6:45 AM. The alarm blared, a familiar, unwelcome intrusion. I rose, dressed, and headed to work, the rhythm of repetition a dull ache against the emptiness within. Each day was a carbon copy of the last, a carefully constructed routine designed to avoid feeling anything at all.
Beside my bed, a single envelope lay untouched for a year. I glanced at it, the paper yellowed with time, and deliberately looked away. I had no intention of reading it, not yet. It was one of the few tangible remnants of Yoongi, alongside countless texts and photographs. Tomorrow would mark one year since his death, four years since the day I first met him.
I’d tried to move on, to find connection, but each attempt felt hollow. Every potential partner felt…distant. It wasn't that I didn't *want* to love again; it was that my heart seemed incapable of feeling anything beyond a numb ache. I’d replaced affection with routine, preferring emptiness to the agonizing memories. The image seared into my mind: Yoongi’s limp body in the bathtub, the crimson stain spreading across the white porcelain. The memory was so vivid I could almost feel the cold tile beneath my fingertips. The guilt was a constant companion, gnawing at my soul. I should have seen it, should have *known*.
I took a deep breath and headed to the office.
The desk was familiar, the paperwork stacked neatly in a pre-determined order. I waved a greeting to my colleagues, managing a weak smile as I waited for calls. The monotony of the work was a shield, a way to silence the darkness that threatened to consume me. Hours passed, indistinguishable from one another, until I found myself walking home as the sun began to set.
My phone buzzed.
*Jimi: Hey wanna hang out at the bar. The guys r here 2! ^•^*
*Me: Sorry…I want to be alone*
*Jimi: ok*
*Jimi: stay safe Hyung. We all love you*
I locked the phone, the message a small comfort. The apartment felt colder than usual. As the clock ticked closer to the anniversary, the weight of grief pressed down on me. I walked to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of jin, and poured a generous measure.
I took a sip, then another, and sank onto the couch. There was no point in pretending tonight. The facade crumbled. I broke down, sobbing and screaming until my voice was raw.
“WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME!” I shouted, clutching my head.
I swept my hand across the table, sending papers scattering, fueled by frustration and a grief that felt endless. A year had passed, and nothing had changed. I was trapped in a cycle of despair, spinning in circles with no purpose. I glanced at a photograph on the wall. Yoongi was smiling, a rare, tentative curve of his lips. I was grinning like an idiot, oblivious to the pain he concealed. His smiles had always been forced, a fragile attempt to mask the darkness within. I should have been a better friend, a better confidant. I was a failure.
I sobbed harder, stumbling towards the bedroom, desperate to hide. I wanted to disappear, to shield myself from the pitying glances and forced condolences. I collapsed onto the bed, tears streaming down my face. I reached for the letter. It was time. Yoongi wanted me to read it. I was disrespecting his memory by delaying it any longer.
With trembling hands, I ripped open the envelope and pulled out the letter. The paper was stained with Yoongi’s tears, a testament to the pain he had endured. I began to shake.
*Dear Hoseok,*
*I know why you are reading this. You found it, and I know I probably scared you. I know I’m not a pretty sight to behold. I don’t know when you’re reading this, but listen, even if it’s two minutes from now or thirty years from now, I just want you to understand why.*
*I’ve never felt truly alive except for maybe twice. Listen, I didn't hate the time we spent together. They were the closest I ever came to feeling alive. Hoseok, it’s not your fault, and it never will be. It’s mine for not telling you. I never told you how much every lunch, every rehearsal, every late-night text, every spilled popcorn bowl, every single smile you smiled at me meant to me. I would have given up everything earlier if I had met you sooner.*
*Hoseok, I have so many feelings for you that I can’t explain. I killed myself because I can’t stand to look at myself anymore. I can’t breathe without being in pain. My heart aches when it shouldn’t. I just don’t want to drag you down! Now you’re free to meet someone you love. I hate feeling like I’m holding you back.*
*Goodbye, Hobi. Enjoy the good side of life, I guess.*
I choked out a sob. “I love you, Yoongi! I love you so much I’d do it all over again and tell you how much I love you!” I knew now how he felt, the suffocating weight of despair, the agonizing emptiness.
I clutched the letter to my chest, sobbing until my body shook with exhaustion. He’d left because he didn’t feel alive. I hadn't even been able to save him.
“Yoongi…” I whispered, my voice raspy and broken. “I…love you.”
I curled up in bed, clutching the letter, my mind still consumed by the boy who was gone. Sleep offered no escape, only a continuation of the nightmare.