasn't of any significance truly, decided park jimin doesn't matter, his mother doesn't matter either.

jimin has been prepared for this his whole life, knew this would happen one day. however, as much as he prepared himself it still felt like he'd just been punched in the gut, he could never truly prepare himself, accept at such a young age of twenty-three that he'd be dying in four months, not even enough time for his next birthday.

his mother is crying, she's sobbing and all jimin can do is hold her because they're all they have, and he really doesn't want to leave his mom, he's so scared.

he's scared and he's only twenty-three. he didn't go to college, he didn't get to truly date or experience high school the way he thought he would, all the small insignificant things making loud and annoying presence in his brain.

he squeezes his mom tight and kisses the top of her head, ironic that it should be the other way, but for some odd reason he's always been the strong one, the minute they had news of any of this, jimin grew up fast. always having to comfort his mother and never truly thinking of his impending death, never being able to truly breakdown and have his process of emotions.

he just accepted it.

"i wanna go home.", jimin says and his mother pops her head up from his chest in confusion, he can't go home.

"jimin, the safest place would be to stay here, baby.", his mother brushes at his cheek, cupping it.

"why?", jimin laughs with a bitter undertone. "they'll send me to hospice, i'm just going to sit—", he chokes on hot tears that have began to fill his face. "i'm just going to sit there and fucking wait? fucking wait to die and that's it?", jimin finally got out, his mother squeezed at his hands and jimin gently pulled himself away.

"i think it'd be best for jimin to go home, be in familiar surroundings.", the doctor says, he leaves the room eventually and jimin wants to laugh because this hospital, this bed, the sounds of machines, this is all he is familiar with, but home— the one he grew up in with the white paint and the small little well that always had a tadpole or frog inside on rainy days, that home where it smelled like his mother's cooking and fabric softener from the laundry on saturday's, that home sounds so comforting. his heart yearns for his small bed and the different posters he put up in his teen angst years, but his heart also yearns for more.

the minute they get home, he walks to his room and shuts the door, grabs his old backpack from high school, stuffing clothes and socks and underwear more underwear than anything.

he carefully bends down and sticks an arm underneath his bed, fishing for a shoe box, he opens it carefully as he looks at the years of cash he'd received from when he was younger, before he got diagnosed with cancer so young. he used to mow lawns and do extra chores for money, christmas and birthdays definitely helped rack up a big number in no time, he continued to save it for all these years for something special.

he spent the rest of the evening in the living room with his mom, they cuddled up under a blanket as they watched the murder mystery channel, one of their favorite past times.

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