I stare at the empty space in front of me, the same place Yoongi sat just moments ago, loneliness sweeping through me. My apartment, once homey and comfortable, feels foreign to me now after so much time away. Sighing, I push myself up from the ground, slinging my bag over my shoulder.

I move through my apartment, tossing my bag on my bed before going through the motions of a normal life: eating, showering. But I can't seem to tear my mind from the blonde boy that disappeared from in front of me. Where did he go? Why did he look like he didn't want to go?

Sighing, I sit on my bed, the springs creaking under my weight. I pull my bag on my lap, knowing that I should unpack it. But I can't seem to find the motivation. Instead, I feel exhausted. I have barely done anything, but my body feels like I haven't slept in days. I toss the bag to the floor, ignoring the thud it makes. Laying back, I promise myself that I'll take care of it later. I close my eyes, letting sleep take me.


Darkness surrounds me, pushing in on me from all sides. "Hello?" I call, spinning slowly as I try to get a hint of where I am. My pulse races, the sound of my heart pulsing in my ears. I jump as a light flickers on in front of me, illuminating a familiar scene.

Yoongi sits at his desk, frozen as his eyes squint at the monitors in front of him. My breath catches at the sight of him and I wonder how he can still shockingly handsome even with disheveled hair and droopy, tired eyes. I take a small step closer, intrigued. I had seen this whole thing before, every night for weeks. But never from this position. Never as an onlooker. I had always been in Yoongi's spot, living through this moment. Standing here, looking on from the outside, makes the experience completely different.

I take another step in, my eyes tracing the details of Yoongi's face - the pout that never seems to leave his lips, his squishy cheeks, the bags under his eyes. This isn't real, I know that. But in this moment, with him sitting right in front of me, Yoongi seems so alive. As if I could just reach out and touch him.

I take a few steps toward him, unable to fight the urge to see him up close. I freeze as a shadow flits outside the door, distorted by the glass. I narrow my eyes, trying to focus, but all signs of the shadow are gone. It could've just been a play of the light, but I have a gnawing feeling in my stomach that that's not all it is.

The soft buzzing of the light cuts off as the power gives out, and I have to squint to make out anything in the room. I hear crashing and I know that Yoongi is searching his desk. His phone lights up, the glow of it casting a shadow of Yoongi on the ceiling.

A shadow moves behind Yoongi, catching my attention. But Yoongi remains oblivious, instead trying to turn on his monitor. "Turn around, Yoongi," I whisper. And he does exactly that, whipping around in his chair, to survey the room behind him. I know that he doesn't see anything, but I can't stop the hope that I feel bubbling in my chest. The hope that maybe we can change Yoongi's fate, that he doesn't have to die, even if it is only in a dream.

Yoongi stays true to the events of the night though, turning back to the computer in front of him. "No, no," I cry, running towards the room. No matter how much I run though, the room never gets any closer. It stays in the same place, as if taunting me, as I'm forced to watch a shadow rise up behind Yoongi, who stays oblivious to the danger lurking right behind him. "Turn around." I push my legs harder, faster. "Turn around!" The shadow moves, a tip of a bat coming into view as it enters the light of Yoongi's flashlight. "PLEASE, YOONGI! JUST TURN AROUND!" I yell, my voice breaking. My desperate please fall on deaf ears though, as Yoongi just sits there, helpless to stop his fate.

The air whooshes passed the bat as its swung. And though I want to look away, I find that I can't. I watch the bat as it collides with the side of Yoongi's head, the sound of it resounding in my head, as the hit sends him crashing to the floor.

A strangled cry rips from my throat as the shadow moves behind Yoongi's head, raising the bat up to strike once again. I want to cry out, to beg Yoongi to move, to save himself, but I remain silent, my body refusing to voice the thoughts I so desperately want to say. I clench my eyes shut as the bat swings down, unwilling to witness the blow that I know ends Yoongi's life. With each whack I hear, a bit of me shatters because now I know that this wasn't just a random killing. Yoongi wasn't just some person at the wrong place, at the wrong time. No-this was too planned out. The lights, the lurking, and the rage that fuels the swings that continue resound in my ears. For whoever did this - it was personal.

As the last hit rings out, my legs give way and I fall to my knees. Slowly I open my eyes, my heart clenching at the sight in front of me: Yoongi lays motionless on the ground, almost unrecognizable from his wounds. The carpet around him is stained a dark red, almost like someone spilled a bottle of wine. Unable to look at what remains of Yoongi anymore, my eyes drift to the culprit, who stills stands above him, weapon clenched in hand.

I watch in shock as the scene seems to brighten, as if the lights had turned back on. It starts at the feet: what used to be shadow now coming into view as black boots, the light reflecting off the leather. Dressed in all black, Yoongi's killer stand before me: his gloved hand still clenched around the bloody bat, shoulders heaving as they look down upon Yoongi's mangled body. My stomach drops as they turn toward me, the hairs on my arms raising as I feel a gaze on me, the weight of it suffocating me.

I look to his face, desperate to know who could do such a thing, but I'm only met with disappointment. His face remains cast in shadow. "Who are you?" I call out, pushing myself to my knees. They tilt their head to the side, watching me as I stalk closer. Whatever kept me from getting closer earlier seems to have disappeared. "Why? Why did you do this?" He offers me no answers though, he just continues to stare at me as I stop in front of him, now just an arms length away. "Who could do something like this!" I reach out to grab him, but my hand meets with nothing as he disappears, his outline wisked away like smoke in the wind.

My anger disappears and I'm left standing there, feeling strangely empty. I drop to my knees, not even caring that Yoongi's blood is seeping into my jeans. My eyes rake over Yoongi's still form, my sight blurring with tears. "Yoongi," I call softly, crawling over to him. Tears fall down my face, dripping off my chin to mingle with the blood that stains the carpet. I sit beside him, and attempt to pull him into my lap. A cry escapes me when a piece of his skull falls loose and I have to stop myself from gagging.

I pull him to me, laying what remains of his battered head in my lap. I wipe his hair from his face, the blonde locks matted with blood. "Yoongi." My tears fall onto his face, leaving tracks in the smears of blood. I pat his cheek softly, calling out to him. "Yoongi, come on." I don't know why I'm calling him. The top of the right side of his face is gone, the gore of it staring up at me. That should be enough evidence for me to know that he's gone, but I can't stop myself from hoping that maybe he'll open his eyes. Or at least the one of them that he has left. I pull his body to my chest, hugging him tightly as I sob his name over and over.

"Hoseok!"

I open my eyes slowly, my heart thudding as I see Yoongi standing above me, a concerned look written on his face. "Yoongi?" I ask, confused. "You- you were just-" I look around me, unsure whether I should be relieved or confused at the change in scenery. Yoongi's dead body and his bloody studio are gone. The blood splattered walls and stained carpets have been replaced with a scene of the park where I first met Yoongi. The park that I had gone to when I was in a coma.

The wind blows through the grass, the green blades swaying around me. They tickle my hands, which are no longer stained in blood. I bring my hands up, turning them in front of my face, amazed at the cleanliness of them. If I hadn't seen the mess they'd been before, I'd never have believed they had been stained red. I look back up at Yoongi, my heart swelling at the sight of him: alive and in front of me.

He furrows his brows, his eyes concerned as they look over my face. "Hoseok?" My eyes tear up at the way he calls my name, the gentleness in it. "Why are you crying?"

All I can think about is how, just a minute earlier, he was dead in my arms. And now he stands in front of me, seeming more alive than ever. I act on impulse, my body moving before my mind has the chance to shut the actions down.

I launch myself at him.