As Long As I Can (Jiminx Reader) [Completed]

Chapter 23: "When the Light Fades"

The hospital lights were too bright.

Too white.

Too sterile for what was happening.

Everything smelled like antiseptic, and yet no amount of it could scrub away the fear that clung to their skin like damp fog.

They had arrived in a blur—Jimin, carrying her limp in his arms, her mother sobbing uncontrollably beside them in the back of the ambulance, begging the paramedics to say something, anything. Her daughter had looked like a fragile doll in Jimin's arms, her head nestled against his chest like she was only sleeping.

But they all knew.

Something was wrong.

Now they sat in a small waiting area just outside the emergency unit.

The seconds moved slower here.

A clock ticked somewhere, loud against the silence. The hallway beyond the frosted glass doors was still. Nurses passed by quietly, no one stopping. No one telling them anything yet.

Jimin sat on the hard bench, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together, fingers knotted so tightly they looked bloodless. His eyes hadn’t moved from the double doors since they closed behind her.

He couldn’t speak.

Couldn’t cry.

The panic inside him was too big, too silent—like a wave that had pulled him under and wouldn’t let him breathe.

Her mother sat beside him, rocking slightly, her face buried in her hands. Her sobs had quieted to whimpers now, but they still broke the stillness like shards of glass.

“Why didn’t I notice?” she whispered. “Why didn’t I… see it sooner?”

Jimin didn’t answer. His jaw was locked so tight it hurt.

She’d been getting weaker, yes.

But she’d smiled through it all.

She'd danced in the rain, made him laugh, kissed him softly like she wasn’t fading before his eyes.

He had noticed.

But he hadn't wanted it to be true.

Suddenly, the glass doors burst open.

Her father rushed in, still in his office clothes, the tie loosened, hair disheveled, his eyes wild as they searched for his wife, for Jimin—for answers.

“Where is she?” he gasped, voice hoarse. “Where’s Y/n?!”

Her mother stood, rushing into his arms, collapsing against his chest as fresh sobs broke free.

Jimin stood too, but he still couldn’t speak.

The father looked at him, something hard and raw behind his gaze.

“What happened?”

Jimin swallowed. “She… she wasn’t waking up. I—I thought it was sleep. But…”

His voice cracked, and he didn’t finish the sentence.

Instead, he sat down again, like standing was suddenly too much.

He stared at his hands—her hand had been in his just hours ago. Tightly wrapped around his like she was afraid of letting go.

He could still feel the warmth of her fingers. Her voice whispering, “Don’t leave until I fall asleep.”

God. He didn’t.

He’d stayed. All night.

And now he was here, alone, trying not to imagine the worst.