Jimin was proud of himself, because recently, he'd managed to get the strength up to walk around his room and not feel so tired or pained.

Taehyung saw him more often too, to the boy's delight; although the corrupt whispers in his mind sounded like his best friend too. He shook that fact off simply because Tae was too nice to say things like what he heard.

'die'

Jimin went wide eyed and looked straight at Taehyung, gripping his arm tightly. "T-tae..?" He stammered, but the brown haired boys' face suddenly softened and his deep, velvet voice came back.

"Jimminie?" Taehyung asked, his face close to the orange haired boys'. "What happened?"

The sickly boy was holding back hot tears, biting his lip so hard it tore and began to bleed. Whilst he stayed silent, the red liquid mixed with the spit in his mouth, and everything suddenly tasted metallic.

He shook his head, and with a slight whisper, said, "it's nothing, Tae." But when he looked up again, Taehyung wasn't there, and he was gripping his own arm tightly. Tight enough to leave red marks on his pale skin, in the shape of his hand.

This confused him greatly; it happened a lot too. He decided to go and find Dr.Min, by himself, with no aid.

He could have just called reception and asked for the doctor. Yet, Jimin disregarded the white, ageing telephone as if it was a useless chunk of plastic sat on his bedside.

He sighed to himself, feeling the air leave his lungs as he gripped the cold steel of the IV stand - it was something he couldn't go anywhere without. A lifeline, connected to him by a tube pushed into his hand and secured with a bandage that Yoongi would carefully change later in the day.

The moment his feet touched the white tiles on the floor, shivers shot up his body and up his spine, chilling him throughly. The white hairs on his arms stood on end, along with the awful shiver that accompanied it. He was still delicate and thin, maybe too much so to leave his room - but he was so desperate to go. So desperate to again see the sterile, achromatic corridors of the hospital he'd been in for so long.

He'd seen them once, and wandered them before he became so sick and frail that he could no longer get out of bed without help or great effort. He had to see them again, but his body wouldn't let him.

With the blood on his lip crusting over, and hot tears rolling down his face, he climbed back into bed and picked up the receiver of the plastic, white phone. Jimin dialled the reception's number.

"Can you send Dr.Min up please? To room 116. I'm scared."