Daydream: A Sope Fan Fiction

▌│█║▌║▌║ Daydream: Whisper 속삭임 ║▌║▌║█│▌

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Welcome to Chapter 6
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Boy, this is a long one. But well worth it. If you have stuck around thus far then you are in for a treat, let me tell you.

▌│█║▌║▌║ Daydream: Whisper 속삭임 ║▌║▌║█│▌

I couldn't take it. I can't lose him like this. Everything seems pitiful and lost without his deep voice to guide me. No stupid savage comebacks or quirky gummy smiles. No quirky idiosyncrasies to keep me on my toes. Just, him in this condition lying here seemingly helpless and the only thing I'm good for is sending up useless prayers to any gods or goddesses that will listen. They don't seem to be listening today; not like I believed my useless prayers would catch their interest anyways.

Here we are in this bright white hospital room and yet I feel bathed in only darkness while I sit beside him. His frail body rests in the bed before me and I can't help but feel guilty sitting here perfectly fine next to him.

"Please wake up. Please. It's not funny anymore baby." I wipe my face with my sleeve and stroke his hair. "Remember when we first met you said to me 'it's not funny; are you going to shut up or help?' and I thought it was the sweetest and funniest thing." I chuckle as I remember how we tried to clean up all the soap off the laundromat floor that overflowed from the washing machine and Yoongi had the most adorable pout on his lips the entire time. "I knew then I was your sun and you my moon, you big baby." I have been telling him for days now to wake up and come back to me. My hope dwindled with each passing day and yet I had a sense that somehow he heard me.

Maybe, he could hear me but couldn't find me, so I kept talking to him about our favorite times during our time here. Like that stupid fishing trip we went on and how I accidentally knocked poor Yoongs off the boat when I clotheslined him with a fishing rod while turning too quickly. He came floating back up looking like a soaked rat. An adorable, very perplexed, soaked rat. My small laugh turns into a quiet sob.

I squeeze his cold hand and listen as the machine next to me pumps in air to his lungs. The ventilator keeps air going in and out with a steady taboo and seems to keep time with the ongoing heart monitor. The room is quiet except for the machinery. I hear the door silently click and slide open as three sets of feet slowly move into our small quiet world. This is the beginning of the end. Our end. Maybe mine.

Two nurses move about as the doctor begins to describe to me what is about to happen. I'm sure he has spouted this crap to many other patients before me and a part of me just wants to tell him to shut up. Tell him to that he doesn't understand my pain; I'm drowning in my sorrow and all he can do is tell me that this is the last thing they can do for us. I want to take that stupid clipboard and shove it up in a particular orifice with the hope that he spits pieces of it out for days.  He continues to talk to me and my calm exterior is fading fast; he can't possibly know enough about us to realize how hard this is.

Us. That word will become singular after this; it will become purely "me". No more planning a future that involves "us". My "us" will only be a memory after today, and yet, here is this doctor telling me how the hardest decision of my life is about to play out. It's not fair. I swallow as the doctor finishes what is probably his practiced speech.

"Are you ready Mr. Jung?" the doctor asks.

Of course I'm not ready. If he doesn't breathe on his own after this then I'll be signing his death sentence. I'll be the one who agreed to pull the plug on the air and I'll have to watch him die before me. I know that this is what Yoongs would have wanted; not wanting to be a shell of a former man, a vegetable. His will specifically states that after 2 weeks he would be DNR (do not resuscitate) and taken off of life support, but I still feel guilty doing this.