Things weren't the same after Sungha died--because as soon as she left, a huge, distinct gap was set into motion, and I greatly feared it would go on to push Yoongi further...and further away. Of course, I hadn't expected him to come to school the next day--and he didn't--but having predicted his absence certainly didn't alleviate the pain I felt. I hardly knew Sungha, and I believe...that was one of the worst parts of the entire situation.

I wasn't given the chance to get to know the most valued person in Yoongi's life before she slipped between our fingers like the breath of an ephemeral flower.

I wasn't able to smile with the lingering memory of Yoongi in his most vulnerable state plaguing my mind, and the hospital scene playing over and over and over again. I had seen him cry. I had held him through it all, silently pleading that he could hear the words I couldn't bring myself to say. I had hoped that my presence was enough...and that was the sole purpose of that brief message I placed in Yoongi's hands. But it was painful for me, for all the while I was convinced of myself being inadequate for him, that right then and there, he had wished...I were her.

I couldn't help but wonder how he was holding out--at home, all alone, no doubt, desperately attempting to keep himself together. Or perhaps, he wasn't trying. Maybe he simply wanted to let himself go until the heartache transformed into numbness. Whatever the case, my mind was suffering a great deal as a result, and it affected my outward behavior throughout the entirety of the day.

Setback number one: my demeanor during class. Typically, I could pay attention in most of my classes to a considerable degree, at least adequately enough to win myself passing grades. But I couldn't help it. My thoughts had taken the liberty of morphing themselves into a jigsaw puzzle, and having only received roughly three hours of sleep the previous night, I was much too physically and mentally exhausted to put them back together in their proper order.

Setback number two: my attitude towards classmates. I've said this before, how on a regular basis, I liked to maintain a steady, optimistic attitude, and there were a number of reasons for that. But I couldn't smile today. Several times I had felt both Jungkook and Hoseok thoroughly eyeing me like some sort of computer scanner, but no matter how many times they restarted their systems, the results were always the same. 'Little Miss Sunshine' had become enveloped by storm clouds.

Setback number three: my performance in basketball practice. Yoongi had come to see only one of our practice games, but somehow the gymnasium felt unbearably empty without him. And on that day, for the very first time since middle school, my captain ordered me to abandon my position on the court and bench myself. It wasn't humiliating as it should have been. I was too distracted to be humiliated. Seventeen years of life, and anxiety struck me now. I was aware that my friends' levels of concern were increasing steadily, and believe me when I say that took its toll on my stability, too. I could only hope they would understand...that they would forgive me.

Hoseok and Jungkook knew, to a certain extent. After all, they had witnessed the very start of it. They saw how impetuously I had rushed out of the classroom after Yoongi, and I wouldn't have been surprised if they'd heard me shouting his name, either. But they weren't like me. They weren't stupid enough to push past every single existing boundary just for the sake of "reading the next chapter." Those two drew a line somewhere; and as for Seokjin, I wasn't quite sure what had been going on his mind, but he, too, had decided on his own to wait things out. He trusted me.

"You gonna be able to get home by yourself?"

I didn't bother to make eye contact with Jungkook. "Yeah. I'll manage."

"Turn off your electronics at 9 tonight," Hoseok remarked in a lecturing tone, which contradicted his usual demeanor. "I'm not tryna sound like your mom or anything, but really, man." He stepped closer to me and tugged at the dark circles beneath my eyes with his thumbs. "Lookin' like a Halloween decoration. Even rays of sunshine like you and me need their rest, you know."

"I'm fine, guys, two hours is plenty."

"...dude..."

Jungkook trapped me in yet another one of his signature headlocks, hesitating to tousle my hair as he usually did, so it came off as more of a gentle, fingers-sliding-lovingly-through-soft-locks gesture. Even Jungkook visually expressed a hint of embarrassment upon realizing what he'd done. He never really was a master in the comforting department, but he tried.

"Uh...yeah, sleep is...recommended..." He cleared his throat loudly, retracting his arm from around me to scratch the back of his head. "We need our ace player at the top of his game. Well...that, and we want our friend back."

"We're here, Jiminie."

Having unknowingly stolen my words, Seokjin stared back at me with a heartwarming smile, setting before me the very same unspoken promise I'd left with Yoongi. Hidden in that brief sentence was something so endearing, and yet it was so often that people seemed to take its meaning for granted.

He was ensuring me that I could find a pillar in them--promising that, if ever a time came where my legs failed to lift my body from the ground, they would be ready to catch me. They wanted to assure me...that I wasn't alone.

Funny how I nearly forgot something so significant.

"Thank you."

The slightest of smiles graced my lips.

"Thank you, guys...for being here..."

*****

It took a bit of humility, a bucket of courage, and mountains of determination for me to show up at Yoongi's front door, but I found a couple of good excuses.

A. I had been given permission from a teacher to bring Yoongi's assignments home to him, since he lived in the same direction as my place anyway.

B. He lived in the same direction as my place anyway.

C. I really wanted to see him.

I wasn't doubtful of what I would do or say in this situation, much to my own amazement. I had already planned out everything; this would be a short visit, but I reminded myself that a short and sweet stay was better than an unnervingly extended one.

I knocked on the door--softly, because a part of me wondered if he had decided to take an afternoon nap, while another part didn't even want him to hear me knocking. More than anything, I wanted to surprise him. So I took it upon myself to step across just one additional boundary and enter the house, which I felt certain was entirely empty save Yoongi.

I could tell right off the bat, all the lights in the building were off. A narrow hallway stretched a short distance till it met a wall, branching out to the left and to the right. I gingerly stepped out of my shoes, which I left directly where I stood upon entering, and made my way down the hall, turning left immediately at the sight of an open door. I didn't knock on that one, either.

Boy, am I bold today.

I closed my eyes for a split second, only to open them again to find Yoongi curled up on a futon with a pair of brightly colored headphones pressed against his ears. At the moment, his back was turned to me; he was completely unaware of my presence, though it was only a matter of time before that changed. I set his textbooks and absentee assignment sheet carefully down on the floor beside him, mentally bracing myself for a harsh reaction before going in for the kill.

--and by that, I mean a hug. I hugged him.

It wasn't easy at first, but the moment Yoongi started to shuffle his movements at the sensation of another's presence looming over him, he made an attempt to sit himself upright, enabling me to fully imprison him in the warmth and comfort of my arms.

Yoongi's headphones slipped off of his head.

"I wrote my phone number on a sticky note," I informed him, giving the distraught and puzzled boy one last squeeze before pulling myself away. "It's attached to one of your-...ah, never mind, just hand me your phone."

I figured it would be a much simpler and reassuring process if I inserted the number personally--that way, I wouldn't have to fret over the possibility that maybe Yoongi would just trash the note without second thought. Yoongi, still dazed from the fact I was even here, didn't try to defend his privacy and allowed me to slip his phone out of his grasp. Even though the headphones were no longer around his ears, music was still playing on the device, and upon recognizing the familiar song title flashing on the lock screen, I unplugged the headphones.

"You listen to foreign music, huh?" I smiled warmly. "This is a pretty popular Russian lullaby, though I'm still a little surprised you listen to this kind of thing. I don't speak the language, but..."

The lullaby was slowly but surely coming to an end, the female vocalist's melodic voice trailing off after one last note, soft piano keys in a high octave carrying on what she had done till it came to a gentle stop. I knew this song well.

"...it's about the love of a mother, isn't it? Towards her son."

I hadn't expected a response from him, and yet I still found it rather disappointing when I didn't receive one. But I told myself to be patient with him. His eyes were stained red, cheeks dusted in a light shade of the same color, his hair appearing to have been thoroughly tousled, strands sticking up here and there like pieces of straw from a haystack. It would have been an adorable sight if the cause of it hadn't been Yoongi's unmistakable grief.

Sighing internally, I returned my attention to the phone in my hands so that I could insert my phone number. It should have been a quick and easy transaction, but unfortunately my eyes could not be diverted from the background image of Yoongi's home screen--my heart stopped beating momentarily, I was sure of it. I tried my best to shake off the initial shock of seeing both Yoongi and his sister...smiling, each with one arm slung over the other's neck, but it came as a near impossible task. They were at least several years younger in this picture. And they were both...genuinely happy. My hands trembled.

"Here...my number is in your contact list now."

My mind's dial was rapidly swaying back and forth between stay and go. I could feel the warmth of my chest skyrocketing as my heart started to beat even louder.

"Yoongi."

In this situation, I shouldn't have been showing weakness. When Yoongi was at his lowest point, I should have been able to be the pillar I wanted to be.

"Would you like me to stay?"

It struck me like a bullet to the brain, parting the clouds and waters and making the answer as clear as day.

"I'm going to stay here with you, Yoongi. There's no need for you to be alone."

And so I stayed. I didn't say anything, and I knew that I didn't have to. So long as Yoongi was aware of my presence, so long as he was aware...that I was beside him...it would be okay. His wounds would heal with time.

Just as mine did.

*****

Several weeks passed with Yoongi's absence causing a lacuna of sorts to settle in the classroom. And with each of those days that passed by like snails on treadmills, I made it my goal to visit Yoongi and hug him for at least five minutes. He wasn't fighting me, though more than likely this was due to his sharp decrease in motivation, but nonetheless I figured, 'why not?'. I loved hugs. And Yoongi possessed this particular warmth that just set me at ease. Heck, I dared even call his arms my 'happy place.' Christmas was miles away, but I had already scribbled a smile from him under my wish list.

Over time conditions seemed to be improving--in subtle ways, but I wasn't complaining. Yoongi began to anticipate my visits. Contrary to the first one, he didn't appear taken aback in the slightest, but rather like he had been eagerly awaiting my return, a look that shouted, 'where have you been?' painted across his sullen face. Each and every day, though, I stopped by his home only to discover him listening to that same lullaby. On endless repeat. It was because of this that I finally decided to look up the translation of the lyrics, just to refresh my memory on the meaning of Yoongi's obsession.

The lyrics were as follows:

Gentle son of mine,

your eyes are growing heavy

I know you're trying to stand

but you're too young

Rest now.

Fragile son of mine,

I've loved you from the start

your faded eyes and sore limbs

are trying to hold you down

Rest now.

Dispel of your melancholy,

your sorrow, grief, and doubts

Smile now.

Smile before I go.

I promise I'll carry you until you can walk on your own.

Rest now.

Beautiful son of mine,

you need not fight alone

Look around you and you'll see

Everyone fighting with you

Rest now.

It was a touching song, and it was no mystery to me why Yoongi had taken such a liking to it. I was quite fond of it too, but its sweet melody must have gotten lost in the clutter of pop music that occupied most of my brain nowadays. But ever since Yoongi had brought it back to my attention, I couldn't help but dwell on its significance, as well as the possibility that Yoongi had been picturing the vocalist as his own mother this whole time.

Perhaps all he really wanted was to be comforted. Perhaps...he was tired of fighting.

That was exactly why I had to be there for him. I wanted to make my presence a muscle memory to him.

I saw myself in Yoongi's eyes. And every time he looked at me, I was reminded of who I used to be. Stubborn, distant, hating to rely on others no matter how badly I needed someone to lean on...I was relieved Yoongi could at least look to me for support--even if it were only in a vague, inscrutable way. Even if I could only lead him...just one more step in the right direction...rather than watching him at a futile standstill.

Yoongi was a solider alright. But even soldiers need to lay down their guns every now and again.