Yoongi:

I trembled with fear as my mother looked at my report card. Her eyes scanned the paper frantically, looking for any B’s to be found. She shamelessly tossed my “Honours” certificate I earned. I didn’t mind; over half of the grade got that flimsy title. What good was an A average if not all your percentages were 100?

My mother pointed my pre-calc mark out with an icy glare that pierced my already tattered heart. “An 80? Why do we even bother with you? I really hope your siblings don’t end up like this.” I lowered my head in shame. All this time I spent working on my music.. Why wasn’t I studying?? I only spent precisely 22 hours every weekend, 10 hours every weekday. I needed to do more. I braced myself because I knew what was coming. I felt the burn of her strong palm across my cheek, but it didn’t match the pain in my heart.

I swiped at my wet eyes with my dark hoodie. I couldn’t let her see me cry, she’d do far worse. “Oh, so now you’re running away from me? Are you that weak? You think I’ll pity you.. What good are you anyway? Dumb and obviously not strong either. Cry me a river; I don’t give a .” I slipped into my black converses and put my earphones in. “Not so fast Min Yoongi!! Hand over your cell.” NOOOOO I CAN ONLY LIVE WITH MUSIC AND SHE KNOWS THAT AND I WON’T BE ABLE TO CONTACT MY FRIENDS AND-- This time it was her fist, knocking my skull until everything was black. I tried to keep my earphones in my grasp. This is all I remember.

I woke up and squinted. Everything was dark. Why wasn’t I in my bed? Wait, I should be studying right now. Midterms are over, yes, but it doesn’t hurt to write notes for finals 5 months in advance. I turned to the kitchen and saw on the oven clock that it was already 10 pm. I felt my pockets for my phone because of my sudden and constant need for music. I was feeling dark and rapid fire rap with the volume at its highest level. , its not here.. What the hell am I going to do?! I go crazy and I mean psychotic I need a therapist and anxiety pills crazy when I’m deprived of my basic necessities in life: constant access to music and constant ability to contact friends. I started hyperventilating, there on the dark cold kitchen floor, with my back to the wooden cabinets when I noticed blood running down my temple and sticking to my hair like Jimin’s hair gel. I don’t remember why I’m bleeding. I assume it was my mother’s doing; it usually is. I’m too exhausted to do anything to stop, so I close my eyes and drift off to a not so peaceful sleep.

I wake up to a sunshine vibe, even though its apparently 1 am and pitch black outside. I look up and see Hoseok’s bright smile in the dim refrigerator light. No wonder. “How did you get here? Why are you here?” I whisper, cautiously. I didn’t want my Hobi to get hurt. My mother has a tendency to hurt others, and technically she could call the police on him. “You don’t want me here?” he says, teasingly. I roll my eyes. “I came here to see you. I texted because the squad was going to the park to play with some sparklers and drinks, but you never responded. Its been 7 hours. You can’t even survive half an hour without your music, so I knew something was wrong. And obviously there is,” he says, pressing a warm cloth against my head. “Lets go. You can tell me what happened on the way,” Hoseok says, cradling my head. I’m not sure if I’m dizzy because I was knocked out by my own mother or if Hoseok is caressing me. His touch does something weird to me, but I love it. “Wait,” I whisper. And for a few moments, I stay there in his arms, holding them against me tight. I silently cry as he softly sings the lyrics of the chorus to “Dead Leaves”. He’s horribly off key and got most of the words wrong, but its still way more beautiful then Jungkook could’ve sang. At least to me.