tis the damn season (i'll be yours for the weekend) | taegi au

o1.

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The snow is melting on the streets, turning into a huge pool of gray mud and - at the same time - an illustration of Yoongi's current mood. He has to admit, he's never felt as connected to nature as he is now, jumping from one water-filled hole to another, his face hidden behind a scarf from cold and unpleasant wind (obvious 'fuck you' from the weather to the world). He could high-five Mother Earth for that, happy that at least she understands him and his discontent, the result of the last two days.

The last two days, for most people, meant Christmas, yet for Yoongi meant just forty-eight hours of his mother bothering him, his father criticizing him, and the rest of the family picking on him and questioning all of his words and decisions like somehow they knew his life better than Yoongi himself. They were right, most of the time, but he really didn't need to hear the list of his failures out loud thank you very much. Like just coming back to this shit-hole wasn't enough of a misery.

When he left a few years ago, he solemnly swore to never go back and he kept that promise until this year, when his dad got sick of the same excuse (the plane tickets were expensive and he was broke, that wasn't even much of a lie) and decided to bring him back, covering all expenses and not taking a 'no' for an answer.

Funny that he wasn't so generous when Yoongi wanted a new computer for his last birthday.

"Son, do you really have to stomp into every puddle you see?" Mrs. Min's words pull him out of his mind. The woman sighs with disapproval at the sight of her son's completely wet Nike's. "You do know that you're already twenty-five, right?"

"Actually I don't, so thanks for telling me" she doesn't look very amused with his sarcasm but what other answer has she expected out of him?

Truthfully, he's well aware of the years passing by. When he was younger (and even dumber than he is now) he thought that at this age he would already be Someone - someone important, someone recognized, someone that people talked about with admiration and even a small dose of bitter jealousy on their tongues. And yet, seven winters later, he is still working his ass off just to keep on floating. He still hasn't made it. He still hasn't made his parents proud.

He still hasn't proved his point.

Being in his hometown is a constant reminder of that fact and it stings like a bitch.

"Come on!" Mrs. Min grabs his arm and pulls him inside a supermarket, where according to her shopping list, she wants to buy enough food supplies to last them for the next three months. That's the only reason Yoongi decided to go with her - not wanting her to carry everything by herself, all in all, caring about the woman, even though most of the time she's a real pain in his ass.

He takes the cart and obediently follows, not even trying to listen to her talking about the freshness of vegetables or different kinds of laundry detergents. All he wants is to go back home and hide there till 2d January when the plane is going to take him back to LA. Sleeping in his old bedroom still feels kinda weird, but at the same time, it's the only space in the whole city where he feels like he can breathe again, without his lungs collapsing. He can't wait to go back and continue to work on a new song that's been keeping him awake for almost a month now. Four weeks ago he came up with a few first lines and he was sure it's gonna be "it". Now, he's questioning his whole existence every time he tries to write a chorus, words not flowing with him, every single one of them sounding infantile and cringe-worthy. Even the music, no matter how many times he changes the beat or the rhythm or just whatever, still feels off and wrong, and he can't remember the last time he had this much trouble finishing a piece.

He's starting to feel frustrated.

"Yoongi-hyung?" a familiar voice calls his name, so he turns abruptly, immediately recognizing the heart-shaped smile and shiny eyes he used to know so well.