>> suga, angst, 1735 words.  tw// pulling life support & illnesses.

“Oppa, it’s snowing,” a white puff of smoke escapes your opened mouth as your eyes stare back at the twinkling stars.

Though there were clouds blocking the view of the gorgeous stars, the night was still young and the clouds were moving fast.

“It really is,” Yoongi breathes, sticking his right hand out and he watches as the snowflakes gently tickle him, the cold night nipping against his skin. “It really is snowing.”

“Guess we’re having a white christmas,” soft laughter left your mouth as you continued to watch the older fondle with the wet remains of the snow on his skin. Reaching over, you tighten the blanket that lay over his shoulders making sure only his hands could reach the cold of the night.

“A white christmas...” It was unbelievable; in Yoongi’s case anyway. 23 years of his life, and for once he is happy that snow is falling. For once, he wished he could be free. To be able to reach out and play with the snow; to be able to walk and feel the ice tickle the skin of his ankles as the wind freezes the rest of his senses.

“Snow is beautiful,” Yoongi began after a while of silence. Nodding in agreement, you remained silent.

It was very interesting but undeniably beautiful to watch Yoongi play in fascination with the snowflakes. It was like he’s never seen it before first hand. Grabbing the two wheels either side of him, he pushes himself towards the other corner of the rooftop where he picked up a pile of snow and began mashing them together between his hands.

It was like watching a child in a grown man’s body. Although it warmed your heart compared to the wind that was freezing, it made you want to cry. It tore your heart apart slowly and painfully. You wished the accident didn’t happen and Yoongi was the same old grumpy man that wanted to sleep and make music all day long.

But no matter how many times you wanted to wake up and all of this was a nightmare - no matter how many times you wished on a shooting star or 11:11, this was real. This was too real. It was too real that you didn’t even know how to handle it.

Min Yoongi didn’t deserve to be in this position. This man had a big future ahead of him; this isn’t where he should be. Coped up on a wheelchair, limited to do things, unable to do what he loves and create music. Yoongi should be out in the company, reaching his dreams, inspiring younger and older people to do what they love.

But sure, the worst things come free in life.

Watching the man roll about in his wheelchair was enough to drive your tears over the edge. Cupping your mouth to muffle your sobs, you continue to watch Yoongi play with the ice cold drops, his eyes intensely focused and he swings his hands around; pushing, mashing, throwing snow here there and everywhere. His hair was now painted with a thin coat of snow that dissolved into water, his hands turned pink and the tip of his nose a shade of blood red.

“Why are you crying?” His soft voice rang out in the darkness as his head turns towards you. Why is it that every time someone asks that question, it makes you cry even harder?

Shaking your head, you only lifted yourself up from the bench and dragged your feet towards the man with soft eyes and a pale face. Wrapping your arms around him, you let all the tears run wild as he sat, unmoving.

“I’m just happy you got to play with the snow,” your voice cracked here and there, but you couldn’t care less. He was happy which made you happy, even though a huge shadow of fear and dread was leaning over your shoulder.

He had let you release a few tears onto his shoulder. His eyes blinking every time a snowflake would drop onto his eyelash, staring up at the night sky. Sometimes he would wonder if this would be the last time he’d be able to see such a wonderful sight like this, and be in such a comforting (yet quite cold) atmosphere. There was something about snow that Yoongi had taken quite an interest in.

“Come on, it’s late and it’s getting colder. I gotta take you back before one of the nurses decide to kill me,” you had pulled away from the older man and in a cold breath of air. Chuckling, Yoongi nodded. He had lifted his hands, motioning you to bend down; throwing his thumbs towards your eyes to brush away the stray tears that were left. Even with cold hands, you could feel the warmth through your cheeks. The warmth of love that had spread with a single touch made your heart scream out in agony as you closed your eyes.

Your heart was smashing against your chest as you slowly walked behind the wheelchair, getting a firm grip before pushing. You didn’t want to go back. You wanted to stay out here forever with the man you loved.

You didn’t want to say goodbye.

.

.

.

It had been only two days since it had snowed, and two days it has been since Yoongi had been awake.

Now he’s lying unmoving, as dead as a corpse; as pale as the snow. The heart monitor beeping away ever so softly, but it kept ringing in your head. Beep after beep, you could feel yourself going insane.

And oh god, don’t even mention the phone call you had received the other day from Yoongi’s family. The agonising pain that was seeping through the phone and draining your own soul; the sniffles and sobs still remained clear in your head from his mother’s voice.

“Please, pull his life support out. Please end his misery before this illness destroys him.” You remember his mother’s voice so clearly. It hadn’t left your mind ever since she ended the call.

The illness has pushed his limits; leaving him suffering slowly in a coma. A vegetable that was oblivious to their surroundings, yet still looking as beautiful as prince charming.

Yoongi has never looked so peaceful for the whole 5 years of knowing him. He looked so peaceful, as if not a thing could disturb him; yet he also looked fragile at the same time. Too fragile for the world - that if a feather had brushed against his skin it would break. It felt as if the sand in the hourglass was falling way too quick.

“I love you, Yoongi. Alright? Never forget that.” You managed to choke out; rubbing your thumb gently over his knuckle that had turned red from your continuous rubbing. The consecutive beeps had replied to your rhetorical question as your eyes stare hopelessly at the man who can’t be moved.

Who knows how long it has been since you left to go home, or how long it has been since you had a proper meal to fill your empty stomach that is surviving on water. Who knows how long it has been since his mother or father had been up to the hospital. Who knows how long it has been since you’ve felt any other emotion other than fatigueness and misery.

Your heart still isn’t strong enough to say goodbye yet. Though you knew he could push on for at least another month, not a single word of thanks had left your mouth. Not a word of love, not a word of thanks, but only the words a sad man could say to his dead wife.

You didn’t like saying goodbye, because goodbye means forgetting. You’d like to say see you later instead, because you know you’ll never him alone, and he’ll never leave you whether he’s alive and breathing or one with the sky.

.

.

.

“He’s in a better place now.”

“Don’t blame yourself.”

“I’m sorry.”

Words flew in and out of your ears as your eyes stuck onto the coffin that lay the man you had fallen way too hard for.

They pulled the plug before you knew it.

They ripped your heart and smashed it into pieces as soon as the heart monitor only showed a thin green line, with an eerie and long noise that pierced through your body and mind. Tears of sorrow fell from your eyes, screams and shouts ripping through your throat to stop the nurses and doctors from restraining you and pulling the plug. It all happened too quick.

You hated it. You hated this feeling of being lost--being alone.

“It was the right thing to do,” his mother’s voice broke your train of thoughts as you glance at her with swollen and tired eyes.

You could only scoff. At this point, you didn’t know whether you hated his mother or was thankful for putting him out of his misery. All that you knew was that the man you hoped to spend the rest of your life with was laying, paler than he was in the hospital room, possibly matching the same colour of a snowflake this time. The only difference was, he could breathe in the hospital room, but this god damn coffin was too suffocating; even just looking at it made you suffer.

Was it really the best thing to do? Could you have prevented it in some other way? Would Yoongi have done the same if he was in your case? All these questions, but not a single answer.

Finally coming to your senses, taking in your surroundings you had realised you were the last one there along with his mother. His mother, staring at you with eyes filled with pity - though there was something strange. Her eyes... it didn’t look sincere... Her hand that squeezed your shoulder to show grief in some sort... didn’t feel genuine. It was like she didn’t even care that she ended the life of her successful son.

“Yoongi wouldn’t have done it if he was you.” Shrugging her posh hand off your shoulder, you muttered one last time before turning away from the coffin.

Guilt smashes you in your chest as each step begins to feel heavy and every click of your heel drowns in your ears; suddenly walking becomes very difficult.

“I had one chance to save you, Yoongi, and I failed...”

“I’m sorry.”