Black Bird
Title: Black Bird
Rated: PG/PG-13 (Mild language)
Pairing/Characters: OnHo, Minho, Onew/Jinki, Key/Kibum
Genre: AU, Fictional angst
Word count: 3,287
Summary: They were sick. One was convinced they were going to make it through this tough part of their life. The other one . . . was convinced that he wouldn't make it through the night.
He heard it.
The sound of a starless ending creeping through his ears.
Wide awake, he sat up from his bed and unplugged the cords attached to him, turning off his monitors before getting up and looking out his window.
The view was pitch black; no light was able to be found. But he knew he'd never find light again. It'd been lost since the day of submission and could never return to him ever again.
The rain grew harsh against the window, but it couldn't be seen. The time of dark was too dim to see anything.
He cringed
He heard it again.
He held on to himself, wishing his arms would provide the warmth he longed for. But he knew he'd never feel normal warmth again. He was meant to be cold and broken. Never again was he going to feel at complete ease.
He had accepted it uneasily with a heavy stomach and a heart full of deep depression.
His gown fluttered as the heater of the room kicked on unexpectedly and he jumped back in surprise.
He fell to the floor, not even caring that it was ice cold against his bare legs. He'd rather be consumed by the ice against him than by the darkness seeping through the window, ready for action.
As he stared, he could see the darkness lurking, trying to break past the window. Wings-the intruding darkness looked like wings.
In fright that chilled him to the bone, he cried, holding on to his arms and rocking back and forth that provided no comfort whatsoever.
Life wasn't fair like this. To put him in such dreary state. It took away all his happiness, and it was hard for him to find that ray of light that should shine on him and tell him it's alright. It was never going to come. The darkness was too powerful to let the light claim him. He was going to drown in black nothing.
His acceptance of the darkness was an unwanted tattoo-he wished it just went away; to not stick with him.
He rocked himself faster and kept himself as quiet as he could manage. But the fluttering wings on the window weren’t making anything easier. He whimpered in his throat, afraid.
"Jinki," a deep and warm voice murmured against his ear as arms engulfed his broken figure. He jumped before crying harder and leaned back into the arms, hoping at least this warmth would never leave him.
But he knew it wouldn't come true. That warmth would end very soon.
"Jinki, shh," the person behind him sat on the floor and pulled him on to his lap, cradling the crying man, "Jinki, don't cry."
Jinki clutched on to his roommate's gown and buried his face in his structure, hoping he could make this feeling go away. Hoping he could make everything go away.
A mind-made squawk came from the window and Jinki cringed in his arms.
It was here. That bird was really real.
The bird that would come when it wanted to just snatch you up and never return you to the ones you love. The bird that would poke at your skin just to make sure you feel the hurtful pinch. The bird that would squawk to tell you to let it in or it’ll force itself in without your assistance.
He was only told of it and never believed it. But now . . . now he was hearing and seeing it.
It was real.
And it made everything so bleak yet so precious at that moment. He needed to relish in it before it was stolen.
"I hear it now," Jinki sobbed into the other's gown, "Minho, I hear the black bird!"
"No, you don't," he said firmly while rocking him (clearly not believing in the black bird), "Not yet."
Jinki pulled his arms around Minho's neck and blubbered into his shoulder, clutching on to him just to feel his body and his warmth for a last time, "It's coming. It's coming," he repeated, "I probably won't wake up tomorrow. I don't think I'll even want to wake up tomorrow. I can't go through this anymore."
Minho harshly pulled his arms away and forced Jinki to look into his eyes, even though it was too dark to tell where they were, "Jinki, don't. You will wake up tomorrow. You heard what they said yesterday morning! They found the cure for us! They found the cure to stop it! And we're next to take it up tomorrow!"
Jinki denied it as he heard the black bird's beak tap against the window violently, demanding for it to open; demanding to take Jinki's life-and maybe Minho's at the same time.
They'd been stuck in the god-forsaken building for a long time once they'd been told they were incurable and needed as much help as possible to slow their progressing death down. They helped each other make it through everything that they had a tough time getting to accept. Jinki would always break down. Minho would always get frustrated. They had to figure out ways to calm one another down.
They were a dying pair.
"We've been going through this for months and months," Minho croaked, giving in to Jinki's despair slowly, "And you have to believe we're lucky! Y-you have to believe you don't hear that bird!" His hand placed on Jinki's hairless head, stroking the poor elder, trying to get him to calm down, "You don't hear it!"
Jinki's eyes succumbed to the dark and found Minho's face through his blurred vision. He looked awful. He looked so tired and so overworked that he harshly cursed the disease internally. Minho used to be one handsome man, but this problem stripped it away physically.
Minho pulled Jinki's hand to his own bald head, and intensely stared into Jinki's eyes, "We're both going through the same thing. We're both getting help. We're both going to live and grow our hair back and whatnot!" he growled in Jinki's fragile face.
The elder's mouth screwed up and he closed his eyes. Even though he was going to get help, the big-black bird was already there, and he doubted it was going to leave that window. It was going to get in one way or another and it'd be too late for him.
Minho picked up the broken figure and laid him on the bed, sitting next to him as he turned the monitors back on and reattached the cords to his arm. A hand laced through Jinki's, and he felt warmth that he couldn't ever push away. But it'd always left him. He had to savor it while it lasted.
Even through warmth, he felt cold. And it was climbing up his spine slowly, spreading and tainting his blood.
"You're gonna wake up tomorrow, Hyung," Minho whispered, "And we're gonna get our lives back, you hear me?"
Jinki stared at the younger and nodded, clearly lying to him. In his mind, he already let the bird inside their room and it flew everywhere in madness, knocking everything over and screeching on the top of its lungs. It stopped on top of his dresser and eyed him carefully, beak opening and closing, producing cringing snapping sounds.
He loved his Minho, but he knew both of them weren't going to stay long anyway. What if the cure wasn't even effective on them? What would they do then?
He thought it'd be better to get it over with than to try anymore. And he was so sorry to Minho for it.
"Yeah, Minho, we'll get our lives back."
He saw Minho smile in relief at his fib, and the younger kissed their laced hands, "Go to sleep, Hyung. We've got a big day tomorrow."
The black bird waddled over and flew up to the railing of his bed. It snapped its beak at him and pounced on his chest, the glint of evil in its eyes.
Jinki shakily exhaled and closed his eyes, ready for the bird to make its mark and take something any living creature would find most value of.
"We'll wake up tomorrow, Hyung," he heard Minho whisper, "We're gonna be okay."
Jinki wanted to say anything and everything to Minho, but he couldn’t say it all and nor could he sum it up into few words.
Most of all, he was sorry. He was so sorry he didn’t play his part of the older and comfort him properly. And now he was sorry he was leaving before him and he didn’t even know it yet.
"Minho,” he whispered, “I love you, Minho."
As soon as Minho’s slurred name passed his lips for the last time, Jinki fell in deep black and knew he couldn't ever find his way back to consciousness.
The new nurse outside their door pulled her ear away, refraining from crying in front of the other workers. She slowly walked away and replayed what she heard in her mind.
God, I hate my job . . .
"Mrs. Jung?" she asked the woman at the desk.
"Hm?"
"What do the men in room two-eighteen have?"
Mrs. Jung furrowed her brows at the curiosity of the new nurse and was nice enough to go through the file for her.
"Ah," she said and picked up Minho and Jinki's papers, "Choi Minho and Lee Jinki, Unknown Cancer patients."
"Unknown Cancer . . . I couldn't help but to be curious," she wiped her eye, pretending something was irritating her, "Did we find a cure for their type?"
Mrs. Jung put their files away and folded her hands with an emotionless face, "Unfortunately no. But we try giving our patients hope when they've reached depression. We told those two yesterday morning that there's a cure and they're up for it. But of course, we're going to have to pretend to have to keep pushing them back from the 'schedule' because, well . . . Look, we just try giving hope as much as we can."
"Oh," she said and rubbed her arm, "Sorry for ask-"
"HELP!" A voice she'd heard from the room erupted as the door loudly squeaked open, "Oh my god, HELP! J-JINKI! HE'S NOT BREATHING! HELP HIM!"
She turned and saw Minho trembling with tears streaming down his cheeks as nurses rushed into the room while others held on to the crumbling Minho, trying to guide him to a chair.
"He said he heard it . . . he heard . . . How can you hear death?!" Minho sobbed into a male nurse’s jacket, "I can't keep trying without him! I love him so much that it hurts! He needs to live!"
She watched him sob. The ache in her throat grew too painful as she stood her ground, also listening to the actions performed in his room. The words 'Clear!' and 'Again!' repeated over and over before a jolt followed from the room.
It was a while.
She never saw nor experienced doctors working so hard and so long on reviving a patient. Shouts of orders were followed with more bodily jolting. It went on for so long and yet they didn’t give up.
It’s like they were trying to prove the monitor’s straight beep wrong.
Minho was clutching on to the male’s uniform, burying his face into his shoulder. He sobbed loud and uncontrollably, and no one had the heart to tell him to quiet down for the sake of sleeping patients.
The nurse holding him whispered words into his ear and soothingly touched him to try calming him down, but nothing was working. The patient was clearly too worked up to even try.
Then it happened.
The nurses walked out of the room.
The outcome was evident on their faces.
The new nurse ran out of her area and to a bathroom, unprofessionally.
"Minho-ah,” the male nurse held on to him.
"K-Kibum," he sobbed.
The nurse-Kibum-rubbed his back and sat them down on chairs, preventing him from collapse, “Minho, it’s alright. Everything is going to get better, it’s okay. Don’t cry too hard, you’ll faint.”
There was a jolt from the room and a doctor screaming orders.
Minho shook his head in denial, clutching him closer as his body trembled, “Kibum, he’s dead. He had no pulse. How am I supposed to be calm? He died and I didn’t believe him! He died in front of my eyes . . . I thought . . . I thought he was just asleep . . . I always watch him sleep . . .” he admitted.
Kibum stared at the bald patient, watching as his face reveal from his neck, “Minho . . .”
Another jolt. Minho cringed hard and let out a long and throat-aching sob.
“H-his chest,” he sobbed, his eyes so heartbroken, “It wasn’t moving at all. At all! T-The monitor wasn’t . . . I-I put my hand over his chest a-and felt nothing b-beating-g . . .” he broke out a fresh cry, “Then I tried his wrist and his n-neck! B-But there was no beating! Nothing! He . . . he just died when he closed his eyes!”
Kibum sympathetically patted his back, rocking him back and forth (trying to stop himself from crying because he and Jinki were best friends. Hearing his best friend dead and trying to be professional was most definitely not a great mix), “Minho . . .” he breathed, “W-What did Jinki last say?”
It was an unprofessional question for the time, but, hell, when was a good time?
Again. Not just one jolt, but multiple. . . The monitor didn’t deep.
“The black bird,” Minho rasped, “Those stories he was told about a black bird coming to take him. I kept telling him that wasn’t true because the others said the black bird meant he was going to Hell or wouldn’t feel existence! Kibum, I didn’t believe in those stories! I-I didn’t . . . Jinki . . .”
Minho was becoming more and more of a garbled mess. His head was throbbing and his heart was speeding-he wished he could share his heartbeat with Jinki now.
“Damn it, Jinki!” Kibum’s head doctor cursed from the room, “Don’t leave us now, Jinki! We’re not ready!”
It wasn’t appropriate for the doctor to say it, but it didn’t seem to matter. To everyone in the wing of the hospital, Jinki was the person who’d help anyone he asked or didn’t even want it-even to the workers. He was so kind and asked about everyone's day and how they were feeling. He brought them and made everyone things when he could. . . Even when he could barely move.
. . . So everyone grew attached to him.
“C’mon, Jinki,” Mrs. Jung at the desk put her hands together and prayed, “C’mon, Jinki, hang on a bit longer!”
“Jinki is way too g-good of a person to be in Hell or not have an afterlife! He was such a caring person! No matter what, he put everyone before himself! Even when he was sick as hell, he still helped people!
“Kibum . . . His last words . . .” he sniffed, the tear streaks on his face made it hard to tell if there was a spot of dry skin left, “He said . . . he said he loved me. He’s always said it to me before and I’ve always said it to him . . . But he whispered. He sounded so scared. He sounded like h-he had n-no time . . . The way he said it did m-make it f-feel like . . . like he . . .” He burst into loud sobs again.
“No, no, no!” The same doctor hissed after another jolt, “Not. Yet.”
Kibum let tears fall from his eyes as he hid Minho’s face in his neck, whispering to him all sorts of failing comfort words.
There was another jolt from the room . . .
. . . And then it all stopped.
Kibum looked up to Minho and Jinki’s room.
All the workers walked out slowly; some with red faces, some breathing too fast, and some with red and tear-filled eyes.
Kibum started to sob a little.
"M-Minho-ah," the nurse clutched on to Minho, breathing as calmly as he could so he wouldn’t burst, "Minho, J-Jinki is somewhere where h-he can't get hurt anymore, okay? He's okay and he needs you to keep fighting."
Kibum didn’t even know if he was lying.
Was the black bird real?
Was the black bird even good?
Did it really take Jinki somewhere he shouldn’t be?
Did the Devil make a robbery?
Did God lose an angel?
Minho looked up from Kibum’s neck and to his room, watching the depressed workers walk out.
He looked at the workers and patients all around him that were still awake, looking at their red faces and eyes, almost all of them sobbing, some of them falling to the floor and needing aid.
He looked back to his room and made a run for it, making sure not to slip on the floor and sped past his door.
His eyes were closed and he laid straight. He was lying on the left of his face, facing Minho. His facial expression was as if he were just soundlessly asleep. His chest didn’t rise and he didn’t snore . . .
He didn’t twitch or breathe . . .
Minho wobbled over to the bed and got on top of him, hovering over his body.
“J-Jinki?” Minho whispered, his hand slowly moving to his face.
His fingers slowly ran down his right cheek all the way to his bottom lip. His fingers were light against him and it usually tickled the older . . .
. . . When he was awake.
“J-J-Jinki,” he breathed, his tears falling on the other’s cheek, “Jinki, wake up.”
He didn’t move.
He now held Jinki’s face in his hands and lightly shook him, gasping and sobbing at the same time, “J-Jinki, come back! Come back, Jinki, wake up! Come on, Hyung, wake up!”
There was no response offered to him and Minho shook him harder, not able to accept it.
He pressed his face closer to him. He kissed every inch of his face in hopes that his love would wake him up like Sleeping Beauty.
If the black bird was real, surely Sleeping Beauty stories were!
“C-Come on,” he whimpered on his cheek, “P-Please, Hyung. Wake up for me.”
He expected him to take this big heaping breath and gasping for air, looking at Minho with starry-eyes and smiling saying ‘I love you, Minho.’
But it wasn’t happening.
Damn it, why wasn’t it happening?!
“Jinki, come back to me. Jinki, you have to wake up!” he rasped, kissing him on the lips in broken passion, blubbering upon him, “Wake up, please.”
He kissed him over and over, his lips getting weaker at each push. He didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t want to accept it. Why the hell won’t Jinki wake up already?!
He didn’t notice, but Kibum walked in, not touching Minho whatsoever. When Minho heard him, he didn’t look at him, but saw a hand reach out to Jinki’s arm.
Kibum pulled out the IV from his flesh and the monitor’s noise got louder. Kibum shut off the machinery altogether and Minho stared at Jinki’s face with wide eyes.
The last thing the other patients in their rooms heard before they slept was a loud, heartbreaking male voice cry out the most violent sob they would ever hear for the rest of their lives.
"JINKI!"
---Note~---
Alright, hi.
^I can't even put a smilie face there because this oneshot is really... Whatever you want to categorize it in a negative way.
I woke up with this idea back in June... Yes, sometimes we do wake up with depressing thoughts we don't want. OTL
I think... this was my first OnHo before I realized how much I loved them.
Forget OTPs; OnHo, 2Min, and JongKey are my main attractions.
I just realized that the title was another Beatles song like Dear Prudence...
But this time, the title wasn't influenced like Dear Prudence was; it was purely coincidental. :P
So... I kind of like writing angst and death.
I really hate the subjects about them, but when I write them it's so... easy?
No, that's not the word; that makes me sound really negative towards living. OTL
I can't explain it! D:
Idek why, but whenever I write/think of angst for an OnHo, I always... kill off Onew...
BUT HEY. AT LEAST FROM THIS ONESHOT I GOT A FIC IDEA.
... And the idea doesn't even deal with hospitals or sicknesses or any of that depressing crap...
And I wonder when I'll get to it...
Anyway, thank you for views and possible comments to the future readers. They really make my day even if it's one word or criticism. c:
Long Note is way too long.
And me trying to figure out LJ is taking too long... Failure.
BYE. c:
~Piplupz/FlaMinhoe
(BTW. The black bird isn't real... I made that up so... if anyone gets paranoid, my bad.)
Rated: PG/PG-13 (Mild language)
Pairing/Characters: OnHo, Minho, Onew/Jinki, Key/Kibum
Genre: AU, Fictional angst
Word count: 3,287
Summary: They were sick. One was convinced they were going to make it through this tough part of their life. The other one . . . was convinced that he wouldn't make it through the night.
He heard it.
The sound of a starless ending creeping through his ears.
Wide awake, he sat up from his bed and unplugged the cords attached to him, turning off his monitors before getting up and looking out his window.
The view was pitch black; no light was able to be found. But he knew he'd never find light again. It'd been lost since the day of submission and could never return to him ever again.
The rain grew harsh against the window, but it couldn't be seen. The time of dark was too dim to see anything.
He cringed
He heard it again.
He held on to himself, wishing his arms would provide the warmth he longed for. But he knew he'd never feel normal warmth again. He was meant to be cold and broken. Never again was he going to feel at complete ease.
He had accepted it uneasily with a heavy stomach and a heart full of deep depression.
His gown fluttered as the heater of the room kicked on unexpectedly and he jumped back in surprise.
He fell to the floor, not even caring that it was ice cold against his bare legs. He'd rather be consumed by the ice against him than by the darkness seeping through the window, ready for action.
As he stared, he could see the darkness lurking, trying to break past the window. Wings-the intruding darkness looked like wings.
In fright that chilled him to the bone, he cried, holding on to his arms and rocking back and forth that provided no comfort whatsoever.
Life wasn't fair like this. To put him in such dreary state. It took away all his happiness, and it was hard for him to find that ray of light that should shine on him and tell him it's alright. It was never going to come. The darkness was too powerful to let the light claim him. He was going to drown in black nothing.
His acceptance of the darkness was an unwanted tattoo-he wished it just went away; to not stick with him.
He rocked himself faster and kept himself as quiet as he could manage. But the fluttering wings on the window weren’t making anything easier. He whimpered in his throat, afraid.
"Jinki," a deep and warm voice murmured against his ear as arms engulfed his broken figure. He jumped before crying harder and leaned back into the arms, hoping at least this warmth would never leave him.
But he knew it wouldn't come true. That warmth would end very soon.
"Jinki, shh," the person behind him sat on the floor and pulled him on to his lap, cradling the crying man, "Jinki, don't cry."
Jinki clutched on to his roommate's gown and buried his face in his structure, hoping he could make this feeling go away. Hoping he could make everything go away.
A mind-made squawk came from the window and Jinki cringed in his arms.
It was here. That bird was really real.
The bird that would come when it wanted to just snatch you up and never return you to the ones you love. The bird that would poke at your skin just to make sure you feel the hurtful pinch. The bird that would squawk to tell you to let it in or it’ll force itself in without your assistance.
He was only told of it and never believed it. But now . . . now he was hearing and seeing it.
It was real.
And it made everything so bleak yet so precious at that moment. He needed to relish in it before it was stolen.
"I hear it now," Jinki sobbed into the other's gown, "Minho, I hear the black bird!"
"No, you don't," he said firmly while rocking him (clearly not believing in the black bird), "Not yet."
Jinki pulled his arms around Minho's neck and blubbered into his shoulder, clutching on to him just to feel his body and his warmth for a last time, "It's coming. It's coming," he repeated, "I probably won't wake up tomorrow. I don't think I'll even want to wake up tomorrow. I can't go through this anymore."
Minho harshly pulled his arms away and forced Jinki to look into his eyes, even though it was too dark to tell where they were, "Jinki, don't. You will wake up tomorrow. You heard what they said yesterday morning! They found the cure for us! They found the cure to stop it! And we're next to take it up tomorrow!"
Jinki denied it as he heard the black bird's beak tap against the window violently, demanding for it to open; demanding to take Jinki's life-and maybe Minho's at the same time.
They'd been stuck in the god-forsaken building for a long time once they'd been told they were incurable and needed as much help as possible to slow their progressing death down. They helped each other make it through everything that they had a tough time getting to accept. Jinki would always break down. Minho would always get frustrated. They had to figure out ways to calm one another down.
They were a dying pair.
"We've been going through this for months and months," Minho croaked, giving in to Jinki's despair slowly, "And you have to believe we're lucky! Y-you have to believe you don't hear that bird!" His hand placed on Jinki's hairless head, stroking the poor elder, trying to get him to calm down, "You don't hear it!"
Jinki's eyes succumbed to the dark and found Minho's face through his blurred vision. He looked awful. He looked so tired and so overworked that he harshly cursed the disease internally. Minho used to be one handsome man, but this problem stripped it away physically.
Minho pulled Jinki's hand to his own bald head, and intensely stared into Jinki's eyes, "We're both going through the same thing. We're both getting help. We're both going to live and grow our hair back and whatnot!" he growled in Jinki's fragile face.
The elder's mouth screwed up and he closed his eyes. Even though he was going to get help, the big-black bird was already there, and he doubted it was going to leave that window. It was going to get in one way or another and it'd be too late for him.
Minho picked up the broken figure and laid him on the bed, sitting next to him as he turned the monitors back on and reattached the cords to his arm. A hand laced through Jinki's, and he felt warmth that he couldn't ever push away. But it'd always left him. He had to savor it while it lasted.
Even through warmth, he felt cold. And it was climbing up his spine slowly, spreading and tainting his blood.
"You're gonna wake up tomorrow, Hyung," Minho whispered, "And we're gonna get our lives back, you hear me?"
Jinki stared at the younger and nodded, clearly lying to him. In his mind, he already let the bird inside their room and it flew everywhere in madness, knocking everything over and screeching on the top of its lungs. It stopped on top of his dresser and eyed him carefully, beak opening and closing, producing cringing snapping sounds.
He loved his Minho, but he knew both of them weren't going to stay long anyway. What if the cure wasn't even effective on them? What would they do then?
He thought it'd be better to get it over with than to try anymore. And he was so sorry to Minho for it.
"Yeah, Minho, we'll get our lives back."
He saw Minho smile in relief at his fib, and the younger kissed their laced hands, "Go to sleep, Hyung. We've got a big day tomorrow."
The black bird waddled over and flew up to the railing of his bed. It snapped its beak at him and pounced on his chest, the glint of evil in its eyes.
Jinki shakily exhaled and closed his eyes, ready for the bird to make its mark and take something any living creature would find most value of.
"We'll wake up tomorrow, Hyung," he heard Minho whisper, "We're gonna be okay."
Jinki wanted to say anything and everything to Minho, but he couldn’t say it all and nor could he sum it up into few words.
Most of all, he was sorry. He was so sorry he didn’t play his part of the older and comfort him properly. And now he was sorry he was leaving before him and he didn’t even know it yet.
"Minho,” he whispered, “I love you, Minho."
As soon as Minho’s slurred name passed his lips for the last time, Jinki fell in deep black and knew he couldn't ever find his way back to consciousness.
The new nurse outside their door pulled her ear away, refraining from crying in front of the other workers. She slowly walked away and replayed what she heard in her mind.
God, I hate my job . . .
"Mrs. Jung?" she asked the woman at the desk.
"Hm?"
"What do the men in room two-eighteen have?"
Mrs. Jung furrowed her brows at the curiosity of the new nurse and was nice enough to go through the file for her.
"Ah," she said and picked up Minho and Jinki's papers, "Choi Minho and Lee Jinki, Unknown Cancer patients."
"Unknown Cancer . . . I couldn't help but to be curious," she wiped her eye, pretending something was irritating her, "Did we find a cure for their type?"
Mrs. Jung put their files away and folded her hands with an emotionless face, "Unfortunately no. But we try giving our patients hope when they've reached depression. We told those two yesterday morning that there's a cure and they're up for it. But of course, we're going to have to pretend to have to keep pushing them back from the 'schedule' because, well . . . Look, we just try giving hope as much as we can."
"Oh," she said and rubbed her arm, "Sorry for ask-"
"HELP!" A voice she'd heard from the room erupted as the door loudly squeaked open, "Oh my god, HELP! J-JINKI! HE'S NOT BREATHING! HELP HIM!"
She turned and saw Minho trembling with tears streaming down his cheeks as nurses rushed into the room while others held on to the crumbling Minho, trying to guide him to a chair.
"He said he heard it . . . he heard . . . How can you hear death?!" Minho sobbed into a male nurse’s jacket, "I can't keep trying without him! I love him so much that it hurts! He needs to live!"
She watched him sob. The ache in her throat grew too painful as she stood her ground, also listening to the actions performed in his room. The words 'Clear!' and 'Again!' repeated over and over before a jolt followed from the room.
It was a while.
She never saw nor experienced doctors working so hard and so long on reviving a patient. Shouts of orders were followed with more bodily jolting. It went on for so long and yet they didn’t give up.
It’s like they were trying to prove the monitor’s straight beep wrong.
Minho was clutching on to the male’s uniform, burying his face into his shoulder. He sobbed loud and uncontrollably, and no one had the heart to tell him to quiet down for the sake of sleeping patients.
The nurse holding him whispered words into his ear and soothingly touched him to try calming him down, but nothing was working. The patient was clearly too worked up to even try.
Then it happened.
The nurses walked out of the room.
The outcome was evident on their faces.
The new nurse ran out of her area and to a bathroom, unprofessionally.
"Minho-ah,” the male nurse held on to him.
"K-Kibum," he sobbed.
The nurse-Kibum-rubbed his back and sat them down on chairs, preventing him from collapse, “Minho, it’s alright. Everything is going to get better, it’s okay. Don’t cry too hard, you’ll faint.”
There was a jolt from the room and a doctor screaming orders.
Minho shook his head in denial, clutching him closer as his body trembled, “Kibum, he’s dead. He had no pulse. How am I supposed to be calm? He died and I didn’t believe him! He died in front of my eyes . . . I thought . . . I thought he was just asleep . . . I always watch him sleep . . .” he admitted.
Kibum stared at the bald patient, watching as his face reveal from his neck, “Minho . . .”
Another jolt. Minho cringed hard and let out a long and throat-aching sob.
“H-his chest,” he sobbed, his eyes so heartbroken, “It wasn’t moving at all. At all! T-The monitor wasn’t . . . I-I put my hand over his chest a-and felt nothing b-beating-g . . .” he broke out a fresh cry, “Then I tried his wrist and his n-neck! B-But there was no beating! Nothing! He . . . he just died when he closed his eyes!”
Kibum sympathetically patted his back, rocking him back and forth (trying to stop himself from crying because he and Jinki were best friends. Hearing his best friend dead and trying to be professional was most definitely not a great mix), “Minho . . .” he breathed, “W-What did Jinki last say?”
It was an unprofessional question for the time, but, hell, when was a good time?
Again. Not just one jolt, but multiple. . . The monitor didn’t deep.
“The black bird,” Minho rasped, “Those stories he was told about a black bird coming to take him. I kept telling him that wasn’t true because the others said the black bird meant he was going to Hell or wouldn’t feel existence! Kibum, I didn’t believe in those stories! I-I didn’t . . . Jinki . . .”
Minho was becoming more and more of a garbled mess. His head was throbbing and his heart was speeding-he wished he could share his heartbeat with Jinki now.
“Damn it, Jinki!” Kibum’s head doctor cursed from the room, “Don’t leave us now, Jinki! We’re not ready!”
It wasn’t appropriate for the doctor to say it, but it didn’t seem to matter. To everyone in the wing of the hospital, Jinki was the person who’d help anyone he asked or didn’t even want it-even to the workers. He was so kind and asked about everyone's day and how they were feeling. He brought them and made everyone things when he could. . . Even when he could barely move.
. . . So everyone grew attached to him.
“C’mon, Jinki,” Mrs. Jung at the desk put her hands together and prayed, “C’mon, Jinki, hang on a bit longer!”
“Jinki is way too g-good of a person to be in Hell or not have an afterlife! He was such a caring person! No matter what, he put everyone before himself! Even when he was sick as hell, he still helped people!
“Kibum . . . His last words . . .” he sniffed, the tear streaks on his face made it hard to tell if there was a spot of dry skin left, “He said . . . he said he loved me. He’s always said it to me before and I’ve always said it to him . . . But he whispered. He sounded so scared. He sounded like h-he had n-no time . . . The way he said it did m-make it f-feel like . . . like he . . .” He burst into loud sobs again.
“No, no, no!” The same doctor hissed after another jolt, “Not. Yet.”
Kibum let tears fall from his eyes as he hid Minho’s face in his neck, whispering to him all sorts of failing comfort words.
There was another jolt from the room . . .
. . . And then it all stopped.
Kibum looked up to Minho and Jinki’s room.
All the workers walked out slowly; some with red faces, some breathing too fast, and some with red and tear-filled eyes.
Kibum started to sob a little.
"M-Minho-ah," the nurse clutched on to Minho, breathing as calmly as he could so he wouldn’t burst, "Minho, J-Jinki is somewhere where h-he can't get hurt anymore, okay? He's okay and he needs you to keep fighting."
Kibum didn’t even know if he was lying.
Was the black bird real?
Was the black bird even good?
Did it really take Jinki somewhere he shouldn’t be?
Did the Devil make a robbery?
Did God lose an angel?
Minho looked up from Kibum’s neck and to his room, watching the depressed workers walk out.
He looked at the workers and patients all around him that were still awake, looking at their red faces and eyes, almost all of them sobbing, some of them falling to the floor and needing aid.
He looked back to his room and made a run for it, making sure not to slip on the floor and sped past his door.
His eyes were closed and he laid straight. He was lying on the left of his face, facing Minho. His facial expression was as if he were just soundlessly asleep. His chest didn’t rise and he didn’t snore . . .
He didn’t twitch or breathe . . .
Minho wobbled over to the bed and got on top of him, hovering over his body.
“J-Jinki?” Minho whispered, his hand slowly moving to his face.
His fingers slowly ran down his right cheek all the way to his bottom lip. His fingers were light against him and it usually tickled the older . . .
. . . When he was awake.
“J-J-Jinki,” he breathed, his tears falling on the other’s cheek, “Jinki, wake up.”
He didn’t move.
He now held Jinki’s face in his hands and lightly shook him, gasping and sobbing at the same time, “J-Jinki, come back! Come back, Jinki, wake up! Come on, Hyung, wake up!”
There was no response offered to him and Minho shook him harder, not able to accept it.
He pressed his face closer to him. He kissed every inch of his face in hopes that his love would wake him up like Sleeping Beauty.
If the black bird was real, surely Sleeping Beauty stories were!
“C-Come on,” he whimpered on his cheek, “P-Please, Hyung. Wake up for me.”
He expected him to take this big heaping breath and gasping for air, looking at Minho with starry-eyes and smiling saying ‘I love you, Minho.’
But it wasn’t happening.
Damn it, why wasn’t it happening?!
“Jinki, come back to me. Jinki, you have to wake up!” he rasped, kissing him on the lips in broken passion, blubbering upon him, “Wake up, please.”
He kissed him over and over, his lips getting weaker at each push. He didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t want to accept it. Why the hell won’t Jinki wake up already?!
He didn’t notice, but Kibum walked in, not touching Minho whatsoever. When Minho heard him, he didn’t look at him, but saw a hand reach out to Jinki’s arm.
Kibum pulled out the IV from his flesh and the monitor’s noise got louder. Kibum shut off the machinery altogether and Minho stared at Jinki’s face with wide eyes.
The last thing the other patients in their rooms heard before they slept was a loud, heartbreaking male voice cry out the most violent sob they would ever hear for the rest of their lives.
"JINKI!"
---Note~---
Alright, hi.
^I can't even put a smilie face there because this oneshot is really... Whatever you want to categorize it in a negative way.
I woke up with this idea back in June... Yes, sometimes we do wake up with depressing thoughts we don't want. OTL
I think... this was my first OnHo before I realized how much I loved them.
Forget OTPs; OnHo, 2Min, and JongKey are my main attractions.
I just realized that the title was another Beatles song like Dear Prudence...
But this time, the title wasn't influenced like Dear Prudence was; it was purely coincidental. :P
So... I kind of like writing angst and death.
I really hate the subjects about them, but when I write them it's so... easy?
No, that's not the word; that makes me sound really negative towards living. OTL
I can't explain it! D:
Idek why, but whenever I write/think of angst for an OnHo, I always... kill off Onew...
BUT HEY. AT LEAST FROM THIS ONESHOT I GOT A FIC IDEA.
... And the idea doesn't even deal with hospitals or sicknesses or any of that depressing crap...
And I wonder when I'll get to it...
Anyway, thank you for views and possible comments to the future readers. They really make my day even if it's one word or criticism. c:
Long Note is way too long.
And me trying to figure out LJ is taking too long... Failure.
BYE. c:
~Piplupz/FlaMinhoe
(BTW. The black bird isn't real... I made that up so... if anyone gets paranoid, my bad.)