shattered

chapter 10

Yoongi POV

She looks at me expectantly; but I don't want to tell my story. She's going to judge me. Everyone judges me.

My whole life is a series of people judging me. My ability to rap, sing, dance, compose, write lyrics. The outfits I wear, my attitude... everything. Everything about me is looked at beneath a microscope and I'm judged for every small action I make.

Some days... some days I want to tell them all to fuck the hell off. I don't need their judgements and their opinions.

You want Mint Yoongi? I want to sleep. I want to sleep for a whole day. With no interruptions. I want to rest. I want to relax. I want to make my music. I want to have no one looking over my shoulder asking me when this or that will be finished; and, can I do this for them? No. No, I don't want to do that. I want to sleep.

I rub at the back of my neck. Knowing I have to talk to her. Knowing I have to share my story.

I want to talk to her, and at the same time I don't. I don't want her to be just another person who judges me.

A sigh escapes me, she's still looking at me, I can feel her eyes on my face, studying me. I know I need to start talking. It's starting to feel awkward.

"Um... well."

Shit. How do I even start this?

"Well, you.. you know I'm in the group BTS right?" My eyes flick to look at her. She nods her head. Of course she knows who BTS is. Everyone knows who BTS is.

Although she hasn't asked me anything about BTS since I've been here. Others have, and I've brushed them off. I'm not here with BTS; and if anyone says anything about me being here, BigHit will take them to court.

"So you probably know most of my story then." I say with a shrug.

She looks at me in disbelief. "Excuse me?"

"My story has been told in articles. So, I don't need to tell you anything. You would have read them. So you know that I have suffered from depression for years. That I wrote songs about it."

She scoffs at me. She scoffed at me? She doesn't think that is the truth? She's judging me now. I feel her judgemental gaze.

"If you think what someone wrote in an article about you tells me your whole story... you're an idiot."

She's so annoyed with me. Why can't she let it drop? What they wrote is the truth. Why do I have to repeat myself?

"Theres more to your story than what someone wrote. What they write doesn't actually tell me who you are. How you felt. What you experienced." Her voice is getting louder with each word.

Her frustration with me is evident in every movement, every word. I've disappointed her. I disappoint everyone. I'm never fucking good enough.

She wants to know who I am? I don't think I even know who I am anymore. I'm Suga, the savage member of BTS. I'm Agust D, the hard core rapper spitting out words like fire. I'm Min Yoongi, the lonely man who has depression. I'm not sure which one of them is the real me anymore.

I grit my teeth, "Fine. I'll tell you my story."

Night is kissing the sky by the time we are finished. I kept my eyes on her the whole time. Looking for judgement. Looking for her resentment, but it wasn't there.

There was nothing. No judgement. No scoffing. No utter disbelief.

She gave me compassion. She gave me hope.

She gave me understanding.