Chapter Text
Yoongi woke up at 3 a.m. once again, pissed that his body wouldn’t let him sleep more.
Hell, it’s not like he wasn’t tired—he was fucking exhausted. But after a few minutes of tossing and turning, he gave up, dragging himself out of bed and pulling on the first things he saw: gray sweatpants and a black hoodie. Not even his. Probably Hoseok’s, he thought.
“Shit…” he muttered as he pulled it over his head, remembering the argument he’d had with his best friend the day before. He’d definitely have to apologize later.
He decided to go to the convenience store across the street to grab something to eat. He was starving, broke, and there wasn’t a single decent place open at this hour. It wasn’t like he lived in a horrible neighborhood it was still Seoul, for fuck’s sake but it wasn’t exactly the safest or most well-kept part of the city either.
As he walked, his mind wandered back to the fight. Hoseok had left in tears, and Jimin—his boyfriend had sent Yoongi a long message telling him to apologize. Yoongi, being Yoongi, told him to fuck off. He shouldn’t have. Jimin was his friend too, and he didn’t deserve that either so yeah another person he needed to apologize to. Yoongi grimaced at the thought as he pushed open the store door.
He went straight to the ramen aisle, grabbing the first pack he saw, mentally calculating what he could afford. He ended up with ramen, a hard-boiled egg, and an iced coffee—it’s not like he was sleeping anytime soon anyway.
At the counter, he placed everything down without saying a word.
“Uh…” the worker said softly.
Yoongi looked up, voice rough from not speaking since Hoseok had left the day before. “What?”
The cashier—Jungkook, according to his name tag—shifted awkwardly. “You’re short three thousand won.”
“What? I buy this shit all the time. What do you mean I’m short three thousand won?”
Jungkook cleared his throat. “Uh- the ramen’s got a celebrity sponsorship now. Comes with a sticker, so it went up in price. And the egg too, so… uh, you could always not buy the coffee? I mean, it’s not really coffee time, right?” He gave a small, nervous laugh before realizing Yoongi wasn’t amused.
Yoongi exhaled sharply through his nose, already tired of hearing about his habits from everyone lately. “Fucking hell. These celebrities ruin everything. Do you have a version of this without—”
“Sorry, no. There are other ramens though, I—”
“I’ll just take the egg and the coffee,” Yoongi cut him off, voice flat feeling embarrassed. “Thanks.”
He paid and left, leaving Jungkook blinking behind the counter, unsure what had just happened.
Back in his apartment, Yoongi felt the humiliation sink in. He couldn’t even afford a fucking convenience-store run. No help from his family, no one to fall back on—and he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask his friends for money. His pride wouldn’t let him.
He was twenty. He should’ve had it together by now. But he didn’t. He still worked the same shitty job he’d gotten when he was kicked out and cut off at eighteen just for changing his degree to music production. He laughed bitterly to himself. His mom probably regretted ever forcing him into piano lessons as a kid. So here he was now a depressed college student with no motivation to do anything. His routine was simple: music theory at ten a.m. on Tuesdays and Thursdays, composition at noon, and that goddamn statistics prerequisite he needed to graduate he had that class 2 times a week wednesdays and friday’s, he skips it most of the time. I mean it’s stats. Fucking stats. How was that ever going to help him?
When he wasn’t in class, he was working at the restaurant owned by Jin’s father. Jin his friend, one of the few good ones left had gotten him the job. Yoongi mostly handled deliveries, since waiting tables made his social anxiety worse. It wasn’t glamorous, but it kept him barely afloat.
The problem was… he slipped. A lot. Sometimes he just disappeared into his own head, losing hours, days even. Bills piled up. Assignments went missing. And if Jin didn’t cover for him sometimes no questions asked he’d probably be jobless by now, definitely homeless as well.
Hoseok was only worried. That’s what their fight had been about. Yoongi hadn’t answered any messages in three days and had stood Hoseok up for a hangout he’d been excited about. Hoseok just wanted to check in. But Yoongi, always quick to assume, thought he was being nagged. And he exploded.
Hoseok had kept repeating, “I just want to understand you, to help you, Yoongi. Let me in.”
Yoongi remembered snapping back, voice shaking, “Look, Hoseok, can’t you tell you’re just making everything worse? Your presence is not something I want right now.”
The look on Hoseok’s face when he said that—it burned into his mind.
“You don’t mean that,” Hoseok whispered. But Yoongi didn’t meet his eyes. He just muttered, “Get out.”
Not long after, his phone buzzed. A message from Jimin.
Jimin:
Hoseok’s been there for you for over ten years, Yoongi. He offered you a place to stay when your family threw your stuff into the street. I’m saying this as your friend and as his boyfriend—you need to apologize. He doesn’t deserve this. He’s worried about you. I’m worried about you.
Yoongi skimmed the rest, typed fuck off, and downed a soju bottle before passing out.
Sleep. That was another problem. Six months ago, his body just… stopped letting him rest. Three hours a night, if that. He liked sleep—it used to be his escape—but insomnia had turned even that into torture. Lying awake now only made him angrier, trapped in his own thoughts.
He shook his head, trying to force the thoughts away. Sitting down, he ate the egg in two bites, washed it down with the coffee, and grimaced. He thought about the worker Jungkook? and felt a wave of embarrassment. He hadn’t meant to be short with him. He just didn’t have it in him to be anything else lately.
Then he caught sight of himself in the mirror.
Dark circles. Hair a mess. Eyes dull.
No wonder the guy had looked uncomfortable. Yoongi wouldn’t have wanted to talk to himself either.