... And Other Ships

YoonMin: The Life Between Us

Inspired by the short film The Life of Death. Check it out on YouTube

Throughout his life, Park Jimin meets me a total of five times. And every single time except the last, I never take him. The mortals call it 'cheating Death,' but I really just let him live. And every single time I let him live, I'm grateful. The thought of taking this precious soul that Hoseok - an angel that gives life - sent down before his time shook me to my cold, unbeating heart. I couldn't do him such an injustice like that.

Whoever said being a death angel was fun lied. As rewarding as it is, being a death angel is also heartbreaking. My job would make any mortal torturer or dictator seem like a not-so-bad guy. At least their hearts still beat. No, my job is terrible and no mortal would be able to mentally handle it. But as much as I hate it, I love it, too. While I steal babies from their mothers, lovers from each other, siblings from parents, friends from each other, parents from their children, I also get to see stories, witness life as it's supposed to be, meet beautiful souls. I take many beautiful, troubled souls to a much better place.

Out of all those souls, none of them compare to Park Jimin. He was the one soul I found myself following throughout his life.

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The first time I ever lay eyes on Jimin, he's five years old and dying of pneumonia. The poor child; even with sweat drenching his chubby body, he is beautiful. I can feel his soul reaching out for me, tempting me to deliver it to Heaven, but I just sit on his bed and watch him while I send out a signal to a healer, Seokjin. The little boy's throat is so blocked and his lungs are full of fluid I'm surprised he isn't choking it up. For an hour, he gasps and coughs, eyes struggling to stay open. But then his eyes find mine and lock. And what brown eyes they are.

"Who are you?" he asks me, voice strained and quiet. "Min Yoongi," is my simple reply. Jimin gives me a short-lived smile and he gasps out his name like it's painful and it probably is, considering how sick he is. "You're dying," I point out and he coughs a little. "I know." I want nothing more than to comfort him, but if I touch him, he'll die. "You know why I'm here?" I say instead and he shakes his head once, whining in pain. "I'm a death angel, Jimin. I'm here to deliver your soul to the Afterlife," I explain and his eyes widen.

He glances over my shoulder before his brown eyes bare into mine once again. "You don't have wings." I chuckle and shrug. "My kind don't need wings. And don't worry, kiddo. It's not your time yet. Go to sleep and I promise you'll feel better in the morning," I say and reach in my pocket.

Death angels can act as a 'Sandman' of sorts. We carry around a pouch of dust that knock mortals into a deep sleep. When Jimin shuts his eyes, I sprinkle just a little on him and he immediately falls into a deep, fourteen-hour sleep. Oh, he's just so beautiful. I continue to watch him as I wait for Jin to arrive. Only he can take the young boy's illness away. That's all I want for him; I want him to live.

Jin appears and I hug him momentarily. "I'm so glad you're here," I sigh and he rolls his eyes as he looks down at Jimin. "He's shutting down, Yoongi. Take him," he says and I shake my head wildly. "No, hyung. Not this one. He must live." We hold a glaring contest for a minute, but then he sighs and nods. "Fine." He lifts the sickly Jimin into his arms like the baby I believe him to be. Jin smiles down at him and sits on the bed. "Hyung, I - I just can't take him. He deserves a long life. And he - hyung, he can see me. No one's ever seen me before," I say as health is restored to those chubby cheeks and thick lips.

My friend stares down at me as he continues to hold Jimin in his arms, absentmindedly stroking his hair. "Do you care for him?" That realization never hits me until many years later.

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I manage to keep myself away from Jimin for eleven years. Something about the mortal mesmerized me. Something about his soul made me ache to see him again, to simply hear his voice and see how much he's matured by now. I long to talk with him, to tell him stories and to hear him tell me his. I ache to hold his hand and simply enjoy his presence, but I can't do that. I really can't.