I never spoke a word about Sungha to Yoongi, nor to anyone, for that matter. And I believed that was only for the best. After approximately one month of shutting himself away, Yoongi finally abandoned his life as a recluse and went back to school--and of course, I was ready to meet him halfway, claiming the privilege of leading him there by the wrist. His complexion had grown visibly paler, physical strength no doubt still less than either of us desired. But it was okay. Even if he collapsed one day, my legs could be strong enough for the both of us.

I was happy. Yoongi had chosen this out of his own free will. No one else had tried to persuade or guilt-trip him into returning. It was all him. For whatever reason this idea had struck him, the idea that maybe living in solitude forever wasn't such a good idea, I felt immensely grateful for it. This was one step closer to finding his cure.

He still wasn't speaking, though, and to be completely honest there was a part of me that feared I would never hear his voice again. Even if that did happen...I told myself...I could never let him forget the sound of mine.

"You came back just in time for the summer festival, Yoongi," I chimed, beaming regardless of the fact his gaze was on the ground. "Summer vacation starts soon, and every year there's this place near the river where people set up booths to sell food and whatnot; we should go, Yoongi. There are fireworks. I want to see them with you. Don't worry, they're bright enough. You shouldn't have a problem seeing them."

I gave his wrist a gentle squeeze, proceeding to quietly and tenderly lead him into the school building and straight to our classroom. Several of our classmates gasped softly at the sight of Yoongi, and spontaneously they burst into conversation concerning his sudden return to school. A few of the girls seemed to be teetering back and forth mentally as though silently trying to decide whether or not to approach him. In the end, no one did.

No one, that is, except Jungkook.

"You ain't lookin' so great, pal."

My friend approached both Yoongi and me, his arm akimbo, head tilted and one eyebrow quirked. The fact that his eyes were fixed on the blonde boy shocked me, and I actually stepped back for a moment to ensure I wasn't misinterpreting the direction or purpose of that gaze. Surely enough, I hadn't misinterpreted anything, but, presuming that I were trying to escape, Jungkook extended his arm and took hold of my shirt.

"Not so fast, ChimChim, we have to do this now," he stated firmly.

"J-Jungkook, what're you talking about?"

"Jin made plans to do this on the day of the festival, but just in case I can't make it, I wanted to be properly introduced to your special friend."

Yoongi's expression tightened, fists curling and uncurling as his mind reviewed the pros and cons of making eye contact with another human. This wasn't the first time perplexity had taking his being into captivity, but this instance was a bit...different. I simply wished I knew why.

"You're Yoongi, right? The partially blind student everyone gossips about." An audible sigh left Jungkook's mouth after he'd voiced that rhetorical question, brow furrowing for a moment in an open display of exasperation. "Personally, I'm real sorry 'bout them. Should've warned you a lot sooner; not everyone around here's as angelically friendly as Jimin. He's one of a kind, ya know? I hope you're treating him well."

He finally looked at Jungkook--Yoongi, with his eyes opened to their full capacity, jaw slightly dropped, had urged himself to meet the taller boy's gaze, and from his seemingly feeble position in his seat, Yoongi appeared to be trapped in the shadow Jungkook so mindfully casted. But I couldn't sense fear. Not even for a second. The quivering of his lips implicitly hinted at a desire to voice a question of his own, but a switch must have been flipped in his head, bringing back to his attention the fact that he wished not to speak. It was controversial, and undoubtedly unpleasant for him as well.

"It took a lot of guts for me to come over here, I won't lie..." Jungkook let out another tremendous breath, an exaggerated one, clearly. He cracked a smile for some odd reason. "I'm not as amiable as Jimin, either. Or articulate, for that matter. That is, sometimes it's difficult for me to find the right words, and I'm not very good at cheering people up, but ya know...in my defense that's something that requires a lotta skill. Mental skill, I mean. Jimin's mentally strong--well, I mean he's good at keeping steady...for other people. What I'm saying is...that he's..."

Jungkook turned his face toward the ground, noticeably shy.

"...Jimin is the best kind of person to have around if you, yourself, aren't mentally strong. I speak from experience."

And so my mind's gears turned slowly once again, freezing entirely every now and then just to see if I were paying attention. Jungkook's heartfelt words had struck a cord in me. He was never so straightforward. Typically, in such a situation, Jungkook behaved much more...ambiguously. Because he meant what he said when he claimed to lack articulation. But he always meant well--his actions proved this. However, this time he had somehow managed to convey the truest part of that inner Rubik's cube he called a brain.

And I was undeniably moved.

I still remember thinking at that moment, what greater compliment could one possibly receive? But then I started focusing on the latter part of his message--specifically, his claim to have spoken from experience. For a second, my heart became disturbed in its previously peaceful resting place, and my perspective of Jungkook was drastically altered. All this time, I wondered, had Jungkook been hiding something? Never before had he spoken to me about anything close to the subject of 'mental strength,' but perhaps...all along he had actually been quite similar to Yoongi. Until now, that thought had never crossed my mind.

Jungkook had once upon a time saved me from a life of depression. I never would have imagined I'd have been able to return the favor, even if in but a subtle way.

Now he was carrying on the legacy, reaching out to another crying soul in hopes of sharing the love that had already been spread so far. He, who knew next to naught about this boy save the sprinkling of contemplative whispers from fellow classmates and who on most occasions would not hesitate to flaunt any and all of his positive qualities and accomplishments, desired to set himself at the lowest possible standing, placing me on a pedestal instead...

Academically, sure, Jungkook lacked somewhat. By this point I was well aware of that. But today was the first day on which I discovered his knowledge lay on a much more admirable field.

"He chose you...Yoongi..." Jungkook spoke softly. He took a step back as he prepared to leave us. "Take advantage of that."

I wasn't given the chance to say anything to him, but I soon realized that it was probably better if I didn't anyway. I think Jungkook had intended for me to dwell on his words, but without uttering a single thing more to him on the matter. That was his way of coming out of hiding, as well as showing forth his gratitude.

Because of what Jungkook said to him that day, I became even more motivated to see this through to the end. To spread the love, to show Yoongi comfort, to prove my devotion, to ensure the continuity of my presence, to witness a miracle that only time could mold.

*****

I held on to my smile throughout the melancholy of that remaining week. The mood had been lightened somewhat, but without Yoongi's typical low-key-pissed-off disposition or even the apparent frustration of being unable to ditch me, the air still felt a little too quiet. But I wasn't unhappy. With the sight of him walking to school each of those mornings, a portion of my heart was replenished, and I almost felt like a proud parent watching their child walk for the first time. I was able to focus on the positives.

The day of the festival had arrived like an overdue train, and with the hour of its beginning still a ways away, I would have to suffer the agonizing wait till it pulled into the terminal. It was a Friday; the last school day for the next three months had just come to an end, and I could already taste sand in my mouth regardless of being miles from the ocean. There was a river nearby, though, and coincidentally the festival would be located just beside it, as it had always been. These past several years, Seokjin, Hoseok, Jungkook and I had gone together, making a tradition of watching the fireworks by the dock--it wasn't that we were all necessarily fascinated with the mainstream color explosions, but somehow we all felt drawn to them, as though they served as a friendly little reminder to our often forgetful souls. And this year was special, for I would be bringing someone new to our gathering, into our family.

Min Yoongi.

"Hey, Yoongi, would you be interested in wearing something traditional? You know, like hanbok? There's this affordable rental place near the festival's location. If you'll let me, I'd like to get something for you."

He had been responding a lot less lately, and by that I'm referring to any response at all, not merely the use of his voice. Ever since Jungkook had spoken to him at the beginning of the week, Yoongi had been appearing more troubled than usual. Honestly, I hadn't even thought that were possible, and believe me when I say that it hurt to be proven wrong. Reality certainly did have a powerful backhand. It was at times like these I regretted never taking tennis lessons.

His father had given me permission. And Yoongi hadn't argued. Yoongi hadn't shown opposition. Yoongi hadn't shown any emotion at all. He was running on an empty tank of fuel. According to his father, he had been eating regularly, so Yoongi's lackadaisical demeanor wasn't due to malnutrition. Sleep habits appeared to be normal, though, which wasn't a good sign. In fact, they were probably getting worse.

It was depression, I told myself. The cruelest of life's repercussions.

Seokjin and the others agreed to meet me at the same spot. By now they were all aware I would be bringing Yoongi with me--however, Seokjin, unlike Hoseok and Jungkook, knew absolutely nothing about the boy's visual impairment or backstory, let alone his appearance. Even at the gymnasium, he had only observed Yoongi's vague outline and perhaps received a glimpse of his honey blonde hair, but the hoodie Yoongi had been wearing that day concealed pretty much everything else. Seokjin loved surprises and, like me, strongly disliked gossip, though, unlike me, he had a knack for avoiding any drama that didn't concern him.

I respected him for that. Most people are always itching to get hooked on a new story, a chapter in someone else's life that has absolutely nothing to do with them, but Seokjin knew where he belonged.

If he were meant to discover something, he believed it would fall into his hands.

Most importantly, Seokjin was an open-minded person--Hoseok and Jungkook, too, and I was confident that the three of them would be able to welcome Yoongi naturally. Jungkook already seemed to have taken that step long before I was aware. He had paved the way for Yoongi, in a sense. And I couldn't thank him enough for that.

The hour was closing in on eight o'clock, and I, while pacing back and forth in the kitchen at my house, was preparing myself mentally for tonight. I had promised to pick Yoongi up at exactly 8:15, and by 8:45 the rest of my squad would be at the hanbok rental place to join us. They lived a little further away from its location than I did, so it wasn't necessary for me to leave so early, but regardless...I wanted to. I wanted to have plenty of time to search the rental store and hunt down the perfect item for Yoongi; of course, I highly doubted he were the type who gave much thought to his outward appearance, what with being visually impaired and all, so this would simply be a tiny, selfish act of mine. I wished for him to blend in, both for his sake and my own. And the festivity of traditional Korean clothing was a flawless weapon.

The clock struck eight. I tore up the floorboards on my way to the door, hurling myself into the brisk air which accompanied the falling of evening, dim skies and wispy clouds, quiet streets and delicate wind that ran its fingers through my hair for but a moment. It was already beginning to smell like summer, but the spring--pun intended--in my step had not yet faltered. I could almost feel sparks shooting out from my heels, propelling me towards Yoongi as though both our lives depended on an early arrival. My mind was so caught up in the idea of quickening my pace, in fact, that I just nearly passed Yoongi's house.

The sight of him sitting outside on his front steps was what stopped me.

I double-checked--no, triple-checked--my watch to reassure myself I hadn't missed my own deadline. Surely enough, I hadn't. I was five minutes early--8:10, on the nose--and yet still Yoongi appeared to be wearing an expression that made it seem like I'd kept him waiting a hundred years. I felt undeniable guilt. And I didn't know why.

"Yoongi, how long have you been waiting out here?"

Only at the sound of my voice did Yoongi register my presence, and a look of pure shock touched his face. He raised his hands simultaneously to pull from his ears a pair of white earphones, which he then tucked carefully into the large front pocket of his navy blue sweatjacket. The hood of said sweatjacket hung loosely at the boy's shoulders, but upon rising to his feet, Yoongi lifted it to cover the crown of his head.

"Yoongi-"

He started walking on his own. Without giving me the chance to latch onto his wrist, Yoongi took the liberty of making his way down the sidewalk, which not only upset me, but also confused me as to why he had bothered waiting for my arrival in the first place. Either way, he had agreed to go to the festival, which did please me. At the moment I was simply fretting over whether or not he would be able to enjoy himself. That was my primary goal for tonight.

It took exactly sixteen minutes for us to reach the rental shop on foot, setting our time at 8:26 p.m. and giving us an additional nineteen minutes before the others would arrive. Nineteen minutes was more than enough. The shop was virtually empty, save a happy couple who had just finished carrying out a purchase and were preparing to leave. Yoongi watched them walk out of the shop, his gaze lingering on their smiling faces until the very moment when he could see them no longer. He blinked his tired eyes and soon turned away.

"Yoongi, do you want to pick one for yourself?"

He shook his head solemnly from side to side.

"V-very well, then..."

Various racks of hanbok and accessories were set out in the small shop displaying what limited options it had to offer--some were too bright, too flashy and flamboyant, others just didn't look like they would be comfortable. But through several minutes of thorough searching, I came across two that were just right: one consisted of a pastel blue jacket with white sleeves and a single black stripe across the center, and with it came a pair of loose-fitting, dark blue pants, the other being an almost identical design, except it was pink, and had a slightly lower collar.

"I'll take these, thank you."

The generous old man who owned the shop recognized me immediately and flashed one of his signature smiles from behind the counter. By now he was accustomed to the sight of teenagers strolling into this place at the start of every summer, and it always seemed to lighten his mood to be reminded that "younger folk haven't lost interest in traditional clothing yet." His wife had passed on before him. For that reason, I was even gladder to be part of the cause for his happiness.

"C'mon, Yoongi, there are changing rooms here." I gave a gentle tug at his hand. "You can try one of these on. I'm sure you'll look great in it."

I guided him gingerly into one of the tiny enclosed rooms in the shop, while I hurried into the other. I had purposely dressed in light clothing so I could just slip the hanbok overtop of what I was already wearing. It fit quite comfortably. Once I had finished putting on and adjusting the hanbok, I popped out of the dressing room and knocked lightly on the door of Yoongi's. I hadn't expected him to finish getting ready at a lighting-fast pace, but I still wanted him to know I would be waiting for him.

Suddenly I heard the inside lock emit a click, and slowly but surely the door to Yoongi's dressing room opened, and standing before me now was Yoongi 2.0, the limited edition, way-too-pure-and-polished-to-not-be-a-doll, traditional Korean version. It truly was astonishing how something so simple could completely transform a person and the visual aura they conveyed. Just a moment ago, the boy's hooded sweat jacket and high-top sneakers tied together a blatant lack of formality-which was totally okay, seeing as he was a teenager attending an event with basically zero formality. But now he was as unrealistically beautiful as the standards of professional modeling magazines.

"You're being unfair to me, Yoongi."

He made a discontented face. I laughed under my breath.

"Oh, never mind. We should go."

Taking his hand gently in mine, I led Yoongi out of the shop and we continued on our journey to the festival's location, which was conveniently only a few blocks away, just beside one of the cleanest and most spectacular rivers in the entire country. Its scent added to the sweetness of the air, and with the gorgeous array of refreshment and entertainment stands steadily approaching my fingers' touch, my heart could already begin basking in the familiarity of one of youth's most innocent pleasures.

A grin tugged at my lips. I held Yoongi's hand even tighter and began racing towards the newfound source of light and life, the area of bursting activity where blissful commotion set fire to an otherwise dull night. Banners of all colors streamed from stand to stand, lanterns and carefully guarded candles seeming to imitate the stars fading into the background, laughter coating any sliver of silence with a tender yet beautiful essence of contentment. It all...entranced me...so deeply that I completely forgot about my plans to meet the others back at the shop.

"Yoongi, check this out!!"

Kimchi, bibimbap, bulgolgi, japchae, and many others, all cooking simultaneously, scents clashing in an oddly pleasant way. And of course, there were the sweets as well, but I was setting aside a completely separate stomach for that.

"Are you hungry? Nod for yes, shake your head for no."

He did nothing.

"Do you like spicy food? Sure you do. I'm getting us some spicy noodles."

Even though I had made the decision in my head even before asking him, I felt the need to take in the entirety of Yoongi's expression as a means of approval. Instead of getting what I hoped for, however, all I received...was a look of pure misery and exhaustion. I'd been running him around too much, I thought instantly. He needed to rest.

So without hesitation I took a slight detour and pulled him over to the nearest vacant bench, five stands over from the noodles stand I had already set my eyes on. That's not too far away, I thought, though it was truthfully a fickle statement, and I feared leaving Yoongi alone for long.

It won't be long. I'm just making a quick purchase, then I'll be back for him.

"Wait here, Yoongi. I'll be right back."

Lady Luck smiled upon me and granted the existence of but a small line, just a few customers who were quick with their purchases. Before I knew it I was at the head of that line. Hastily rummaging through my satchel in search of my wallet, I spat out my order like a pre-recorded message, mindlessly, yet in a way that prevented confusion for the receiving ear. It took around two minutes for the noodles to finish cooking, as they had already been cooking before I arrived, and all the while I was jittering and mentally pacing whilst remaining preparations were carried out. My hands were outstretched even before the woman at the stand had presented my food, and I was long gone before she had the chance to utter, 'thank you very much, enjoy!'

It wasn't possible for me to follow a straight path to the bench, for numerous groups of visitors stood in the way, almost seeming to shuffle their movements purposely so as to intervene. I could've sworn I lost ten years of my lifespan simply waiting for them to disperse.

By the time the path to the bench had at last cleared, I was appalled to find that Yoongi was gone.

My heart immediately spun into a panic, and all of a sudden I didn't care about shoving aside those whose fault it was not for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He couldn't have gotten far, another fickle voice in my head chimed, grasping at the strands of rationality that had just nearly escaped me. The cups of noodles were still in each of my hands--and luckily the woman at the stand had provided lids to inhibit spilling--but still they teetered back and forth with each slight turn my body made, the liquid inside sloshing around violently like boisterous ocean waters.

If only my eyes could look in different directions at once, I thought, so that I could watch the noodle cups and scan the area for Yoongi simultaneously.

I soon found out that such a thing wasn't necessary. I caught sight of him, sitting on the edge of the dock that lay peacefully behind the rows of stands, at the perfect distance from where the fireworks would be set off. It puzzled me...why he had taken it upon himself to leave the bench and relocate to a much more...

...quieter place.

"Not a fan of crowds, thanks."

"Of course..."

Something tugged at my chest for a moment. No matter how hard I tried to shake it off, I knew that I would never forget the way it felt. The sight of him sitting alone there on the dock...almost made me regret ever bringing him along.

"Hey...Yoongi..."

I lowered myself warily to the wooden boards beside him, draping my legs over the edge just as he'd been doing. Then I held out one of the noodle cups.

"Here. Spicy noodles. Don't worry, I didn't spill any on my way here. Almost...but not quite." I gently pried my fingers underneath the lid and popped it off, watching with immense discouragement as it leapt out of my reach and landed softly on the surface of the river water. I let out an audible grunt whilst reluctantly bending over to retrieve it. The task required a bit of concentration, for I had to focus on holding on to my noodle cup and bending over the dock without falling in. At the height these boards had been built, subtracting the length of my arms, my fingers could just barely brush against the tip of the plastic lid, but I feared that if I were to merely touch it, I would cause a ripple in the water that would carry the lid away.

"Just...a little...closer...oh, c'mon! Yoongi, here, hold on to these for me."

With his free hand Yoongi accepted the noodle cup, clutching it tightly--but not too tightly--as I resumed my attempt to recover what I had so carelessly lost. A smirk was slapped across my face as I could feel my chances of success skyrocketing, now with an extended reach and a small, kindly wave of sorts beginning to push the lid in my direction. Closer and closer...and closer...

I fell in--no, it wasn't that I fell. I had been pushed. By Yoongi. Face-first I tumbled ungracefully into the river, barely managing to hold my breath before water had the chance to fill my mouth. My nostrils, however, did become slightly irritated by the sensation they received by not having been plugged in time. I wasn't under the water for long--a few seconds at most--and I could certainly swim, so my issue with the whole situation didn't lie there. It lay with whatever had compelled Yoongi to do what he did.

I hoisted myself back up onto the dock.

"Yoongi, what the heck was that for? There are signs that say 'no swimming in the river'. You're making me look like a criminal here."

I doubted he would actually respond; this silent treatment was excruciating, and while I reminded myself I would simply have to deal with it, the longer it lasted, the more hopeless things seemed.

"I'm not mad...wipe that depressive look off your face." I cracked a smile and lifted my index finger to brush against the edge of his mouth. "The noodles are still okay. And for whatever reason you decided to shove me, I'm sure it was a good one. And I'm still breathing, so I have no excuse to be upset. Come to think of it, great way to start off summer break, huh? I'd consider pushing you in the river too, but you're holding our noodles."

A chuckle slipped out through my teeth into the night air and seemed to freeze, long before it was able to greet Yoongi's ears and assure him that the matter was of levity. I was only fooling around, yet he still wore an expression of great discomfort.

"Y-Yoongi, I was kidding; I wasn't actually thinking about pushing you into the water, relax. Don't look so...sad..."

He wasn't convinced; either that, or he simply wasn't in the mood to endure any of my lame humor today. I held my breath again, along with my heart, and watched as Yoongi set both cups of noodles next to him, on his left side, where I couldn't reach. I don't think, though, that he did this out of spite. I believe he had done so simply to free his hands. He wanted to be able to hold something that wouldn't break from too much pressure. And so he clutched his clothing as though he planned to never let go.

"I don't...understand you..."

A timid whisper shattered some barrier and carried its dying body to me, laying itself in my cold, wet, dripping hands like a generous offering--a generous offering which I humbly accepted. I wanted him to speak more, I wanted so desperately for him to speak until his voice could regain light and repair itself again. But instead of getting what I wanted, my ears were greeted with the regrettably familiar sound and sight of Yoongi crying. His hands moved up to his face and were pressed against it so as to conceal the trembling of his eyes and lips. But I could see the tears. He couldn't hide that from me.

"Y-...Yoongi, why're you crying?"

He took me by surprise; doing so seemed to be his forte.

"Did I upset you...s-somehow? I mean, I don't really know what I said, but I'm sorry for whatever it was. You should know by now, I have difficulty with shutting myself up, a-and I'm kinda stupid--wait, no, I'm really stupid, but being stupid has its perks, ya know? Or maybe it doesn't. Anyway, are you okay? Need a hug? I can give y-"

"Why is that...no matter what I do...you always...run after me...?"

His words were fragments, and it truly did seem as though he were learning how to speak, growing increasingly frustrated with himself each time he stumbled.

"I don't understand...how you can possibly bring yourself to do something so...so unfulfilling. And it's exhausting, too, I can tell just by...just by looking at you. All I do is run away from you...I run away and treat you like crap...and yet...you're still here. Every time I look...you're here..."

The tears were staining his clothing. And though it was only in my imagination, I could feel them staining my own face. They were like drops of acid.

"Yoongi, I don't like it when you cr-"

"You called me a good luck charm."

Bitterness and sorrow, blended together to form an emotion that sparked a fire, suspended mid-air, close enough to touch, but doing so would surely bring me harm. But I didn't care. I touched it anyway.

"Even now, I can't tell if you...were just saying that as a joke, but I can't get it out of my head. It's cruel, you know. I've lost sleep because of your stupid voice. You're an idiot..."

"Yoongi..." I struggled to swallow my breath. "I didn't mean it as a joke-"

"That's a lie!!" He cried. His fingers began digging into his own skin, so roughly that I feared he would draw blood. "I know you're not deaf, you've heard what they said...all that crap with the 'black cat family' and whatnot." He chuckled resentfully. "You know all this...and yet you chose to call me the exact opposite...of what they all said I was...a good luck charm, a good luck charm, a good luck charm...I'm not a good luck charm, I'm a bitter and tired black cat who has nothing left to offer but negativity, a pissy attitude, and no regard for others..."

Finally, he had to stop to catch his breath. I had a feeling he would continue before long, and I wanted to have a word before he sank any deeper into his river of tears.

"Please tell me you don't believe that."

I couldn't tear my eyes away from his face, the weak and trembling hands that were just about ready to give up their positions as shields; the moment I touched them, they fell. But he hadn't stopped crying simply because the shields were gone.

"Yoongi, you'll always be my good luck charm."

What was left of the invisible dams burst, and nothing was holding him back from releasing every last bit of what he'd been repressing for so long. I thought about draping my arm around his shoulders, but soon came to the conclusion that holding his hands would be enough--I was already doing that at this point, anyway. So I gave them a firm squeeze and smiled at him, wishing and hoping with all of my being that he would look my way.

And he did.

"This may sound really cheesy," I began in a soft voice, though just loud enough to be heard over the distant, chattering crowds, "but I'm gonna say it anyway, because...well, it's important. You're important, Yoongi. To me. It started out as just curiosity, but on that second day...the second day I spoke to you, I mean...something started to develop. You fixed a part of me I had never thought was broken. You, of all people, Yoongi, showed me how to open my eyes. Despite all your efforts to push me away, I found myself...still wanting to come back. Being around you felt so natural...and it made me remember something my mother told me. She said that an individual's purpose in life isn't always necessarily connected to 'saving the world', if you will...someone could be put on this earth solely for the purpose...of setting aflame the candle in another person's heart. And I couldn't help but think that maybe...I had found that candle I'm supposed to light."

I was so tempted to plant a kiss on Yoongi's fingers; my own hands began to quiver.

"I've come to realize a great number of things because of you, Yoongi, starting with the fact...that I want to be something to you. After seeing the way you broke down after what happened to Sungha, I knew that I wanted to be someone you could rely on. I've said something similar to you in the past...how if you think about it, you only ever need one person, one person who will stand by your side no matter what you do, no matter what you say or where you go. Having lots of friends may seem nice, but it's not necessary to make someone happy. All you need...is one person. Just one...who will listen to you. One person...who will look after you...and accept you for who you are. One person...who will love you..."

I placed that risky kiss on his fingers and waited for my heartbeat to slow down. But all it did was pick up the pace and scream, 'look into his eyes again.' I did. And not a moment before my own eyes began to well.

"Can I be that person?"

It took time. It took time for it to register, for him to indulge in everything I had just laid before him, for his mind, heart, body, and soul to come to an agreement, one that would mark the first chapter of the greatest days of my life.

He nodded--such a simple gesture, followed by the sensation of his arms wrapping around me, holding me like a flame to the wick of a candle. It lifted such a great burden off my shoulders, and the relief that rushed through my entire body felt like a flood, drowning out the last of my doubts and fears, leaving in their place tears.

Yes, I cried. But these weren't tears of sorrow. After all, I didn't have to worry about Yoongi fighting his battles alone anymore. Because his eyes were opened now. Just as that lullaby said, he could rest easy, knowing that I would forever be there to catch him when he fell.

And all the while as he fell, I would be falling deeper and deeper in love with him.

* End. *