My mouth went dry as I read and then reread the end. My heart started beating erratically, my mind went numb and then finally, my knees buckled.

The letter fell out of my hands as I crumpled to the floor. It fluttered across the tile as my breaths that were getting heavier and heavier blew it away from me. I doubled over, clutching my stomach with crossed arms as I felt my heart drop into it.

I heaved in one last deep breath, then it released itself as a scream – a deep, aching, bone-rattling, soul-shattering wail.

It only took less than a minute before the door to the room flew open. Through my heavy, heaving sobs, I vaguely heard a pair of feet run toward me before I felt myself being pulled into a set of warm arms. They began rocking me back and forth as they held me protectively against their owner's chest. A hand smoothed over my hair as words my stupefied brain couldn't process were murmured into my ear. The voice was comforting, though, but not enough to calm my sobbing. My body trembled with every breath I took and each cry I released.

After about five or six minutes, I had begun to calm down and my breathing returned to normal. Tears still poured out of my eyes, but I wasn't sobbing or wailing anymore.

"Yoongi," I whimpered. "I'm so sorry, Yoongi."

"This was not your fault." The first words my addled brain was able to understand were firm. "You have nothing to apologize for."

"He loved me," I whispered. "He loved me and I never knew."

"He loves you. Don't give up on him yet."

I looked up into Eomma Min's eyes. "I love him, too."

She smiled softly. "I know."

~~~~~~~~~~

Day Eight

I headed to the hospital cafeteria, fully planning on eating lunch. Before she'd left that morning, Eomma Min had made me promise to eat something. She was worried about me, she'd told me; I was looking gaunt, and she knew I hadn't been eating as much or as regularly as I'd been telling her I had. But once I got there, I yet again had no appetite. I bought a coffee but nothing more, then sat down at a table by myself.

In the days after I read the letter, I'd become despondent. So much so that I sat in the cafeteria for at least two hours, doing nothing but wringing and staring at my hands as I lost myself in my thoughts, coffee forgotten. I hadn't been able to bring myself to admit to Eomma Min that the reason I hadn't been able to eat the past couple of days was because I could no longer entirely believe that her son would not die. I didn't want to give up on him but with every agonizing hour, every silent moment, every one-sided conversation, I was fading. Every part of me was becoming dimmer as I was losing the battle of wills within myself.

What if I never got to see his smile I'd waited so long to see? What if I never got to see him and my boys become friends? What if I never got to hear his voice again? What if I never got to hear that voice say he loves me?

What if I never got to tell him that I love him, too?

Trying to distract myself from these types of questions swirling through my head, I looked up and around at the other patrons and realized every single person had at least one companion. I suddenly felt incredibly lonely. It was an awful feeling. No one would want to feel like this. And though he'd insisted time and time again that he wanted solitude, I (much to his supposed dismay) knew Yoongi, and I knew even he wouldn't want to feel like this. But this is how he had felt, in that month before he did this. Tears filled my eyes at the thought of that.

My head was spinning, drowning in horrible thoughts and feelings I'd tried my best to ignore for the past two days. I felt dizzy and didn't trust myself to stand. But then, I felt the perpetual knot that had settled in my stomach ever since Yoongi was found, finally unravel. I tried to shake it off, but I knew I was going to be sick.

I struggled to my feet and stumbled to the closest bathroom. I barely made it to a toilet before I began vomiting what little food I had in my stomach from the past few days. The heaving forced the tears from my eyes, and they continued long after the vomiting had stopped and I'd slumped against the wall. I hugged my legs as I pulled my knees against my chest and buried my face into them as I cried.

If I lost him, part of me would die, too. I'd never be whole again, not entirely. He was right that my boys would take care of me. But he was wrong that I would be okay and safe. How could he have gotten something so huge and important so very wrong?

I'm not entirely sure how long I sat on the bathroom floor, immersed in my torturous thoughts. It felt like 10 minutes, but then again, it felt like an eternity. Suddenly, my phone started ringing, echoing off the tiled walls. I'd completely forgotten that I had it with me. I pulled it out of my pocket and "Eomma Min" flashed across the screen. I answered it immediately. She was calling to make sure that I'd eaten. I thought about lying to her, but it felt wrong. So, I told her everything that had happened since I'd left Yoongi's room for lunch.

She was genuinely concerned, and told me she would be back around 19:00 and would bring me soup and green tea. She also told me to take a nap to "reset" my spirit so I could put my convoluted mind at ease. When we hung up, I looked at the clock on my phone and was relieved to see that she would be returning in less than four hours. I really needed one of her hugs. I was also surprised to see that I'd spent over three and a half hours away from Yoongi's room. I guess time flies when you're forlorn.

I figured it was time to go back. Besides, I needed to get that nap in; Eomma Min wouldn't take no for an answer.

On my way there, I got another call. It was Jimin, calling to check on me and the situation. He was worried, as I hadn't contacted any of the boys in over two days. I was glad it was Jimin who called; he and Hobi were the only ones who expressed any sort of concern for Yoongi. I knew the others were angry at him for putting me through everything he had recently, but I wished they could understand that even though we'd gotten in a fight and he'd really hurt my feelings, I never stopped caring about him. And that that's why I wouldn't leave his side now.

Hobi, who was there that morning when I learned of Yoongi's overdose and Jimin, who had joined that afternoon, were the only ones who had seen how much it had affected me. Even if for no other reason than my sake, they worried about Yoongi enough to always ask how he was doing and if there was any change in his condition. It meant the world to me no matter the reason.

As I bid him goodbye when I reached Yoongi's room, Jimin (who knew that I talked to Yoongi often) said, "Tell Yoongi I said hi." Tears immediately sprang to my eyes.

I entered the room, looking down at my phone to end the call. I squeezed my eyes shut in an effort to stop the tears from falling. The door closed behind me and I leaned my back against it and sighed. Once I was sure the threat of tears had subsided, I opened my eyes again.

And they fell on Yoongi, who was sitting up in bed and watching me with wide eyes.