And it was too soon.

“It’s nighttime, isn’t it? I can see the stars, they’re grand, _________!” He tried so hard to reach between fleeting croaks and a constrained squeak. You know; you just do, especially when he forced his tears to cease at the creaks of his eyelids – wishing it was as nonexistent as his life was slowly being taken away.

It was too soon for his vision to be taken.

It had been two weeks of notice, your hands clasped all night by Luhan’s side. You kept your eyes fixated to him every night, wishing it would be an image imprinted permanently – immemorially. Two weeks since you last saw Sehun; Luhan seemed fine and you didn’t bother to ask anyway. You pretended, you played ignorance because as of now, it was the only bliss that held you and Luhan together. You ignoring what happened last week; him ignoring his blindness. There wasn’t much time.

He brought it up, eventually, when you reeled his wheelchair away from the glass pane, his fingertips loosing grip by its reflection. He was too weak the past few days, he’s weaker and he would be much frailer.

Only you couldn’t accept. Wouldn’t.

He pressed his hands, gently onto your clutched knuckles, his eyes almost pleading as if he knew you’d protest for him to stay awake longer. But you gave in, anyway, his lips taut a wringed smile; his canine showing by the right.

“Sehun still loves you.”

The words rung like a bell, resonating more like a guilt-filled apprehension more than anything else. Maybe he insisted he sounded like he was giving you back because he knew better to not hurt you. You spoke none, your throat resisted, but your tears gave away. “I’ll