The alarm rang for the third time, but Yoongi didn't even reach for it. The room was dark, despite it being morning. Thick curtains, a switched-off phone, a cup of cold coffee on the windowsill - as if everything around him was silently adjusting to his silence.

He didn't cry. He didn't scream. He just... didn't feel anything. It was as if someone had turned the sound of life down to a minimum, and all that was left were background noises: the ticking of a clock, the hum in his chest, the fatigue that didn't go away even after sleep.

Sometimes he sat at the piano - and didn't press a single key. He just sat, feeling the cold wood with his palms. Music had always lived in him, but now it was hiding, like him - somewhere deep inside.

He didn't tell anyone. He didn't want pity. Only once, in the kitchen, Taehyung put a plate in front of him and silently said to him: 'Just eat.' And for some reason, it was on that day that Yoongi took his first sip. Not soup - air.