The hospital waiting room smelled like bleach, old coffee, and trouble.
Ten year old Y/N sat on a vinyl chair that was so slick her legs kept sliding forward. She wore a knitted sweater three sizes too big it belonged to her mother, and she had pulled the sleeves completely over her hands so she could bury her nose in the cuff. It still smelled like vanilla and home, a tiny shield against the sharp, sterile air around her.
Beside her, eleven year old JK was failing miserably at sitting still.
Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.
He shifted his weight, his brand-new basketball sneakers scraping deliberately against the freshly waxed linoleum floor.
"Stop it," Y/N whispered, her voice muffled by her sweater sleeve. "You're being loud, Jeon."
JK didn't stop. He dragged his heel one more time, making a high-pitched screech sound, before leaning back and crossing his arms.
"The floor is loud, not me. Besides, it's boring here. Why do we have to wait in the hallway anyway?"
"Because the doctors are talking to my dad," she muttered, keeping her eyes glued to her dangling feet. "And your parents are in there too."
"Yeah, well, my dad is the boss of a giant company, so he's probably just telling the doctors what to do," JK said confidently, puffing out his chest. He glanced at her sideways. Her dark hair was falling over her face, hiding her expression. It annoyed him when she hid like that.
"Hey. Look at me."
"No."
"Why?" JK leaned sideways, trying to peek under her bangs. "Are you crying? My mom said you'd probably cry, but I told her you're too stubborn for that."
Y/N snapped her head up, her eyes flashing with a sudden spark of anger that completely replaced her sadness for a fraction of a second.
"I am not crying! And I'm not stubborn!"
"You are," JK grinned, glad he'd finally made her look at him, even if she was glaring. "You didn't share your juice box in the car, and you took the window seat even though I got to the door first. That's stubborn."
"You have a whole mansion, Jeon Jungkook, you don't need a window seat!"
"It's the principle of the thing, Shorty," he shot back, a smug little smile playing on his lips.
For a few seconds, the heavy, suffocating weight of the hospital seemed to vanish, replaced by their usual bickering. JK shifted a bit closer on the bench, his shoulder lightly bumping against hers. His playful grin softened into something more awkward and sincere. He looked down at his shoes, kicking his heel against the floor one last time, much quieter this time.
"Anyway," JK muttered, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. "My mom says your mom is going to a place where nothing hurts anymore. Where no pain can ever touch her. So, don't look like that. If you cry, it makes me feel weird."
Y/N went still. She looked at him, her lips trembling just a little, the anger draining out of her.
JK reached into his jacket pocket, feeling a bit embarrassed by his own softness, and pulled out a slightly crumpled piece of strawberry bubblegum, shoving it toward her.
"Here. Since you didn't get your juice."
Y/N stared at the pink wrapper in his palm. Her fingers peeked out of her oversized sleeve, reaching to take it.
"Thanks," she whispered.
But before her fingers could touch his palm, a bizarre, unnatural phenomenon occurred.
The heavy wood-grained door to the patient room clicked open. At that exact microsecond, a sudden, ice-cold draft rushed down the sealed, windowless corridor. It didn't just feel cold; it felt ancient, heavy, and dark, like the shadow of a cloud blocking out the sun.
JK gasped.
The bubblegum dropped from his hand, rolling away across the floor. He didn't care. He violently stumbled backward off the bench, his back hitting the cold drywall of the hallway.
"Ah!"
A sharp, choked cry tore from his throat.
His hand flew to the center of his chest, ripping at the collar of his shirt. Right over his heart, a sudden, agonizing heat flared up. It didn't feel like a normal muscle cramp; it felt like a hot iron brand was being pressed directly into his flesh, searing through skin and bone. He couldn't breathe. His lungs felt full of invisible ash.
"Jungkook? Jungkook, what's wrong?"
His father, who had just stepped out of the room, rushed forward and caught the boy before his knees could buckle.
"Dad," JK gasped, his eyes wide with a strange, primal terror. Sweat broke out across his forehead. He clutched his chest, waiting for the burning to stop, but the phantom pain throbbed like a heartbeat.
Why does it hurt? Why does it feel like someone stabbed me?
Through the chaos of his own sudden pain and his father's frantic voice, JK forced his eyes open and looked at Y/N.
Y/N wasn't looking at him. His mother had just walked out of the room, tears streaming down her pale face, and had thrown her arms around the little girl. The truth didn't need to be spoken aloud. The silence from the room said it all.
As Y/N was gently led into the room by JK's mother to say her final goodbyes, she looked back over her shoulder just once. Her eyes were wide, glossy with tears, and completely shattered.
JK watched her go, his hand still pressed tightly against his burning chest. The cute, playful bickering from just a moment ago was utterly swallowed by a dark, chilling reality. He didn't understand the scar that was currently forming on his chest, nor did he understand why looking at Y/N's tears made his heart ache worse than the physical pain.
All he knew was that the light had just left the room, and nothing would ever be the same again.
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