The boy’s dream ended abruptly as he was shaken to reality by an annoying ringing sound. His eyes opened and stared at the white ceiling of his room. He continued laying comfortably on the bed, debating mentally whether or not should he get up and put an end to that misery noise that disturbed the peaceful start of hell called life.

Yoongi usually spent his Saturday mornings sleeping—well, he let his mother decided that for him. It wasn’t exactly a good habit of his but he could at least catch up to some sleep that he inconveniently missed during his late-night studies and working. Of course, when he said work it didn’t exactly mean work, as he was only composing music. Back to the matter at hand, the annoying sound of their doorbell roused him awake on that fine morning, and seeing that no one was up to smother the noise, the teenager had no choice but to do it himself.

Yoongi yawned widely as he hobbled down the stairs, took a turn and headed for the front door, glancing back at the old grandfather clock as it ticked away the seconds. It was considered still quite early for any unexpected guests, and since it was Saturday, Yoongi hoped that the one behind the door would be a normal mail delivery.

When he opened the door and saw a glimpse of those outside, almost immediately he moved to close it. He didn’t get to, however, as a firm as a rock hand had launched like a leech onto the wood. Despite his disagreement with morning activity, Yoongi was quick to jump out of the way when the door was forced open by a kick that the visitor initiated, strong enough to slam the block of wood into a nearby wall and shook the entire house.

“How rude!” trilled Inna as she stalked into the house, arms swaying lazily as though she wasn’t the one to suddenly breaking into someone’s house. “The least you could do is let your guests inside, Yoongi-ah.”

Yoongi could only watch her in initial agony for fear that if he voiced his opinion, she would sprayed his room with designer perfume like on her last visit, hence him being not too thrilled to see his sister-in-law-to-be so early in the morning, especially on weekends. Even though she wasn’t yet a member of the Min clan, he was forced to respect and treat her as one.

Oh, imagine how it would be when his idiot of a brother and the woman eventually tie the knot…

“Where’s Yongjun? He’s still not sleeping, is he?” barked Inna from the kitchen. The sound of running water tap and heating stove told Yoongi that she was starting to prepare breakfast. Scratching his head, he didn’t complain as he hopped upstairs to Yongjun’s bedroom, not bothering to knock before barging in.

The grumpy teenager proceeded to ruthlessly kicking the bundle of tangled comforters on the mattress, deeply satisfied by the incomprehensible groans and grunts that came from it. His glee was short noticed, however, when a hand lunged out from the heap and grabbed his ankle.

It turned out that the Min family didn’t need a morning alarm. It just took two extremely headstrong, hot-blooded boys and a whole lot of yelling and punches to set in motion, though this wasn’t recommended as it would ended with complaining neighbours as consequences. By the time they were rolling across the floor, too occupied with their brawl, a menacing form stood at the open doorway.

…

A few moments later, Mr. and Mrs. Min went downstairs to a delightful surprise of a perfectly cooked meal, with their two uncharacteristically obedient sons on the sides. They both keenly entertained their parents’ needs, ushering them to their chairs and serving the old couple breakfast. One would think that they were simply acting like how offspring should, but the vibrant, red handprints that they both sported on each of their cheek told the parents otherwise.

Once the family were finished with the meal, Inna wasn’t allowed to wash a single dish, as she—Yoongi quoted— was the guest of the house, which left the task of washing dishing to the Min brothers. Yoongi wondered, if she was the guest than why was he forced to tolerate her 24/7 of his life?

“Dongsaeng-ah…”

The desperate voice was quickly followed by a sudden, sharp flick at the corner of the boy’s forehead, causing him to dump whatever it was in his hands and risking his mother’s fury for almost breaking the china. Yoongi raised a soap-covered hand to his head. “Yah! That hurts!” he turned sharply to settle his glare on Yongjun, who had the gall to do an aegyo pose, palms cradled his jaw almost cutely, accompanied by his signature wide grin.

The younger sibling wasn’t the slightest bit amused.

The room fell into a long, thick silence. Yongjun noticed by the way his brother clenching his fists that he was keeping his annoyance at bay, toying with the urge to launch another well-deserved punch to him, but the younger sibling successfully didn’t. Yongjun wanted a reaction out of him, some kind of twisted proof that he was a sentient being that was more than a obedient rebound that his parents could once again prided upon. Be it teenage rebellion or mild annoyance—Yongjun wanted to see it all.

Anything, other than the silent despair that he was all too familiar with.

“Hyung, quit staring. You’re starting to scare me.”

The man flinched a bit, knocked out of his concentration, his eyes blinking in brief confusion before regarding Yoongi’s subtle display of concern. Not wanting to dive deeper into the heavy atmosphere, Yongjun quickly put on a cheeky smile. “Oh, nothing much!” he piped up a bit too enthusiastically, and his mind went into overdrive to distract his brother. “I’m…just sorry for your future date.”

Yoongi made it apparent that he didn’t need to know that as he stiffly returned to his task. But Yongjun wasn’t done yet.

“You know…if you ask me, it’d be interesting to introduce you to this one girl I once met.”

The squeaking of plates being scrubbed was the only response Yongjun got, nonetheless he continued.

“The poor thing was crying like she was broken; like she had given up.” Yongjun recalled softly, overcame with acute nostalgia of that day in the subway. “I actually haven’t seen her face… but I couldn’t find it in myself to leave her like that. So I comforted her, in the best way a stranger could.”

“…why’re you telling me this?” asked the teenager quietly, looking quite pensive.

At this, Yongjun smirked. “Who knows?”

Jumie came to the conclusion that all the layoffs from work have made her extremely paranoid to the point that she felt like she was being watched. The moment she stepped out of her apartment building, the itch between her shoulder blades wouldn’t leave her alone. She kept having the urges to turn around but whenever she did, nothing appeared to be unusual.

This had been going on since morning, thus distracting her from doing her job properly that she couldn’t even let out so much of a shriek to scare the adventurous customers who had dared to pay the Yokdeok’s Mental Hospital a visit. At this rate, she was going to lose her beloved job.

Jumie looked around the café inconspicuously, laying low, on account of her recent stalking issue. She had a few ideas of who that stalker might be, though she wasn’t exactly eager to confront them, especially after the said person had expressed their ridiculous plan to her. Her overgrown bangs worked wonders to conceal her face, and she stirred absentmindedly her hot beverage, disfiguring her reflection on the black surface.

She originally hated coffee and had asked for one of the sweeter options, but since the worker had misunderstood her, she resignedly settled with this one.

Besides, it didn’t take long for her ‘stalker’ to join her.

“Jumie-ah.”

Chanmi looked exceptionally pretty today. She had gotten rid of the glasses and settled on contact lenses with a distinct brush of eyeliner and mascara, emphasizing her twinkling, mischievous gaze, complete with a shark-like smile. Just by the look of it, Jumie already knew what was in the elder’s girl’s head.

“I told you, unnie,” clarified Jumie carefully as if she was talking to a mentally deranged person. Chanmi did have the tendency to be equivalent to an ill-mannered brat when things didn’t go her way. “I don’t want to.”

The brown-haired girl scowled disapprovingly and folded her arms in a comically threatening manner. “And why not?”

Jumie whimpered as she clutched her hair defensively, raking her spider-like digits to savour the feeling of the locks as it framed her cheeks. What she answered with was: “What’s wrong with my hair? Isn’t it pretty enough?”

Caught momentarily off guard by the question, Chanmi resumed her jubilant state, not dropping her easy-going smile and pondering whether she should just be plain honest or create a convincing lie that could persuade her into rolling with her agenda. “Nothing’s wrong with it!” she finally chirped, sweeping a hand aggressively like she meant no harm. “It won’t hurt to experiment a new hairstyle once in a while, and I know just the thing for you.”

What irony….the senior herself hadn’t even bother brushing her hair as she usually resorted to tying them up into a dandy ponytail. However, with Jumie, Chanmi knew more than anyone else, that a girl-in-love should always look her best for the ones they loved.

Jumie didn’t see it that way.

The idea of a free haircut and a few inserted makeover might sound tempting to every normal high school girl. Jumie wasn’t like any other girls. Apart from being generally uncomfortable with anything to do with mundane world, she simply couldn’t imagine living without the personal sanctuary of her overgrown bangs.

Exposing her face 24/7 to the world?

Oh, the sight!

“You don’t need to…” Jumie stated softly yet firmly. She knew that the elder girl meant well, but a simple gesture of lending her the latest horror film would certainly sufficed. That would practically be a bliss for her. Besides, she didn’t see the benefits of dolling herself up.

Calling on all ounce of courage in her bones, she was beginning to turn as red in the face as a cooked lobster. “I said I don’t want to. No means no! Why can’t you understand that? If you touch so much of a hair on me, you’re dead meat.”

Ok, that went overboard. It should work, right?

But no. Oh, no-no. Chanmi wasn’t having it.

There was some kind of inner conflict waging inside Chanmi. Jumie could sense the slight change of demeanour as the girl turned again towards her, coffee-coloured eyes blazing with an unbreakable determination. “Then I have no choice but to—”

Before Chanmi had the chance to finish her words or even done pulling out something uncannily similar to a garden shears from the pocket of her jeans. How it fit there, she had no idea, but the sophomore wasn’t about to let that thing near her.

And so, she ran like her life depended on it.

Jumie knew that she was now in grave danger, judging from the loud screech she heard from afar.