Bulletproof ain't my type

Prologue

A/N
One Warning for the entire fic:
Yoongi is thirty years old - a full fledged adult.

Expect some shit.

🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶

It was an awfully bad day.

Me and Namjoon were scheduled to appear on a radio show. I had been on radio shows before. Speaking from my last experience, we were going to our own death. The twisting feeling in my gut was proven right when one of the veteran fuckers started making fun of our music. Namjoon was quiet on the way home, though his eyes were a little glassy. Fingers curling and uncurling in his lap in some form of controlled rage.

"These kind of things happen", I said, "they will keep happening over and over. We only need to turn a deaf ear to the bullshit, Joon-ah. They're not worth our peace of mind"

He sighed, nodding lightly before closing his eyes, head slumped back on the seat cushion. Namjoon has this habit of taking responsibility for anything even remotely related to our group. We were only rookies back then, barely eighteen months in the industry but he took our meagre reputation way too seriously. Contrary to first impressions, I realised he was a pretty sensitive guy. He stuck around for bangtan even when there were no members but him. All because of Bang pd's influence. That was some tough determination, but it also made one thing clear. He does what he feels is right, works on it, and if it were to so much as shake, he would be devastated. But he was not the oldest and neither was he alone - something I had to keep reminding him every now and again.
         It was late by the time we got to the dorm and I requested Sejin hyung to drive me to the company after dropping Namjoon off. I needed to calm my mind after the mental exhaustion of tonight's events. And for that, I needed music. Our studio was nothing impressive, but it had the necessary equipments and for that, I was thankful. Being duped and ripped off more times than you can count makes you thankful for little mercies such as two working bulbs that don't provide much light but enough to focus on my work without getting a headache. The heating system was down that particular day but at least I had a roof over my head. So I tucked my chin in the collar of my well-chosen jacket, and did what I do best: make music.

Anger is something that I had in abundance while I was a kid. Running away from your family's expectations, and an ample amount of regrets leaves you with a slow throbbing annoyance - an acceptance of your fate that is too strong to morph into actual boiling rage.

Until that fateful day.

I stifled a yawn, leaning back in my chair for the first time in two hours. It had taken that long to realise that I couldn't possibly work with my fingers freezing off from the cold. I had mixed feelings about the piece I was working on. Maybe it was the exhaustion of practice blended with the strain of today's show but the song turned out to be......disappointing.

Fuck the internal heating system for making this harder for me.

Despite my inner revelation of my seeming inability to feel rage, the song sounded downright angry. It felt like I was being cursed at by myself and maybe if I listened close enough, I would be able to decipher the swear words. The melody was haunting to my ears and I felt a surge of irritation for the third time today as I closed everything and decided to call it a night.

Stepping out into the cold, I wondered whether we had any instant food back at the dorm. Maybe Jin had cooked something for dinner and there would be leftovers. I thought about how much that depended on Namjoon's appetite but pushed the thought to the back of my brain. I was cold, hungry and in too crappy of a mood to think straight. I did not need any negative thoughts of starvation to drive me towards making stupid sleep-deprived decisions at twelve midnight. Oh, right. I was sleep deprived too. I swear, if Jin doesn't save me some-