yeonjun sat on the cold, hard floor of the empty classroom, his back against the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around them like he was trying to hold himself together. the room smelled faintly of chalk dust and old wood, the air stale with the quiet weight of an abandoned space. outside, the school hummed with life—footsteps echoing in the hallways, laughter spilling from the cafeteria, the low murmur of teachers droning on about things that didn't matter. but inside this room, there was nothing. just silence. just him.

his head ached. it always did. a dull, heavy pain behind his eyes, pressing down, making it hard to think. he hadn't slept properly in weeks—maybe months—he couldn't remember anymore. the nights blurred together, hours spent staring at the ceiling, his body exhausted but his mind refusing to quiet down, whispering all the things he wanted to forget. the hunger was worse today, though. it gnawed at his insides, hollowing him out from the inside. but eating felt impossible. it had been days since he'd forced anything down, and even then, it was barely enough to keep him standing. his body felt foreign, weak, something he was dragging around rather than living in. every breath felt like effort. every step was exhausting.

soobin found him there.

the door creaked open, and then there was a pause, a sharp intake of breath. yeonjun didn't look up, but he knew it was him. he always knew. the way his footsteps hesitated before stepping inside, the way he let out the softest sigh—relieved but also tired, like he had been expecting this but still wished he hadn't been right.

"yeonjun," soobin said, voice barely above a whisper, as if anything louder would break him apart. he crouched down beside him, close but not touching, his presence warm even when yeonjun felt unbearably cold. "you didn't come to class."

yeonjun swallowed, his throat dry, but he said nothing. what was the point?

soobin exhaled through his nose, sitting down fully, stretching his legs out in front of him. "have you eaten today?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer. he always asked.

yeonjun shook his head.

a pause. then, softer, "have you slept?"

another shake.

soobin pressed his lips together, looking away for a moment, running a hand through his hair. frustration, worry, something heavier he didn't say aloud. but then he turned back, his gaze searching, trying to find something in yeonjun's face, something that wasn't emptiness. "talk to me," he pleaded.

yeonjun closed his eyes, tilting his head back against the wall. "there's nothing to say."

"there's always something to say."

"not for me."

soobin was silent for a long time. yeonjun could feel his gaze, heavy with something like helplessness. he hated it. hated the way he could feel soobin worrying about him, hated the way he knew he was nothing but a burden, hated the way he kept pulling soobin down with him when he had never asked for this.

he swallowed, throat tight. "soobin," he whispered, voice barely there.

soobin turned to him immediately. "what?"

yeonjun took a breath, steadying himself, and then, finally, he said it.

"i don't want to be here anymore."

the silence that followed was suffocating.

soobin's breath hitched, just for a second, but yeonjun heard it. he didn't move, but he could feel soobin staring at him, eyes wide, mouth parted slightly like he wanted to say something but didn't know how. yeonjun kept his gaze on the ceiling, waiting.

and then, quietly, "don't say that."

yeonjun let out a hollow laugh. "why not? it's true."

soobin shook his head, something desperate in his movements. "you don't mean that."

"i do."

"you don't."

"soobin," yeonjun turned his head, finally meeting his eyes, and something inside soobin cracked at the emptiness there. "i don't want to be here anymore."

soobin's hands curled into fists against his knees. "don't—don't say it like that. like it's already decided."

yeonjun shrugged, looking away again. "maybe it is."

soobin's breath came out shaky, uneven. yeonjun could feel him thinking, trying to find the right words, but what words could fix this? what words could fix something that had already been broken beyond repair?

"you're not alone," soobin finally said, voice softer now, like he was afraid yeonjun would disappear if he wasn't careful. "i'm here."

yeonjun closed his eyes. "that's the problem."

soobin froze.

"i'm dragging you down with me," yeonjun whispered. "i know it. i see it every day. you're always worrying about me, always looking after me, always making sure i eat even when i don't want to, always making sure i get home safe, always—" his voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, shaking his head. "you shouldn't have to do that. you shouldn't have to waste your time on me."

soobin grabbed his wrist, firm but not rough, grounding. "it's not a waste," he said, and there was something so certain in his voice that it made yeonjun's chest ache. "you're not a waste."

yeonjun wanted to believe him. god, he wanted to believe him.

but he couldn't.

he let out a shaky breath. "you deserve better."

"stop saying that," soobin's voice broke, fingers tightening around his wrist. "stop acting like you're nothing when you—" he cut himself off, inhaling sharply. "you mean something to me."

yeonjun's throat burned.

soobin let go of his wrist only to cup his face instead, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones, his eyes searching, desperate. "please," he whispered. "just stay."

yeonjun felt his vision blur.

soobin exhaled shakily, resting his forehead against his. "i don't care how long it takes. i don't care if it's hard. just stay."

yeonjun closed his eyes, a tear slipping down his cheek. soobin wiped it away.

yeonjun didn't answer. he didn't know how to. soobin's hands were warm against his skin, grounding him, tethering him to the moment when all he wanted was to disappear. but soobin didn't let him. he never did. always pulling him back, always catching him when he fell—even when yeonjun knew he was nothing but dead weight, dragging him down, making his life harder. soobin's voice, his touch, his presence—they made it impossible to let go, even when yeonjun had already decided he wanted to.

but what was left for him? really?

his body was falling apart, his mind was worse. every morning was the same battle—forcing himself to get up, to walk through the day like a ghost, numb to everything around him. the hunger had become a constant ache, a reminder that he was still here even when he didn't want to be. sleep was rare, the nights stretched too long, his thoughts growing too loud. everything hurt. everything was exhausting. everything was too much.

and soobin—soobin was trying so hard.

yeonjun hated himself for it.

he wanted to tell him to stop, to leave him alone, to save himself before yeonjun pulled him under completely. but he couldn't. because some part of him—some selfish, broken part—needed him.

so he stayed silent.

soobin's forehead was still pressed against his, their breaths uneven, the air between them too thick with everything neither of them knew how to say. and then, finally, soobin whispered, "promise me."

yeonjun's stomach twisted.

he knew what soobin was asking. knew what he wanted. knew he could never give it to him.

but soobin was looking at him like he was the most fragile thing in the world, like one wrong move would shatter him completely, and yeonjun couldn't bear it.

so he lied.

"...okay."

soobin let out a shaky breath, nodding like he wanted to believe him, like he needed to believe him. and yeonjun let him. because it was easier that way. because the truth would only hurt more. because soobin deserved hope, even if yeonjun couldn't give it to himself.

but the decision had already been made.

—

it happened on a wednesday.

soobin knew something was wrong the moment yeonjun didn't show up to school.

he had tried calling, but there was no answer. had sent texts, but they went unread. had asked around, but no one had seen him. and the longer the hours stretched, the heavier the dread sat in soobin's chest, cold and suffocating.

by the time school ended, he was already running.

yeonjun's apartment was dark when he arrived, the curtains drawn, the air still. soobin pounded on the door, his breath coming too fast, his hands shaking. "yeonjun," he called, voice tight with fear. "open the door."

no answer.

he knocked again. harder this time. "please."

silence.

soobin's stomach twisted painfully. he pressed his forehead against the door, swallowing down the panic rising in his throat. "don't do this," he whispered.

but the silence only stretched.

he wasn't sure how long he stood there, his heart pounding so loudly it drowned out everything else.

and then—sirens.

the world blurred after that.

neighbors talking. flashing lights. the heavy weight of hands pulling him back, keeping him away, keeping him from seeing what he already knew. voices telling him things he didn't want to hear.

too late.

soobin couldn't breathe.

he didn't remember how he got home. didn't remember how long he sat on the floor of his room, staring at nothing, his head too full of everything and empty all at once. didn't remember when the tears started or when they stopped.

all he remembered was yeonjun's voice.

"i don't want to be here anymore."

he should have held on tighter.

but in the end, he had let him slip away.

and now, yeonjun was gone.