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(A/n: I know I always say thank you every chapter, but I don't want that to lose meaning! I genuinely mean it when I say thank you every chapter! So, thank you so much for 90k reads! I never really thought people would enjoy this book, but I'm glad to see so many people reading it and leaving comments saying they can't wait for the next chapter! I hope you all enjoy and have a wonderful day/night! ☀️🌈💕✨)

Requested by: @StraykidsMemeHacker

Song: "Miss You" by Monty Datta
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Yoongi's P.O.V

I sat there in the icy, hospital room, not caring how long I had been sitting in this uncomfortable, green chair. This room was so dull and cold without his unique personality to warm the air. I didn't care how long I had been here, I just wanted to be here when he woke up, so I could see he was okay. I wanted him to wake up, so I could hold him in my arms again like I always did when we went to bed. I should've been in that car with him, but I decided to stay home and finish the rest of the song I was working on. I should've gone with him. I should be the one laying where he is, but him. The world needed him. I needed him. Everyone we had ever grown close to need him. I had witnessed his family come and go, tears streaming down their faces as they looked at their beloved son or their little brother. They hugged me, saying they knew how hard this must be for me. I wanted to tell them it was all my fault, but they would tell me I couldn't have possibly known what would happen.

They would've told me that I couldn't reserve time or change what had happened and that I all I could do was wish that I could. They would tell me that all I could do was pray for him to get better and hope he would eventually wake up. They said I had to keep hoping, that hope was the only thing that got people through their toughest times. I knew they were right, but it was so hard to see the love of my life struggle to stay alive each and every day. I had witnessed him crying in his medically-induced coma and I couldn't do anything, but whisper sweet nothings into his ear, while gently playing with his hair, and hope he could hear me and know I was here for him. He had soon stopped crying, but I didn't know if it was from me or if whatever he was crying about was finally gone. 

I blinked back my tears as I dragged myself back to the painful reality that was my life. I studied every part of his bruised face, wishing he would open his eyes, so I could see those gorgeous, (e/c) eyes once again. I wanted to see that beautiful smile that made my heart flutter. I wanted to hear his heavenly laugh after I made a stupid joke that he somehow found hilarious. I wanted so many things, but I knew those things couldn't happen unless he woke up. He wanted to grow old with me. He wanted to adopt some kids from the local orphanage that we usually visited sometimes, so we could get familiar with the children that lived there. He wanted to do so many things and he told me everything he wanted to do, one late night as we laid in bed as we held each other close for warmth. I remember I told him what I wanted to do as well. I remember him smiling at my ambitious thoughts and saying how we should take a week off and do all the things we ever dreamed about doing. I agreed with him, saying that sounded like a wonderful idea, but I only now realized that we never got around it.

I grabbed his hand, holding it in mine. He was still as warm as he was when he was awake. It was one thing that hadn't changed since he got into that awful crash that nearly killed him. He was still my human heater, still being as warm as ever. He was always so warm, which was one of the main reason I never really needed the comforter when we went to bed I would just cuddle with him and he would keep me warm. I smiled at the thought, wanting nothing more than to go home with him and continue living our lives. We planned to do so many things. We wanted to do the cliché thing and travel to Paris. He always told me he wanted to see the beautiful architecture, the paintings, and try their famous pastries and foods. I had been saving up money for the past few years, so we could go on a week-long trip to Paris for our 5th anniversary and finally have a break from work. I knew work had been stressing him out lately, so I had decided that since our anniversary was coming up soon that it would be a get idea to tell him we were going to go to Paris, but the night I wanted to tell him was the night we desperately need groceries and he went out to get some.

I knew that when he didn't come back for two hours that sometimes was wrong. I had tried calling his phone, but when I called for the tenth time, some lady answered telling me that he had got into a wreak and was now in surgery. I ran out of the apartment and towards the hospital, not caring who I accidentally bumped into as I sprinted past people. Once I had got there, I was wheezing and trying to catch my breath as I tried to ask what room he was in. The nurse looked at with concern as I tried to form proper words. Once I had formed the right words, she frowned and told me he had fallen into a coma while undergoing surgery. I felt my heart stop, my world crumbling to pieces as her words related in my head like a broken record.