Yoongi slammed the apartment door shut, heading straight for the elevator. He pressed the button for the first floor, marked with a large, star-shaped symbol. A yawn stretched his jaw, and he covered his mouth with a hand, blinking to sharpen his focus. The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, and he stepped out.
He passed the building’s courtesy officer without a glance. The man, nearing forty, cleared his throat, attempting to catch Yoongi’s attention.
Yoongi stopped, sighing. “What is it now, Mr. Cha?”
Mr. Cha shrugged. “Just checking in on you, Yoongi. You’re seventeen, a high school student, and managing perfectly well on your own. Living in your own apartment… I just need to ensure you’re taking care of yourself, behaving.”
Yoongi rolled his eyes. “I know it’s your job to monitor the residents, but you don’t need to fuss over them.”
Mr. Cha gave him a considering look. “It’s my job to worry, but it doesn’t mean I don’t care. Even as strangers. You wouldn’t ignore someone crying on the street, would you?”
“Whatever.”
He started to move again, but Mr. Cha stopped him.
“Hold on,” Mr. Cha said, his brow furrowed with concern. “Did you eat this morning? You look pale.”
Yoongi turned, confused. “I don’t need to eat in the morning.”
“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, mister!” He watched Yoongi roll his eyes and continue walking, ignoring him once more.
“Shut up with your stupid breakfast,” Yoongi muttered under his breath, tightening his grip on his backpack straps.
After his father remarried, Yoongi had moved out. They’d struck a deal: his father would cover the rent, and Yoongi would handle food and other expenses with his part-time job earnings. The arrangement would continue until Yoongi was financially independent.
He stood before the school building. Students parted around him like water around a rock, offering him a wide berth. He’d cultivated a reputation—feared, avoided. His cold stare and sharp tongue kept them at a distance, as did the occasional brawl.
Only one person saw past the facade. Only one person knew the softer side of Min Yoongi, the one that didn’t default to hostility. That person was Park Jimin. A childhood friend, privy to almost everything about him.
“Yoongi!” Jimin’s hug was tight.
“Ugh!” Yoongi groaned, “Let go of me.”
“You’re such a meanie!” Jimin pouted. “Aren’t you glad we’re in the same classes?”
“I mean,” Yoongi sighed, “at least I’m not alone this year.”
They walked to the third floor, ignoring curious glances from other students. He’d never admit it, but Yoongi was relieved to have Jimin beside him. Even his need for solitude didn't outweigh the loneliness of being utterly isolated.
Yoongi didn’t care about his reputation. Or, rather, he lied to himself about not caring. His fabricated image fueled his isolation, leaving only Jimin as a friend. Rumors swirled: delinquent, brawler, sadist. The one that gnawed at him, that made his stomach churn, was the claim he paid Jimin for their companionship.
It was a cruel distortion. Jimin loved Yoongi like a brother. They were family—not by blood, but by choice. Family wasn’t defined by genetics, but by love. Yoongi’s own family had been fractured by indifference. His parents’ divorce wasn’t fueled by hatred, but by apathy. His stepmother had tried, but the connection never formed. That’s why he moved out.
Yoongi and Jimin passed by the restrooms.
“Go on ahead,” Jimin said. “I’ll meet you in the classroom.”
“Okay,” Yoongi waved. “Don’t get lost.”
“I won’t,” Jimin rolled his eyes before walking off.
“He’s so getting lost,” Yoongi muttered with a small smile.
✶
Students in the crowded hallway parted for Yoongi, wary of provoking him. As he walked, scanning the room numbers, his gaze landed on Namjoon. Over the summer, Namjoon had dyed his hair a soft peach. A flush warmed Yoongi’s cheeks as he watched Namjoon, absorbed in his own world.
He looked impossibly good today.
A shoulder bump sent Yoongi stumbling to the ground. He looked up, eyes locking with a male with dark brown hair who stared down at him apologetically.
“I’m sorry,” Hoseok said. “I wasn’t looking where I was going, and you were just standing—”
“Shut up,” Yoongi snapped, scrambling to his feet and brushing off his pants. “Now my pants are dirty.”
“Okay,” Hoseok said, “I said I’m sorry, no need to be a bitch about it.”
Before Hoseok could react, Yoongi threw a fist, sending Hoseok to the floor. Hoseok coughed, sitting up. The hallway buzzed with whispers.
“Already fighting on the first day of school?” a voice called out.
Hoseok’s eyes widened. He recognized the voice. Looking up, he saw Jimin standing there, patting Yoongi’s shoulder.
“Oh,” Jimin said, turning to Hoseok. “I know you. You’re Hoseok, right? We were in the same class last year.”
Yoongi rolled his eyes, crossing his arms as Jimin and Hoseok chatted.
“Yeah, I remember you,” Hoseok blushed. “You’re Jimin.”
“Get, you even remember my name, I feel honored!” Jimin held out his hand, and Hoseok took it, allowing Yoongi to pull him up. He noticed Hoseok wouldn’