Seven Things I Hate About You

0.2 | Cats and Pianos

I hate the way you watch

Min Yoongi wasn't a mean person, he just had a mean face. So when the teen girl wandered into his music class and plopped in the seat next to him, he wondered what made her so, different. What girl would want to talk to him? What girl would find him interesting?

They never talked, but sometimes they would pass pencils, share books, notes, food, all in silence. Yoongi always stared at her, her briliant blue hair and shining violet eyes. She was different, so quiet, so sad, he wondered where she came from, where she'd been.

The girl had a name, but he never knew what it was. He was always half asleep during role call. He wondered if her name was as beautiful as her, as he stared at her in art, she doodled violets on her paper. The outline of a flower shop.

How strange. Strange she was, he called her stranger with his friends, told them that she was beautiful, and cold, like a statue in some long forgotten temple. He didn't know, he didn't want to know, who she used to be. He only wanted to know who she was now.

So he tried. He never talked to her, but he pieced together a picture of what he wanted her to be. He used to draw her features, sharp but soft, like a cat, like him. In his mind, she was a twisted version of himself. Little did he know she watched him too. Seething in silence as he played the piano in the music room.

And for a year, she stayed, haunting the halls with her presence, drifting, like a flower in the breeze. She flowed from room to room, flitted from person to person, she smiled, but she never talked. Never. The teachers didn't call on her, ever. Yoongi was left to wonder why.

He loved her in the wrong way, watching her like one might watch over the edge of a cliff, debating if they should jump. He wanted to jump into a conversation with her, but he never did. On the last day that she was in his town, he played the piano.

His fingers danced over the keys, filling the room with a melancholy song of infatuation with a certain violet eyed girl. And that's how they found him. Blood, spilling over the previously pure white keys. Slumped over them in a sort of violent incarnation of who he once was, and a single letter, v, carved into his chest.