How It All Started [A BTS Fanfic]

♥: II

He didn't like it at all when he found out he had fifteen missed calls from his mother. Like all other mothers out there, Mrs. Min was also one worried and naggy one. Yoongi sighed, as he parked his black sleek Porsche in the Min estate. It was a burning hot day, and Yoongi was exhausted from miles of continous driving. His muscles ached painfully, throat parched like a desert, begging for a cold drink. The thick smell of worn-out rubber was almost suffocating. He hated driving, so much. He had no other choice but involuntarily drove home, already missing his new 'friend'. He smiled tiredly at the thought as he got out the car and locked it. He headed towards the massive white bricked mansion, and a few maids ushered him in. He was greeted by a rush of cool breeze once he stepped foot inside, fanning against his pale face and gently playing with his dyed cotton candy tinted strands of hair.

He could hear laughter and chatter coming from the lounge room, and he handed his black knapsack to one of the maids before curiously sauntering to the largest room in the mansion. It was rare, his mother rarely had guests over mainly because she kept most things to herself and her only son after Yoongi's father passed away, and that's where people came in and fucking jumped into conclusions, saying Yoongi was exactly as rogue as his mother. He deeply despised people talking shit about his mom, his family, but mostly about his mom behind his back just because they were the richest on the block. He could practically hear them crystal clear as day, but he turned the deaf ear. After all, nobody wanted trouble.

He waltzed in the lounge room, and a middle aged lady sitting on a plump one-seater couch was chatting away with his mom. She had greying hair that she tucked away behind her ear, and the clothes she wore showed she was no ordinary woman. Her posture was straight and flawless, her fingers curled elegantly around a china tea cup said otherwise. "Yoongi! Welcome back!" His mom greeted him when she saw him come in, and patted the space beside her sofa. "How was your mixtape you were working on? And please do sit and meet a dear friend of mine, Mrs. Jung!" She blabbed, and Yoongi bowed at the woman before scooting to sit at the tight gap of space. "It's okay mom, I just need to send my tape to Coolio then we could get recorded on the song." Yoongi mumbled, and his mother nodded. "My, your son is all grown up now, he is actually looking the same age as my son." Mrs. Jung chuckled airily, completely ignoring the previous topic. "And where is he?" Yoongi's mom asked, taking a sip of her tea.
"Out working..."

"Working? And what for? I thought he just needed to inherit your husband's firm?"

"Yes, I already told him that a thousand times... but he was just too stubborn. He wanted to try out as a barista, and now he's somewhere working for nothing at the small cafe around the block..."

Yoongi's ears perked up at this. Could it be...? No, it couldn't be. It was impossible. Yoongi mentally shook his head at the silly thought. But still, chances might be possible. J-Hope was no where near the word 'elegance', but neither was Yoongi.

"Oh, my son is taking up music. Rap, to be more specific!"

Yoongi sighed, a small puff of air escaping the pillowed confines of his pink lips. Yes, he wanted to become a rapper, he was kind of glad his dad didn't leave a work firm for him.

"Oh, but didn't your husband leave him a task job before passing on?"

"No... he sold it off... and I'm not completely against my son's dreams either..."

A smirk etched into Yoongi's lips. Of course, nobody wanted to see him in a crisp suit and working in an office, typing his work dripped fingers away.

"Whatever. Nothing will do him good anyways." Mrs. Jung took another sip of her tea, and raised a perfectly penciled eyebrow. Yoongi frowned at this. Nobody wanted a job with no dream behind it. But rapping and music making, had been Yoongi's dream ever since who knows when. And now he only had one step left to his dream, he worked hard for this.