Death is scary.

Death is blissful.

Death may seem lackadaisical.

Death is sinisterly welcoming.

When your eyelids flutter open, the first thing you see is Jonghyun sitting in the chair next to your bed. He’s always there, always guarding…

Always missing out on things because of you.

This is the third time you’ve been to the hospital and luckily, you’ve already covered bases and your doctor lies to Jonghyun about your condition and pass off your appearance as some malnutrition and excessive stress. Due to the cancer spreading through your body, you’ve been stuck here for two days. Every day when you wake up, he’s there, missing out on sleep, watching over someone that will eventually leave in about two weeks.

You’re being cursed right now for not trusting someone so wonderful, because that’s all you could describe Jonghyun right now in one word. Wonderful. Caring. Friendly. Lovely. Himself.

The suffocating air returns to your lungs and you try to cough without waking him up, which in your attempts you are successful, and for the third time, you thank whoever’s up there that Jonghyun is a deep sleeper.

When Jonghyun’s own eyes also flutter open, you shouldn’t have thought things too early.

He sees that you’re awake and immediately springs up to fret over you.

This needs to stop.

Jonghyun loves you, and you love him, too.

But he deserves someone so much better, someone who isn’t sick and gradually making residence at the hospital, someone who has more time to treat him the way he deserves to be treated.

“Jjong,” you croak and he tries to shush you, his hand patting your hair that must be gross right now. You clear your throat the best you can and ignore his shushes. “You can’t do this anymore.”

His hand stops and freezes.

“Of course I can—“

“Jjong, you deserve someone much better. I’m always getting sick…you  need someone who can be there for you, not cooped up in a hospital all the time.”

He shakes his head defiantly and grabs onto your hand and ignore the IV just mere inches away. His hands are trembling and your heart burns so much.

“You know you do,” your voice shakes out of exhaustion and resistance. “Just go.”

“No!” he cries and lets his tears loose. You’ve always loved Jonghyun’s sentimentality because he’s not afraid of crying like a girl, not like the guys who think they’re all macho by taking things and putting them behind an interior wall.

“Go,” you plead, tears choking before running down your cheek.

“Do you really want me to?”

You want to scream no, to take everything back, but you bite down on your tongue and lie for the first time in your two-year relationship.

“Yes.”

Your teeth bite your bottom lip but the tears don’t stop and you restrain yourself from grabbing onto Jonghyun’s shirt to pull him back when he releases the hold on your hand. Your hand reaches for your phone on the stand next to you and presses 3 before dialing.

“Minho, please drive Jonghyun home. I don’t want him to crash,” you mutter.

“Is he in the hospital?”

“He’s here. Room 3105.”

“I’ll be there in three.”

You hang up and tug on Jonghyun’s shirt to keep him from leaving, from possibly doing anything reckless.

He’s muttering to himself and crying silent tears and your fingers clench even tighter on the hem of his t-shirt as you fight your feelings. This crying and simple break up has you more exhausted than anything in the world.

Minho comes and drags Jonghyun away from you and sends you a pitiful glance.

Luckily, the nurse has left the blinds open and through your teary vision, you watch the sun slowly set over Incheon, over the populated city and its crowded streets with lights like New York City.

The shades go through orange and violent and blood red, more beautiful than anything you’ve ever seen.

And then your eyes close with that picture in your head.