empty ripples in the bedsheets

For just a few hours each night, he could just let go, and breathe in the beautiful scent of the elder among his sheets. He could forget, and just smile, feel happy, ignore everything. Focus all his attention on the beautiful fluffy-haired male who lay tangled with him under the coffee-stain duvet that covered the two. Feel his long fingers brush the hair out of his eyes and listen to the sound of his deep, slow breaths against his neck. Feel those same fingers fiddle desperately with the buttons of his shirt, lips murmur soft “I love you”s against his own among quick-paced breaths and exhausted moans. Listen to him mumble “Jimin…” under his breath in his sleep, and repeatedly whisper “Yoongi” back to him, cheekily smiling. Know that no matter what, the other would never stop loving him, for anything. Know that the other had seen sides of him that Jimin himself hadn’t even seen before, and he had kept loving him despite them. Know that above everything, Yoongi didn’t care who or what Jimin was, and loved him, kept him smiling, made him feel worth anything, even for just the shortest of time. Jimin felt loved for a few hours each night, before waking up and seeing that, once again, Yoongi had left. He would pull the duvet away, smiling internally at the ripples in the sheets from where Yoongi had been previously.

He had woken up, sore, after a night of creaking springs and dampened sheets. He pushed the duvet off, turning to the side to see the ripples that regularly been left, frowning upon noticing that the mattress was neatly made with a single, red rose placed cleanly on a thin piece of paper. He had picked it up, examining the rose briefly, unfolding the paper and reading.

Jimin.

I said I’d love you forever… but we both know now that I’m not that good at keeping my promises.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

For the last time…

I love you.

-Y

Salty tears had welled in the tiny male’s eyes, gripping his long eyelashes, before letting go and sliding down his soft cheeks. His lips had trembled as he attempted to hold in a sob, but his body had not complied, and he had fallen onto his mattress, shaking. His fist had clenched up in desperation, scrunching the paper in the process, which he had thrown onto the wooden floor. He had choked, sobbing, banging his head into the wall and scratching at his wrist angrily, as he gave up, curling into a ball under his covers and thinking, thinking too much. Far too much.