The Shadow's Hold

The Meeting

Yoongi was miserable at the club. He hated people. Hated them. They were loud individuals, their hands intrusively touching you due to their inebriation, there was lack of personal space, lack of personal hygiene and irresponsible uncontrolled behaviour.

The only reason he found himself in such an environment was because his brother Seokjin was celebrating his 31st birthday.

When the techno music dropped, possessing everyone on the dance floor and seeing his brother enjoying himself, it was Yoongi's cue to flee the scene, desperate for silence, his beloved companion.

Trying to shelter himself from all the loudness of the club, he ended up in a tight corner thankfully being left alone, which allowed him to collect himself and study his surroundings to pass the time.

There were at least four groups of underage kids pretending to know how to behave as mature adults in society, people bluntly making out on the dance floor, someone high as a kite snogging a fire extinguisher and what he dreaded the most: the unwanted boring attention; always the same type of giggling, doe eyelash batting mating call behaviour towards him from every gender present.

Apparently it didn't matter how obviously uncomfortable he was, people wouldn't take a hint until he physically removed himself from the equation.

Going back to Yoongi's childhood, he grew up listening to family and strangers around him gush over his looks. Since he was a little boy, his momma would praise his beauty to everyone, acknowledging it as his best quality.

It was always the first thing she'd talk about as soon as the grownups would gather and the pissing contest would brew between them about their kids.

It felt nice /in the beginning/ to witness how proud his mom was of him and the way she'd hype him up, since it was also the /only/ time she showed any affection towards her son, but soon a much older Yoongi would comprehend it was the /only/ thing his momma saw worthy in him, his only good feature.

She made it clear when one day he overheard a conversation between his parents about his behaviour at school, and his mom didn't shy away from screaming his son wasn't good for anything but his looks, making him hate his appearance for quite a while.

That self load eventually dissipated, yet he still hated being praised for his beauty, which only got worse as he developed into adulthood.

It was still the first thing people saw, disregarding he was a full human being with so much more to give.

Inevitably, every single partner he had so far had coveted him in the beginning, amazed by his looks, only sticking around for the sex.

He was so fed up with 'one night stands'; he wanted something real, tangible, something durable. He was ready for the hard work, for the commitment, for the mutual sacrifices, he wanted a partner and not just in bed.

Meaningless sex had been his companion for far too long, and it wasn't even good sex. He was tired of catering wholeheartedly and never receiving the same attention, the same treatment, the same care.

—

In the club, while trying to abstract himself, he focused on the emotions people were portraying on the dance floor, the presumed fun side of hanging out in such a chaotic space, their quick senseless care-free silly uncoordinated movements, when he spotted a tiny commotion among the crowd from someone who was clearly /trying/ to escape it.

Apparently she was disturbing the vibe on the dance floor and people were giving her the side eye, not that she cared, she just wanted out; a feeling he distinctly related to!