pure

Epilogue

"We're sorry.."

He never knew that once in his lifetime, he'd crumble like never just because of an apology. A word that supposed to offer warmth of comfort instead of an excrutiating truth.

Just a slow hush whisper from a woman in her white coat with a tint of well hidden sadness and defeated expression despite the elegance looks.

Minho had scream before. But never he couldn't find his own voice to do so like at the moment. The undescribable pain searing through him like a blunt sword force-cutting a flesh. Stretching it graphically and never stop until it teared fully. Leaving the flesh all torn and shattered.

He heard his own gasps. Desperately clawing on dear life, completely letting go of his balance as his back collided hard on the wall. The cry-less tears broke down without a single flutter of his eyelids. Bare open wide and stared into nothingness.

The nothingness that almost reflect his emptying heart.

He squeezed his shirt clutching on his chest as his body rocked pathetically. Another hand tried to support his body on the wall. Which clearly unsuccessful.

He heard a footstep coming. But he was suffocating that he didn't want any figure to be close to him. Please he didn't want to have any presence near accept that one particular person.

But the said person was the reason he crumbled. That person was the reason behind that pitifully painful apologise. Why would that person gone when he deprived for him the most?

"Sir?"

He faintly heard a woman voice calling for whoever meant. But it was so close that probably the woman talked to him.

"Sir, can you hear me?"

Yes, he could. But he wanted it to go away. His only comfort, his only reason of happiness was far away for him to want to be conscious again.

The next thing he knew, was the helpful guide of the woman until he could find his breath back.

But did he deserve to breathe after all of this? How far would he let himself lucky?

He slowly going down on a bench, now his head was in a death grip in his palms. He was left alone in the hall once again. The female doctor and the other woman whom he believed was a nurse were left proceeding with their jobs.

Hours passed by his only rocking figure on the bench filled the view of the lonely hall. The sobs that escaping his trembling lips started to bounce through the walls which he never intended to halt back.

For the last past hour, nobody could convince him to take a break, to ease his mind off, to stay sane, and-

-to take a look on his premature born that placed in the incubator.

Nothing felt right anymore. He just wanted to stay there until those madness decided to end this nightmare. Stop with the prank and give him a miracle.

He was the perfect definition of broken and miserable. Without the other half, he was left shattered and unfixed.

Why would he...

Why would he left him like this..

***

3 years later

"Daeyong!" he sprinted forward and yanked away the three year old girl's hand away from the boiling pot.

Gladly he appeared on time before the kid have her palm press onto the hot metal. That must be disasterous for the child.

Daeyong was really a curious girl and smart for her age, she barely socialise much and just like to spend time alone and a little cutely obsess with his twin little omega brother.