~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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Jimin stepped closer to Yoongi’s desk, his fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of his glittery pink shirt. His brows were furrowed in confusion and concern as he looked at Yoongi, who was now seated silently behind his desk, flipping through some papers that he clearly wasn’t reading.
“Hyung…” Jimin’s voice was soft, tentative. “What happened? Why are you ignoring me like this?”
Yoongi didn’t respond at first, his jaw tight, his eyes pointedly avoiding Jimin’s face. Jimin moved around the desk, slowly approaching him, trying to catch his gaze.
“Hyung,” he said again, a little firmer this time.
That’s when Yoongi finally stood up, pushing the chair back with a scrape. His eyes met Jimin’s, dark and stormy, filled with restrained emotions. Before Jimin could say another word, Yoongi stepped closer and gripped his arms—not too hard, but firm enough that Jimin flinched at the suddenness.
“I’m not ignoring you, Jimin,” Yoongi said, his voice low and shaky with frustration. “You were ignoring me for the last two weeks.”
Jimin blinked, stunned. “What…? No, that’s not—”
“That day when that boy—Jihoon—came to your house, you completely shut me out,” Yoongi continued, cutting him off. “You didn’t even look at me properly. You just forgot that I was sitting there only. I thought maybe I was overreacting, so the next day I waited. I thought you’d call. Text. Anything. But there was nothing.”
His grip tightened just slightly on Jimin’s arms, his face twisting with hurt. “Do you even know how many times I checked my phone that day? How many times I wanted to show up at your place and demand an explanation? But I didn’t. I told myself maybe I was being stupid. Maybe you just needed space.”
Jimin looked down, lips parted in guilt, but he couldn’t find the words.
“So I tried,” Yoongi said, his voice softer now but full of pain. “I told myself I’d come to see you and talk things out. But when I did, you told me you were going to Jihoon’s place.”
Yoongi let out a bitter chuckle, stepping back and finally letting go of Jimin’s arms.
“And then you just disappeared. Two days later, I found out from the news that you went to Paris. Without saying a word. Without meeting me. Without even a goodbye. Not one call, not one text. You stayed there a whole week, Jimin.”
He turned away, breathing shakily, trying to calm the storm inside him.
“You had time to go to clubs. Dance. Laugh. Be happy. With him.” He turned back, eyes narrowing slightly. “But no time for me. Not even a message to ask how I was doing. Nothing.”
Jimin’s eyes were glossy now, lips trembling as he took a step forward. “Hyung… it’s not what you think—”
“Then what is it?” Yoongi snapped, his voice barely louder than a whisper, but laced with raw pain. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like Jihoon is more important to you than I am.”
