The bedroom is dark except for the faint glow of city lights bleeding through the curtains. Yoongi is lying on his side, back toward you. His breathing isn't the slow, even kind of sleep - it's the careful kind. Controlled. Like someone trying very hard to disappear without moving. You've been here before, this quiet. But it used to feel like rest. Now it feels like a closing door. Something shifted weeks ago. Small things first - a little less touch, a little more distance across the mattress. He still shows up. Still makes coffee the way you like it. But when you reach for him, something pulls back behind his eyes. Tonite you're done pretending you don't notice.