The morning’s brisk, cool, quiet, and Yoongi takes a moment to inhale the stillness and peace that surrounds him. He’s not a morning person by nature; his modus operandi is well known to be: move as little as possible and use as little energy as possible. It’s not that Yoongi is lazy; quite the contrary is true. He likes to take his time. The best outcomes require your all, and Yoongi always gives a thousand percent. Today, however, is the fastest Yoongi has moved since the third grade when Jennie Kim tried to kiss him, and he was having none of that.

The market’s abuzz with activity, and honestly, Yoongi’s shocked to see so many people out this early. Apparently haggling requires an early start to the day. On his way to the strawberry booth, he overhears a woman bartering down the price of oranges, and he chuckles to himself.

“Back again so soon?” the strawberry Ajusshi asks as Yoongi approaches.

“Can’t stay away,” he responds dryly. “How much for two pounds of strawberries, today?”

The man laughs. It’s their game; they’ve been playing it ever since Yoongi discovered the market a little over a year ago.

“Mmm, nine thousand won,” the man replies.

Yoongi currently has five thousand won in his pocket, and he only plans on using two.

He leans over the strawberries, looks up at the man, and releases the heartiest laugh he can muster, even slapping the counter for effect.

“That was a good joke. No, really, what’s the actual price?”

“The one I just quoted,” the man says firmly, but Yoongi hears the slight quiver in his voice. He smirks inwardly. ‘Gotcha.'

He nods.

“Okay, thanks.” Yoongi turns to face the adjacent strawberry stand. “Ajumma, how much for two pounds of str-”

“Okay, okay, five thousand,” the man calls out, cutting him off.

Not good enough, Ajusshi.

Yoongi doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge the man has spoken. He simply continues sauntering deliberately toward the other booth.

“Okay, okay, three thousand, and that’s my final offer,” he states, the confidence from earlier missing from his tone, so Yoongi throws out an offer.

“One thousand and you have yourself a deal.” Yes, he did underbid, but strawberry ajusshi was being difficult and needed to be taught a lesson, is what Yoongi tells himself.

“Fine, go ahead and take the food right out of my children’s mouths,” the man says grudgingly as he wraps up the strawberries.

Yoongi hands the man two thousand won and smiles at the surprised look he receives. He takes the bag from the seller. Yoongi looks down at his watch. The next bus doesn’t come for fifteen more minutes; he doesn’t need to rush. He takes his time; enjoying the fresh air, as he leisurely strolls to the bus stop. Sitting on the bench, waiting for the bus, he steadies the bag of berries carefully in his lap and adjusts his backpack, before leaning his head back against the glass frame. The worry that had kept him up the night before wiggles its way back in, and he shakes his head, hoping to disperse the wayward thoughts.

“Worrying won’t change anything, Yoongi. Just do what you’ve always done, your best,” he gives himself a much needed pep talk.

The bus arrives several minutes later, and Yoongi takes the seat furthest in the back but closest to the window. He leans his head against the cool glass, watching the scenery outside flash past him like a movie set to fast forward. He sighs; this is not how his life was supposed to end up. He shouldn’t have to decide between food or bus fare to get to work. He shouldn’t have to drop out of school every other semester to save up enough money to go back and pick up where he left off.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and the sensation tickles his thigh. The name on the screen has tears forming in the corners of his eyes. Yoongi heaves a sigh that comes out sounding like a sad laugh.

“Morning, Omma,” he answers slowly, carefully.

“Yoongi-ah” his mom whispers his name.

She must have snuck in the call, Yoongi thinks to himself. The day he left to pursue his dream, to find his place, his father declared him dead to the family. He’s been living on his own, struggling to make ends meet since then. His mother contacts him from time to time and has even wired him money without his father’s knowledge, but right now, hearing his mother’s voice, soft, loving, and warm. Yoongi wonders is if he should crawl back home, beg for forgiveness, and stop struggling so hard.

“How’s my strong son?” Yoongi smiles. He wonders if she knew he needed to hear that.

“I’m good, Omma,” he lies. “I’m starting a new job today. The pay is really good, and if they like me, it could be long term.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful news, Yoongi-ah. Are you eating well? I made your favorite stew and will find a way to get it to you. Mina’s omma will be going to the city later this week so I’ll have her bring it,” the woman informs him, voice still low, and Yoongi knows it’s not to alert his father.

“That’s great, Omma. Thank you,” he fights the quiver that wants to take over his voice.

“Omma loves you, Yoongi. Not matter how hard life gets, remember I support you-”

“Who are you talking to?” he hears his father asking.

“Mina’s omma. She’s going to the city this week-” the call drops before he can hear the rest of his mother’s response.

He doesn’t allow the tears to fall.

Looking up from the phone, he realizes his stop is next. He tugs the cord. The bus jerks to a halt, and Yoongi stumbles slightly as he gets up from his seat. It isn’t until he’s standing outside of Kim Taehyung’s posh high-rise that he realizes he’s forty-five minutes early