*Namjoon’s story*

“Yah! Why aren’t you talking?! Did I raise you like this?! Talk back to your father! HUH?”

My father was throwing things again. This always happens. Right after school ends and I come home, he’d be throwing empty beer bottles, shoes, pots, anything at my face. It used to be hard to deal with, but I got used to it as the years went by. The trick was to just blank out and not think about every little thing he says, and to not pay attention to any of his punches and kicks.

My old man was like a little baby; always throwing tantrums, always complaining, always kicking around until he gets his way. Of course it was annoying, especially because I didn’t have one of those so-called “moms”. I learned to live well without anyone’s help, and the only peaceful times at home were when the old man got too tired to kick around and fell asleep.

Although this type of stuff happens all the time, although he’s told me way too many times how “useless” i am, how he “wished I would die”, I never actually thought he meant those things. Well, I guess until now.

While I was blanking out, I saw from the corner of my eye, a knife. A very sharp one, to be more specific. The only thing I remember after that was me snapping up and running straight for the door, hearing my father screeching as he runs after me. After that, I was running as fast as I could with my bruised legs, not once looking back.

Once I thought I ran far enough, the only thing that I could remember was my father, holding up a large knife in his hand, and me shutting the door on his psychotic face.

~~~~~

*Yoongi’s story*

They left me. Both of them. Do you know why? Because I was a “useless male just like my father.” They left a 10 year old little boy who knew literally nothing to fend for himself in this cruel world. And if that little boy wasn’t as strong hearted as me, I wonder if he would still be alive during those first few hours since his mother and sister left him.

My mother and sister never liked me. I remember when I was 5, my father, the only person in this household that I liked, didn’t come back home from work. I asked that of a mother what happened to my beloved father, and she just shrugged it off like he was some sort of bug. I still don’t know what happened to him, and I still believe that my sister and mother killed him or something, because they obviously didn’t like him either. They’ve been treating me like a rat for my entire life, and now that I think of it, I’m kind of glad they left me.

Of course, now I notice how terrible they were, but 10 year old Yoongi thought that the cruel mother and sister he’s lived with all this time “loved” him, and he was devastated that they left him. I was a pathetic human, crying for hours and hours because they never came back.

After a while, I manned up and went to go find a job straight away. I got a job as a newspaper boy, and I lived in a nook between two buildings, with a few blankets and cardboard. I lived like this for a few years, actually. 6 years to be exact. Same job, same living space.

That all changed though, when one night, I was on my motorcycle, going back home from work, when some cat ran in front of my motorcycle. I tried to stop, and ended up flying off of the motorcycle and hitting the ground, hard. I could feel my head bleed, so I was panicking quite a bit. Then, I felt someone kneel down beside me.

I looked to my right, and I saw a boy in a bloody school uniform with cuts and bruises all over his body. He seemed a bit older than me, and I have to admit, he was creeping me out a little with that big grin on his face.

He looked at my bleeding head and said, “That’s a pretty deep cut. Let me help you out a little bit.” Then, he took one of his bandages off his leg and wrapped it around my head. I looked at him, a bit bewildered, and he looked at me before smiling again. This time, I smiled a little bit and said, “You know, you’re creeping me out with that grin of yours."

He laughed very loudly, which kind of surprised me. He then stood up and put his hand out to help me up. I took his hand and dusted myself off before going to pick up my fallen motorcycle from the ground. Suddenly, this kid grabbed my arm and said, “You can’t ride that thing again, especially because you just almost had a concussion.”

I looked at him a bit weirdly and said, “You shouldn’t be saying anything, I mean, look at those cuts and bruises on your body.” He laughed and shrugged. He then said, “This is nothing. My father has been a lot worse on other days.”

I looked at him, a bit surprised. I’ve never met someone who’s actually been physically abused by their parents before, so it was weird how laid back he was about it. He laughed at my reaction and put his bruised arm around me before saying, “Hey kid, I need a place to sleep tonight, do you have a home?”

I laughed and nodded. “I have somewhere you can sleep, but it’s not exactly a home.” I said, warning him. He laughed again and said, “Okay, because I kind of ran away from home, so I need somewhere to crash.” He smiled and we started walking to my “house”.

During the walk there, we talked about our pasts. I told him about that witch and her apprentice (I don’t like calling them by family names because in my mind, they aren’t family). He also told me about how his mother died while giving birth to him, and that was the main reason why his father started to abuse him.

While he told his stories, he told them all like they were nothing, like he was telling a story about something embarrassing his friends did or something like that. It was actually 20 times worse than that (even more if you ask me), but he seemed laid back about everything.

Once we reached my “home”, he looked around a little, smirked, and flopped down onto one of the blankets. I sat down quietly, not knowing if he actually liked the place or not. After a long silence, he said, “You know, I’m pretty glad I met you.”

I stared at him, a little surprised at his sudden ‘confession’. After another long silence, I let out a small laugh, saying, “I’m pretty glad I met you too–“ I stopped. I noticed I didn't know this kid’s name. He also noticed, and started laughing loudly, just like he always does. I started laughing loudly too, and after we stopped, he put out his hand and said, “I’m Namjoon.”

I laughed slightly again before putting out my hand to shake his and said, “Nice to meet you Namjoon. I’m Yoongi.” We laughed a little more, but our laughs slowly died down to another silence. But this silence wasn’t as awkward as the other ones have been. We just both sat there, enjoying each other’s company. The feeli