𝔸𝕔𝕣𝕠𝕤𝕤 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕥

eighteen

(Yoongi was a good child. He only ever spoke when he was spoken to. Got spectacular grades and especially propelled in the art department. He was well-mannered and respectful, never starting any arguments, never talking back. Yoongi was a good child.

Yoongi was sad, though. He felt as if he didn't have a voice. That he had to blindly follow what his parents demanded he do without questioning it. His parents wanted him to take over the family business. Yoongi didn't know what he wanted but he knew that it was anything but that. Anytime Yoongi did do what he wanted to do, like when he skipped tuition to hang out with his friends instead, he always got berated. His parents would threaten to throw him out, all the while Yoongi was trying to figure out how they found out in the first place. Yes. Yoongi was sad.

But then came his rebellious phase. Where he wouldn't wash off his drawn-on tattoos before coming home, would constantly skip tuition and found himself failing classes he had no interest in. Instead of nurturing this behaviour and teaching the child right from wrong like normal parents would do in this situation, Yoongis mother and father took it upon themselves to beat the boy black and blue. Claiming it would teach him respect. They were wrong, however. Every time a new bruise bloomed, easy to see on his pale skin, Yoongi grew more and more resentful of his family. But they were paying for his university, so all he could do was sit tight and take it.

The last straw? Graduation day. The university Yoongi was attending seemed to love competition, so they didn't announce who was valedictorian until after the students collected their diplomas. He was up against Park Jimin. His worse nemesis.

Throughout all of high school and university, Yoongi didn't actually hold any grudges toward Park Jimin. It was just fun to tease the guy. But, as he stood on stage, in Yoongis place, holding the award that Yoongi should've been holding, giving the speech that Yoongi had prepared. The older boy felt hatred begin to form.

"It's not that serious!" Claimed the fake-blonde boy. Oh, but it was that serious. Because when he walked up to his parents, they did not say a word to him. All they did was walk up to the student with the highest grades and congratulate them. That student just so happened to be Park Jimin. From that day forward Yoongi swore to despise that man for the rest of both of their lives.

When they arrived home, the shouting was almost unbearable. Yoongi was told he was useless, an idiot, unworthy, dead to them. And when the ache of the bruises reached its peak, Yoongi decided enough was enough. He snuck out the next day and got his first real tattoo.

When his parents found out, they also decided enough was enough.)

"Yoongi-ah, we've missed you."

"Why the fuck are you in my house?"

His mother giggled, Yoongi had never heard such a sound leave her lips. She stood, leaving where she previously sat on the cream-coloured couch. Walking up to her son with her heels clicking loudly even on the carpeted floor. They hadn't even taken their shoes off. "Yoongi-ah, that's no way to speak to the people who raised you, hm?" The woman reached out to try and pinch his cheek, in a way that would suggest that they had a playful, easy-going relationship.

That was not the relationship they had.

Yoongi pushes her hand away before it could make contact. Clenching his teeth to control his words, the black-haired man takes a deep breath. "This is my property. You're intruding. Get out." Yoongi's surprised that he's able to keep his composure. If they were speaking to a younger him, it would be screaming; swearing; punching. He's come a long way.

His mother only sighs like he's still a child that'll 'understand when he's older.' That makes him unreasonably vexed. She walks back to the couch, deciding to let his father take the lead. "My son, take a seat." He gestures to the identical couch parallel to the one they are sitting on. Yoongi would much rather spit on his father than listen to another one of his orders. But he's trying to be civil. So he complies.

Face to face with his parents, Yoongi realizes that this is not a sight he is foreign to.

("My son, take a seat."

It was results day. The final exams for high school were tough, but Yoongi's confident he achieved highly. He sits parallel to his parents who hold the precious card currently encased in a brown envelope. Anticipation fills the young boys heart as his father slowly tears the envelope open and slides out the report. The back of the paper is a stark white and Yoongi wishes it was double-sided so he could see his grades as well.

Silence spills into the room until it's suffocating. Just when Yoongi opens his mouth to ask what he got, his father speaks first. "You passed every subject." Yoongi was probably imagining it, but he's sure he heard some fondness slip into his father's words and the boy smiles wide.

"I worked really ha-"

"I don't see any A stars, though?"

Yoongi slams his mouth shut. He was sure he would at least get an A star in art. Perhaps he was too sure of himself. "But... Dad, plain A's are still good..." His father's eyes snap up to his, looking ominous behind the thin frames of his glasses. "You could've done better." He states simply, like it wasn't equivalent to a knife twisting straight through his heart. Yoongi knows better than to talk back, though. "okay..." His voice is small.

The man places the report card flat on the table before standing up. "Next time, don't disappoint me. Plain A's are not good enough." And then he disappears from Yoongis view, into the darkness of the house. His mother looks at him disdainfully, red lips curling into a frown and styled eyebrows furrowed down. "We expected more from you, Yoongi-ah.")

Yoongi suddenly remembers how much he hates the people sitting across from him.