peach | yoonmin

five.

WOW AN UPDATE THAT ISN'T HAPPENING PAST 11PM

oh oh, quick note - thank you for 1.5k followers, wow?? that's hella cool

____

Yoongi gazes through the large window, one hand clutching a hardcover book to his waist and the other ghosting its fingertips against the glass. With hooded eyes, he watches the rain pelt against pavement, only visible by the glow of the streetlights.

He should've known not to walk here. That was pretty stupid of him.

Besides his intelligence, (or lack thereof) he does know one thing - he does not want to spend the next twenty minutes getting drenched by the pouring rain just so he can get home. If there's anything he hates in this world, it's trying to squeeze himself out of wet jeans.

Feeling defeated, his first response is to trudge back to the faded red couch by the shelves, sitting down on the arm and staring around at books and computers and lights. As if maybe, if he did it long enough, he'd spot a magic carpet or a flying car to bring him home.

Don't get him wrong - he likes it here. He's probably spent hours curled up in the corner or staring at the little fish tank that sits on the table near the nonfiction books. The place is quiet, comforting, and nobody feels the need to bug him, save for the occasional child tugging on his pants (he has no clue why they find him anything but scary, but kids rarely make sense to him, so he lets it be).

Today is different. Today, it's safe to say it's late, at least for a working guy who never has any plans and is in his bed nightly by 10PM. Today, the existence of time hadn't occurred to him in over several hours, and when it finally did, it was already raining like the clouds were trying to punish the pavement.

His stomach makes a strange noise, one that's loud and sounds damn close to something out of a zombie movie, and he groans quietly to himself. Not only is he here past the daylight hours, he hasn't eaten dinner yet. And it's just past eight.

"You're here late," a voice comments nearby, and he turns his head to see a familiar face, pink lipstick accenting her dark, silky hair.

"Yeah," he mutters, looking down at the cover of the book in his hands, half-pretending to study it. There's some over-the-top quote about wine at the bottom. "I walked here," he adds as a way of explanation.

"Ah, I see," the girl says softly, nodding her head. "Well, that's not good."

"Nope."

He looks again at the window. The rain's not letting up by any stretch of the imagination. From the looks of it, if he doesn't try and do something, he could be here until closing time.

"Hey, you should probably get off there," he hears from the front desk, her tone gentle like always. "Hwasa will scold you again."

Yoongi shrugs. It's not like he cares. If he had a nickel for every time he's been scolded by Hwasa, he'd have enough money to buy this place new couches, nice enough that he'd feel obligated not to sit on the arms.

His stomach growls again, making him rub his eyes with the heels of his hands.

I need food.

As he pulls his phone from his pocket, he brainstorms candidates. That's what he's going to call people who might be willing to pick him up from the library, which he realizes is such a lame sentence. For someone in his twenties, he acts like a middle-aged mom who watches Grey's Anatomy and drinks too much wine. All he needs now is a minivan for his hypothetical three kids.