Jungkook

Jungkook slumped into one of the wooden benches that lined the locker room of ‘Purple Place Fitness’, also known as Jungkook’s workplace for the past 4 years since he turned 18. This wasn’t where he wanted to be, but a job’s a job. 

Being a personal trainer wasn’t some swanky job, it pays well only if you take a lot of clients on each day. Being able to sort your own schedule sounds glamorous in principle; take on as many or as few clients as you want to fit in your schedule, they pay the company for your time, the company pays you. Spoiler alert, it’s not glamorous at all. It’s hard work. 

Jungkook knows he’s good at what he does, and he can afford to live in his modest apartment because of it, but it’s not where he wants to be. It’s where his terror of an ex-girlfriend wanted him to be, and now he doesn’t know what else to even consider doing with his life. Growing up is a trap, why can’t Jungkook be back in his bedroom at his parents house smashing video game records online until 4am? Because he’s an adult, that’s why. It’s depressing. 

Jungkook takes a long, needed chug of water after the jerk of a client he just trained, who is known in this gym as ‘Mr Muscles’. He’s a hunk of muscle, so why does he need personal training now? He doesn’t. He just enjoys bossing dweebs like Jungkook around (his exact words) because he has the money to do so and it boosts his ego. 

“Well if it isn’t JK,” a fellow colleague says warmly, deep honey-like voice bellowing somewhat softly through the locker room. Dan is the true hulk around here, and the only trainer that Mr Muscles won’t train with because he’s clearly intimidated by the huge tank of a man. 

“Sup’ Dan,” Jungkook smiles, now forcing himself off the bench and over to Dan for a ‘man hug’. Jungkook is actually a cuddly little bean in secret, but at work it’s rough handshakes and man hugs only. It makes Jungkook sad sometimes, he’s clingy, really.

“Did I see you training Mr Muscles just now?” Dan smirks as he retrieves his belongings from his locker. 

“Don’t remind me,” Jungkook groans, “he called me a grasshopper today!” 

Dan lets out a loud hearty laugh, ruffling Jungkook’s hair fondly. 

“Sorry, it’s not funny- I know. Pay no mind to him little dude,” he says fondly. 

I’m not little. Jungkook thinks to himself saltily. He really isn’t little, he’s tall and fit, he just has a smaller frame compared to the hulk like men, he knows that. 

“Whatever, he’s paying my bills so jokes on him,” Jungkook scoffs, slamming his locker shut. 

“Indeed he is, job’s a job,” Dan nods, “anyway I’m off home, see you tomorrow, Grasshopper!” Dan chuckles as he leaves toward the door, Jungkook peers around from behind the locker row at him, narrowing his eyes at his colleague. Dan’s a good guy, this just isn’t where Jungkook wants to be. 

 

The drive home is short, only 10 minutes, he lives nice and close to the gym and Jungkook is grateful for that at least. 

Dinner is a quick affair, he knows by now to meal-prep healthy, protein filled food so that he’ll always eat well after dinner instead of slumping tiredly on the couch and not getting back up until the following morning with no energy. 

Jungkook stabs the chicken and veg dish speedily, only wanting to get it done and get on the computer. After eating and washing up at lightspeed, his computer and monitor is on and he’s ready for an evening of gaming, finally. 

The screen shows the page he last had open; his barely started Youtube channel. He had everything ready channel-wise, he had a good username (GukkieGames) or at least he thought it was super clever after spending hours trying to think up something, he had his self-made logo as the banner, he had a good channel description, all that’s missing: content. 

Jungkook stares at ‘no videos have been published to this channel’ and it stares back at him. He knows full well he needs to save up more money before he can start recording, buying the parts to build his computer had put enough strain on his finances, and that was when he was splitting the bills with his ex, saving for all the costly recording equipment on one wage in his own apartment was exhausting. 

Some days he wonders if he should just use the webcam, computer mic and a free or cheap screen recorder, along with some windows movie maker magic to just put some content out already. The perfectionist in him knows better. He desperately wants the equipment because damn it if he’s going to launch a one day famous gaming channel he’s going to do it properly, then he’s going to quit his personal trainer job. 

One day. Jungkook sighs heavily in daydream. 

 

Taehyung

“Why’s it gotta be like this, huh?” Taehyung sobs into the thin worn out pillow on his tiny single bed that he’s had since childhood. The room stayed silent, as usual. Taehyung could ask questions about why his life so much all he wanted, but no one was ever going to respond. There was no one, there was never anyone. Taehyung can feel fresh tears waterfall down his face as he looks up from the pillow to unlock his phone and re-read what feels like the 1000th job rejection email. 

What’s a man in his early twenties with rocky job experience got to do to live in this world? Why was every day so depressing? 

Taehyung locked his phone angrily, throwing it gently to the floor by his bed. He wanted to be outwardly angry but knew full well he couldn’t afford another smart-phone if he breaks this one. This phone was his key to applying for acting job after acting job, mixed with a bit of regular job application because his great idea to get all this work as an extra in TV wasn’t going to plan, not one bit. 

TV and film constantly needed extras, so why would he only land maybe 1 in 20 if he was lucky? And why were these regular jobs so stingy about his application?

He put together his CV on a library computer using some free, naff version of Microsoft Word, but it wasn’t a terrible CV, there just wasn’t much on it. Life hadn’t given Taehyung enough opportunities to fill an A4 page with his experience, it’s not his fault that he’d had such bad luck in life. 

Taehyung groans as he gets out of bed, grabbing his phone from the floor and dragging himself a few steps to the kitchen situated in his actual shoe box of a studio apartment. One of those getups where the kitchen and the bedroom area might as well be snogging. 

He slumps down on the chair that sits at the one man dining table that’s close enough to the oven to have a makeshift fireplace warming his feet while dinner cooks as he sits. Taehyung shoves the piles of debt collector letters out of the way, he used to think that this only happens in movies; the pauper protagonist’s infamous pile of debt collection letters splayed over the table, now it was his reality. The difference is that the pauper protagonist ends up successful by the end of the movie, a reality Taehyung couldn’t imagine. 

Taehyung whips his phone out and rests his wrists on the table while he unlocks it once again, cursing under his breath at the rejection letter from the one acting job in a while that would have solved a chunk of debt. It was only an extra, but it was a very big production, which means a very generous company. 

He has to move on, it’s not the first time he’s been rejected from a great opportunity, it just really stings this time because the pay was incredible. 

Taehyung spots an ad for another extra role in an upcoming 23 episode drama, the pay is low hour to hour, but they need a group of people to participate in 18 out of the 23 episodes, which is a no brainer of an application because that money would rack up fast. 

With a ‘whoosh’ sound, his application is sent. He has an account with this particular site that stores your application ready to send instantly upon applying rather than going through all the motions, which is a life saver while job hunting to this extent. 

Taehyung closes all the apps on his phone, ready to load up his various social media and earn himself a tiny bit of income just to try and make up the money he’s missing for rent. Joining a pyramid scheme business wasn’t ideal, considering he makes barely a few pence worth of commission from each advert he puts out, but it was something. If he sits and puts out this company’s cringey adverts for enough hours, he can make a small amount of money for rent.

The last thing he does before sleeping is participate in at least 50 short online paid surveys, at a couple pence each it means that he can maybe afford a meal the next day. 

Taehyung hated his life, and living it for much longer was seeming more and more depressing as each day passed. Why does it never get better? 

 

Jimin

Park Jimin radiates confidence and elegance as he strides around the dance studio, instructing the class he’s currently teaching modern dance to at the ‘Violet Dance Academy’. He’s so many people’s favourite instructor at the academy and he knows it. 

He worked so hard, day after day, just to get to where he is. He’s not where he wants to be quite yet, but he’s not stopping until he gets there. 

“Okay amazing, everyone,” he smiles brightly at his class, signalling them to stop and take a breather. “You’re all picking up the moves so well, I’m so proud!”

The class all mumble happily to each other, nodding in approval at their achievements. 

“We’ve got 5 minutes left until the end of class so I’ll lead the cool down, ready?” Jimin calls out to the class, all of whom responded gratefully, ready to just chill and stretch for 5 minutes after a hard 55 minutes of dance. 

Jimin strides back to the centre front of the studio, in front of the wall of mirrors, taking position to lead through a series of stretches to ease everybody’s muscles after being danced to the max. 

5 minutes comes and goes, and the class begins to filter out, waving goodbyes to Jimin as they go, Jimin beaming and waving back at them as they exit. 

“See you next week!” he calls out to whoever is still in earshot, turning around to pack up his speaker and other bits and bobs lying around the studio. 

“Good class, Jimin,” his dance manager comments, appearing at the studio door, head poking round gingerly.

“Thanks!” Jimin smiles, “are you...coming in?” he asks hesitantly at his manager still peeking around the door, her long hair falling in front of the door frame. 

“It’s just...don’t be mad,” she starts cautiously, knowing how Jimin can get regarding his passion. Jimin raises an eyebrow at her questioningly as she walks slowly toward Jimin. 

“What now?” Jimin asks in a defeated tone, sick of the criticisms towards his teaching that this company keeps spewing at him. He’s an incredible teacher who keeps getting his creativity shot down bit by bit by some corporate weasels who want dance to be some sort of production line process rather than a creative outlet. 

“Just, don’t shoot the messenger, but the big boss man said that he doesn’t want you doing the cool downs at the end of the lesson,” she informs him, sinking into herself, hands up in defense. 

“For sake!” Jimin snapped, his voice echoing through the strange dance studio acoustics. “I’m not shooting the messenger, it’s not your fault,” he adds softly, manners never completely faltering. 

“I know, and I know it’s frustrating,” she sympathises. 

“What’s his reasoning this time?” Jimin grumbles while continuing to pack his bag as he had stopped when she arrived and needed to get going.

“Well, it’s because you already do the 5 minute warm up at the beginning, so the 5 minute cool down is taking away 10 minutes of lesson time all together. I know it makes no sense, Jimin. He’s just on a power trip?” his colleague says gently, understanding his frustration. 

Jimin stops packing his bag and laughs dryly, turning around to look at her. 

“I don’t know what vendetta that idiot has against me but, fine, I’ll do as he says, it’s just stupid because the cool down is so important, not that he cares,” Jimin scoffed, packing his phone and zipping the backpack shut. “Thank you for telling me,” he smiles weakly. 

“No problem, I know you’re angry-” she begins a bit frantically, but is cut off.

“Not at you, don’t worry, okay?” Jimin assures, slinging his back on his back and moving towards the door. 

“Of course, thanks Jimin. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” 

“Yeah, tomorrow,” Jimin musters another smile for his manager. Grateful the two of them have a good work relationship. She could be a bit all over the place, and is only 20, but she knows what she’s doing and adores Jimin’s teaching skills. 

Jimin drives himself home in his nice but modest Hyundai, ready for another evening daydreaming about the day he owns his own dance studio. No more big boss man pushing his corporate production line agenda on the poor hard working instructors that are just trying to create a free flowing environment for their students. 

Dance is about expression, not being herded in and out of the studio like sheep. Sure, it’s a business and it has to run like a business, but Jimin knows exactly how he’d run things if he owned his own dance academy, and it was absolutely not like this. 

He will have the best dance academy in Seoul one day. He will. 

 

Namjoon

Every day is the same for Kim Namjoon, and it’s okay, it’s fine, really, he just gets bored. 

“Thank you all, that was a really great class today, well done everyone,” Namjoon smiled genuinely at the room of university students all nodding in return to his gesture. 

It really was a great lecture, the class had been so involved and responsive which made Namjoon’s job that much easier. 

“Just leave your essays on the desk as you go past and I will have them all marked by tomorrow as an apology for the curriculum delay thanks to the higher ups,” Namjoon offered as his students filtered out the room single file, thanking him as they placed their essays on his desk gratefully, most likely at least a little aware of what goes into marking an entire class’s essays in one night and feeling sorry for their teacher. 

Namjoon works too hard, he knows he does. He just cares. He wants what’s best for his students, and they look up to him as a mentor in their lives. 

Namjoon knows that you don’t know what a person is going through, the student that falls asleep in class could have something terrible going on at home, and everyone just thinks they're lazy. He has a burning desire to do everything he can for these young adults and he works tirelessly and selflessly to do so. 

As a natural born leader, he should be in his element here leading these students to their degrees, to the rest of their lives- yet he’s not in his element. Of course he’ll never tell his students or colleagues or anyone for that matter that he wants to be a rapper. 

That would be ridiculous. 

The endlessly smart and knowledgeable Kim Namjoon as some grungy hip-hop rapper? 

This path was carved for him, the path of the university lecturer. It pays a pretty penny and there’s constant opportunity to work up within the university, getting higher up, more qualified, more educated, and more rich. So why is it so empty? He adores his students, but he has wild, wild dreams that are nothing more than dreams.

Namjoon packed his satchel, carefully placing the pile of essays into the folder type portion of the bag. He couldn’t believe he’d agreed to mark every essay tonight (except also he could because if that isn’t the most Kim Namjoon move ever) for a genius he’s truly a . It’s going to be a long, late night and that 8am lecture tomorrow is going to be torture. 

After a 25 minute drive home, Namjoon is once again sitting at his glass dining table, a scented candle lit for good measure and a great pile of essays in front of him.

He had decided that dinner can happen after marking at least half of these because where’s the reward in having dinner right now? Work first, play later. Namjoon pushes his slipping glasses further up his nose, cricks his neck, and makes a start on the first essay. 

His only saving grace is that these are only 5000 word essays, but still each one will take time to read thoroughly, he couldn’t be one of those lecturers that skim reads a students essay. Every student is important, every piece of work is important, it all needs to be valued, it’s his job and he’s passionate at the heart of it. If only the burning desire to rap didn’t keep rearing its ugly head every time he zones out. 

A stack of lyrics sits next to Namjoon on the table, he doesn’t know how many pieces of paper there are, hundreds? He can’t remember the last time that he didn’t write his feelings down in lyric form when he felt something, anything. Happiness, sadness, joy, frustration. He had to get it onto paper and pretend that he didn’t rap his lyrics every night in the shower like a lunatic. 

An hour passed, and then another, another, and 2 more. 3:37am and food didn’t even cross Namjoon’s mind in the end, but it’s okay, because his students had been messed about by the board regarding this assignment and what it contributes to the class, and he wants to see the relief on their faces in the morning when he gives them all back their successful grades, every single one of them. 

He really is a great teacher, but why are his dreams so stifled? 

 

Hoseok

‘Welcome to Hope World academy’ the big colourful sign greets as Hoseok drives through the big open gates in his mint green porsche, windows down and tinted sunglasses on his nose as he looks over the frames, concentrating on reversing into a suitable parking space. 

“Good morning, good morning,” he calls out cheerfully as he bursts through the double doors to the academy, earning a chorus of good mornings from various staff members dotted about doing their part for the company. 

“How are we all, lovely people?” He beams as he strides into the office where his own office was also situated within the classic glass windowed walls, floor to ceiling around the entire room, a glass door right in the middle. His staff all respond in various polite calls about being good, about how nice the weather is, typical office chat.

Hoseok makes his way to his own glass encased office, plopping himself down in the large leather desk chair that sits facing the rest of the small office of his loyal admin staff. Quietly running the academy from behind the scenes. He adored his dance instructors and knew he had done an excellent job at hiring, but he wasn’t one of those bosses that couldn’t appreciate the office staff working away everyday to keep things running smoothly, considering payroll is a nightmare of a job, he’s incredibly grateful.

Hoseok has a lot of people around him, but not a whole lot of friends. In fact he doesn’t really have any friends at all, not close ones anyway. He’d left his family and childhood friends back in Gwangju to chase this big dream of opening a dance academy of his own in Seoul, and he’d gone and done it.

It’s a lonely life, a rich life for sure, but lonely. Hoseok doesn’t mind a whole lot, it’s more of a niggle at the back of his head, and sometimes he’ll even be sat watching the TV in the evening after a 16 hour day running the academy wishing that someone was sat next to him.

He has a beautiful, big apartment, like from a movie, and a beautiful car, and everything he wants, but no one to share it with. All this money and no one to treat, who can he trust? Anyone who knows even a little about what he does and what he’s achieved could easily try and get close to him for his money, and it’s blindingly obvious when they are doing it. Women colleagues up to him in hopes of snatching themselves a rich boyfriend, male colleagues up to him in hopes of snatching themselves a friend who will invite them round to watch a sports game on Hoseok’s 80” TV. 

It’s a dry life. It’s absolutely wonderful, and Hoseok is the cheeriest man you will ever have the pleasure of meeting. But Hoseok wonders when he’s ever going to feel truly alive. Swanky cars and cruise ship getaways only feel alive when you have another soul to share the experience with. Someone who means something to you, someone to laugh with, someone to cry with. 

“Mr Jung?” a short, female colleague taps lightly on the door, to which Hoseok gestures to her to come in.

“Morning Miss Lee, how are you?” Hoseok chirps, looking up from his computer to give his colleague his full attention. 

“Ah, I’m well, Sir, I’ve just printed the weekly reports for you,” she smiles timidly, placing a stack of paper on his desk with both hands, before bowing politely and backing out of the room with another bow. 

Hoseok murmured a thank you knowing full well she was already out of earshot having come and gone so fast. 

There’s no inbetween, colleagues either want to up for money or they want to keep conversation to a minimum and continue their day. Hoseok doesn’t blame them entirely, it’s known that bosses are required to be respected, especially the company owner. Regardless of this Hoseok assumes he puts out a welcoming vibe, in the hopes that the staff of Hope World will just converse with him like a human. 

Hoseok sits at his desk for another 14 hours, getting up only for water or food. He doesn’t leave until he’s finished every report, and can go home knowing that every employee has had a good day and feels welcome at their job here at Hope World. 

The drive home is pleasurable in an extortionate, fancy Porsche. The drive home is also lonely in an extortionate fancy Porsche. Hoseok drives past small crowds of work friends sitting at the bus stop after a long day in an office, no doubt catching up on their day and laughing about mundane office mishaps. Someone to talk to, someone to rant to, someone to laugh about the day with. 

The apartment is empty and silent, a huge space for so much silence. The lights switch on instantly at the mere passing of a sensor, they don’t even make a noise. Nothing makes a noise, the house is still, and Hoseok is the only one in the house. Dinner is delicious, and the dining table is gorgeous and it’s sturdy, expensive mahogany, but he eats alone, night after night. 

Hoseok wonders when was the last time someone asked him how he is. 

 

Yoongi

Yoongi waved a friendly goodbye to his final student of the day, a 10 year old girl who timidly waved back as she skipped away to meet her parents at their car. Yoongi watched until she’d made it safely to the car, waving one more time as she smiled at him through the car window. The girl’s father also offered a polite nod as he drove away.

Teaching piano wasn’t exactly what Yoongi had intended in his course of life. It wasn’t bad either, though. 

A private tutor’s pay, mixed with some random teaching gigs he can catch at schools and universities, is pretty liveable. In fact it’s about as comfortable as a human could need to be to pay the rent, the bills and food. 

Yoongi doesn’t have a car, and doesn't feel as if he needs it. Public transport is perfectly fine here in Seoul, even better than Daegu in fact, he’s situated in a wonderful central area, and it’s great for lots of client opportunities. It saves him a lot of money too, not having a car. 

Of course there’s the mixtapes, but Yoongi never expects any success from them, rightly so because there is none really. He releases them under an alias and doesn’t promote. The only people that listen to Agust D are poor souls who have most likely stumbled across his music on a bad depression stint, desperately trawling the internet for music that makes them feel something that they can relate to on a deeper level. 

Yoongi’s music is sad, and it’s written from a sad place in his heart. He writes lyrics when he feels bad, and it makes the world seem a little less intense. 

Yoongi feels so small in a big scary world, he gets caught up staring out of the window of his ground floor apartment, wondering who else feels this low. All these passerbys, doing the same thing every day, the same routine, while having a whole array of their own woes and troubles that you can’t see because they’re just another head in a crowd of humans living their lives. 

He’s a good piano teacher, especially for children. He may have a dark, twisted mind from years of battling depression and anxiety, but he’s soft. His voice is low and he’s soft spoken, children respond well to a voice that doesn’t cut through the air. 

Yoongi wishes he could live solely off his music, but doesn’t have the confidence to even put a face to this Agust D character that his 148 subscribers listen to. They’re very supportive, he has few fans but loyal fans, who claim they understand his lyrics and how he’s feeling, and he believes them, he really does- but wonders if they really understand. 

As the sun is setting behind the skyscrapers, Yoongi solemnly returns through his front door and back into his apartment, walking past the brown upright piano near the door to beeline it to the kitchen. 

Yoongi agreed to teach some 1 on 1 piano classes tomorrow for students at a university who don’t have enough money for private piano lessons, so the university funds a piano teacher to come in sometimes and help out by spending a day doing as many lessons as needed. It’s very good pay as the university can afford to compensate well for Yoongi’s time. He’s scheduled for eight 30 minute lessons. 4 lessons, a lunch break, and then another 4 lessons. It’s not a long day by any means, but it’s mentally draining for sure. Yoongi knows full well he couldn’t teach entire classes like the lecturers do, he’s not confident enough. 1 on 1 works perfect for a shy boy like himself, and the opportunities are endless: schools, events, and the hundreds of thousands of parents that will pay more than living wage for a 45 minute lesson at Yoongi’s apartment. 

Dinner was done and dusted quickly, ready for an early night. In fact, Yoongi was pretty much ready to get in bed and sleep at any given minute of the day.

Of course there’s that inevitable first stage of sleeping where you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, troubled by the anxieties of your little world, until you finally fall asleep. Yoongi doesn’t remember a night where this didn’t occur. 

Some nights were worse than others. Some nights were a quick debate on the meaning of his existence before tiring his brain out and falling asleep, some nights were full blown panic attacks in the dark. Clutching his t-shirt for dear life, breathing never seeming like it’s going to get any easier, fresh tears flowing constantly and not letting up, until eventually getting so exhausted and just passing out in bed. 

Why is existence so terrible sometimes? Yoongi wonders how there are people that aren’t crippled by these anxieties every day, how their brains function normally. 

Yoongi just wants to feel normal. 

 

Seokjin

Misery. This job is misery. This kitchen in which Seokjin slaves away in while being hurled verbal abuse by a disgusting excuse for a business owner and human being is the actual embodiment of misery. 

Seokjin never lets it show, though. Every day is the same, he goes to work and he earns his low but liveable wage, and he works damn hard for every penny. He smiles throughout, he stays positive, what else is there to do in this world? His life is miserable but who cares? Employers certainly don’t and he needs this money more than anything. 

“Morning,” he says with a smile, every morning, every single miserable morning. 

“The you think you were playing at last night?” Sunghoon seeths from his usual spot on a leather sofa to the right of the door to the restaurant. Seokjin closes and locks the door behind him, ready to begin the pre-opening duties in the kitchen. 

“Sorry, but, about what exactly, Boss?” Seokjin asks carefully, hanging his jacket on the coat rack to the left of the door and turning around to face his boss once again. 

“What about?! I mean about the ing mop!” Sunghoon spits, glaring at Seokjin like he’s just committed actual murder, who stares at him confused, still in a daze from doing closing shift the night before, opening shift the following morning.

“Ah, what mop?” he asks tentatively, rubbing his eyes tiredly, frowning when his eyes actually...sting? From tiredness. 

“In the kitchen! Is it so hard to hang it back on it’s hook after you’ve mopped?” Sunghoon snaps as he puts his coffee on the table in front of him and folds his arms, waiting for a response. 

It crosses Seokjin’s mind that he’s not sure how Sunghoon knows he was even the one who mopped until he remembers signing the cleaning rota on the side of the fridge and sighing quietly. 

“Apologies, it won’t happen again,” Seokjin bows and ducks out to the kitchen quickly. 

“It better not if you want to stay here!” Sunghoon calls out as he disappears. 

Seokjin gulps, he hates it when that threat is pulled on him, he can’t stand it. He works so hard, how dare Sunghoon threaten a loyal employee's job. 

He just needs to keep grinding for a few more years, he doesn’t know how many, 10-15 maybe. It’s a lot but there’s no other way. Seokjin wants to open his own restaurant and run it properly. Treat his staff well, pay his staff well. 

This job is terrible but it pays a living wage and staying a lot of years on a stable wage is going to look great when he eventually starts the process of getting the start-up funds to buy a restaurant. In the meantime he can save a small bit of money each month, while the rest supports his Mother, ridden with drug addiction since the sudden divorce with her husband- Seokjin’s father- that horrible night 2 years ago. 

Continuing to live with his parents was a great idea many years ago, he could save at least 90% of his money from work to open up the restaurant sooner, and his parents supported this, not expecting any rent from him knowing that long term they’d benefit more from their son owning a restaurant. 

Seokjin was so excited, ambitious, and more motivated than ever at this time. The job was as miserable as it is now, but it paid, and Seokjin had dreams within arms reach. He still daydreams about what it would have been like, the moment he cuts the ribbon outside of his beautiful restaurant, his parents there to take prestigious looking photos with him and his triumph. 

Then his Father ruined everything. 

He forgave his Father, because that’s the type of person he is, but Seokjin is so very broken.

He can never show it, he won’t get anywhere by feeling sorry for himself. Every day is the same routine; going to work and being shouted at by his boss while he does everything to practically run the restaurant, going home and being shouted at by his Mother while he does everything to run the house. Including but not limited to paying for absolutely everything, doing all of the cooking even after cooking all day at the restaurant, and doing all of the housework. 

Seokjin’s one small joy in life was his savings account that was sitting at 13,000,000 won currently. It’s nowhere near enough, but it was an absolute slog to save up with everything he deals with. The amount of discipline is through the roof to save that much over the past few years, and he is so proud of himself. It gets him out of bed in the morning. 

Seokjin sits on the bus twice a day, daydreaming about his wonderful restaurant, and just for a minute the world doesn’t seem so miserable.