Loneliness. 

The one emotion that Yoongi’s life seemed to evolve around. Always so lonely. It wasn’t like he didn’t have friends or family, he was surrounded by a multitude of people and busyness. So why was he still so lonely? In the midst of happiness, excitement and anxiety; loneliness always came back around, no matter what. 

He knew he was different, but he didn’t know why. In fact, it wasn’t until he had asked his Mother if she also hears voices that he realised the severity of his difference. After multiple visits to various doctors, therapists and psychiatrists with no explanation or diagnosis, that is when his parents gave up. 

“Are you sure it’s not schizophrenia?” Yoongi’s Mother would ask, time and time again. Sat in the all too familiar position, in front of some form of desk, with some sort of specialist sat behind it. 

“I’m sorry, Mrs Min. It’s really not. This is unlike anything we’ve seen before. Perhaps he’s just a mind reader?” a specialist suggested, his voice humouring towards the end with a slight chuckle. 

“This isn’t funny!” Yoongi’s Mother protested, glaring at the psychiatrist who she knew full well was bantering the situation. 

And that’s what scared her, the fact that he could be right. He humoured the idea of mind reading as if it doesn’t exist, but what other plausible explanation was there for the fact that this 5 year old boy could tell you exactly what you were thinking, just because he could hear it? 

The problem was, that’s impossible, right? Completely impossible, and the primary reason why absolutely no one took the family seriously. It was just too unreal to be real. Even more so coming out of the mouth of a 5 year old boy. So why didn’t little Yoongi just tell the psychiatrists what they were thinking and prove to them that this was real? 

Because he couldn’t. Simply put. 

Yoongi had discovered the crucial element of his power, the fact that it didn’t just simply work as you’d think it would. He heard a mixture of thoughts floating around in the air, as if every human had a thought bubble above them and these bubbles were crowding the air. Not to mention, humans have a lot of thoughts. A hell of a lot of thoughts. Yoongi didn’t just hear the important thoughts, or the dominant thoughts. No, at peak he heard all the thoughts. Every little side thought and back thought, every subordinate thought; and it was hell. Could he focus on one thought? Or one person? Yes, under the right circumstances, he could. Under the hawk eyes of a curious psychiatrist? No. As much as he wanted to prove his power, he simply couldn’t, not under any sort of pressure. His parents had managed to put him in the right state of mind to focus on their thoughts, therefore allowing him to prove what he could do, but that wasn’t enough. So after maybe 25 too many trips to various specialists, with much dismay, they gave up. Only causing tensions to rise in the Min household. 

“What are we supposed to do now?!” Yoongi’s Mother yelled in exasperation, desperately seeking an answer to her own question. 

“I-I don’t know,” his Father stuttered, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, his other hand just dangling by his side not knowing where to place itself. 

“You don’t know?! Well get in line because you’re not the first,” she sighed, massaging her temples. 

“Honey, I’m sorry. Maybe Yoongi will just adapt to this? He can teach himself to focus? Overcome the intensity of it and…and adapt?” his Father suggested, a questioning rising tone ending each sentence as if he wasn’t even sure of his own words. 

“Well, fine, it’s going to have to be that way it seems, there’s nothing we can do,” his Mother slumped down into the sofa and folded her arms, staring at the blank TV. 

It’s true, there was nothing they could do. There was no way to further assist Yoongi in his adaptation process besides encouraging him to try; and that is exactly what they did for the next 12 years. Did anything change? Absolutely not. 

“Min Yoongi! Are you listening to me?” a stern looking teacher asked, standing tall at the front of the room with her hands on her hips. Yoongi simply nodded once, more like a small bow. The teacher looked 100% unconvinced and just rolled her eyes in annoyance and turned back to the whiteboard while muttering a low “how many times?” and shaking her head disapprovingly. 

Yoongi didn’t care anymore, he just accepted himself as a terrible student. He tried his best, but to the teachers, that wasn’t enough. Only Yoongi knew the circumstances that disabled him to be able to focus in class. His parents couldn’t even begin to understand him, because- they weren’t him. They would constantly suggest methods of concentration; ranging from something as simple as “just doing it” as they put it, to something as bizarre as chewing gum every time he had to listen to a teacher, supposedly a method of familiarising his brain with the distinction between needing to listen and being able to shut off. Yoongi personally could not see the connection between chewing gum and listening, how was he suppose to listen the first time to set that habit when he couldn’t even do it once? 

In compensation for his poor concentration skills in class, Yoongi studied a lot at home. As long as he was alone in his bedroom, he could study. It wasn’t until one of his parents would enter the room and fill the air with thoughts that he would be distracted, and that was only one person’s thoughts. Imagine a room full of the thoughts of hormonal, anxious teenagers. 

Yoongi had a friendship circle, but felt like a fish out of water. He was close enough with them to join them at lunch, but he couldn’t focus easily on the conversation and he knew his friends thought he was a distant person who doesn’t enjoy socialising. Which leads him to not be close enough with any of them individually so that he could focus on just them. He didn’t have anyone like that, and he sure as hell didn’t have anyone that he could trust with his secret yet; and that’s what made his world so busy and loud, yet so incredibly lonely.