Chapter Text
Yoongi yawns.
He stretches languidly, his arms over his head, shirt moving up, revealing his kittenish-pale belly to... well, to no-one! That’s the beauty of his studio: in his lair he’s alone, all alone!
Oh! Glorious, lonely silence! Oh! Blessed absence of screeching laughter, high-pitched screams from all parts of the house! Yoongi revels in being delivered from the never-ending, incessant and insufferable stream of adamant hyung! hyung! look at this strawberry that looks exactly like PD-nim! Hyung, can you tie my shoe, I accidentally taped my hands together! Where are my red raccoon socks? Hyungggg do you think I can keep this silverfish in a jar and call it Jarvis? ( - Taehyung, dangling the creature five centimeters from Yoongi’s eyes while he was trying to sleep, for fuck's sake).
So… Yes, ‘twas a genius move to come to the Genius Lab on the day before Christmas.
The mayhem in the dorm had even been worse in the week leading up to their first holiday in... years. All members but one were excited to go home and visit their families.
This excitement resulted in six of them packing their suitcases at the same time, in the same room, at the same spot. Well, the same spot where their Christmas tree tried to exist peacefully. The result was of course that the poor thing got knocked over exactly 4,7 times, releasing a worrying amount of glitter all over their luggage, throughout the living room, while the majority of the happy flakes found its way almost magnetically to their leader.
Poor Namjoon tried to brush the glitter off right away and was told sternly by a myriad of voices not to touch anyone or anything with a ten foot pole for the rest of the day, or rather month, but it was no use. They still found Satan’s hysterical dandruff everywhere: in their belly buttons, wedged between the buttons of the remote control, under their pillows, between the sheets of the toilet paper... It seemed like a disco ball had exploded in their bathroom, and the glitter had even found its sinful way into an unopened package of cereal.
So, Yoongi knew it was time to flee this festive hellhole and seek refuge in his studio.
Peace.
Finally.
Yoongi leans back in his chair, closing his eyes for a second, revelling in the knowledge he would have the dorm to himself all week. The others would be leaving tonight to go visit their families. Yoongi’s parents and his brother had already left for Canada to visit some scruffy old aunt. Yoongi had of course also been invited, but as usual: schedules and stuff.
Yoongi doesn’t mind. He’d see his family soon enough with Seollal around the corner.
Yoongi hates Christmas anyway. Too much noise, too many people who want to hug, talk and simply EXIST in his vicinity.
So, Yoongi is relieved it will be just him, his bed and his 89 beloved open NamuWiki-tabs, for the coming week. Yoongi sighs a content sigh, and is just about to doze off to this blissful prospect when he hears muffled voices and the sound of multiple sneaker-clad feet shuffling on his “GO AWAY”-doormat outside his studio.
Yoongi reluctantly opens one eye, sighs, and plants his forehead un-softly on his desk, arms hanging to the ground like dead fish, only not as lively as said dead fish.
Great.
Just what he needs: visitors.
Yoongi inhales deeply, closes his eyes again and braces for impact.
The door opens with a soft click, and he faintly distinguishes a hushed: “don’t step on my shroud you stomper-bearing buffoon” and a hurried “it’s not a shroud, hyung, don’t make this more morbid than necessary” and then a lot of giggly “ssshhhht you idio...” before the door suddenly closes, cutting off the ruckus, and an ominous silence fills the studio.
Yoongi has not looked up from his self-elected spot to perish and he thinks of very sharp murder weapons.
Suddenly the studio gets plunged into darkness, safe for the faint leds of his equipment.
Yoongi hears shuffling of fabric behind him and decides that facing his fate right now is as good a time as any, so he pushes himself up and swivels his chair around to look at his unwelcome guest.
“Min Yoongi-ssiiiii, Min Yoongiii-ssiiiiiii, behold!” bellows a very non-threatening low voice from underneath a very non-threatening white sheet, whilst clattering about a bunch of heavy looking metal chains. The very metal chains that Yoongi recognises as the chains Namjoon uses to secure his bike to lamp posts around town.
“BOOO, WOOOOO, beware, bewaaaare you mortal!”
In his effort to be intimidating, the “ghost” very nearly sweeps a figurine off of a shelf with one of the chains, revealing a glitter-infested sneaker in the process.
Yoongi is just about to open his mouth and tell Namjoon he has a headache coming up (which is a lie, but it could very well become true if the day carries on like this), when the sheet starts shrieking:
“I am The Ghost of Christmas Past! I’ve come to show you your fate, before it’s too late!”
The sheet conjures up a small projector he had apparently been carrying, fumbling with the plug in the socket to fire the machine up.
Suddenly the thing starts working, blinding Yoongi as it had been pointed at him instead of the wall.
“Uhm, oh, sorry, but, uhm.... open thy eyes and BEHOLD!” the ghost continues, pointing at the projection now covering the left wall of the studio.
Yoongi’s retort is stifled in time by the horrific sight displayed in front of his eyes...