Beep.

White walls.

Beep.

A stiff bed.

Beep.

White sheets. White coats. A thin, uncomfortable, white gown.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

It was too much, too sickly.

People say that white is innocence, purity, and relaxing. This was a hospital white though. It represented the sanitation that came with so much illness that it left stomachs churning. It was the boredom of isolation and the reminder that things had to stay impersonal, spotless, because you weren't staying there long anyway. Once you left, you'd either be grateful that it was gone and praying that you would never see that place again, or you would be begging to have it back. The light, white, would flash before you and then you'd be in a pitch of darkness. You would dream of seeing the white again, because at least it meant you were alive.

Joon didn't know it was possible to hate a color so much.

He had been in the hospital for a couple days now, having been dragged by his boyfriend into emergency care. It wasn't that he didn't understand. Things had been fine when he was tripping or running into things slightly more than usual, but when he came home and his tongue wasn't moving the way it was supposed to and his arm was strangely numb and hard to control, his boyfriend had been more than a little scared.

By now, Joon felt like he had went through every test possible. They thought it was possibly a , but the brain scans said otherwise. The doctors had discuss so many different diseases that he didn't bother to remember. It didn't matter what they were searching for or what he might have, only what he did have was important.

There was soft knock on his door, and he releases a sigh before calling, "come in."

He watched the door creak open and gave a small, tired smile once his saw the mob of red hair that could only belong to his boyfriend. "Hey, Mir."

"Hey," is the quiet reply as Mir makes the rest of the way into the room and shuffed his way to the chair by Joon's bed, head down

Once he is seated, he lifts his head to meet Joon's eyes. It is easy to tell he had been struggling. The bags under his eyes are large, sagging, and dark, as though he hadn't sleep for days. He had obviously been crying too, if his bloodshot eyes were any indicator. His hair was chaotic. Visually, it was sticking in several directions and a hand had clearly been run through it more than a few times. If he touched it, Joon suspected it would be oily.

“How are you feeling?” Mir inquires

“Fine,” Joon replies and sighs as he looks away from Mir to stare at the ceiling instead. Mir moves the chair closer to the edge of the bed and reaches out to tangle his fingers in Joon’s hairs. Neither of them speak, trying to ignore the things that need to be said. The bliss of ignorance and simple enjoyment each other’s company is much more tempting that giving into reality.

“What did the doctors say?"

There is no point in pretending; he will have to hear it some time

"They say you probably have something called variant Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease," Mir whispers as he runs his fingers through Joon's hair, whether it is to comfort Joon or himself he doesn't know. "I only know what they told me about it. It's really rare, and they think you must have gotten it during your trip to the UK a while ago. And it isn't as fast as other forms of the disease I guess but... It still acts fast."

"Meaning?" Joon asks, trying to sound emotionless.

Mir removes his hand from Joon's hair and instead balls his hands into fists and places on his knees. He is looking down, and when he speaks, his voice is tembling. "Remember all that anxiety that started a few months ago? They say stuff like that are the first symptoms. We wouldn't have known. But once those symptoms start, most people only last thirteen months. The doctors say you probably only have seven months left."

There is a defining silence. Seven months. Never had that sounded like such a little amount of time.

"And what does that entail?"

"I think you should wait to hear everything else from the doctors. He only told me first because you were sleeping at the time he came."

Joon wants to protest but doesn't. He may be the one dying, but Mir looks like he's on the crack of breaking. If Mir breaks, he isn't sure he will be able to keep pretending that he isn't terrified. It's better not to push either of their limits.

When the doctor finally came, he tells Joon the same things. It was too overwhelming, making what he heard limited, but it was clear enough.

Variant Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease. Seven months, maybe less. Confusion. Loss of motor control. Loss of speech. Loss of memory. He would die, and it wouldn’t be an easy death. The symptoms would come on fast, but make life feel agonizingly slow. By the last couple months, he would be completely dependent on other people.

He pretends that he is ok, that the news alone doesn’t kill him to hear. Once the doctor is gone, he tries to tell Mir jokes and make him laugh, but his boyfriend barely cracks a smile.

It isn’t until visiting hours are over and Mir is forced to leave that Joon finally curls up and cries.

With four months left, things have become harder.

“Do you need help getting to the bathroom?” Mir asks as Joon clutches to the bed post, attempting to make his way across the hospital room. He takes a step away from the bed and starts to fall, causing Mir to lurch forward to catch him.

“I can ing do it myself,” Joon snarls, pushing on Mir’s shoulders to force him to let go.

“Just let me-“

“I said I can do it! I’m not ing useless!”

“Joon,” Mir coaxes, carefully placing a hand on Joon’s shoulder, “I know you aren’t useless. I just want to help-“

“I don’t need help!”

There is a resounding smack and Mir stumbles backward with his hands covering his face. He takes a moment to overcome the pain, and when he looks up at Joon, the man’s eyes are wide, looking just as shocked as he feels.

“I didn’t mean- it was-” Joon stammers.

“It’s ok,” Mir reassures, backing up to sit in the chair that he has spent most his time in over the past few months. His voice is slightly muffled by his hand, but the uncertainty and shock can still be heard. “I shouldn’t have pushed you. I’ll let you go on your own.”

“Mir, I-“

“It’s ok.”

Mir isn’t looking at Joon, but his voice is defiant and the statement clear. I need a moment alone to think.

Joon doesn’t move for a moment, but then with a stiff nod, he stumbles his way toward the bathroom. Even after he finishes, he waits 20, 30, 50 minutes, and eventually loses count. He waits and waits, until he decides it is safe to come out again, until he thinks Mir has had enough time alone and he himself has gotten rid of all the anger.

He cautiously opens the bathroom down and looks out to see Mir still sitting in the chair. Mir is facing the bed, hands no longer covering his face, and only glances up when he hears heavy footsteps and shuffling. His eyes are red and buffy, almost as bad as the day of the diagnosis, to show that he had clearly been crying. They follow Joon all the way to the bed, watching him collapse on top of the sheet. He opens his mouth to speak, but Joon beats him to it.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, eyes b with tears as he stares at Mir. Everything bursts. The pain, the fear, and Joon realizes he can't pretend it doesn't exist anymore. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear. I just- it is so hard. I feel so upset and angry and just not like myself. I been getting more and more confused”—a broken laugh—“I put my pants on backwards yesterday. And now it’s so hard to just walk or eat. Who knows when I won’t be able to speak and”—a hitch in his speech—“I just don’t want this. I hate it. I’m so scared. I don’t want to die like this.”

Mir doesn’t say a word, just reaches out to run his fingers through Joon’s hair, and Joon breaks down sobbing, because with that touch he knows he is forgiven. As amazing as it feels, he can’t seem to stop talking.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I love you so much, please believe me. Hitting you like that, I-I—“

Mir hushes him, standing up and moving to join Joon on the bed. He shifts until he is comfortable sitting, and then coaxes Joon’s head into his lap and returns to playing with Joon’s hair.

“Remember what we agreed?” he whispers as the sobs quiet into sniffles. When he starts to hum quietly, Joon has a hard time not breaking into sobs again as he recognizes the song and plays the lyrics, their promise, in his mind.

Love of mine, some day you will die,

But I’ll be close behind.

I’ll follow you into the dark.

With three months left, Joon and Mir have to make some decisions.

Joon can stay in the hospital or go home. The doctor’s say it is safe for his boyfriend or someone else to take care of him until the end, though soon Joon will need constant attention and support. It will be hard for them both, but they decide it is for the best. Joon doesn't know how much more white he can take anyway.

The second is how he will die. Eventually, the disease and other factors will prove too much for Joon's body to handle, and he will move on. There is a more predictable option though: physician-assisted suicide. They call it the Death With Dignity Act, and Joon thinks that sounds much better than suicide. It won't be painful, just a small pill, and he can take it whenever he is ready to leave. If he is going to die, he might as well do it before tubes are forced down his throat because he can't even open his mouth to be fed.

It takes some time, but eventually Joon is being wheeled out of the hospital by his boyfriend with a small bottle holding a single pill in his hand.

                                     
Around two months left, Joon is almost completely dependent on Mir.

His boyfriend had always more caring than necessary to show his love, but now that Joon relied on him for everything, he discovered that Mir's love was much stronger than he realized.

Mir was kind and understanding, no matter the situation. Joon would rarely act out violently anymore, but it still happened on occasion. Even if he was hurt in the process, Mir never left Joon alone. He would hold his arms, sing a song, or run his fingers through Joon's hair until the fit stopped. He never asked questions or spewed hateful comments. Somewhere along the line, Mir had stopped crying too. He was Joon's support, and with that position, he had to be strong. Joon had enough to worry about.

Mir stayed the same even when Joon could no long produce coherent sentence and, eventually, no sounds at all. He talks to Joon, despite never getting an answer, because he knew Joon would hate the silence. He would ask questions, suggest things to do, and always assure Joon he loved him.

"Come on, let's get you to bed," Mir says, wheeling Joon over the single bed parallel to their previously shared bed. When they went home, the doctors provided them with a temporary bed for Joon, saying it would be safer for him to be in a separate, and less spacious, bed. Joon hated it, Mir knew that, but it was for the best.

"You are a lot lighter now,” he comments as he lifts Joon onto the bed and tucks him under the covers. “You don't eat as much, which means I can’t cook as much for you anymore, which means I’m probably going to lose all those skills I spent time learning. Maybe I’ll make something nice tomorrow night. Would you like that?”

There is no response, but there hasn’t been any for at least a week, so Mir isn’t really surprised. What is surprising is when Joon’s head turns to the side, and he appears to be inspecting something.

Mir follows his gaze and sees the small prescription bottle that has been sitting on their nightstand for a month now. He remembers when Joon first requested the pill and how reluctant he was to saying it was okay when Joon asked for his opinion. It wasn’t his decision though, and if Joon felt like that was the best thing for him, he would let him do as he wished.

However, the bottle had not moved since they had returned home. Every once in a while Mir would catch Joon eyeing it, tempted to take it before his body broke down completely. He never did though. He would stare and stare but eventually wheel away with a look of determination on his face. Mir never asked, never talked about it, and definitely never suggested Joon took the pill. He knew it was selfish, but he couldn’t bring himself to watch Joon kill himself. No matter how dependent Joon became, Mir would continue to do everything he could to keep Joon alive.

Until the end.

Mir climbs into his own bed and lies down facing Joon. Looking back and forth between Joon and the bottle, he finally keeps a steady eye on where Joon is also looking. “I wish I knew what you were thinking,” he whispers with a sigh. “I’ve seen you stare at it plenty of times before. You never said anything then. Do you want to take it or are you staring, and thinking about everything, again?”

There is another moment of silence before Mir speaks again, voice even quieter. “I can’t give it to you if you don’t say anything. I can’t do it unless you tell me too.”

They sit there for several minutes, just staring at the bottle. The questions are there, tormenting them as they spin through their thoughts, but there are no answers. It is too exhausting to think about things so much bigger than them.

“Goodnight, Joon,” Mir says as he stretches to reach the nightstand and turn off the lamp, throwing them into darkness. There is a ruffle of sheets and a quiet “I love you” before silence falls and lulls them to sleep.

“What do you say to sleeping in our usual bed with me tonight? I know you hate that hospital one. I even called the doctor and he said it was fine.”

Mir wheels Joon over to the left side of their queen sized bed and gets the sheets pulled back before lifting Joon’s frail body out of the chair and into the bed. After place the covers back on Joon, he climbs into bed from the other side and turns off the lamp.

“I bet this is much more comfortable,” he whispers as he moves closer to Joon and rests his head on the man’s shoulder. “I miss sleeping like this. I love you. See you in the morning.”

He falls asleep almost instantly.

When Mir wakes up, he feels well rested. Looking up, he sees Joon’s peaceful face. His face is much thinner than it used to be with cheekbones visible, but his eyes are closed and muscles relaxed. He looks more peaceful than Mir has seen him in a long time.

“Joon, honey, time to wake up,” Mir coaxes as he pulls away from Joon and sits up. There is no response, no opening of the eyes or even a small twitch. In fact, Joon is eerily still. Panicking, Mir crouches over his boyfriend and starts roughly shaking his shoulder. “Joon? Joon, this isn’t funny. Wake up.”

When there is still no response, Mir shakily shifts downward until his head is over Joon’s chest. No heartbeat. In another desperate attempt to prove himself wrong, he reaches for a wrist. He hadn’t realized how cold Joon was until now. He presses down on the unnaturally icy wrist, and barely catches the sob in the back of his throat. No pulse. Sometime during the night, Joon had left him.

“No, no, no,” he chants and falls onto the body under him, clinging to it as though it was his lifeline. “You can’t go, not yet. I’m supposed to have three more weeks with you. The doctor said seven months. It hasn’t been seven months. I still have time."

Mir continues talking, because that is what he has been doing for weeks now. As much as he is dying to hear Joon’s voice just one more time, he is used to the silence by now. His head is resting against Joon’s chest with tears streaming down his face—probably snot too, but he doesn’t care anymore. His eyes are glossy, unfocused, because of the tears, but he sees an orange blob in his vision, and suddenly, an impossible idea hits him. Joon couldn’t move. It wasn’t possible.

Scrambling onto his knees, he quickly wipes the snot and tears away and crawls across the bed. He can feel his body shaking as he reaches for the small orange bottle on the nightstand. When he opens it and peers in, there is a single ovular pill at the bottom.

Joon hadn’t taken it, of course he hadn’t. The disease had just finally taken him. He would just have to tell the doctors that once he called.

That thoughts is quickly gone as another one appears. He still has the pill, and with it, he can join Joon and keep his promise. He’s no longer shaking and, with new found determination, is standing up and walking to the bathroom, bottle in hand. He dumps the pill in one hand and then uses the other to fill a glass of water. Before he can give it a second thought, he puts the pill in his mouth and tilts his head back as he drinks the water, making sure he feels the pill go down.

After making his way back to the bed, Mir gets under the covers and curls up against Joon. Despite his cold skin, being next to Joon brings some comfort. Joon looks like he could simply be sleeping, and Mir hopes to soon join him again, this time forever.

Cracking a small smile, Mir sings into Joon’s neck.

"The time for sleep is now
It's nothing to cry about
'Cause we'll hold each other soon
In the blackest of rooms…"

Soon, the singing turns into humming which turns into silences as he falls into a peaceful sleep.

If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks then I'll follow you into the dark.

A/N: I feel like I started to lose the detail and emotion, which makes me a little upset, but I didn't want to give thoughts to someone (Joon) who lost that thought capability. This was just how I imagined the story progressing though. Also, if anyone is curious DWDA allows physician-assisted suicide in a couple of US states. The act says that the patient has to make a certain amount of written and oral requests and they have to be terminally ill with only six months left to live when making the request, so it isn't like just anyone could make such a request. While many patients have died without deciding to take the medication, I can only imagine the uproar if someone else took the patient's pill. Anyway, I am sorry; I have a bad habit of killing off characters. I hope people still enjoyed it.