Yoongi ended up biting his own pen in the notorious history class on Tuesday. His friends were going out for the competition, fighting some group known as BAB or BAT or something. If they won this one, they would be going to the semifinal next and he realized how tough of a competition it would be without him. And Yoongi? He was stuck at school, of course, with legs broken and a cast that itched like hell. His friends were gone, pretty much explaining the empty seat behind his back. He went from biting his pen to tapping his feet furiously on the ground. His eyes went from the teacher who'd been darting her eagle-like eyes back at him, to the clock on the wall. They must be in the middle of a match and Yoongi even thought about praying if such thing could suddenly give his stupid of a best friend Kim Namjoon the ability to be a decent basketball player for once. He cursed under his breath, promising himself to kick on the boy's shin and assassinated him if Namjoon ended up dragging their team down. Turned out he was indeed that desperate to win the competition. Basketball was his only lasting pride of this god forsaken small town and life. He should be doing his history test now, explaining how the Korean War separated the two countries and its ripple effect to America's fear of communism. Like hell he could even focus on the bogus that sounded nothing like Korean whatsoever to his head right now.

Jimin had gone back to practice after taking Yoongi home yesterday. As promised the boy did appear in front of his door at the crack of dawn before he even woke up (and called out his name loudly from outside, horribly recreating the scene of ‘Juliet, Juliet where art thou my Juliet’). His mother cocked an eyebrow, probably wondering how Yoongi managed to find himself a personal assistant or how the Min's personal bike was in the hand of a stranger.

They parted in the morning just before the first lesson started as his other friends had to board the train to another nearby city for the game. Yoongi put on the most sour face that he had, practically pissed at himself for not being able to compete and for making a threat to how they really should win this and reaching 1st place again like how they had aimed for before this stupid incident happened. He remembered vividly Jimin little smile and the same regretful look that he had before the boy waved his hand a little, disappearing past the school gate with his other friends.

Yoongi cursed under his breath, messing his own hair. Who could he blame now? Fate, if such thing existed? God, maybe, if he wasn't satisfied with it.

The teacher had probably realized how suspicious his action was for she got up, moving closer towards Yoongi's desk. At that moment the boy didn't even register the footsteps nearing him, entirely occupied with his own imagination and self-loathing. He did, finally, when a certain long, bony and disgusting finger decided to tap its way on the surface of his desk, right when Yoongi was having a mental image of a certain Kim Namjoon probably being an idiot that he was and missed his one and only free shot.

"Mr Min, eyes on the test, please," she said, voice stern and demanding.

He should have known better than to make a scene with the very teacher who had thought lowly about him after incidents upon incidents of falling asleep. Yet it was his worry and imagination running wild - giving him such prediction of a future in which his team ended in a miserable defeat because of his absence - that got him turning his head towards the teacher, face annoyed and entirely unamused with a rather flat tone of a, "Shut up, you old hag," escaping his lips.

And guessed who just got into detention once again?

+.-.+

He got a broken leg so it was the only excuse for the said teacher to tell him to sit in the classroom instead after hours had passed with nothing to do. He thought about falling asleep, actually, but his worry had prohibited him from such action. His feet kept on fidgeting, thinking about how the game had ended now and how the boys should be on their way back already. It was six in the afternoon and Yoongi found himself still sitting on his chair, feeling anxious.

Groaning, he ended up picking his notebook and decided to scribble something on it as he always did whenever he was in need of some distraction. He easily found it after writing a few paragraphs about the meaning of stupidity and comparing broken dreams with his legs when he ended writing about how he ran away from home and found himself in front of Jimin’s door instead.

The brat fought with his parents and he cried (again) in front of me.

He thought then again about how crazy it was, climbing down the tree and running away. He thought about the boy running around the town to look for him with bleeding feet. He thought about stargazing on the school field at night (courtesy of his idea of course). He thought about riding the bike and felt like flying when he did.

He wouldn’t admit it but in that short amount of time, he was happy. Happy enough to forget the fact that he was running away. Happy enough to feel that his small hometown was – for the first time since forever – enough for him.

He glanced at the clock and groaned. The other should be finished right now, riding the train back to Yeoryang-myeon already, if they didn’t just decide to celebrate without him if only they managed to attain the victory Yoongi had been desperately praying for. He had even suspected that they were scared enough to go back and inform the grumpy Yoongi that they had lost. So which one was it, then?

Either way staying there only made his mood worse. Fumbling with his things, Yoongi finally got up and hopped out of the classroom, dragging his useless feet behind. It was dusk already as usual and he had thought about the worst that would happen; them losing and saying goodbye to the trophy. Everything because of a stupid broken leg. Everything because the rod just had to snap that one time. That one single time. Why couldn’t it snap when Jimin was riding behind when they were going back from school like always? Things wouldn’t be this complicated if it did.

He was passing the Auraji Bridge when his other legs started to hurt from limping and he couldn’t help but to feel more annoyed. He stopped for a while, leaning on the rail of the bridge, massaging his own feet. This time he didn’t lift his head. He just let his eyes wandered to the farthest end of the horizon that it could take, pass beyond the snaking river, rice fields and the hills that followed after. He would be resting his stupid leg behind right now, dozens of miles away from his friend whilst they all made a fool out of themselves on the court. It , not being able to fight for his own dream and the itchy cast had oh so kindly be his constant reminder for that.

But then again, if he could go back in time and chose not to ride that very bicycle yesterday, not to stand behind a certain boy, or not to stretch his arm and float between the two worlds, Yoongi thought that maybe he-

“Yoongi-hyung?!”

Yoongi turned around, hearing a certain voice calling him out. It was Jimin, of course, running from the other end of the bridge towards him. He stopped right in front of Yoongi, chest heaving and shirt drenched in sweat. He bent and got his hands on his knees, supporting himself as Jimin took a lungful of breath, trying to regain himself from all the running. He looked like he just did a marathon. The other must have returned, then.

“I wuh-went to the suh-school. You weren’t tuh-there,” he said, muttering in between each breath.

“How’s the game?!” Yoongi said, almost yelling. That was the one thing he was dying to know.

He was still bent down, trying to catch his breath. Truth be told Yoongi didn’t like waiting and this felt like a goddamn suspense movie. For a moment he felt like smacking the boy and told him to stop breathing and just told him the result firsthand. Breathing could always come later Yoongi wouldn’t care.

“We duh-did it, hyung.”

Yoongi blinked. Jimin was still hunched down, face hidden from Yoongi’s eyes.

“You what?!”

Jimin raised his body up and sighed, looking at Yoongi straight in the eye. He didn’t speak another word, not even making any gesture. He just took a very deep breath before a grin slowly formed on his face.

Yoongi didn’t know what had gotten into him. Maybe it was him being melancholic, thinking about stargazing and the night sky. Maybe it was thinking about how beautiful the dusk looked like yesterday as he felt himself floating with it. Maybe it was realizing how Jimin ran all the way from the train station to the school before realizing he was gone and went straight ahead to his house just to tell him that. Most of all maybe it was simply being happy for his friends, paying off all of his worry that he harbored all day and making a detention such a small price to pay. Whatever that was, it got him stepping forward, ignoring his painful steps and buried the boy in a hug.

“We’re going to the semifinal, hyung,” Jimin said. The boy’s hands were limped against his side before he slowly wrapped it gently around the elder, probably feeling hesitant to hug him.

“Park Jimin you idiot you better win this competition after you break my leg,” he said.

The boy went stiff under his hug and Yoongi just realized what he said and did (most of all what he just did), stepping back with face embarrassed. That was so unlike him. The sentence he uttered was, on the other hand, but it probably got the boy shivering in fear again.

“I’m kidding, okay? You didn’t break my leg, it’s just a stupid accident,” he quickly said again. Saying that was actually so much better it deserved as a diversion from his stupid action. “Don’t you dare say sorry again,” he added, raising his index finger and pointed it right towards the younger.

“I won’t, hyung,” Jimin said, smiling softly. “But I’ll promise to win the competition in return.”

And this time both of them smiled together.

That night Min Yoongi wrote a big ‘we’re going to the semifinal’ in bold capital letter in his notebook, scribbling little doodles of stick figures playing basketball and a poor sketch of a soon to be trophy of theirs being held in the air with another seven figures (and a particular one that was supposed to be Taehyung sticking its tongue at it).

That night he fell asleep with a smile on his face and an optimistic feeling that they were going to win this even without Yoongi, all the while thanking the universe silently for giving them a blessing with the name of a Park Jimin.

(That night Park Jimin fell asleep with a smile on his face, thinking about how Yoongi just hugged him that evening and remembering how warm it felt for the tiniest of moment, all the while thanking the universe silently for giving him the chance to fall in love with a certain boy named Min Yoongi)

+.-.+

“Oh come on Namjoon you can do better than that!” Yoongi screamed, leaning to his crutches as he observed their leader dribbling the ball passed Jungkook and did a layup before failing miserably again for the fifth time.

“Yoongi, you’ve been practically torturing the poor soul for the past hours. Maybe you can give him a break now,” Seokjin said beside him, patting his shoulder.

On the court, Namjoon grunted and fell to the ground, hands and legs spread wide with chest heaving. Even Jungkook told him to cut some slack with their unfortunate leader. Mercy was the last thing that Yoongi got in terms of being a coach, but worry was another thing and upon Hoseok’s words that maybe he should let Namjoon rest before the poor soul twisted an ankle or pulled a tendon, risking another player’s absence after their MVP just stupidly broke his legs.

That was the reason why the seven of them had been spending their time in the gym after school (Namjoon specifically) underneath Yoongi’s coaching. He had done feeling sorry for his feet and if there was something he could do other than praying to ensure the victory of his team then he sure as hell would do it. Taehyung had joked that the sight of Yoongi sitting on the bench, barking order and yelling insults at Namjoon was comically befitting (not to mention that one time he kicked the out of Namjoon with his crutch when their leader zoned out in the middle of a practice game and missed a pass). Everyone had joked that Yoongi looked exactly like a grumpy middle-aged coach. At least they still respected him and they all pretty much trained under everything that he ordered and said.

“All right Namjoon you can take fifteen. You better ace that layup after this or I’ll force you to do a dunk and won’t let you leave until you pull it off.”

At the distance Namjoon raised his thumb, signaling Yoongi that he could hear him just fine.

Yoongi sighed, messing his own hair and sat on the bench himself. Jungkook threw himself next to him, skin flushed and completely drenched in sweat. He’d been practicing extra hard ever since they won the quarter final. It was Thursday like usual and the semifinal would be held at the next Friday at the first week of July in Chuncheon. Last year they only won third place and this year they definitely had to win the first. It was everybody’s last chance excluding Jungkook and it would be the perfect gift upon graduating.

“How’s the leg, hyung?”

Yoongi furrowed his eyebrow, realizing how stupid of a question it was for Jungkook to ask.

“Still broken, what do you expect, huh? For it to magically heal?”

Their youngest just chuckled. If it Jimin he was holding a conversation with, the younger had probably put on a startled look and had his eyes trailing south towards the floor already.

“Can we just dope you up with morphine and had you on court the next Friday, hyung?”

“Yah, I might never walk again if I did, brat,” he said, flicking the younger’s forehead.

“Well, you might never going to win this thing as well, hyung,” Jungkook said jokingly, rubbing his own forehead.

“Don’t say that Jungkook. Of course we’re going to win,” Hoseok said, overhearing their conversation. “That’s why we’re torturing Namjoonie right now,” he added with a giggle.

“Our survival lies entirely on Namjoon’s pain,” this time Seokjin said, looking at the sight of Namjoon who were still sprawling on the floor with Taehyung occasionally poking at their leader’s nose. “Otherwise why would Yoongi torture him to this extent, right?”

Yoongi smirked. He got up from the bench and blew the whistle (yes, he even got a whistle dangled like a necklace around his neck all that was missing was a tracksuit).

“You’ve got fifteen already, Namjoon. Get up now. Try to get pass Taehyung this time and you better do that layup right this time!” he barked.

Their leader whined, saying something about ‘it hasn’t even been fifteen minutes’ and ‘I can’t feel my legs right now it felt like jellies’. Either way he did get up in the end and redo the whole routine only to fail yet oncee again and got another lecture with the complete package of profanity used in the middle of it all from their so-called coach.

When Namjoon tried for the second time, Yoongi couldn’t help but to smirk as he heard Seokjin commented from behind, completely reading his mind by saying, “I take that back. He should be torturing Namjoon any other time of the day because this turns out to be entertaining.”

(In the end Namjoon did get punished with the dunk assignment and they all had to watch their leader do the impossible until around ten p.m., lounging at the side of the gym while eating instant ramyun that Minju brought for them.)

(They finally went home not because they were all tired of watching but because the ball had suddenly deflated upon touching with Namjoon’s destructive fingers for too long.)

+.-.+

“I’m sorry, hyung I-.”

“It’s okay, Jimin,” he mumbled, body hunched forward with fist tightened between his knees.

“I mean if I didn’t-.”

“Oh for god’s sake just shut up,” he said, raising his voice.

The boy shut his mouth right then and there. Yoongi didn’t dare turn his head around and see the boy’s glassy eyes. He didn’t even dare to look at his friends’ face, each of them sitting on their respective seat as the train took them back to Yeoryang-myeon in silence.

They lost. Semi-final and their opponent, the notorious seven boys group led by a certain Woo Jiho whose name Yoongi knew as one of the best players in Gangwon (or even South Korea) managed to beat them. They were last year’s winner and Yoongi thought that maybe they could hit it off. His throat was dry from shouting too much on the court, asking for a timeout for what felt like the dozenth time, desperately trying to come up with a strategic plan and explained it all to his teammates. They still lost with a gap of 10 or so point and his heart sank as the last horn blew.

That day Yoongi had practically run away from school on Friday and hop on the same train as the boys to Chuncheon. He sat on the bench, acting like a coach and still it wasn’t enough. At certain part of the game he literally thought about going in for the game (Jungkook even had to hold him down when he so stubbornly decided to do so).

But still they lost. They lost and Yoongi realized how everything he had hoped to be and all his dreams were shattered as easy as that just like his leg. The other were sad as well, none of them saying any other word even as they got to the train and went home. Still, everyone could see that Yoongi was the one being struck the hardest by that bitter realization. Not even the beautiful dusk outside the window could calm him down. He hoped that it would rain instead so the beauty of the sky wouldn’t be able to mock him. They would always shine so brightly even when he was feeling like . The least they could do was giving him a somber scene in form of a rain just like his heart was feeling right now.

“It’s okay, Jimin. No one’s blaming you for that last shot,” Seokjin said.

“But I could have scored that one,” Jimin said back.

Seokjin sighed, patting Jimin’s shoulder. “Even if you did we wouldn’t win anyway so don’t think about it too much,” the eldest said.

“But if I didn’t break Yoongi-hyung’s leg-.”

“It’s an accident, we know. This is not your fault, all right?” Seokjin said again with soothing voice and calming smile.

There was no laughter as they walk down the road of Yeoryang-myeon to their respective home. As usual Yoongi ended with Jimin, the boy walking a few steps behind him like a certain night he remembered. Truth be told, he was walking infuriatingly slow, dragging his useless leg along the way. Jimin could easily walk ahead, passing him, exactly like he hoped the boy would do, but instead he just walked at the same pace as Yoongi, following the older obediently from behind.

They just walked like that in silence, even when the broken leg cost them more than just thirty minutes. Everything felt agonizing, both the broken dreams and legs. The night sky couldn’t even remedy that burning fire in his heart since he was so, so mad. Both at himself, at god and even at the stupid cast that made his legs itch as hell. Heck, he was mad at the road as well since living amongst hills and mountains, the road in Yeoryang-myeon was definitely not the easiest it had to go up and down like a seesaw, torturing him with every step. He came to this agonizing hike as he was nearing Songcheon-gil and he had to hop and drag and even crawl with all his might.

At one point Yoongi decided to give up, letting himself fall on the concrete road in the middle of it and took a deep breath. He even felt like lying on the road right there and then, letting a truck ran him over.

Jimin walked closer to him, standing right in front of him and Yoongi couldn’t help but shot the boy a glare.

“What?!” he said, tone sharp and the very least friendly. He wasn’t in the mood for anything nice.

“You’re not going to reach home like this, hyung,” Jimin whispered slowly.

“So what? Just-, go away, Jimin,” he said. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

He certainly didn’t want to hear anymore of Jimin’s apologies or even the regretful look that the boy had in his eyes. He thought that Jimin would finally give up and walked pass him, leaving him alone finally for real. Yet he was wrong for the boy suddenly squatted down towards the ground before sitting on the concrete with him right in the middle of the road.

“What are you doing?” he asked, turning his head towards Jimin.

“What? I’m not talking to you, hyung. I’m just sitting here,” he answered, eyes gazing the end of the slope instead.

“Well, do I tell you to sit here?”

“No, you tell me not to speak with you and that’s entirely a different thing. And you know what, hyung? I will do just that. I’ll zip my mouth but I’m not leaving you alone until you reach home safely,” Jimin said, this time turning his head towards Yoongi.

He thought he was going to see another regretful look. Maybe a hint of sadness like always or the fear that the boy oddly harbored towards him. Heck, he was expecting tears as well. But no, he saw determination instead, one that was indeed seemed annoying for he figured that Jimin wouldn’t certainly leave him alone, proving his word just fine.

And somehow he wanted to laugh instead. He should be pissed, should be angry and snapped at the boy, but instead he wanted to laugh, both at Jimin’s words and the ridiculous determination that he had in his eyes.

“You’re so stupid Park Jimin, don’t you know that?” he said, a smirk painted in his face. He wanted to be angry for longer, actually, showing the boy how scary he could look but the smirk came almost too naturally he couldn’t help itself from showing.

Jimin smiled with him.

“Said the one sitting in the middle of the road first.”

“Well, you’re closer to the middle. If there’s a truck coming this way you’ll be the one losing your life first.”

“For your information I’m not the one sitting here because of a broken leg. If there’s indeed a truck coming this way I can easily get up and run away, unlike a certain someone.”

“Believe me Park Jimin when there’s a truck coming this way you won’t leave unscathed. At least something of yours will be broken because I still haven’t gotten my revenge yet.”

Jimin just let out a smile and Yoongi couldn’t help but to do the same. Everything was too superficial. How could a Park Jimin easily cure him of his sour mood with nothing but a look in his eyes and some stupid words.

Sighing, Yoongi massaged his sore thigh, turning his head towards the road in front of him, looking down at the slope that he had miraculously hiked with a broken leg. Up there the sky was already dark, the twinkling stars orchestrating their beautiful melody like always. But no, he didn’t raise his head up this time. He looked down instead, seeing the small light of the houses in Yeoryang-myeon, twinkling its way, mirroring the stars above. He could see the snaking Songcheon River underneath, its water glistening under the moonlight and the Auraji Bridge with its light glowing in the distance. Losing the game today had reminded him how he hated this town, yet this kind of beauty had always gnawed at his soft spot, he couldn’t let himself to hate this all.

Then again if it wasn’t for his broken leg, he wouldn’t find out about this new beautiful perspective of the town he hated and loved so much.

(And they ended up sitting there for almost an hour they didn’t move until a truck literally came its way passed the road, the driver mistaking them for delinquents with a suicidal wish.)

We lost.

But the brat and I found something beautiful on the road today.

+.-.+

(And to the talk about leaving with a broken something, let’s just say that Yoongi did get his revenge in a way.)

(Because something did get broken in the end)