You and Taehyung shared a love story for two years until you break up. You thought nobody could replace him until Yoongi -the guy you hate the most- asks you to tutor him in English, messing your life up: love can come from nothing, without rhyme or...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Prologue | So... are you in?
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Most guys with the ugliest personality you have ever met have pretty eyes, and so does Min Yoongi.
They are small and droopy, with a particular triangular shape, contoured by imperceptible eyelashes. A pair of coffee-irises that reminds you of cold winter evenings spent in your bedroom, hot chocolate and books, fuzzy socks moving at rhythm with music... and that now stare back at you without the slightest trace of regret.
It's a kind of look he never gave you and that makes your heart flip-flop.
Yoongi's heavy and fast breath breaks the silence settled upon you, the perfect sound to describe the oddness of this very moment -the most unimaginable bracket of your existence so far, as Namjoon would say.
You swallow, and the awkward, a little sweet flavor at the back of your throat makes you think of Jungkook's words. Suddenly, a well-deserved punch in your stomach for all those times you deliberately ignored them: all the people who touch your life have a sense, even if they do it for barely one second. It's up to you to find their meaning.
Inevitably, this brings you immediately to another question.
The question, actually.
The one that will turn upside-down all your opinions and certainties, that won't make you sleep, that will pop out when you least expect it, and will make you see everything from another perspective. The one that you've always pushed aside because, hey, it's Min Yoongi, after all -you know, the idiot par excellence.
It's already there, vague and shapeless, and slowly but surely it'll infect your mind.
A persistent knock on the laundry door, followed by a harsh "Open, now!" swirls back the haze you both were floating in.
You shift your stare from Yoongi's dilated pupils full of sparks to his worn out body, resting against the washing machine. Your heart races noticeably faster in your ribcage now that you've to deal with the consequences of your actions: pulled up shirt, spread legs, boxers with cute tiny teddy bears slipped down enough to see his limp dick still wet...
