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pathologicalreid · 25 days ago

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heart to heart | s.r.

in which hotchner!reader is set to have heart surgery, and Spencer can't help but be concerned for her

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x hotchner!reader category: angst content warnings: fem!reader, chronically ill!reader, spencer is anxious, inadvertently made jack hotchner a glass child, hospitals, medications, surgery, heart transplant, hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, mostly medically accurate, rejected proposals, spencer's pov, mentions death and dying and wills, howl's moving castle word count: 2.51k a/n: this might be my favorite margotober post of the week. i don't know. it's very introspective. twas a request!

Ironically, his heart was racing. Spencer made his way through the cardiac unit with nothing but his imagination to guide him. He had just left the building a few hours ago when you insisted that he sleep in a real bed, and now he was back.

Your dad hadn’t told him what was going on, he just told him to get to the hospital. It was an hour’s drive from his place in D.C. to Johns Hopkins in Baltimore—you could already be dead by now.

He didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye to you. Not a real, proper goodbye. He told you he’d come back in the morning, which felt ridiculous now.

The sterile fluorescence of the intensive care unit only added to his irritability as he washed his hands upon entry, the CVICU had been your home for the past two months, and in a way, it had become Spencer’s as well. He couldn’t be shocked, you’d been in heart failure for nearly two years, and there was no way he could ignore the worried glances between your doctors and nurses.

You slept more than you were awake most days, Spencer and your dad took turns staying behind on cases, and you usually didn’t have the energy to hold a conversation.

That’s why he’s so surprised to see you sitting up in bed with a cap over your hair, talking to your cardiologist. You looked drained, dark circles gave your eyes a haunted look, but Spencer’s chest filled with relief at the fact that you were still very much alive. “Hey,” Spencer said, looking around the room for even the slightest clue as to what was going on.

Sluggishly, your head turned to look at him, “Hey,” you said back, a weak smile on your face.

He wanted to tell you to lie down, sitting up was obviously draining you of what little energy you had, but more than that, he wanted you to tell him what was going on—he couldn’t guess, he couldn’t bear to be wrong. “What is it? What happened?” His questions were frantic, your father had never called him in the middle of the night like this.

“I’m getting a heart, Spence,” you told him, your voice was gentle.

So, the sky wasn’t falling. The feeling of impending doom that he’s had for the last two years was potentially going to be lifted away, “When?” He asked, stepping further into the room and setting his bag in the chair, crossing his arms as he joined the conversation between you and your doctor.

You took a deep breath, in through your nose and out through your mouth, “Tonight.”

He needed to sit down.

“We’re just waiting on some final pre-op labs,” your doctor confirmed, nodding at the both of you. “It’s a good match,” he assured Spencer, “I’ll let you two talk.”

As soon as you were alone, Spencer guided you down to the pillows. Too weak to resist, you leaned back until your shoulders hit the pillows, “Where’s Hotch?”

You hummed in response, “Jack freaked out when we told him I was getting a new heart, dad’s with him until our aunt gets here.”

“He’s worried about you,” he observed, sometimes it was hard to put the age difference between you and your brother into perspective, but at times like this, he remembered just how young Jack really was.

Clearing your throat, you shook your head once, “He’s scared that my new heart won’t love him the same.”

Spencer nodded in understanding, “So, what did you tell him?”

You smiled softly, “I told him it was like in Howl’s Moving Castle.” Pausing for a moment to catch your breath, Spencer took your hand in his, “They’re not taking my love away, I’ll be able to love him even more with a new heart.”

“So, now he thinks your heart is on fire,” Spencer pointed out, tucking a stray hair underneath your cap.

Sighing, you shut your eyes for a moment, “Sometimes it feels like it.”

His chest tightened in sympathy while watching you try to catch your breath, vaguely aware that this was the last night that tonight would be like this, “Are you scared?” It seemed like a foolish question to ask, knowing that you’d had more procedures than most people your age, but this was a big one. This was the big one.

You nodded gently, there were so many things to be scared of, surgical complications, transplant rejection, but you looked at Spencer with pity in your eyes. You were pitying him, “My will is in the top drawer of my nightstand,” you started.

“No,” Spencer interjected, denial creeping up on him.

You sighed, it took everything in you to hold back your tears, “Spence, we have to talk about this.”

He shook his head, “No, we don’t. You’re going to be fine.”

“I need you to be rational,” you pleaded. The irony of the situation was not lost on him, you were begging him to think rationally as refusal crept over him. “You know the statistics. In fact, you probably know them better than me,” you said pointedly.

He sniffled, “You have good odds,” he insisted. “Even if you didn’t have good chances, you’ve always been good at beating the odds,” he reminded you. The two of you had said goodbye before, a nasty battle with bacterial endocarditis had put you in a coma, but you had come out of it, sending you even higher on the UNOS transplant list.

Issues with your kidneys had knocked you out of the running for some hearts, so your only hope was a direct donation. It seemed like you were getting your wish. “My heart won’t be as big,” you murmured, not having the energy to debate Spencer on probability.

“No,” he affirmed, “It’ll be a bit smaller.” Your heart muscle was thick as a result of your cardiomyopathy, and your pacemaker wasn’t able to keep up with your deteriorating health. A transplant became your only hope.

You sighed contentedly, “You always made me feel so lucky.”

“Stop trying to say goodbye,” he told you, tilting his head to the side.

Nodding, he could tell that you understood him, “You’ll never get rid of me, I’ll come back and haunt you.”

Spencer shook his head dismissively, “No dying, sweet girl. We’ve got to take care of your new heart.”

A peaceful silence blanketed the two of you, sitting and waiting for someone to tell him it was time to go. He didn’t want to go. He’d go with you to the operating room if they’d let him.

He said goodbye to you in the hallway, watching you get wheeled away before shoving his hands in his pockets and walking to the waiting room, stopping in his tracks at the sight before him.

A majority of the BAU had gathered in the waiting room, taking up all of the chairs on the right-hand side, settling in for the long haul. “Hey,” JJ was the first one to speak, giving Spencer a quick embrace before stepping back, “How was she?”

“She’s good,” he answered absentmindedly, still looking around the room, a few familiar faces nowhere to be found. “She was tired,” and a bit morbid toward the end.

Jack was curled up on one of the loveseats, a blanket tucked over him. Spencer continued looking around, confusion settling in until Emily spoke up, “He’s in the chapel. Rossi and Morgan are with him.”

Hotch was in the chapel, likely lighting a candle for Haley while Rossi and Morgan said a prayer for you. Oddly enough, it brought Spencer comfort to know that his friends were pulling for you in the ways they knew how, especially when he didn’t believe in it himself.

Spencer looked at the bracelet that you had placed in his hands, it was one of your most prized possessions, and should something happen to you, he was under strict instructions to hand it over to your father.

You were still a teenager when you were first diagnosed, and you were scared of having a big scar from open heart surgery, so your mom went out and bought you a charm bracelet. For each procedure after, you’d gotten a new charm for the bracelet with Hotch continuing the tradition after your mother had passed away.

There was no doubt in his mind that there would be a special charm for this surgery, Hotch usually had Penelope and JJ help him pick it out.

Penelope walked in, handing Spencer a cup of coffee. The average heart transplant takes six hours, but you have so much scar tissue that he wouldn’t be surprised if it took longer than that.

You were two years younger than him, and he found himself enamored with you from the moment you met. Your disease had forced you to leave college early, but your dad had set you up with a job in records at Quantico, both to give you something to do and to keep you nearby.

Until you just kept getting sicker, you were the best person they had working in records, but eventually, you had to leave that too.

The rest of the team caught on to Spencer’s crush, but you found yourself avoiding him like the plague. You turned him down eight times before you finally acquiesced, come to find out the only reason you said yes is because Hotch pushed you in that direction. Of all people, your father had just wanted you to continue living your life—he didn’t want you to become a hermit.

You would be one now though, with all of the immunosuppressants you’d be on post-transplant, you’d be spending a lot of time at home.

Rejection became a trend in your relationship when Spencer proposed to you last year. He’d done it properly, asking your father and Jack for permission, but you’d said no, rattling off some excuse about how he shouldn’t shackle himself to someone with one foot in the grave.

That night, after you had all but broken up with him, you’d collapsed and ended up in the hospital. The two of you made a promise to each other. If you ever got a new heart, you’d finally say yes.

The promise had been your idea, claiming that karma had caused you to collapse in your apartment because you turned him down. Spencer didn’t believe in karma and fate the way you did, but he did believe in you. That was enough for him.

Hotch came back up first, setting a comforting hand on Spencer’s shoulder before he walked back to where Jack was sleeping, your Aunt Jessica was back there with the two of them.

They hit the two-hour mark with no update, and Spencer convinced himself that no news had to be good news.

Derek and Rossi had made their way up to the waiting room, pulling out a deck of cards from the hospital gift shop and dealing around the table. Spencer just watched, he’d played more than enough card games in this hospital before, and he’d likely be playing many more in the future.

You’d have to stay in the hospital post-transplant for approximately a month, but it was some comfort to Spencer that instead of your health declining, you would begin feeling better. It hurt to hope, but he found himself excited at the prospect of you regaining your strength.

By the time five hours had passed, JJ and Derek had fallen asleep in their chairs, but everyone had committed themselves to waiting for you.

Spencer wanted to take you home, settle you into your shared apartment together, and let you heal, but you weren’t going to come home with him. When your month in the hospital was up, you’d go home with your dad and Jack. Your apartment didn’t have an elevator, and he worried about you having to use the stairs all the time. Your dad’s apartment had an elevator, so it became the obvious choice.

You told him you didn’t even remember what home looked like anymore. He couldn’t wait to bring you home.

He’d started to worry after six hours had passed, but just before hour seven hit, your cardiothoracic surgeon came out to the waiting room.

Careful not to wake Jack, Hotch stood up from his chair, approaching the surgeon with a wariness that Spencer had never seen from him. He waved Spencer over, silently inviting him to join the conversation.

“Everything went well, she’ll be in the CVICU still for a few days before she’s strong enough to be transferred,” the doctor explained, garnering the attention of some of the other people in the room. “Visiting hours don’t start for a few hours, but if one of you wants to stay with her until she wakes up, then I’d be willing to arrange an exception.”

You’d be waking up in a bright room with a tube in your throat, and having someone that you knew with you when you woke up would hopefully ease some of your fears. As soon as Spencer was about to offer to keep an eye on Jack so Hotch could sit with you, Hotch interrupted his train of thought, “You should go.”

Spencer frowned, glancing over your father, “Are you sure?”

Nodding, Hotch looked back at Jack, still sleeping on the loveseat. “I need to stay with him, and she wouldn’t want him to see her first thing,” he explained.

If Jack’s fear from earlier was any kind of forewarning, Hotch probably had a point when it came to wanting to stay with his youngest. Even still, Spencer protested, “I can stay with Jack.”

There were a number of people in the room who could stay with Jack, but Hotch clearly wanted to stay, “Don’t keep my daughter waiting, Reid.”

He did not have to be told twice, turning around and following the doctor to your room, scrubbing his hands before approaching the door. Faltering slightly at the doorway, Spencer found himself staring at you. There were so many wires and tubes connected to you that he’d have to take his time doing inventory of them all, there was a tube breathing for you, but your heart—your heart was beating steady.

“You can take a seat here,” a nurse said, gesturing to a chair for him to use. He sat down obediently, setting his bag on the ground next to him.

You wouldn’t come out from under the anesthesia for hours yet, but Spencer found comfort in knowing that he’d be here for you when you woke up. He could let you squeeze your hand when you felt pain, and he’d be there to wipe your tears away. At this point, he’d do anything you asked of him.

For now, all he had to do was wait. He clasped your hand in both of his and sat at your bedside, a ring box burning a hole in his messenger bag—waiting for you to be ready for it.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid x fem!reader #written by margot #angstober #hotchner!reader #heart to heart

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kawaiijohn · 1 month ago

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Help a queer family of disabled nerds

Hey my name is Dante, I live in the Midwest with three of my best friends. We have four cats, one of which is my babyman whom I love very dearly.

His name is Latke Library Card Mango (LLCM). He's very orange and he's the light of my boyfriend, Kris, and I's life.

Cat pics are great right? Have a few.

A few months ago, latkes chronic bladder stones condition acted up which resulted in two emergency vet visits and a week long stay with his actual vet to get the stone removed.

It was the size of a chickpea.

Here's a photo of his post surgery when he had a nakie tummy. He was very very happy to see us.

He's since recovered, but the cost of this put us back around 1300 dollars in total. He's now on a special diet with rather pricey food to prevent this from happening but it might still act up eventually.

We've paid down some of his debt, but the interest is making it become more and more as we try to pay it down.

On top of this, our pipes backed up into our basement and refused to work suddenly a few weeks ago. We live in a house that is over a century old, and the clay pipes keep getting roots growing into them that causes them to not drain.

The roto had to come out and high pressure the roots out to clear them (which required expensive equipment), This put us back another grand.

To add to everything, our 700+ auto insurance bill is due in November, which is the worst time for this bill to need due, but both myself and Kris drive over ten miles to work during different shifts on opposite ends of town- neither of our jobs have public transit anywhere near them.

We are currently barely making ends meet-

I am a lunch lady at a public high school. I love my job. I feed kids who possibly don't even eat at home some days. I do work I am proud of.

However, I can only work around 25 hours a week without risking losing my insurance as a disabled person. My job does not have longer hour positions available, and I am too disabled to work more than this without ruining my body like I have done in the past.

I have been going without buying groceries out of fear that what little money I have in my account will be needed in an emergency. I will be out of work for a week this month, around Thanksgiving, and during Xmas break- unpaid due to me working in a school. Me being out also means no guaranteed meal every day.

Kris works in a factory. He is currently working 55+ hours a week to make what we can to pay off the bills and keep our house. He only has one and a half knees that hurt all the damn time and is barely eating either just to afford everything. His factory keeps calling for sudden shutdown weeks with little notice at the worst times, and he's the main breadwinner in the house for us.

The other two in our household, one is severely disabled and can barely work 10 hr/week (he is waiting on hearing back to receive SSI) on top of having multiple medical appointments a week to figure out what is wrong with his body and why it keeps failing. The other is a freelance artist who is working her butt off to make money while carting the previous to appointments nearly every day. She is full up on commissions at the moment, but when she opens them I'll reblog her posts.

I really didn't want to make this post. I hate asking for help. But we are drowning and there's no sign of land. None of us can afford to live on our own, nor can we move back in with our parents for various reasons.

All I'm asking for is some help. I don't care how much. Five dollars is five dollars. Five dollars is half an hour less we have to kill ourselves to make ends meet.

Even if we don't make the full amount, every dollar will help us get a bit closer to paying this stuff down so we can afford gas and regular grocery trips again instead of having to save up to go once a month like we are currently doing.

Our goal is 2000 dollars.

Yes, this is the high amount. I do not believe we will ever reach it. I can hope we can raise this much at some point.

But for now that's the dream number.

It's the number that is looming over our heads, telling us to pay up or lose our home.

It's not something we need this very moment, but just what we need in the next few months to be able to afford living without destroying our body or working three jobs/ridiculous hours.

We thank anyone who can spare a few bucks to help us, and if you can't afford it just pass this post along to someone who might be able to.

Please send as friend/family if you can, PayPal is threatening to withhold money sent as transactions now if you receive over a certain amount.

This includes sending things through my ko-fi account- so here's the preferred methods:

Progress:

388.74/2,000

Thank you for reading. I love you.

#dantes vibe corner #signal boost #mutual aid #long post

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dreamylittlevalentine · 2 years ago

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💭

#i'm so tired of doctor's visits that result in zero progress. 😭#i have another appointment tomorrow and I'm so drained.#i just want everything to be over with #but i really don't want to have another surgery berore christmas either

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dee-the-red-witch · 2 months ago

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Okay, this is it.

It's been ten years of fucked-up, and it's been ramping up more and more over the last three since I came out. Between getting used emotionally and financially to be the sole support for this family, Getting harmed daily by a kid that I want to love and support but who can't understand who this stranger is that replace his dad and more and more things on top of it. To the point where I've had no resources, barely any energy to work or function, and near constantly hit adrenaline rush responses at random loud noises. But things are moving forward. Monday, my son moves into care that's well-equipped for him, and they'll be better for him than I ever will be at this point or any time in the future. My oldest kid is old enough to be independent and start doing their own thing enough to get out of here. I don't have to worry about or protect them.

I can get out. Just move, on my own, find a safe place and rest and heal. Finally. Just, I have zero resources to do it with. The last decade has fucked my credit and rental history badly, I'm sure, as well. Which means finding a place within my normal budget and sweetening the pot by pre-paying as many extra months as I can. Plus that way I can be covered for housing during my transition surgery recoveries, since this family and apartment managed to drain every last cent from my transition fund to keep from becoming unhoused. And it'll mean me having to do a lot less asking for support and help, because I won't be supporting four people on one income any longer. But all of that means I need to get money together. Quick. And a lot. At least 5k, if not closer to ten. So, yeah, I'm asking for help again. To donate: http://paypal.me/tormentedartifacts

If you want to get something in return for helping, there's also always http://tormentedartifacts.com but I'll be clear. Anything big ordered right now is likely not happening until after I move, if not after my surgery recovery, since I won't be able to sit fully upright or work for a big chunk of that. Which means you may not see it until next year.

But anything helps. Please. Even just five bucks. And so does reblogging and sharing this wherever you can. So, if you do, thanks.

#help #signal boost #trans woman in need #artist in need #trauma survivor in need

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woso-dreamzzz · 8 months ago

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Surgery IV

Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x Child!Reader

Summary: You have bad days

Sometimes, you have a bad day.

Sometimes, everything is so overwhelming that all you can do is sob and cry and kick your little limbs out because your magic wiggles refuse to come out any other way.

You had a bad day today.

You don't know why. All you really know is that the hot sun blaring down on you and the loud noises from the Barca girls practicing had you bursting into tears and screaming your frustration.

Mami and Ingrid brought you home after that but you couldn't calm down.

Tears still drip down your cheeks as you hide your face in Ingrid's neck.

You're lying in bed with your mummies. Mami's very gently running her nails up and down your back and Ingrid's gently scratching at the very base of your scalp.

Bagheera's here too, curled up on the other side of you and Ingrid. She's a little sleepy but she's awake and looking at you and you blindly run your fingers through her fur.

"Mama," You say softly when Ingrid stops giving your scritches.

"Hmm?"

"More, please?" You sniffle and Ingrid's fingers gently continue as you wipe some of your tears away on her shirt.

You're extremely drained today. Everything was simultaneously too much and not enough.

You go completely lax and limp against Ingrid, your fingers still buried in Bagheera's fur.

"Should we take her to see someone?" Mapi asks quietly when she notices that you're fast asleep," These have been happening more frequently than before."

"The club said they were could recommend her to a behavioural therapist. We wouldn't have to be put on a waiting list."

Even though you're asleep, Ingrid doesn't stop gently scratching at your head.

"Would it help? I thought we were doing well."

"We're doing so well," Ingrid says," But there's no harm in getting extra help with her."

You shift in your sleep, somehow burying yourself even more into Ingrid, pulling your knees up to your chest in some crude copy of how Bagheera's sleeping.

Your bad day turns into a few bad days and then, finally a bad week.

Not a day goes by where you don't cry or whine or feel like everything is going wrong at once.

Your days end exactly the same, curled up like a cat on Ingrid's chest as she and Mami whisper soft things to you to help you calm down.

Today though, Mami and Ingrid have a day off and instead of doing things you usually do like sit in front of the washing machine or playing with your trucks, Mami gets you dressed properly.

You usually stay in your pyjamas when you're having a lazy day but Mami getting you dressed means you're going out somewhere.

You don't like that.

Ingrid tells you that you have a routine for a reason. You think she's right. You like your routine. It's fun and it's safe and you know exactly what you're going to do every single day.

This trip is different. Usually, when Mami and Ingrid change your routine, it's planned for weeks in advance and they remind you every day leading up to it.

The fact that they haven't is a little weird but Mami once told you that sometimes things change randomly so you presume it's one of those times.

You hold Ingrid's hand as you all walk to a strange building and Mami talks to the reception person. It's a bit like going to the doctor's or the dentist you think because there's a little waiting room with magazines that you all have to sit in.

You don't relinquish your hold on Ingrid's hand and tug on it. "Mama?" You ask," What're we doin'?"

Ingrid smiles at you. "We're here to talk to someone as a family."

You frown. "About another cat?"

You've not been very successful in getting Ingrid to let you and Mami get another cat but you think you're wearing her down. Mami says you must always persevere and you don't quite get what that means but you have a general idea.

Ingrid laughs. "Sorry, cub, but it's not about getting cat. We're just going to talk a little bit to the nice lady about stuff at home."

"I have to talk too?"

"Not if you don't want to," Mami promises you," You can play if you want."

It doesn't take long for the nice lady Ingrid was talking about to come to collect you all.

Ingrid and Mami sit on a comfy looking sofa opposite the lady's armchair. You glance between them both before Mami rises again to lead you over to one of those toys with the beads and the twisty bit of metal going through them.

She sits cross-legged with you on her lap and gently encourages you to play.

You do.

But you're hyperaware of the fact that the nice lady is watching you even though you know she's not staring. She's writing stuff down on a pad as Ingrid talks and you play with Mami but she keeps looking back at you every so often and that's a little unnerving.

You scratch at your wrists, your little blunt nails doing little to stop the magic wiggles in your body.

Mami stops you and she gives you a pointed look.

"What have I said?" She admonishes gently," We don't scratch ourselves, do we?"

You shake your head. "No."

"And why don't we scratch ourselves?"

"'Cause it's not being kind to our bodies."

"That's right, cub." Mami presses a kiss to your hairline. "And we must always be kind to our bodies."

You nod and accidentally catch the nice lady's eye. She's writing something again and that makes your magic wiggles get a bit worse.

You don't like running around and exercising around people you don't know even though Mami and Ingrid say it's the best way to get out your wiggles so you very slowly make your way over to Ingrid.

Your hand clenches and unclenches before you thrust it out towards her. "Mama," You say," løve, please (lion)."

Ingrid digs around in her bag for a moment before pulling out your lion toy and handing it to you.

You thank her before quickly hurrying off to sit on Mami again.

Usually, you don't have to sit on Mami to play but your magic wiggles have been weird this week and keep making you cry so you want to stick close.

Eventually, the nice lady comes closer and sits opposite you and Mami at the play table as you start moving the yellow trucks around.

You ignore her for the most part as you play, keeping a tight grip on your lion.

"I heard you speak in a different language to your Mama," The nice lady says and you shake your lion under the table to get out some of your magic wiggles.

"Ingrid speaks Norwegian," You say as you make the truck slam into one of the walls you've built.

"Do you speak Norwegian?"

"Little bit." You get back to work rebuilding your wall so you can knock it down again.

"Is she teaching you?"

You nod. "Mami's learning too. I'm better."

"That's nice," The nice lady says," I heard you were having a bad week."

"My magic wiggles wouldn't go away. I cried."

"That must really suck."

You nod. "Mami and Ingrid makes it better. We cuddle with Bagheera."

"And who is Bagheera?"

"Our cat. Mami says if I try really hard then Ingrid will let us get another one."

The nice lady keeps nodding and she even plays with you for a bit before she goes back to Ingrid, who she talks to for a few minutes before returning to you.

She shakes a little box at you and you peer closer to get a better look.

"Do you want a sticker?" She asks and you look at Mami for guidance.

Mami nods her permission.

"You got a lion?" You ask," 'Cause that's what I am."

The nice lady laughs and, despite her staring problem, you think you like her. "I do have a lion. Would you like it?"

"Please."

She hands you your new lion sticker and you take Ingrid's hand as you walk out.

"Why'd we go and see the lady?" You ask.

"Well," Mami says," She was just making sure you were good and healthy."

"That's what doctors do. Why'd we go to a new doctor?"

"She's not quite a doctor," Mami explains," She looks after little girls who have the same superpower as you."

You think that over for a moment before turning to look at Ingrid. "Mama, did the nice lady say I was healthy?"

"She did. She also gave us some ideas on how to help you during your bad days."

You pull a face. "I don't like my bad days."

"I know, cub," Ingrid says," But we've got better ways to help you now so you don't have as many."

You nod at that before an idea springs to mind. You tug on Ingrid's hand. "Mama," You say," Do you know what would make my bad days good?"

Ingrid laughs. "What, cub?"

"A new cat."

#woso x reader #mapi leon x reader #mapi leon #ingrid engen x reader #ingrid engen #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso

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lorax177 · 1 year ago

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Fun fatphobia fact of the day:

CMS/HCC is a way for insurance companies to estimate how much money a patient will cost to insure, based on the major problems they have.

This is my list of diagnoses.

I blacked out one of them because it is my intersex condition and has to do with my assigned gender, which I don't want to be associated with my online presence. Also, there are a few repeats because doctors will put in their own phrasing, so sometimes when I switch doctors, I get re-diagnosed with the same thing, with slightly different wording. It's also missing a few diagnoses i got as a kid, namely my autism and a comprehensive list of the specific learning disorders I have, because I didn't think they were relevant to a general practitioner and i didn't want them on my record for safety reasons. Anyways, you'll notice that there are several of them that have the aforementioned CMS/HCC label. Those are schizoaffective disorder, major depression (which is part of my sza,) and two counts of "morbid obesity". My adhd, which I need to take two different medications daily to treat sufficiently enough to function, is not labeled as a major disorder, but my size is. Twice!

You'll notice that nowhere on this list is any diagnosis that is supposedly related to my fatness. That is because, metabolically speaking, my health is perfect. My lipids, a1c, blood pressure, pulse, and o2 are all in the excellent range. I am not on any kind of medications for any of these, either. The fact that I have more body tissue than their ideal, which has no bearing on my actual health, is considered more important to address than my neurodevelopmental disorder that requires two expensive medications to treat. They think that I am more of a risk for them because of an imagined bogeyman of a diagnosis ("morbid obesity", aka being fat) than something which actually has real life functional and financial consequences (my severe combined type adhd). Or, for that matter, my ocd, which I needed intensive outpatient therapy for; my transgender identity, which has cost them thousands of dollars in hormones and surgery; my asthma, which requires two medications to treat; and my gerd, which requires one.

I'm not advocating for medical insurance companies to make it harder for people with these diagnoses to get treatment. I'm just pointing out that the medical system sees me as a drain on their resources specifically because of my weight rather than the diagnoses that actually cost them money (albeit with one exception). They think my adipose tissue, which is not causing me any health problems, is more important to note than most of my legitimate health problems.

That is medical fatphobia.

#fatphobia #medical fatphobia #sza #ocd #adhd #asthma #gerd #trans #autism #intersex

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girlgenius1111 · 8 months ago

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miscommunications + conversations

alexia x reader alexia has practically stopped speaking in the wake of her second surgery. it's stressing you out, but you don't quite know how to tell her. she gets it out of you anyway. mentioned this the other day, but changed the title :) angst x fluff

"Do you need anything?" You asked, rising from your spot on the couch a safe distance away from your incredibly grouchy girlfriend.

"No." She responded, barely turning her attention away from the old match she had playing on her ipad. You sighed, realizing that it was the match against Benfica. Again. She'd been playing it over and over since her injury, in an almost obsessive manner. You'd said something about it, but she'd simply fixed you with the glare you'd become quite familiar with, and you'd dropped the subject.

Alexia wasn't an easy patient. You'd known this before her second knee surgery, but you were still astounded at how stubborn she was being. She'd barely spoken more than a word to you in weeks, and even though she pulled you close into her at night when she thought you were asleep, you hadn't ever felt like such a failure in your entire life.

Alexia wasn't okay, and she needed something. Something that you couldn't figure out, something you weren't giving her. It was driving you crazy, this feeling of inadequacy.

You were tired, worried, tired of being worried, stressed, and in need of a break. From anything, any one of your responsibilities.

You'd had a lengthy double session today, followed by a long time in the film room reviewing the last match. You'd looked forward to coming home and relaxing all day, but now that you were here, the distance between you and your girlfriend felt suffocating. It was all too much; Alexia acting like a robot, half the team being injured, game after game scheduled for the next week. You felt so stressed you thought your bones might literally shatter under the pressure.

After another rejection of conversation from Alexia, you knew you had to get out of the house before you broke down and cried in front of her. It wasn't her fault you weren't doing a good enough job taking care of her. It wasn't her fault you were so exhausted, every movement was difficult, even though you couldn't, for the life of you, sleep.

You didn't see Alexia look up after you as you left, walking back into the bedroom and pulling your phone out. You clicked the contact you were looking for, hoping she'd answer, and hoping she'd be willing to help you out today.

"Hola."

"Mapi, can you come over and sit with Ale for a bit?"

"Sí, of course. Is everything all right?" Mapi replied, usual joking manner replaced with a sympathetic one. Mapi knew all too well how Alexia was acting.

'Yeah, yeah. I just need a break." You explained. Mapi said she understood, and promised that she'd be there soon. She didn't live far, and you took a few calming breaths in the bedroom, before stepping back out to where Alexia was sitting. This time, she did look up at you, her face scrunching in concern when she noticed just how drained you looked.

It wasn't the first time she'd noticed that you were struggling, but every time she brought it up, the only time you really got more than a few words out of her at once, you turned the conversation around, trying to get her to open up to you. She hadn't missed this, but she assumed that you'd tell her what was going on when you felt ready. Alexia didn't quite seem to realize the effect her cold behavior was having on you.

"I'm gonna go run some errands. Mapi will be here in a bit, and I'll be back in a couple hours." You explained shortly, pressing a kiss onto Alexia's soft lips, and slipping out the door before she could say anything.

Once you were out the door, all bets were off, and you felt tears pooling in your eyes. It was a good thing you hadn't waited for Mapi to arrive, because you wouldn't have made it that long without breaking down in front of her, and that would have just been embarrassing.

Although, getting in the car and driving to an empty parking lot to cry wasn't really any less embarrassing.

-----

You came back from your rather pathetic drive, and walked into the house, finding your girlfriend in deep discussion with her best friend. Though you felt marginally better, you realized you'd forgotten something rather important; crying in your car for an hour would leave you with red and puffy eyes, tear stained cheeks. You hadn't done anything to hide the evidence.

This was clear when both girls stopped talking and looked at you, faces heavy with concern. Mapi stood, crossed the room as quickly as she could on crutches, and pulled you into a hug. The words she whispered in your ear were only for you to hear.

"Talk to your girlfriend. She's going crazy not knowing what's wrong with you."

You sighed, nodding slightly as you led Mapi to the door, waving to Ingrid, biting your tongue to avoid telling Mapi that you hoped she enjoyed her playdate. You and Ingrid had been making the joke for weeks, driving your respective girlfriend's back and forth to each other as they couldn't drive, feeling like parents of 2 very grumpy children.

When you returned to the living room, to Alexia, she was sitting on the couch with her arms crossed over her chest, knee extended in front of her, looking carefully at you. She looked like Alexia again, her hazel eyes looking somehow both sternly and softly at you.

"If I left the house to cry, you would kill me in my sleep."

She wasn't wrong. You were on Alexia all the time about being more vulnerable with you. It was possible, you supposed, that you were being a bit of a hypocrite.

"I didn't leave to go cry, I left, and I cried. It was coincidental." You argued back, sitting next to her on the couch, and taking her outstretched hand. Hers was so much larger than yours, and it encapsulated it completely, the rough calluses and the tight hold she had on you making you feel inexplicably safe.

"I do not believe you. You have been upset all week, and you refused to tell me why. You call Mapi to come babysit me, you make up an errand to run, and you go cry in your car. When you are upset, you are supposed to tell me, so I can help."

You looked away from her, the extent to which she knew you being slightly overwhelming. Of course she'd known you were upset, and of course she hadn't pushed too hard. Alexia was perfect in that way, always knowing what you needed.

"Mírame," Alexia rasped and you turned towards her, lip wobbling as you finally met her gaze. "Amor," she sighed, pulling you in until you collapsed against her chest. It was a familiar position, with your head resting against her sternum, her arms holding you close. It felt like it had been ages since she’d held you, and you curled into her, clutching tightly onto the green hoodie she was wearing, feeling her lips press softly onto the top of your head.

You still weren’t fully sold on breaking down in front of her, not when she was the one who had every right to be upset and angry with the world. You had thought, too, that you were all cried out. Unfortunately not, as you took several stuttering breaths trying to stave off your sobs before they really even started.

Alexia stroked your hair, scolding you very gently. “No, stop that. Cry if you need to, mi amor. You can always feel what you need to feel when you are with me, sí?”

You tried to pull away, but Alexia was too strong, keeping you stubbornly pressed to her chest.“I can’t, Ale, you-”

“Forget about me. You need to cry, you need me to hold you. We worry about you right now. Not me.” The blonde insisted, her hand sliding up your shirt, blunt nails scratching lightly over your back. She was pulling out every trick she knew to make you fall limp against her, doing everything she could to get you to let go, let her be strong for you when you were always so strong for her.

You spent the next few minutes almost crying, almost letting go, but not quite. Your hands were fisted in the fabric of Alexia’s sweatshirt, and even though she was telling you that it was okay, you couldn’t stop yourself from fighting against the flood of emotion rushing through you.

“Mi niña bonita, it’s okay. You’re safe to feel what you need, amor, please.”

“I can’t Ale,” you whimpered, allowing Alexia’s hand to tilt your chin up away from her chest, towards her face.

“Why?” She asked, so gently, so adoringly, that you felt a piece of your heart stitch itself back together.

“You need me to be strong.”

Alexia shook her head. “No, I need you to be okay. And you are not right now, are you?”

You responded hesitantly, although you had no argument against her. It was rather evident that you were far from okay. “No.”

“No.” Alexia repeated, her thumb rubbing little circles into your cheekbone. “You do not need to pretend with me. You have been so perfect, so strong. Let me be strong for you now, okay? Please?”

Something in her voice, the pleading edge to it, broke you, and you rested your forehead back against your girlfriend’s chest, body trembling harshly with sobs. You inhaled deep gasps of Alexia’s perfume in between your cries, and tried to let it wash over you, as her words were doing.

“There you go, bebé. You’re alright. I love you. Te tengo, amor. Te amo y te tengo, mi niña bonita.”

You weren’t sure where this Alexia had come from, the emotionally intelligent version of your girlfriend having been missing for weeks, but you weren’t complaining. Far from it, in fact, as you cried so hard you shook against her, so hard that you exhausted yourself within minutes, gasping breaths turning into quiet whimpers as your eyes fluttered shut, and you relaxed into a light sleep against the blonde. Alexia held you with an unmoving steadiness, even when her knee started to feel stiff from the position it was in. She knew that she’d played some role in whatever was going on here, and she was quite determined to make it up to you. For now, though, she was happy to let you sleep, looking more peaceful than you had in a while.

------

You woke up when Alexia began to shift uncomfortably under you. She couldn’t help it, she’d been laying in the same position for an hour, and her knee was really starting to complain. The blonde had tried to keep still, not wanting to disturb you, but she was clearly not successful when your eyes fluttered open, swollen and red, as you gazed up at your girlfriend. Her jaw was set, but she looked at you apologetically, sighing when you shot up off of her, looking frantically at her knee.

“I am okay, bebé,” she began.

You scrambled up off of her, practically running to the kitchen to get a new ice pack.

“Amor, come back,” she called, really not wanting to let you out of her sight before you told her what was wrong. You did return, ice pack in hand but you ignored Alexia’s attempts at conversation, carefully stretching her knee out and adjusting it to a better position. She sighed in relief despite herself, and you gently wrapped the new ice pack around her knee, before giving her an unimpressed look.

“You should have woken me.”

“I was fine.” Alexia argued, opening her arms to invite you back against her. You hesitated, looking between her face and her knee. “Ven aqui, amor.”

You relented slightly, curling against her side again to rest your head on her shoulder. Her lips left a soft kiss on the side of your head, and you settled in closer, the feeling of your girlfriend’s arms around you being so perfect after such a tough few weeks.

“Talk to me, please.” Alexia said quietly after a minute.

“About what?” You replied, partly because you wanted to avoid this conversation, and partly because you knew it would annoy Alexia.

The blonde pinched your arm lightly, not needing to say anything for you to take a deep breath, and try to explain yourself.

“I’m just stressed. Everything with the team, the amount we have to play coming up. I’m exhausted, and there’s no time for a break.”

It was half the truth, half the story, but you deeply hoped Ale would buy it. You didn’t need her to feel like she was burdening you, not when it was your fault, and not when she was having a hard enough time as it was.

It was quite on brand with how things were going that Alexia saw right through you.

“And I am not helping.” She murmured, her hand grabbing yours. Her voice was filled with guilt and regret, and you couldn't stand it.

“No, Ale,”

“Sí,” she interrupted. “I have been moody and quiet and completely unhelpful. That is stressing you out more, yes?”

To be honest, Alexia wouldn’t have reached that conclusion an hour ago. While you slept, though, she’d been thinking long and hard, and came to the realization that in her attempts to protect you from how awful she was feeling, she’d shut you out.

“Yeah.” You allowed.

“I need more than that, bebé.”

You gave an annoyed huff, but there wasn’t really anything behind it. “It’s not your fault, Ale. It’s hard that I can’t fix everything for you, but it’s not your fault, it’s mine.”

“I do not need you to fix it for me, amor.” Alexia cut in.

“It would make it easier if you could tell me how to help you, because what I’m doing isn’t working.” You continued, having worked up the courage to say what you were feeling, and were sure that if you stopped now, you wouldn’t be able to continue.

“No no no. You have not done anything wrong, you have done everything right.”

You didn’t believe her. “Then why are you so upset with me?”

Your voice was so small and so hesitant, Alexia shut her eyes for a minute, willing away her emotion so she could explain herself to you.

“I am not upset with you, amor. I… I am miserable because I cannot play, and I did not want to put that on you. I thought that I was helping you, not stressing you out with my feelings.”

You shifted against her, the look on your face causing Alexia to sink back into the couch.

“Well that did the opposite. I was worried anyway. I’m always going to worry, baby. I worry less if you tell me what you’re thinking, though.”

Now it was Alexia’s turn to shrug noncommittally. You had on that look, though, and Alexia knew she’d cave within a minute.

“I am sorry, amor. I should have talked to you. I made you stressed and upset for no reason.”

You sighed dramatically, leaning in to lightly kiss her cheek. “I forgive you. You better start keeping a journal though, and let me read it every night before bed. All of your feelings of the day, written down for me to look through. Then I won’t be mad anymore.” You joked, and Alexia snorted.

“Fine, you write one too. All your feelings. We’ll trade, and never have to talk to each other.”

“Perfect.” You smiled, leaning your forehead against hers.

“Perfect.” She agreed, eyes shutting at the close contact.

“I love you.” You mumbled.

“Te amo mucho. Even when you get tears all over my car, and make me beg you to talk to me.”

You pulled away rolling your eyes. “Fine. You can get your own ice packs, massage your own knee, and drive yourself to your grumpy playdates with Mapi.”

“Playdates!” Alexia gasped, yanking you back down on top of her, and poking you in the side, making you giggle against your will. “You take away my massages, I take away yours.” Alexia warned.

You turned to her, betrayed. “You like giving me massages as much as I like getting them.” You reminded her.

Alexia smiled playfully, her hand creeping up the front of your shirt. You shivered at the contact, taking in the smirk on your girlfriend’s face, knowing exactly what she had in mind. “Do I like to give massages? I do not remember. You will have to remind me.”

You rolled your eyes, but leaned in, Alexia dominating the heated kiss even as you hovered on top of her, though she was slightly breathless when you slipped your tongue into her mouth. That was Alexia, though. In control of every situation, except when it came to you. Evidently, Alexia didn’t always use her brain when it came to you, her heart took over, and she made decisions she wouldn’t normally make. It was hard to complain, though, when she looked at you like you single handedly made the earth spin on its axis. No, you couldn’t complain. You were her weak spot, and you knew how lucky you were to hold that position.

-----

some angst and fluff for ya <3

#woso imagine #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #woso one shot #woso fanfics #woso imagines

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niningtori · 2 months ago

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violets are blue: a hanahaki au | oneshot

pairing(s): choi beomgyu x you, choi yeonjun x you

summary: you love beomgyu, your best friend, so much it makes you sick. literally. like, sick in the sense that your days are numbered as you try to fight off the hanahaki threatening to kill you every time he breaks your heart with his loving girlfriend, so you decide you'll try getting over him with the help of his girlfriend's friend, yeonjun.

genre: ANGST, melodrama, romance, hanahaki

warnings: lots of clichés, serious illnesses, and mentions of death

word count: 5.2k

notes: surprise! i didn't think i'd get this out just yet but here it is <3 please don't be mean (i'm fragile) and feedback is always appreciated!

it’s a bearable sort of pain, but it’s still painful, nonetheless. bearable is a very loose term, too, because you know if and when things continue as they are, you will no longer be able to write your symptoms off so casually. and as you lean over beomgyu’s toilet and watch purple petals stained with crimson red blood swirling down the drain, you know it won’t be long before your pain crosses from “bearable” to “hellish”.

still, you manage to flush the evidence of your dying heart and take a good look at yourself in the mirror. your lips are nice and bloody, your makeup nice and smudged. you calmly take out the emergency mouthwash and makeup from your bag and get to work. after you’re finished tidying up, it’s almost like nothing ever happened. with a shaky smile and slightly reddened eyes, you leave his bathroom and prepare for the worst.

and the worst, it is. you just so happen to walk in to beomgyu’s living room while he plants a kiss on his girlfriend’s cheek as she giggles like mad. suddenly, your chest hurts even more than it already did and you find it hard to breathe. well, back to the bathroom you go.

you wish it were like the stories. you wish you could get some magical surgery to remove the flowers from your lungs — yes, even if it meant forgetting beomgyu. if you were a better person, you would say you’d rather die with your love than forget him; but as you’ve come to find out, you guess you’re not that selfless. actually, with the way things are now, you think it’d be better to forget. but unfortunately for you, there is no such solution in this world.

as it stands, the only way for you to cure your illness is by finding another love, which you have been too stubborn to try, but as you die a little more and more every day, you realize you have to do something. beomgyu is getting more serious with his girlfriend with every passing day, and even before that, he never once looked at you like anything other than a best friend — which you thought was killing you at the time, in a figurative sense, but now it’s killing you in the most literal of ways and you’re desperate.

you want to tell yourself that beomgyu needs you, and maybe he does, but he does not need your love the way you need his. the proof of this sentiment being that one of you is, at present, dying for the love of the other, and it’s not him.

it’s hard to hate beomgyu’s girlfriend when she’s so fucking nice, so you stopped trying to hate her long, long ago. in another life, you might even call each other friends. in this one, though, it’s a quiet sort of dance where you neither push nor pull her too hard. if she’s there, you greet her with a smile on your face. if she’s not, you don’t ask about her. it’s a delicate little charade, but one you play the part in flawlessly. beomgyu commends you for being “so cool” with her, but you have no other choice. if you veer too much in one direction or the other, you run the risk of losing him for good.

so she is, understandably, very surprised when you wait for beomgyu to go to the bathroom before asking her if she has any single friends.

“oh my god, really? i thought you'd never ask!” she exclaims, and you paste on a smile so sweet it’s sickening.

turns out, she has a lot of friends, unlike you, and many of them are, in her words, handsome. she pulls up a picture of a few of them and your eye is caught by one in particular.

“who’s that one?” you ask, pointing to a black-haired boy with an undercut.

“that’s yeonjun,” she grins. “oh, i just knew you’d like him. you’re totally his type, too. he’s gonna freak when i set you two up.”

“what’s going on?” beomgyu cuts, and your short-lived giddiness is shot in the head almost instantly.

“baby, you’ll never believe it. she’s interested in yeonjun,” she declares, still as excited as ever.

beomgyu turns to you with a look you can only describe as odd. you never talk about dating with him. like, ever. you don’t even seem interested in the idea to the point where he very earnestly sat you down one day and asked you if you were asexual, to which you spent a very arduous few hours awkwardly explaining that you are not. honestly? he didn’t really believe it at the time, but he’s beginning to now, if only because you seem so incredibly flustered at the moment.

“really? that’s great,” he says after a slightly off-putting pause, but thankfully, nobody catches it. “you know, for a second there, i thought you were gonna be our future kids’ single wine aunt forever. i’m glad you’re finally putting yourself out there.” god, he doesn't even know how much he hurts you, but he hurts you all the same. he’s spoken about marrying and having children with her, but to think that you fall into the “fun aunt” role in his future with her just makes you feel sick. you’d better pray that this shit with yeonjun goes well, because your lungs are starting to ache just as the thought.

“this is great,” she says, breaking you out of your trance. “how about this: we’ll go on a double date. that sounds fun, right?”

“actually, i think i’d like to meet him on my own first, if that’s cool with you,” you say. the last thing you need is for the love of your life to be there on your first date with another man. what if things go wrong? or worse, what if things go right? beomgyu can’t be there for that. you can’t do that to poor yeonjun.

she looks disappointed at your words, but beomgyu cheers her up by pinching her cheeks and promising that you’ll all have plenty of chances to go out together if things go well. you try to smile, you really do, but you’re not sure if what comes out looks anything even remotely close to one. luckily, it seems like they’re too absorbed in each other to notice.

you haven’t talked much with yeonjun before tonight, opting to meet him in person to see if the chemistry is there before wasting any time with just “talking”. you simply don’t have the time to spare, and yeonjun seems equally as eager to meet you for reasons unknown. so now you sit all dolled up and glammed out at the back of a dimly lit restaurant as you wait to meet the boy you can only pray will save you. he must have no idea how much you need this.

when you first see him, you’re taken aback by how handsome he is. you see beomgyu every day, and he’s the handsomest man in the world to you, but something about yeonjun is different. when he introduces himself and you get to know each other, his charisma charms you in a way you sincerely did not anticipate. he’s funny and goofy, which is just how you like them. you haven’t been on a date in god knows how long, but you’re starting to think that maybe this previously incomprehensibly doomed situation may not be so inescapable after all. that is, until he’s taking you home.

it’s dark outside and he graciously gives you his jacket like the gentleman he is, and you’re walking notably close together on the sidewalk, bodies brushing each other every few steps when he tells you something that just might change your life.

“listen, i really had fun tonight,” he says nervously, and it’s like you can feel the rejection before he even says anything more.

“but to be honest with you, my intentions aren’t exactly pure.” your heart drops. does he just want to sleep with you or something? that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, but it’s not what you need. you need to love someone and for that someone to love you back so you don’t get sick beyond salvation. the only way to get over beomgyu is by getting serious with someone else.

“then what do you want?” you question feebly. he stops walking and turns to look at you, placing his hands on your shoulders.

“i want to fall in love with you, and i want you to fall in love with me. i want us to be together forever. i need it, actually.” he says eerily seriously, and you’re confused for a few moments before it dawns on you.

“you’re sick, aren’t you?” you ask, and his face hardens for a second before he nods.

“y-yeah, i'm sick. if you don't wanna see me again after this, i understand. i just —”

“it's okay. i am, too,” you say with a small, reassuring smile.

“you too?” he asks, eyes comically wide and pouty lips agape in an “o”.

“yeah,” you tell him, and he’s quiet for a few moments before he laughs. it’s a cute, pretty little thing, and it makes you join him, too.

“wow, maybe meeting each other was fate,” he says between giggles.

“maybe,” you reply. and for the first time in a long time, you think you might really make it out of this alive.

“and you won’t believe it, but he told me he spent the whole night with her!” beomgyu’s girlfriend says proudly.

“... what?” he mumbles dazedly.

“he said he went over to her place and stayed there all night, and on the first date, too!” she babbles. “now, he didn’t tell me what they did, but if i know yeonjun, i bet they —”

“stop,” he cuts in. he doesn’t know why, but he feels that if he hears one more word about it, something will feel horribly wrong. it already does feel wrong, in a way, but he can’t quite put his finger on why.

“why? aren’t you happy for them?” she asks confusedly.

“i… i am. it’s just weird, y’know? she’s like… like a sister to me. nobody wants to hear about their sister’s private life,” he reasons, and she nods in response.

“i guess that makes sense,” she says. “but still, i’m so happy for them. especially him. he’s actually had a rough time, lately. i don’t know why, but he’s been acting kinda weird with me, so i —”

“you’re here!” beomgyu says as you walk through his front door. he’s been expecting you. since your first date with yeonjun, he’s been eagerly texting you about it. you haven’t responded much, but he’s been chalking it up to how busy you must be with your new, well, whatever yeonjun is to you. he’s excited when he thinks about how he’ll get to see how you two interact with each other tonight since his girlfriend suggested you all hang out together, but part of him feels off about this entire situation. what he told her was the truth: it is weird to see you with someone, but maybe he’s just not used to it. you’ve never been openly attracted to anyone before, so it’s brand new territory to navigate.

you greet him with a soft smile and not much else, which strikes him as odd, but yeonjun trails in after you, and all other thoughts go out of the window.

“hey, man! nice to see you. it’s been a while,” he says, and yeonjun reciprocates the same excitement, going in for a side hug.

beomgyu’s girlfriend goes in for a hug, too, and yeonjun freezes for a bit, but it goes unnoticed by everyone besides you. you look at him with as much reassurance and understanding as you can muster, and he replies with a grateful, shaky smile.

honestly, you weren’t terribly surprised when he told you that the object of his affections was the very person who holds the heart of the object of yours. she’s a bubbly, lively kind of girl, and it’s easy to fall in love with someone like that. if anything, it just makes you think that maybe yeonjun was right when he said meeting each other was fate.

the night is pretty fun, all things considered, and you find yourself not wanting to die while spending time with the loving couple, but that’s only because yeonjun is sitting next to you. when something particularly devastating happens, you grab each other’s hands and squeeze like you’re the other’s only lifeline. in a way, you kind of are. without him, you’d be on a one-way train to certain death, and without you, he’d be the same.

things are pretty light, though, until beomgyu says he has an announcement to make.

“we’re moving in together!” his girlfriend cheerily cuts in before he can do the honors, and that’s enough to make any hard-earned progress go out the window. you feel your stomach churn and you’re finding it hard to breathe. you look very visibly ill, and while yeonjun is not doing much better, you definitely take it a lot harder.

“that’s amazing! i’m happy for you guys!” yeonjun chirps.

“yeah. sorry, i think i need to go to the bathroom,” you mumble, and yeonjun concernedly looks at you before you subtly shake your head. in that brief look, you have an entire conversation. he asks if you’re alright and if you need him to come with you to spill your guts out, and you tell him you’re not, but you’d rather go alone.

while his girlfriend may not catch it, beomgyu certainly does. that odd, silent conversation that only yeonjun and you seem privy to. the fact that you two seem to have a level of understanding with words unspoken makes him feel suffocated, and there’s an unknown sharpness in his chest.

he tries to join back in on the banter, but he can’t shake the uncanny feeling he has, so he excuses himself and follows you to the bathroom.

now, he knows this is really fucking weird to do, so he almost doesn’t do it, but the sound of you retching makes him abandon all consideration of right and wrong. he presses his ear to the door and hears hushed sobs in between hacks, and it makes his eyes widen in horror and concern.

he’s not sure how much time passes, but he hears the heartbreaking sounds die out, and then he hears the water run and you clearing your throat. he takes the cue to stop pressing against the door, and before long, you step out of the bathroom while looking perfectly put together. you flinch almost imperceptibly when you catch him right outside the door.

“are you alright?!” he exclaims, but you just nod and begin to push past him, murmuring something about being fine, but that you and yeonjun need to leave because something came up. he didn’t even know you could move so fast, and he finds that he’s borderline chasing you to the living room where his girlfriend and yeonjun look up in surprise at the scene before them.

“do we need to leave?” yeonjun asks carefully.

“yeah,” you say shortly, and you’re booking it out of the door and onto the porch before beomgyu grabs your arm and spins you around to face him. his girlfriend hesitantly follows yeonjun outside and watches the entire ordeal as puzzle pieces begin to fit together in her mind.

“are you alright?!” he repeats, and you just face him with a withering, humbling look.

“i’m okay. i just don’t feel good tonight, but i’ll be alright. congratulations on everything, i’m sorry i can’t stay to celebrate.” and normally that would be enough to throw him off of your scent, but beomgyu remembers your muffled cries, and he won’t be swayed so easily.

“what’s wrong? no bullshit. just tell me,” he demands in a way that is uncharacteristically solemn, but you can’t answer that. the only way to get him to forget about you is for you to distract him with the person he loves most.

“but your girlfriend —”

“don't even start. what’s wrong?” he, well, asks isn’t even really the world, is it? there’s no room for negotiation in his tone.

“i… i’m sick,” is all you can really say.

“sick how? sick like you need me to take you home?” and he doesn’t really believe his own implication that it’s something so easily fixable, but he has to try.

“i’m… i’m really sick. sick like i’m dying, sick,” you manage to croak out, and it’s everything he feared and more.

“what’s wrong?! do you need to go to the hospital?!” he panics, and you feel an overwhelming sense of dread. this is what you wanted to avoid because he can’t help you. nobody can.

“baby?” the soft voice of his girlfriend pipes up from behind you. his gaze is torn away from you for just a moment, but that’s enough to make you ache.

“not now!” he snaps before turning his attention back to you, but it’s too late. you feel the sharp stems scratching at your lungs, causing a scorching sort of pain you can’t even put into words. slowly, you begin to cough — choke, really — and beomgyu is helpless to watch as you clutch your chest and hack up a mess of bloodied, tangled flowers. his eyes widen as he takes in the blood seeping from the corners of your mouth.

“who?” he asks shakily as you finish coughing up the last of the petals, and you know he’s asking who your unrequited love is, but you don’t reply. you can’t reply.

“who is it?” he asks again with more edge to his voice, but you still can’t muster up the courage to answer him. you could lie like you usually do, but you’re so tired, you just can’t anymore.

“baby?” his girlfriend repeats.

“what?!” he snaps, unable to help himself from losing his temper as he turns to look at her.

“it’s… it’s you,” is all she says, and his scowl drops and morphs into incredulity and dread.

“that's impossible,” he whispers, but one look at you and your twisted expression is enough to erase all doubt. “m-me? listen, you know i love you, but i —”

“it's alright,” you coax, trying to placate him. even in your darkest moments, you're still putting his feelings first, and the thought alone is suffocating him. “i know. i really, really do. you don’t have to explain it to me.” and your “comforting” smile would be more convincing if it weren't stained red.

“but you’re sick! you —”

“i’ll be alright,” you whisper, and he’s at a loss for words at how calm you seem to be. how can you be so resigned? he looks at you — really, truly looks at you — for the first time in god knows how long, and he finally notices how different you are. your frame is lighter, your cheeks are more pronounced, and there are violet bags underneath your bloodshot eyes. how could he have missed so many signs? you’re dying, no way around it, and he was so busy playing house with his girlfriend, he had no idea just how much you were — are — suffering. it’s unforgivable, but he can tell you’ve forgiven him, anyway. how long have you been forgiving him? since the start of his current relationship? or even before that?

“we should go,” yeonjun cuts in tentatively. you just tearily nod, and before beomgyu can say anything more, you’re in yeonjun’s car and driving away.

he calls and texts for days on end, but you don’t respond. at some point, he resolves to come see you in person. the way you looked the last time he saw you haunts him viciously. he just has to see you. he just has to be sure.

but when he shows up at your doorstep, you just look exhausted and even worse for wear. you don’t greet him, even, you just sigh and walk back to your bedroom before plopping down into the bed and looking at him with a look he can only describe as unreadable.

“i just h-had to make sure you’re okay,” he stammers.

“i’m okay,” you reply gently. “i just need some time.”

“b-but maybe if i —”

“it won’t work. the only way out of this is for you to love me back, or for me to get over you. yeonjun is helping me, so it’s going to be alright, i think.”

“what if i —”

“you can’t make yourself love me, beomgyu,” you say softly, the slightest tinge of a reprimand in your voice.

“i… i can try,” he whimpers.

“yes, but i don't want you to. you have a girlfriend,” you patiently reply, but your seemingly unshakable patience just makes him more desperate.

“then what do you want me to do? i’m killing you!” he exclaims, and you wince as a sharp pain strikes your temples at the noise. he notices your response, and he just wants to die from the guilt.

“i don’t want you to do anything. that’s why i didn’t tell you.” how could you not want him to do anything? how could you possibly ask that of him?

“h-how can you say that? how can you just expect me to watch you die?” he whines, tears spilling down his cheeks as he looks to you for a perfect solution that will never come.

“i’m alright,” you tell him again, but the way you wheeze afterwards suggests otherwise.

he goes to grab you, maybe to pat your back or maybe to hold you, he’s not really sure, but you feebly put your hand up to stop him before he gets too close. it’s an innocent gesture in and of itself, yet it somehow feels like you just smacked him across the face.

“don’t touch me,” you say, but it’s more like a plea than anything else. “it’ll just hurt me more.” with that, your words devolve into a coughing fit and all he can do is watch as splatters of blood and stems stain the tissue you cough into. he never, not in a million years, thought that his touch would hurt you. it’s supposed to soothe you like nothing else. you know, the way your touch soothes him.

“i think you should go,” you suggest after your coughing has died down. he can see the aftermath of his mere presence etched into the tired lines on your face, and he feels less like a person and more like the scum of the earth.

“what are you thinking about?” a sweet voice says, effectively pulling him out of his reverie. beomgyu is currently supposed to be cooking dinner with his girlfriend, but he’s spending more time spacing out than actually cooking the noodles he’s meant to be stirring.

“n-nothing,” he sputters, but her knit eyebrows and frown let him know he has to elaborate. still, he pretends he doesn’t notice her silent urging and returns to his task.

he can feel her stare on him as he watches the pot, and it’s not very long before she sighs and says her next words.

“you’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”

“what? n-no! i just —”

“yes, you are.” and her tone isn’t accusatory, but it’s filled with a sense of knowing. “it’s normal to think about her, you know? she’s dying and —”

“don’t say that! why would you say that?! she’s not going to die!” he yells, slamming down the fork he was using to stir and turning to face her. he’s visibly shaking with rage — which makes no sense given that he knows, she knows, and even you know that her words are true.

“she’s going to die,” she repeats. “you need to accept that.”

“how can you expect me to accept that?! you two just expect me to be okay with her fucking dying! well, i’m not!” he cries, tears streaming down his face as his words get louder and louder.

“... i think you need to take some time to cool down. i’ll stay with my parents, so do what you need to do. when you’re ready, just call me, okay?” she says, and he only sobers up after he hears the front door slam shut.

beomgyu stays in an odd sort of purgatory. he’s constantly torn between contacting you and leaving you alone like you so obviously want. he tells himself that you’re his best friend, so of course he wants to see you and comfort you, but it feels much deeper than that. like there’s something unsolved and untouched that he just needs to dig a little deeper to figure out, but as for what that something is, he can’t seem to quite grasp.

with this in mind, he never, not in a million years, anticipated that you’d be here on his doorstep. but here you are. you look even worse than before, somehow, which he is surprised by seeing as how things with yeonjun seem to be going well if yeonjun’s instagram updates of the both of you mean anything at all. he invites you in and offers you a seat, but you refuse.

“come on, sit down. you must be tired,” he urges, but you wave your hand.

“i don’t need to stay here long,” you dismiss, and it hurts his heart. “i just need one thing from you, and i’ll be out of here.”

“you need something from me? sure, anything! w-what is it?” and he sounds so hopeful, so earnest. maybe there’s a way to undo what he’s done. maybe he can help you after all. no matter what it is, he knows he can do it.

“... i need you to reject me,” is all you say, but the words ring in his ears. reject you? how can he reject you when it looks like a breeze could knock you over?

“b-but why?” he stammers, and you sigh.

“i finally figured it out. i just need to hear you tell me that you don’t love me, then i think i’ll be able to fully let you go for good.” usually, you’d have a soft smile on your face in order to comfort him, but your face is blank except for your eyes, which seem more desperate than anything he’s ever seen. but your words confuse him.

“let me go for good?”

“yeah. i think if i can just hear you say it, i won’t need to see you anymore. i won’t ask for anything else, i just need to hear it from you,” you say determinedly. but he’s stuck on “i won’t need to see you anymore”. what could you possibly mean by that?

“what do you mean you won't need to see me anymore?” he asks, voice devoid of any ill intent, but filled with genuine confusion.

“i mean, yeonjun doesn’t like me seeing you for obvious reasons, but i told him that i think i’ll be okay after this.” his confusion turns into dread. things that were a mystery to him suddenly make perfect sense.

“i can’t,” he chokes out, and you’re visibly stunned before anger explodes inside of you.

“you can’t? what the fuck do you mean you can’t? why can’t you?!” you seethe. you’ve done everything for beomgyu, you even almost paid the ultimate price for him just so you wouldn’t have to make him uncomfortable with your feelings. you’re quite literally dying because of him, and he can’t offer up a meager sentence for you?

“i… i can’t say it. please don’t make me say it,” he pleads. “i’ll do anything else — anything, i swear to god!”

“beomgyu, there is nothing else. this is the only way. i’m not asking you for much, just say it, then i’ll be okay.” but he can’t do what you ask of him. not when he’s realized what he just realized.

“b-but i… i do love you. i’m sorry, i just didn’t realize it until just now, but i do. a-and if you’ll have me, i —” smack! and his pathetic speech is stopped by your hand meeting his cheek.

“you are so fucking selfish,” you spit, voice low, but vibrating with rage. “more selfish than i will ever be able to understand.”

“w-what do you —”

“beomgyu, you have a girlfriend. a girlfriend who loves you. what about her? huh?” you ask, and his previous momentum falters, but you’re not even finished yet.

“and if she gets sick, are you gonna leave me and tell her you want her instead? you can’t do that, beomgyu. i won’t accept that. i won’t accept your love just because you feel sorry for me,” you declare, voice cracking as thick, hot tears roll down your cheeks. he’s still speechless, so you somehow find it in yourself to continue.

“i’m not doing this with you right now. call your girlfriend, tell her you’re sorry, and tell her she doesn’t have to worry about me anymore. and even if i’m gone, don’t you dare tell her what you told me today, okay?” and it’s not really an ask as much as a demand.

“i can’t do that,” he whispers, and you’re not sure if the ache in your heart comes from the briars encircling it or from how pained he looks.

“i know i’m selfish. i know i’m a bastard. but seeing you with yeonjun, or worse, not seeing you at all? that’ll fucking kill me. i just can’t do it. i don’t want to hurt her, but i don’t want to lie to her. or you. or myself,” he says shakily.

“what are you saying?” you ask. this is not how you anticipated things would go.

“i’m saying that if you leave me, i’ll be sick,” he says shakily. “j-just the thought of that makes me…” and it’s a surprise to the both of you when he coughs like crazy, and it’s to the horror to the both of you when a pretty, blood-stained violet petal escapes his mouth.

“oh god,” you whisper. “you can’t do this.”

“i can’t help it!” he exclaims. “i didn’t know before, but it’s true. i just didn’t realize it. i’m just — i’m just sorry i didn’t realize it.”

“beomgyu, it’s going to kill her,” you say, dread evident in your tone.

“i know,” he says tearily. “but it’s you. it’s always been you. we can’t change it.”

“i can’t do this to her. it’s wrong,” is all you can say.

“i can’t live without you, and you can’t live without me,” he replies. “w-whatever happens, can we please just figure it out together? i don’t think i can handle another day without you. i think it might really kill me.” he pushes your hair off of your sweaty forehead, and you know as you feel your heart lighten that you have no choice. if not for you, then for him. whatever happens with his girlfriend, you will try your damndest to make sure she doesn't have the same fate as the two of you.

“okay?” he asks.

“o-okay,” you tell him, because what else is there to say?

notes pt. 2: lorddd i know this ending will be polarizing but what can we do... it is what it is :(

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