~Park Jimin~ "A 22-year-old boy residing in a modest village nestled in Busan, shares his home with his devoted mother, their lives coloured by the stark realities of poverty."
~Min Yoongi~ "In the heart of South Korea, Min Yoongi was not a typical...
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Time skip to night
Jimin tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep. His mind was a mess, filled with thoughts he didn’t want to have.
Did he eat?
He groaned, turning to the other side. "Why do I even care? He insulted me, treated me like shit, and I’m still thinking about him?" He clenched his jaw, trying to push the thoughts away.
But then he remembered Mrs. Min’s words—"He skips meals, Jimin. Please make sure he eats."
"Ughhh!" Jimin sat up in frustration, running a hand through his hair. "Why is this bothering me so much? It’s not like he’s a kid who needs to be taken care of!"
Still, the thought of Yoongi going to bed hungry left an annoying weight in his chest. He hated that he cared. He hated that he was even considering checking up on him after everything.
"No, I’m not doing this," he mumbled, lying back down and pulling the blanket over his head. "If he didn’t eat, it’s his own fault. He’s a grown-ass man, not my responsibility."
Closing his eyes tightly, he forced himself to sleep.
Whatever. It’s not my problem.
But deep down, he knew he wouldn’t stop thinking about it.
Yoongi hadn’t touched the food Jimin brought in the afternoon. He was too angry, too frustrated—at Jimin, at himself, at everything.
But as night fell and the mansion grew silent, that anger faded into something heavier. Guilt. Regret. A feeling he couldn’t name but hated.
Without thinking much, he made his way to the bar area of the mansion. It was a separate space, filled with expensive bottles of alcohol—whiskey, vodka, rum, all kinds of brands stacked neatly on the shelves. He grabbed a random bottle, poured himself a drink, and sat on the couch, staring blankly ahead.
His mind replayed everything—his cold words, Jimin’s anger, the way he stormed out. Yoongi ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "Fuck," he muttered before taking another sip.
One drink turned into two. Two into three. He kept drinking, hoping it would numb the emotions swirling inside him. But it didn’t. If anything, it made them louder.
"You don't know what people go through, Yoongi. Just because you had a shitty past doesn’t mean everyone else is walking on flowers."
Jimin’s words echoed in his head, hitting him harder with each drink. He leaned back on the couch, his vision blurring slightly.
He fucked up big time.
At some point, he lost track of time. The bottle was half-empty, his thoughts a mess, and before he knew it, sleep overtook him.
