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He knocked on the door lightly, knowing it would be enough for the person on the other side to know he was visiting - she's always been sensitive to sounds, like him.
Yoongi waited. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion and worry.
Was she sleeping? He thought to himself; he decided to knock again, just in case she hadn't heard him.
"Come in," a small, fragile voice called from the other side. It took everything for Yoongi to keep from crying. She was getting weaker, he could tell. Yet, he couldn't do anything; he was helpless and hated it. He wished there was a way he could help his mother get cured, butㅡbut the doctors had told him. That it was too late for her. They said it was impossible to cure the paralysis. "Yoongi...is that you?" The frail voice called again.
He shook his thoughts aside, and exhaled before pushing the cold metal handle down to open the door. Peeking inside, he saw his mother trying to sit up, but failing. He rushed immediately to her aid.
Gently placing his left hand on her back, he slowly held her upright, before moving the pillows more closer with his rightㅡhe realised he'd chosen the wrong hands, because his arms weren't exactly long enough to position the pillows properly. This illicited a light chuckle from his mother, causing him to smile sheepishly.
"How's my little Yoon-ah been, hm?" He smiled, feeling warmth inside of him. How long had it been since she'd called him that? He had missed it.
Finally managing to switch his hands, he positioned the pillows so they were touching his mother's back and slowly, he lowered the hand on her back to rest her on pillows. Releasing a short breath, he pulled the white chair near him and sat down.
"I've been better," he answered honestly, shrugging. Even if he did try, his lie would be caught straight away. Nothing went by his mother's eyes - "mum's intuition", as she called it. A frown painted itself on her face as he said this.
"Why? What's wrong, dear? Is everything going alright at university?" She asked, with concern dripping from her small voice. Everytime - everytime, it broke a little part of his heart, hearing her voice become so weak that it's almost like it hurt her to say each word.
"I got into the finals for the music competition," he started, looking straight at his mother, whose eyes widened. Her lips stretched into a big smile.
"Yoongi, that's fantastic! I am so proud of you," she praised him, reaching out to ruffle his hair. He couldn't help but smile as well, even though he always reprimanded her for messing his hair - because he had made it. He still couldn't believe it. But her smile turned down right after; she looked at him, placing her hand on his own. "Is something about the competition worrying you?" She asked. He sighed.
