Too Sweet | MYG x You

Chapter 5: But who wants to live forever, babe?

You screamed.

You rolled around in bed, tossing the sheets, kicking the air, screeching some deep anger, or maybe a form of agony. Yoongi couldn't tell exactly; all he could do was look at you. He had stayed with you all night, making sure to give you comfort while you slept hanging onto him with your rigid fingers. Yet when morning came, he vanished from your eyes as he had vowed he would, and you weren't taking it well.

"Yoongi."

What started like a soft call that touched him in ways he didn't understand became a cry for help before turning into a hateful shout. He didn't take it personally; if anything, it reached a little deeper. You were probably feeling like you had lost everything, but you had decisions to make. He wanted you to realize that this was an opportunity: to stop counting on him and to make something of your last year on earth as a human.

He didn't think your first instinct would be to cross your apartment and go straight to the liquor cabinet, grabbing a cigar and a bag of blue, small pills while you were at it. He sighed as he observed you, but did nothing to stop you.

You put everything on the glass coffee table in the center of your living room and ignored the red velvety couch, kneeling in front of it while you poured the whiskey messily. He saw you putting two pills in your mouth before you gulped a half glass in one go. It wasn't that he was disappointed in your reaction or regretting his decision; more like he thought you knew it wouldn't work.

You sat for a moment, letting it all sink in before you reached to grab the cigar, but you didn't make it. You veered to the side and vomited everything you had taken in seemingly agonizing convulsions, before you fell back, panting.

He wasn't surprised when people knocked on your door, and neither were you. There would always be someone around to cater to your needs, as per your first wish. You simply sighed, saying you were fine before you grabbed the cigar and walked to the balcony. Yoongi followed you out, keeping his eyes on you while you faced the morning sun shimmering on the cityscape. He always liked how you looked, especially the way your cupid's bow perked up as if asking for a bite. Your normally light eyes were dark with your thoughts, and your bed hair made you look even more aery. He hoped to see you rally, but you scoffed and put the cigar in your mouth, lighting it up in a quick succession of experimented gestures.

He didn't even blink; you tried, but in an instant, you were coughing the smoke out, about to gag out of disgust. Someone who was cleaning inside came to check on you and you raised your hand for them to go back inside and eyed the cigar. He saw the moment your eyes lit up in realization — you had asked for this yourself. You asked to be free of the addiction, you couldn't pretend it didn't happen or force it upon yourself again.

He tilted his head, observing every microexpression. Technically, you could if you tried really hard. He thought you might, just out of spite, refusing to learn anything from all the sacrifices you had made, but then you rubbed your empty wrists and he pursed his lips. Your attachment to him could be something of an addiction too, and as you muttered his name, he closed his eyes.

No matter how much you called, he would never come to you. Well, at least not that you knew of. He would be there when you called, beyond the reach of your eyes, seeing you adjust and adapt to a life without him. He could feel your time ticking, he could see the sand grains falling in the narrow opening of the hourglass — why couldn't you?

You spent a week crying, cooped up in your apartment, before you decided to rekindle a glimpse of normalcy in your life — the daily massages. He saw your determination as you made your way to the appointment you had missed for the last seven days, and wondered how you'd react when you made it there.