Jungkook p.o.v
forsake these,
--
I heard a loud crash and then a thud from his bedroom and my legs immediately ran to where I'd left him.
"Jimin!"
I raced inside to find his coffee mug shattered and coffee splattered on the white floor and nearby furniture.
His body was shivering and he was gasping for breath. I brought my mouth closer to his and heard faint oxygen still being in taken.
Hospital. Ambulance.
I fumbled for my phone, dropping it twice, before punching in the number for an ambulance.
I smoothed back Jimin's sweaty hair with my trembling fingers and felt his cold skin.
"Y-you're going to be okay, Jimin. Please, please hang in there."
》
I sat beside Jimin at the place which I knew so well.
His eyes were closed and his mouth was hooked onto an oxygen mask. I held his hand and pressed my forehead on top our hands.
"I'm sorry for being a wussy and walking away," I confessed, hoping he'd wake up and remember the memories we'd made.
"I-I'm sorry for being afraid to kiss you, Jimin." I bit my lip to prevent my wavering voice from saying too much.
I heard the doorknob turn and looked up to see,
Yoongi.
He didn't return the shocked expression of mine and walked around to the beeping monitor. He wrote down something on his clipboard and clicked the pen closed, placing it back onto his lab coat's breast pocket.
I didn't know what to say. Sure his hair which used to be silver was now blonde and he looked more healthier than the last time I'd seen him. But the emptiness which he used to look at me with was still there.
"It was a stroke."
"What?"
He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, looking quite annoyed at the idiot he had to deal with.
"A stroke; the sudden death of brain cells due to inadequate blood supply."
"I know what a stroke is, but why now?"
He looked down at Jimin and shrugged.
"He seemed healthy over the course of the past few months, I'm surprised as well as to why he'd experience it now. The stage of his Alzheimer's shouldn't be giving him strokes. It's too early." Yoongi explained.
"Wait, what do you mean over the months?" I asked him. Was Yoongi still in touch with Jimin?
"I'm his doctor, you fool. I come by once a week to check up on him."
Oh. Mrs. Park had never informed me that Yoongi was his personal doctor.
"And," he sat down on the stool across from me, "I heard you're his caregiver."
I nodded. I felt nervous in front of his interrogating eyes.
He scoffed.
"His mother must be out of her mind to hire you," he muttered.
"I'm doing it for free and out of my personal choice," I informed him. God, he was beginning to annoy me.
"Cut me some slack, okay? It's hard seeing Jimin not being able to remember me, you know." I grumbled.
Yoongi stared at me and didn't react to my words for a few seconds. His eyes looked down at his hands and then back up at me.
"I know."
I avoided his eyes and immediately felt bad. I wasn't the only one who was hurting over the forgotten memories. Yoongi spent each time checking up on him, only to see Jimin forgetting him each time.
"Look, I'm so--"
"You shouldn't have come back." He grimly said.
"What? Why not?"
He stood up and fetched his clipboard, starting to walk out until I walked over and shut the door before he could leave.
"I asked you something, Dr. Min," I gritted through my teeth.
His hands paused on the door knob and he turned to face me, eyes hard.
"You think it'll be easy for him? When something, or someday, reminds him of you, of both of you, you think he'll accept it and not suffer?"
He clenched his jaw and his voice hardened.
"I don't believe in coincidences, Mr. Jeon. And for him to suddenly experience a fucking stroke when you show up tells me that you're dangerous for him. His brain is rebelling against him because of the disease. It won't let him easily remember when he wants to. And if this continues, the next thing he'll remember would be his last breath."
He squeezed his eyes shut and when he opened them again, I saw the softness which he hid.
I felt horrible and sickened. I thought that perhaps I'd have Jimin slowly remember the old him, the old memories, the old love.
But I'm trying to kill him.
I felt my throat clench up when I heard the slow beeping of the monitor and the soft breathing behind the oxygen mask.
"W-what am I. . . supposed to do?"
I heard myself plead and on the verge of tears.
I saw the faintest of a smile on Yoongi's face, not the kind where the sunlight would be jealous of its warmth, but the kind which the rain would cry harder at its sadness.
"Love him,"
his voice dropped to a whisper,
"not for who he was,"
he intoned,
"but for who he is."
He looked away from me to the person lying in that hospital bed. Just like me, Yoongi himself was locked outside the door that was shut to all who once knew or loved Jimin.
"He chose you once,"
he stepped away from me and opened the door,
"he'll choose you again."
And with that, he walked out,
leaving me so close,
but so far away,
from Jimin.
--
broken hearts.