Chapter Text
The class was extremely boring, Yoongi has never been so bored in his entire life. Or at least that’s what he thought. He pretended to be engrossed in his books while scrolling on his phone under the wooden desk. And before long he was about to feel some harsh repercussions.
“Min Yoongi!” his teacher threw him a pointed look, “what is so important that it can’t wait to be resolved after class?”
Literally everything, the boy thought sourly but decided to keep his mouth shut. Instead, he smiled and shoved his phone back into his backpack. It was clear that Ms. Tang didn’t want to lose any more precious time by the idle chat, because she turned around and continued her presentation.
Yoongi huffed, annoyed. Why couldn’t everyone just give him a break? This was pointless, life was pointless. He waited until the teacher was occupied with explaining an equation to a girl in the front row, rolling up his exercise book and silently hitting the boy sleeping soundly on a closed notebook across the aisle.
“Namjoon,” he hissed, “fuck, do you have my homework?”
His friend blinked, eyes wandering about the classroom walls. Yoongi didn’t hit hard enough. Namjoon frowned in disbelieve, slowly coming to his senses.
“Why would I have it?” he whispered loud enough for everyone to hear, grinning smugly as he noticed Yoongi’s alarmed face.
Right, why would he have it? He wasn’t the one doing homework for the bratty boy. Where was Jimin? Where was Yoongi’s boy toy when he needed him the most?
Yoongi’s stare fell upon the empty seat in front of him. Maybe he overdid it with the punishment yesterday? But had needed the essay urgently and the younger boy didn’t deliver. Maybe he was a bit harsh, yeah, that might be it. Jimin will shake it off and return to school in no time surely. After all, having no one to play with was so boring.
“You suck,” he whispered into Namjoon’s ear and tried to kick his shin.
His friend just tutted, a mischievous grin on his flawless face. “Don’t touch me, Yoon, or I’ll beat you to a pulp.”
And Yoongi knew he could, he knew he would, and so he moved his chair further away and focused on the tips of his worn-out sneakers.
.
His life continued to be boring; he came home to an empty house and returned to school void of any emotion. Yoongi felt like a robot, he just couldn’t find the will to care about his mental health slowly rotting to nil. Days were the same and his grades were slowly deteriorating. It’s been three months, Jimin hasn’t returned still.
“Right, cigarettes,” Yoongi muttered as he got off the bus, heading towards a nearby newsagent.
And during his walk there he had to stop several times, fighting a coughing fit. He really should slow down on the cancer sticks. But why? He thought right after. Life is boring anyways.
“That’s alright,” someone spoke up from behind him. “I can manage myself.”
Yoongi ducked his head, inadvertently speeding up. Was that –
“But you can’t!”
A woman’s voice cut through the still air and Yoongi almost froze to the spot. She seemed frustrated, angered even. He didn’t have to think twice as he took a sharp turn to the right, stepping onto the grass lining the pavement and hiding behind the bushes.
He scrunched his nose, so his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him, it indeed was Jimin. But he was different, he was… Yoongi held his breath, a wave of nausea overtaking him. He was in a wheelchair, body fixed firmly in place with several straps and buckles. What happened to him while he was gone? Yoongi sat on the ground, pulling his knees to his chest and resting his chin on top of them.
Was it his fault?
And suddenly his mind was reeling. He regressed to all those times he had hurt the boy, physically or verbally. What if he was the one that caused him to be like this? What if Jimin finally broke, doing something to himself –
Oh god, no, he didn’t mean to, he didn’t want to, he was just…
Yoongi was just extremely bored. He was bored and lonely. A void appeared within his heart, a void which compelled him to think that nothing really mattered. He clutched his chest, taking shallow breaths a crumbling down to the grass, his body filling with guilt. His eyes stared numbly into the gray sky and his mouth was suddenly dry.
Why was he feeling for the other boy? They were never friends; they were never even close. Yoongi just used him as a pass time activity. So, he did have feelings, Yoongi still had feelings. And he felt horrible. He scrambled to his feet, rubbing his face to wipe away the tears.
Get your shit together, he reprimanded himself, stepping back onto the pavement.
He forgot about the cigarettes.
.
“Yoon, you’re late!” Namjoon shouted from his backseat where he was participating in an origami contest with Jin.
They did that every day and Namjoon never won. Jin wasn’t particularly good at it either and Yoongi just failed to understand the point of the whole thing. He muttered a quick hello and slumped onto his seat.
He sat there for a while, eyes lingering on the vacant stool in front of him. “Jimin,” he blurted suddenly, inviting unwanted attention. “He –, he’s still not here?”
“Ugh,” Namjoon grunted as his bird unfolded into a crumpled piece of paper. “I miss him too, no one handles my jabs as well as he does.”
Those words hit harder than they should’ve. Yoongi stilled, realizing that Jimin was nothing but a punching bag to him and his friends for all these years. He did have friends, but they were gradually shunned away by fear of becoming the next target.
The class was over in a nick of time and Yoongi was hastily picking himself up to storm out of the room, leaving confused expressions in his wake. He almost ran, cutting corners towards the cafeteria, heart beating in his chest as if he had just finished a marathon. He wasn’t gonna let himself cry. Not over something so trivial.
Trivial?
Why was he feeling this guilt? Why now? Oh please, it was clear as a day, this wasn’t guilt, it was pity. Suddenly he came to a halt, almost tripping over his own feet.
“Jimin,” he breathed, eyes wide.
And the boy cowered in his seat, shielding his face with his arms. He expected to be hit, his basic instincts activating the urge to protect himself. Fear took over his features and Yoongi knew he would run away if that was a possibility. But it wasn’t and so they just stood there, voiceless. Jimin was pale, paler than Yoongi has ever seen him. Not that he cared enough to notice, but it was too obvious not to. His cheeks weren’t as round as they used to be either and his eyes… Yoongi gulped, blinking rapidly as to disperse the tears that were threatening to escape. Jimin’s eyes were empty. There was no pain, no happiness, no nothing.
“I –,” he choked, and he wanted to apologize.
A switch inside him went off, releasing all of his emotions at once, leaving him exhausted and confused. He didn’t know why he cared all of a sudden, he just knew that he did and that he would much rather have that boredom than this pain.
“Um, sorry,” Yoongi whispered eventually, stepping aside. “Go ahead.”
A light crease appeared between Jimin’s brows, almost as if he was awaiting some kind of a prank. But it didn’t come and so he grasped the wheels of his wheelchair and disappeared behind the corner.
That day, Yoongi ate his sandwich alone, wetting it with tears and throwing half of it away because he just didn’t have the energy to finish it.
.
“What’s up with the Park boy being in a wheelchair?” Namjoon questioned without any real concern in his voice. “It’s no fun beating up someone who’s already on the ground.”
Jin nodded, crumpling the piece of paper he was holding in his hands and throwing it straight to the bin on the other side of the classroom. A few cheers erupted in the first row, acknowledging Seokjin’s throwing skills.
The seat in front of Yoongi remained empty. Was he not coming back? Did he switch classes? Thoughts like these were occupying his mind more and more with every passing day.
What if it was because of him?
He had no time to ponder that any further, because the door opened, and a tall woman entered the classroom. It was the woman Yoongi saw with Jimin on his way to the newsagents. She looked very pretty with her auburn hair cascading down her back in subtle waves, with her pink lips and thin nose, with those remarkably long legs…
Yoongi averted his gaze, feeling somewhat improper.
“Substitute teacher?” Namjoon gaped, his expression filling with elation. “That’s sick! She’s hot!”
She was hot, but Yoongi just couldn’t bring himself to share Namjoon’s excitement. His chest still throbbed with an unknown pain. Deep down he knew how to treat that pain, but he didn’t dare to put those thoughts into action.
The woman disappeared again, distressed look on her flawless face. She was arguing with someone behind the door, and the only one that came to Yoongi’s mind in that very moment was –
“Oh, Jimin, come on!” she snapped suddenly, her heels clapping on the tiled floor with steely resolve. Seconds later, a boy in a wheelchair was forcefully pushed into the room, lower lip jutted out, clearly showing his unwillingness to even be there.
Yoongi’s hands balled into fists and he nervously shifted in his seat. The whole class fell silent, all eyes on the newcomers. Jimin gulped, taking in all that was happening, and hanging his head in something akin to shame. Why shame? Yoongi was the one that should feel ashamed. Yoongi was the one that pulled the boy through hell and back. He was the one that managed to break him.
“Where’s the essay? For fucks sake, Jimin, do you think I was just joking around?” He grabbed the boy’s wrist, yanking him up to a standing position.
Jimin’s face was stained with tears and his lips were quivering as he braced himself for another hit. Yoongi smirked, gripping his other hand and pinning him to the lockers.
“Look at me, dog,” he whispered sweetly, their faces closer than what was acceptable. “I negotiated two more days for myself to submit that essay. Bring it to school tomorrow, Namjoon is not as nice as I am.”
And with that he dropped the boy, letting him slide to the ground with a painful growl. He didn’t turn around to see him curl up into himself, wrenching with sobs. He was too bored to care.
“Yoongi – ssi,” the woman brought him out of his musings. How did she know his name anyway?
“Y – yes?!” he stuttered, jumping in his seat.
“Could you please move your desk a bit? You know,” she hesitated, “so the wheelchair can fit.”
Was Jimin mute as well? Couldn’t he speak for himself?
Yoongi nodded nevertheless, getting up and pulling the piece of furniture out of the way.
“Do you,” a thick lump appeared in his throat and he almost couldn’t finish the sentence. “Do you need help?”
The woman smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Oh, that would be –”
“No,” Jimin’s voice was stern and uncompromising as he spoke up. “I can handle myself.”
He really was quite adept at handling the wheelchair. After all, it was Jimin, the smartest and fastest to learn basically anything. He backed into the free space without any hassle whatsoever.
“You can go, Ji-eun,” he spoke monotonously, waving her off.
Suddenly, Yoongi was reminded of himself. The numbness of Jimin’s voice, the emptiness in his eyes, it all reminded him of the boredom he used to feel his whole life just until recently. Where did it go? Did he pass it onto Jimin? The boy felt foreign, almost as if Yoongi has never seen him before.
He needed to apologize.
But for what? How? It’s been so many years of constant mistreatment and now that Jimin appeared again, strapped to a wheelchair and with a look of resignation on his face, Yoongi would go and say sorry? That wouldn’t be a good look. He didn’t pity Jimin, he was just… made aware. He realized his mistakes as he saw the sudden vulnerability in the boy’s eyes.
The class started and for once, Yoongi wasn’t bored. He was looking at the boy’s nape, the smooth freshly cut hair, the pale milky skin moving as he craned his neck to relieve tension. Everything slowed down and suddenly it was just the two of them. Yoongi wanted to say something, completely forgetting they weren’t alone. He wanted to run his fingers through that smooth hair. He wanted to –
“Min Yoongi!”
A piece of chalk was thrown in his direction and Yoongi flinched as it hit the table. The whole class turned to look at him and all of a sudden, he felt very small, almost improper.
“Can you pay attention?” the teacher asked. “For once?”
It was a rhetorical question. Yoongi kept quiet.
.
“Hey, Jimin!”
Jin quickened his pace to catch up with the boy in a wheelchair. Out of the evil trio, he was the least insufferable and so Jimin reluctantly grunted in acknowledgement.
“What happened to you?” Seokjin continued in an upbeat manner, pacing with a slight swing of his hips. “You seem kinda different?”
Jimin snorted, squinting his eyes and finally looking up. “Kinda different?” he mocked, “Is this how your ‘kinda’ looks like?” And he motioned towards his unmoving legs. “Don’t fuck with me Seokjin, I won’t let anyone fuck with me anymore.”
“That’s a little bit too late,” the older boy retaliated with a smirk. “I see you’ve been fucked up enough already.”
“I swear to god I’ll –”
And Jimin wanted to sound tough, he did, but his voice broke at the end of the sentence, revealing his inner emotions. He choked on his words, tears threatening to overflow.
“Jin.”
Both boys turned around to see Yoongi coming up towards them, boots hitting the tiled floor in a steady rhythm. He stopped a few meters away, eyes searching for something in the distance, reluctant to look them in the face.
“Stop that –”
“Shut up,” Jimin suddenly snapped, rubbing his face with the sleeves of his sweater. “I can fend for myself, so shut the fuck up.”
Yoongi’s jaw dropped slightly, he was so stunned that he wasn’t able to let out another word. Jimin sniffled and started moving, leaving the two boys behind.
“What was that?” Seokjin spun on the ball of his foot to throw an accusatory stare at his younger friend. “Have you just,” he paused, smirking, “defended the cripple boy?”
“And what if I did,” Yoongi gritted through clenched teeth. “Something lifechanging has happened to him, and I don’t mean lifechanging in a good way. Have you got no sense of –”
“Yoon,” for the first time in a while, Jin’s voice carried an undertow of seriousness in it. “You,” he took a step closer and poke the other boy in the chest, “have no right to say anything like this. You were the worst.”
And with those words he left him stand there. Speechless and with a heavy heart.