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An hour and half later into his Music Theory class - still nothing. His notebook may be covered with chords and bars and lyrics, but they were useless if they couldn't be of any use.
What was he doing wrong? He's written all his music the same way - in his favourite music room - and he'd never had any problems then. Hell, he had produced some of his best works in that room. So why? What was so different now?
Jimin, his conscious offered.
Jimin? He thought to himself.
Jimin, his conscious repeated.
Well, it was true that ever since it was announced at the semi-finals that all musicians would have a dancer accompanying them, he has been on edge. He guessed he still was.
This time he had to write for someone other than just the judges. He had to write something that would suit Jimin; something that Jimin could easily dance along to, without the presence of those awkward movements that he often did when they practiced. It was those awkward movements that were a cause for concern.
It was clear that the pieces that he had produced so far were no good. They were no good and Yoongi didn't know how to change them, or what to even do to produce the perfect song for the younger. He was stumped. And he hated it. It has never happened in his twenty three years of existence; sure, there had been a few bumps here and there, but he'd always managed to get back on track after a few cups of coffee (that almost always helped, emphasis on: almost always), and it would be like nothing had happened.
Unfortunately, recently, that has not been the case, hence the "almost always". No matter how much caffeine he consumed, there was no helping him. There was no helping him, and Yoongi was probably screwed because he didn't know what he could do to get back on track now.
Maybe he could drop by Mr. Choi's office after class and see if he can help with his dilemma. Yeah, he'll do that. It would be better than wracking his brain for non-existent ideas.
A nudge to his side snapped him out of his train of thoughts, causing him to first wince in pain because ow - and second, to turn to the asshole who had nudged him because what the hell, man?
All his classmate did was point to the front of the lecture hall. Yoongi turned to see a very irked Mr. Lee, his arms crossed. Oh shit.
"Are you quite done with your daydreaming, Mr. Min?" The brown haired professor asked in that overly sweet tone he always addressed Yoongi with. Yoongi stayed silent because one thing he had learned about the elder, was that there was no use in trying to reason with the man, and if you did, then he was sure to make the rest of your years in university a living hell. "Good - now would you explain the term espressivo to the class, please?" He may have said "please", but they all knew that it was sarcasm.
