Sometimes I want to reach out and run my fingers over your skin.

But I don't, because I'm scared you'll flinch.

🐘🐘🐘

Yoongi stared at (Y/n). He had thought that when the time finally came, he'd have words, emotions, some grand gesture to make the moment unforgettable.

But he had none of that. He had no words, no emotions, no gestures, and no (Y/n).

She was lying on the bed, which was a twin size. She'd never planned on having a partner, hence the small dimensions. At one point, she'd fit comfortably in the bed with only a small margin of excess mattress around her body.

Now though, she was so small the bed could have been a king. She wasn't quite in the middle but a little bit off to the left, like she'd rolled over in the middle of the night and had flipped back up onto her back to stare at the ceiling. She was wearing a nightgown, not that she liked them but because it was easier for her to change out of a single piece of clothing than to wear two separate pieces.

Not that she was clothing herself anymore anyway. That was part of Yoongi's ever-increasing job responsibilities.

He'd felt extremely uncomfortable the first couple of times, but after he had realized that she didn't understand what was happening, he got over it. That and because there wasn't much body to stare at in the first place.

There had used to be pictures of a younger, healthier (Y/n) in the house, but she'd had him turn them all face down because she didn't want to be reminded of what she'd used to have.

Yoongi didn't really care.

Whether she was frail and thin or filled out in all the right places, she was still (Y/n).

At least, that's what he wanted to believe. He wished he could say that she was beautiful no matter how far along she was with her disease, but that was a damn lie and he knew it. (Y/n)'s beauty had been ripped away and replaced with a protruding skeleton, shaking hands, and filmy eyes. He wished he could say that no matter how bad it got, (Y/n)'s mind was still her own, but that had been ripped away too.

More accurately, it was as though someone had poked a bunch of holes in it. Sunlight could enter through the top while the contents sloshed out through the bottom, leaving good intentions and an absence of much else.

So Yoongi had nothing when he looked at her dead body. It just meant that everything had finally spilled out through the holes in her brain and her body. (Y/n) wasn't in there anymore. She was gone, someplace else, he didn't know.

For the first few minutes, all he could do was yell. Not at (Y/n), not at himself. At God. He'd knew she'd had to die but he'd always expected her to wake up tomorrow, for every tomorrow that there was.

But there were no more tomorrows. Not for (Y/n).

He got tired of yelling at the silent being and just went back to staring at (Y/n), her small body, her hands resting against her sides.

She looked weak. Fragile. Defeated.

He hated that.

He hated

He hated

He hated

Damn it. He was crying.

He wiped away the tears and picked up the phone, calmly calling 911.

"What's the emergency?" the operator asked.

"There isn't one," Yoongi said tonelessly. "She's already dead."