Drugs- Yoongi [18+]

2

"M-Ming." She watched as her brother stumbled through that front door of their home. Able to smell the scent of alcohol so heavy on his clothes as she noticed the sweat that caressed the length of his neck. Making the woman feel both that hurt and irritation toward the man. Because she had watched him. Watched him do this so many times.

And she wanted. Wanted to so badly tell him to get his shit together. To yell at him. To express all that pent up irritation so deep within her being. Yet she couldn't. Couldn't lash out. Couldn't do anything more than feel every ounce of that hurt. Because it did hurt. Hurt to see the man self destructing. Hurt to see the man living a life so pathetic.

However, all that came was him laying back onto his bed. Leading to the girl following suit behind him, only to take off his shoes. Earning that slurred g-goodnight, the second she could do so much as let the door fall shut behind her, in which she felt those tears brim her eyes. Her eyes that were met with him the second the girl walked into her classroom the next day. Even if she didn't speak. Didn't do anything more than take her seat, in which she looked the single window lying next to her. Completely ignoring her thoughts about her brother. . . who she was watching completely fall apart.

Yet it was than that she felt that hand come against her shoulder. Having made the woman instantly snap her head over at the man sitting beside her with that scoffed what. Leading to him jerking his head over at the single professor who had asked the woman a question.

And all that came was that soft I'm sorry from the girl who Yoongi couldn't help but smirk at. Leaning back into his seat just enough to get a good look at all of her as she spoke to that single professor. Noticing every detail of the girl who's hair stopped right at her chin and who's lips were paired in that red lipstick that had him ever so attracted to the girl. Holding that intimidation to herself that he himself. . . held so well.

"Stop staring at me." She could feel his eyes on her. Making her peer back at the man with that scoff, only to earn no more than his eyes along her body. Because the man didn't care. Didn't care to be blatant. Didn't care to be an asshole.

"It's not my fault you look good, baby—"

"Don't fucking call me that—"

"Then what would you like me to call you, baby—"

"I already told you that I don't do drugs." She was quick to cut him off. Completely disregarding the fake flirting pairing with that snugness from the man who she watched push his tongue against the inside of his cheek. Holding that demeanor to himself that'd make other so on edge when around the man.

"Who said anything about drugs, baby? Huh? You know if you want to try anything you can just ask." Yet all that came was that scoffed laughter from the girl who already had herself stood up. Uncaring whether or not the lecture was done as she looked down at the one man who's eyes were already trained on each inch of her frame. Having earned that glare so heavy from the one girl he watched leaved. And the one girl he knew. . . he'd make crack.