It's true what they say: Something that's too good to be true, usually is.

It's been fifteen hours since it started: I can feel my fingers losing feeling, even as I touch Jungkook's shoulders to rouse him from sleep. Even as I started reaching for the pans to cook breakfast. Even as I pat Hoseok's back for reaching 39 million views for his MV.

I felt my feet leave my shoes for a few seconds at a time—thankfully there was no dance practice or filming for the day. I have had to hide in my bedroom whenever I feel myself lightening; it's not something I can let the others see, and something I can't explain either.

Explanations. It will be hard to do that once the change is complete. I look at my hands; I look through them—I can see the polaroids sprawled on my bed. It's starting to last longer, and I know it's only a matter of days before...

I stood up, fighting the resentment bubbling up within me. I must not harbor anger or regret—I knew from the start that I only had to do what I had to do, and when the job is finished, I'll have to leave.

I want to see them.

Everyone is in the living room; an extraordinarily ordinary day for a group who lives in luggages and almost never sleeps in familiar beds. They barely acknowledge my presence; Yoongi's immersed in whatever he's listening to with his earphones. Namjoon is reading. Jungkook and Taehyung are watching TV. Jimin is curled up against the giant stuffed bear I gave him last week. Hoseok's the only one to smile in greeting before shifting his attention back to his laptop.

I can feel it happening again, and this time, Yoongi glanced my way and saw a flicker of light pass through my face. I sense his confused frown more than see it as I dash back into the bedroom.

I walk to the mirror and watch the play of colors dance through my skin. I look down: the shape of my hands are but faint traces of fingers and palms, completely disappearing for a few seconds before coming back.

I suppose it means I have done well.

I feel tears well up in my eyes. Even they feel weightless. We—they have come a long way since how many years ago. They are now living their very dreams, as brothers, as artists, as one. I've been sent to guide, to comfort, to teach them about themselves by teaching me. I must not be greedy; wanting to stay a while longer is a selfish wish.

Among other things, my heart can still feel pride and love for these six precious flowers, and I'm thankful. The physical being is the first to go; only memories and emotions stay until the very end.

My memories. I briefly wonder how things will end up if they never forget—but I know images, sounds, feelings, and sensations about me, toward me, because of me—will disappear as soon as I do. The universe will shift; and Kim Seokjin will no longer be. Will never be.

I look past the window and into the sky. I've done well, haven't I?