sacrifice.

It used to smell like spring here. It smelled of warm sunbeams filtering through the curtains; a piano played constantly, and they would dance from morning until night. There was laughter. There was happiness. There was a talented musician and a professional dancer. There was love. But it vanished. Gone in a single night. In a single hour. In a single moment. A terrorist attack changed Yoongi’s life forever. He died inside. Of that, he was certain. And Jimin survived that night. Of that, he had no doubt either. Their apartment no longer smells like spring. It doesn’t smell of warmth. Music doesn’t play anymore. The forgotten piano is buried under a layer of dust. No one dances. No laughter rings out. It is cold and heavy here. The sun hasn’t shown itself in a year. One long, endless year. This morning wasn’t much different from the ones before. Just another morning. Gray. Heavy. Suffocating. Jimin woke up early to the sound of another alarm. He had slept for only two hours, maybe less—it’s impossible to sleep longer after a night shift. He pulls himself up from the couch and walks to the bathroom. He has been sleeping on the couch for a year now. Apart from Yoongi. Someone else stares back at Jimin from the bathroom mirror. Dark circles hollow out his eyes, his cheeks are sunken with the tracks of frequent tears, and a perpetual panic is hidden beneath the brutal exhaustion in his brown eyes. He works three jobs just to pay for their apartment. He quit dancing, and spends every spare moment either cooking or buying pills for Yoongi. His lips are pale and chapped, his collarbones sharp and protruding. He has lost nearly fifteen kilograms over the past year. Yet, every morning, he gets up. Only for Yoongi. “Just one more day,” he repeats to himself daily. “Just one more day and Yoongi will get better, everything will be fine.” One more day… Washing his face quickly, he heads to the kitchen. Yoongi is already awake. He hears every single one of Jimin’s steps. He hears him taking out the dishes, opening the refrigerator. Yoongi has grown used to these sounds. Jimin… not completely. Three months ago, a pot lid fell in the kitchen. It clattered loudly, sounding just like a gunshot. Terrified, Jimin had collapsed to the floor, covering his ears, sobbing and screaming at the top of his lungs. And Yoongi just lay there in his bed. He lay there, utterly powerless, instead of comforting the boy he loved. He listened to his panic attack and pretended to be asleep. He still hasn’t forgiven himself for it. Yoongi watched himself kill Jimin from the inside out. Every day. For a whole year. He lets Jimin rot; he allows himself to be a burden. And Jimin gives up everything for Yoongi—a Yoongi who cannot eat without being reminded, whom no antidepressants can help, and who has almost stopped speaking entirely. Park Jimin is willingly turning his own flame into ash. Because he loves Yoongi. But Min Yoongi cannot let him burn out. Because he loves Jimin.

***

Yoongi lies in bed all day. Just like always, really. But this time, everything is different. This is the last time. The last day like this. Today, he is going to save Jimin. The thought comforts him and kills him at the same time. He will save him from himself. As usual, Jimin arrives after dark. After two daytime shifts, he can barely drag his feet. – Yoongi-ya — he calls out — hyung, I… I bought new pills. They’re supposed to help. Take them. And I’ll warm up some soup for you now, I made it yesterday. In response — silence. Just like always. Jimin is used to it. Yoongi hears him rustling the shopping bag, pouring water into a glass. A few minutes later, Jimin steps into his bedroom, holding two small pills and a glass of water. At the sight of Jimin, Yoongi’s heart drops. Maybe it’s just his imagination, but today Jimin looks completely depleted. His thin, emaciated body is swallowed by Yoongi’s old, stretched-out sweater and sweatpants that miraculously cling to his wasted waist. He can barely move from exhaustion, but he still approaches Yoongi, offering the pills on a fragile, trembling palm and setting the glass of water on the nightstand. – Hyung… take these. This time it will definitely make you feel better, Yoongi-ya. The doctor said these antidepressants… well, they’re supposed to help. Seeing this unwavering devotion in his lover’s eyes, a lump forms in Yoongi’s throat. But he has to do this. He has to save Jimin from the rot, from this black hole he is dragging him into. – Get that away from me. — Yoongi sits up in bed and slaps Jimin’s hand away, sending the pills flying. Jimin stumbles back a little. — Back off. I don’t need your pathetic pity. – Wh… what…? — Jimin asks, his voice barely audible, raspy. Yoongi clenches his jaw tight, forcing himself to go on. – You heard me. Get away from me. You make me sick. — He can’t believe the words coming out of his own mouth; only one thought echoes in his mind: “Save him from yourself. Don’t let him rot here.” — I don’t love you. Jimin flinches as if he’s been struck. The pills scatter across the floor from his palm. He looks so small, so devastatingly easy to break. His eyes widen in momentary shock before tears well up, spilling down his cheeks. – What…? — his whisper breaks, even quieter now. He thinks he misheard. He hopes he misheard. Yoongi stands up, towering over Jimin. – I stopped loving you. A year ago. On that exact night, I stopped loving you. — Every word hits Yoongi, wounding him just as deeply. A blatant, cruel lie. — Pack your things. Jimin begins to shake violently. He looks like he is dying. His legs give out beneath him, and he collapses to the floor. He sobs hysterically, not even trying to appear strong. Yet, he keeps looking up, his red, innocent eyes locking right onto Yoongi’s. Still trusting him. Still trusting. – Yoongi-ya… — His voice is barely audible through the gasps. — Yoongi-ya, you just need to take your pills and it will all pass, I promise… you’ll get better… please, kitty, take the pills… Yoongi’s heart shatters at those broken sobs, at the begging, the trust, and the unyielding loyalty. He wants so badly to say, “I…” – I… — …love you. — hate you. — Yoongi swallows hard, the icy facade in his eyes cracking at the seams. But he has to finish this. He has to. — Leave. Pack your things and get the hell out. Jimin breaks. Shyping into a thousand pieces. He curls into a ball on the carpet at Yoongi’s feet, weeping. He suffocates with every sob, coughing for air. “No… no… no… please, no…” — He repeats it like a mantra every time his lungs manage to catch a scrap of oxygen. Yoongi can’t bear it. More than anything in the world, he wants to drop to his knees, wrap his arms around Jimin, and spend the rest of his life apologizing for this horrific lie. But he doesn’t. – I want you out of here in an hour — he spits out one last time and walks away. He locks himself in the bathroom. He slides down the wall. And he breaks, too. Shyping. He presses a hand over his mouth and cries. For the first time in a very long time. Yoongi can hear Jimin breaking down in tears in the next room. So close… Once again, Yoongi listens to the boy he loves having a panic attack — how he screams, how scared and hurt he is. And once again, he won’t comfort him. Once again, he will never forgive himself. Never. The minutes drag on. Unbearably long. Yoongi is certain that more than an hour has passed while he listened to Jimin’s whimpers, dying silently inside himself. After a long hour, maybe two, or maybe much longer, Yoongi finally hears Jimin — who seems completely unable to stand — crawling on his hands and knees, gathering his belongings. Yoongi hears him dragging himself across the floor, throwing whatever he can see through his tears into the first bag he found. Soon, Jimin manages to stand up after all. “Come on, please, just leave, Min-ie, leave”, Yoongi’s mind begs. But Jimin’s heavy footsteps head straight toward the bathroom. Yoongi expects him to ask to open up, to knock, to bang on the door and beg to stay, but he just stands there. So close that Yoongi can hear his ragged breaths and lingering, quiet sniffling, yet so far away, separated by a door. – Hyung… — Jimin’s whisper is hoarse and very, very quiet — Please, take the pills… and eat the soup, it’s in the fridge… — He falters, unable to go on. – Min-ie… — Yoongi whispers. For the first time in a year, he calls Jimin by his name. Truly. Aloud. — Please, just leave… — He doesn’t hide how broken he is. He is begging. Begging with the last ounce of his strength, because it’s all he has left. – I love you, hyung. Goodbye. — Jimin speaks so softly, like a breath of wind. But Yoongi could swear he heard it. And Jimin leaves. The door slams shut. The lock clicks. And then, silence.