"An icy wind cuts through you as it blows the hoodie of your coat back off your head. You put it back on and tug the zipper up all the way to secure it in place, shivering a little as you do so. A pale arm reaches for you, to pull you close, but you lean away from it - a clear sign of rejection to the owner of the offending arm.

"What, so I can't even put an arm around you to keep you warm?"

"No," you snap, frowning.

You see a look of hurt flash across the face of the ex-boyfriend sitting next to you, and you soften your tone. "It's too soon, Yoongi."

"Sure, ok, if you say so," he shrugs, and you get a reminder of why the relationship didn't work out. Yoongi is too quick to act like he doesn't care even though that it's pretty obvious that he does, and you're tired of having to break down his walls.

You sigh. "You said you had something to talk about? Let's talk," you say, not wanting to waste any time. It was Yoongi's use of the word "talk" that piqued your curiosity enough to agree to this late night rendezvous. Yoongi is normally a man of few words. Except when he's rapping. You remember how you used to feel jealous of his fans who received more words than you did, and how that made you feel like you were nothing in his eyes. The memory is starting to hurt you again and you quickly brush it aside.

You don't want to feel like that any more. You don't have to feel like that anymore.

Tucking your numb fingers between your thighs and the wooden bench, you look at Yoongi expectantly. He looks unsure of himself. He avoids your eyes and picks at a non-existent chip on the bench.

"I...." Yoongi looks down guiltily. "I don't really have much I want to say. I just... wanted to see you."

Anger floods through you, instantly driving you off your seat. Before you can take a step away, Yoongi has swiftly caught ahold of your wrist, as if he had anticipated your reaction.

"Don't go. Please. You've come all the way up here. Sit for a while and talk with me."

"Talk? You just said that you had nothing to talk about. You lied to get me here, Min Yoongi. I'm done."

"No. Please, just sit. I'll talk, I promise. I'll talk."

Yoongi tugs at your wrist to try to get you to sit. You look down into Yoongi's pleading expression, his face glowing milky white under the moonlight, looking even paler against the darkness of the cluster of tees in your background. He's right, though. You're already here on this goddanm mountain at two in the morning. Might as well make the most of it. 

You take your place once again on the bench but remain silent, because you know Yoongi will now be frantically thinking of something to say to keep you there, since he thinks it's his promise to give you his words that is the only thing that's stopping you from getting up to leave again. You can practically hear him thinking and you smirk at your little revenge.

However, after what seems like the longest minute of awkward silence ever, it is you who makes an attempt at conversation.

"Your hair looks stupid. It looks like a pile of moss on your head."

Yoongi looks up, surprised at your willingness to throw him a line. Literally. He replies with a bitter smile. "Trust me, I hate my own hair and all the bull the stylists make me go through for it."

"I bet you threatened to sue them."

"You know me so well," Yoongi says, looking at you in such a fond manner that is all too familiar.

It evokes a tightness in your chest that makes you draw in a sharp intake of breath, and you inch away from him on the bench. He shouldn't be looking at you like that. The relationship is over. You'd worked so hard to forget, but here you are... hurting all over again with just one look.

"Yoongi, I can't do this. I have to go. There's plenty of other people you can talk to."

"They're not as interesting. Or as smart."

"Namjoon's smart."

Yoongi sighs. "It's not the same. You know me better than anybody."

"So get another girlfriend who will learn all about you."

"How can I, when I'm not over the last one?"

You stare at Yoongi, surprised. It's been three mo