Disclaimer: nope, c'mon guys, we already know none of this has happened! That's why I'm putting this on a fanFICTION site!

A/N: hmm, this chapter may seem a little weird; well my whole fic does, apologies in advance. (and sth else; in chapter 2 I'd written Ville locked the door, which was a silly mistake on my part; he didn't lock the door, he just closed it. That would complicate things. Yeah, it's far easier this way. Sorry for the mistake.)

Chapter 4: Losing You

Crying yourself to sleep

Praying you could forget

Yet keeping the pictures and memories

So close to your chest

Do you want to forget or not?

You can forget the pain of a heart you never cut

If you could just let yourself stop bleeding

From these old, long-healed wounds

Of a battle you never fought

Mige closed the door slowly behind him, and for a moment, just stayed there with his back leaning against the door, eyes resting on the heavenly form of Ville, who was, oddly enough, sleeping with his clothes on. He looked so surreal asleep, with his face completely relaxed and void of any facial, human expressions. His long, dark lashes casting a sleeping beauty shadow over his sculpted cheekbones, his long, silky hair fanning around his face like gentle waves of dark water, and his slightly parted lips, so heartbreakingly perfect, begging to be kissed awake. Mige never got tired of looking at that face. And even though it hurt so much losing himself in the flawless planes of Ville's divine face, being the masochist that he was, Mige would spend hours gazing at Ville, searching for and finding what he knew he could never have and with every second that passed, and the deeper the blade dug into his battered heart, Mige would find himself begging for more, desperate eyes pleading with Ville to bury the blade into his heart as far as he could, and then he knew he was addicted to this unending pain he could never quit.

Mige stood next to Ville's bed and called his name softly. He knew Ville was a heavy sleeper and he had to shake the sleeping man awake, but he wanted to prolong making contact with Ville's body as much as he could. He was a coward, he was an idiot, call him whatever you want, but he was pretty drunk and high on his lust-filled memories, and here was Ville, completely vulnerable and beautiful, and as much as it hurt admitting it to himself, Mige didn't trust himself around a sleeping Ville any more. After three more gentle calls and seeing no signs of Ville waking up, Mige swallowed his fear and touched Ville's silk-clad shoulder with a trembling hand.

"Ville, Ville wake up. We gotta get ready for the gig." Ville didn't stir.

With a frown Mige knelt beside the bed and as he did so, something sharp cut through the fabric of his pants and dug into his leg. With a small yelp Mige looked down at his leg, only to find a large piece of glass sticking out of his bleeding flesh. Wincing in pain slightly numbed by the alcohol in his blood, Mige pulled the glass out and stared dumbly at the bloodied object. What was such a big piece of glass doing on the floor?

And as his eyes roamed all over the floor, he found more broken pieces scattered around the bed; Ville's bed…broken pieces of a glass…Ville's glass. Ville was asleep. He didn't even stir.

Eyes wide in horror, Mige put his hand on Ville's forehead, only to find it terrifyingly hot. Mige's heart thumped madly against his chest as his hand burned upon Ville's feverish skin.

"Ville? Goddamn it, Ville, wake up! C'mon, man, wake up!"

Mige wasn't aware he was crying or that he was shaking Ville so hard, his delicate skin would surely bruise the next day. He just knew Ville had a high fever and he wasn't waking up; and that broken pieces of glass was everywhere and…and Ville's asthma medication was laying empty on the nightstand.

"God damn you, Ville, what have you done?" Mige's soft, petrified whisper cut through the thick air of fear. Why was the bottle empty? Where were the rest of the pills? Mige was sure the bottle had been full, because when he had picked it up after Ville had dropped it, he had felt its weight and heard the little noises they made as the pills hit the wall of the bottle.

Mige looked back at Ville, who looked for all the world to be in a deep, peaceful sleep, and knew instantly what had happened. Ville had overdosed with his Theo-durs and even though Mige didn't really know of the side-effects of overdosing with Theo-dur he knew it was bad; so bad that it had given Ville such a high fever that wouldn't let him wake up.

Mige was really terrified. He gathered Ville's limp form into his arms and buried his face into the crook of his neck as he cried his fear out. The logical part of his brain, which was miraculously still working through the haze of alcohol and terror, was telling him to call for an ambulance, but the panicked part of his brain was telling him to hold on to Ville's feverish body and never let go, because if he did, Ville would slip like precious liquid through his fingers and join the eternity.

But the hot flesh against his cheek, and the slow beatings of a heart against his chest, assured him that Ville was still alive and needed medical treatment immediately. With a chocked sob, Mige lowered Ville's unresponsive body to the bed and hovered over him to grab for the phone that was on the nightstand. With trembling, numb fingers Mige dialed 911 and through ragged breathing tried to explain to the woman on the other line how critical Ville's condition was and where they lived. The woman assured him an ambulance would be there in less than 5 minutes in her kind, soothing voice and offered to talk to him on the phone until the ambulance arrived. But Mige declined, knowing whatever calming word the woman was going to give him would not reduce his panic and fear for his Ville. So after hanging up, he took Ville in his arms again, rocking him as he sung a Finnish lullaby into his ears, tears running fast on his cheeks as he prayed anyone who was listening to let Ville be all right; and he waited for either the ambulance or one of his band mates to come. 3 minutes later, but to Mige 3 centuries later, the doorbell rung and Mige sprung to his feet and rushed downstairs to open the door for the paramedics who were carrying a stretcher with them. Mige led them to Ville's bedroom (vaguely wondering why he hadn't took Ville downstairs to make it easier and faster for the paramedics to carry Ville into the ambulance) and stood aside as two strong-built men lifted Ville's slender form and lowered him carefully into the stretcher. He somehow managed to climb down the stairs without tripping as he followed the men and Ville into the ambulance.

As soon as they put Ville in the ambulance, another paramedic placed a respirator mask over Ville's mouth and checked his vital signs. Mige just kept a firm hold on Ville's hand, silently praying and pleading for his life, and finding himself promising to himself if Ville survived this, he would confess to his green-eyed angel how deeply in love he was with him; had been for more than 18 years. And he didn't care if his confession would take Ville away from him; he was losing Ville already… and this time the loss would be permanent.

…

Burton forgot for a moment that he was in a hospital as he shouted, "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN HE'S OVERDOSED?"

Linde just stood with his back against the wall, face drawn and scared-looking as Burton kept shouting nonsense at a crying Mige. Gas was sitting in the hospital's infamous plastic chair, filing the information sheet with trembling hands. A nurse passed by and asked Burton to keep his voice down or else she had to make Burton leave; Burton just glared dangerously at the young nurse, telling her to fuck off because his friend was dying in this very damn hospital and that 'Don't you fucking dare tell me to shut up!'. Mige just kept crying harder, Gas was still struggling with the paper and it was Linde who was calm enough to apologize to the offended nurse and promise her they would all calm down.

"I don't know! He just…he just told me he would take a nap. He said he was expecting an attack! Oh, God, I should have gone with him to his room! I'm a fucking idiot! He told me he might have an attack and I just…oh, God, I just left him alone." Mige's broken voice could hardly be heard among his violent sobs. Linde put his arm around his shoulder and Mige leaned against his chest, gratefully hiding his crying, ashamed face into the crook of Linde's neck. Burton was still furious.

"I don't understand. It wasn't the first time Ville took his medicine. He would surely know how many damn pills to take to prevent the attack, wouldn't he? This is ridiculous! Overdosed? He wasn't a fucking child, Mige, he was 30!"

Gas suddenly looked up, eyes flashing with anger. "Stop using past tense, you fucking idiot! Ville hasn't died yet, you know?"

Mige whimpered against Linde's neck. "It's all my fault…all my fucking fault!"

"It wasn't your fault, Mige, and you know it." Linde's tone was pleasantly calm and logical. Mige urged him to keep talking in his mind. "Burton's right, in a way. Ville's been using Theophylline as long as we know him. I don't believe what he did was an accident."

Mige's heart skipped a beat. "What are you saying, Linde?" he whispered in a shaky voice.

It was Burton who answered him. "It was a suicide attempt! Ville was trying to kill himself! THAT FUCKIGN IDIOT!"

Burton punched the wall in his fury and a passing-by patient turned to look at him with huge, scared eyes.

"But why would he want to do that?" asked Gas, utterly confused. "I thought this was the best moment of his life; what he was waiting for since he was 15. Why would he want to kill himself now of all times?"

Burton gave him an odd look. His voice was calmer with tiredness as he spoke, "the point is not why he wanted to kill himself now; the point is why he wanted to do that at all."

Mige was still clutching to Linde's shirt. "He…he told me he felt sorta out of place in here; that he didn't belong here. He was sitting for two hours in his chair without moving…and when I asked him why he was so depressed and alone…this was all he gave me for an answer. I was so stupid to believe it was all that there was to his story; I should have known better than believe his lie; I should have noticed there was something wrong with him. I'm his fucking brother for fuck's sake!"

Two hours later, when the grim-looking doctor came out of IC room, where Ville had been, Mige was still in Linde's arms, Gas was trying to distract himself by reading a newspaper and Burton was pacing up and down. When the doctor cleared his throat, all four nervous faces turned to lock eyes with those grave, gray eyes of the man.

"I'm sorry." Three tiny words, and Mige's world came crushing down around him. He barely heard Linde gasp as he fell into the inviting blanket of darkness.

Cliffy! I always wanted to have one of those cliff-thingy [sighs happily]. I hope you're not mad at me. I promise I won't make you wait very long for the next up-date!