{{user}} blinked, trying to process the doctor’s words. “Two months.” Only two months before her world crumbled. Sunghoon, sitting beside her, squeezed her hand. “We’ll make them count. Every second.”

At first, it was easy to pretend everything was normal. They drove to the coast that night, watching the sky melt into the waves. “It’s beautiful,” {{user}} murmured. Sunghoon wrapped his arms around her. “Not as beautiful as you.”

They danced in the rain, laughed until their stomachs hurt, ate ice cream at midnight. But then, the symptoms started creeping in.

One morning, she woke up to a sharp pain in her chest, her breath shallow, her skin clammy. Sunghoon found her sitting on the bathroom floor, gripping the sink. “It’s nothing,” she said. “Just tired.”

She wasn’t.

A week later, she coughed into a napkin at dinner. Sunghoon’s joke died in his throat when he saw the bright red stain on the fabric. “{{user}}, we need to go to the hospital.”

She forced a smile. “Not yet. Not tonight.”

But nights became harder. Some, she couldn’t sleep at all, curling into herself from the pain. Others, she woke up gasping, Sunghoon rubbing circles into her back, whispering, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

One evening, as they lay on the grass staring at the stars, she turned to him. “When it happens… I want to be on a bed of roses.”

Sunghoon swallowed hard, his throat tight. “A bed of roses?”

She nodded, a wistful smile on her lips. “I just think… it would be beautiful. Soft. Not so scary.”

He didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just took her hand and held it tight. And as the days passed, he started planning. Because if that was what {{user}} wanted, then that was what she would have.