Chapter Text
It’s Monday.
And in Yoongi’s goddamn professional opinion, the world would be better off without Mondays.
Mondays mean getting up at the ass crack of dawn, dragging his sleep deprived body to school--which, mind you, is a fucking ten minute walk from his apartment, and chugging down six cups of coffee to get through the rest of his day before he gets off of work at 2 a.m. only to go back to his apartment and glue his eyes open while he tries to study.
(He needs his sleep, okay? He can’t remember the last time he’s had 8 hours of sleep in a night.)
Honestly, fuck college. Fuck all this bullshit. Why did he ever choose to become a music major anyway? He’s a senior and he’s already poor as shit and now he’s just willingly flinging himself into a lifetime of debts. He regrets everything.
He’s still regretting everything as he trudges to class, cursing himself and everything around him, because he’s salty as fuck and he only had an hour of sleep last night and he’s just so fucking tired.
Shifting the bag on his shoulder, he’s about to walk down the hallway to wait for the elevator (even though he lives on the third floor) when he hears approaching footsteps and sends a cursory glance to the right. His face is, as usual, settled in its natural “I don’t give a fuck about you or anything so fuck off” state and it’s usually more than enough to ward off any potential annoyances.
Except for Hoseok.
Three, two, one--
“YOONGIIIIIIII!” An arm falls over his shoulders and Yoongi can feel his saltiness crumbling away, just a little, entirely against his will.
Ah, there’s the sunshine wonder , he thinks dryly, but not without fondness.
“Hoseok.” He sighs, not bothering to shrug Hoseok’s arm off his shoulder, too used to the physical contact by now.
“Good morning!” Yoongi, by experience, knows not to look at Hoseok as he says this, as Hoseok’s smile could blind the sun, and it’s just way too early for that level of cheeriness. He doesn’t see the way Hoseok looks at Yoongi’s eye bags and frowns. “Isn’t it such a nice day? This morning, I looked out the window and I just knew it was gonna be a good day. I mean, don’t you see that sun? The air feels so nice too! It’s gonna be great. I’m so excited for dance class today ohmygod like we’re gonna finally get into the Rudolf Nureyev unit and god , I just love his characterizations so much you have no idea --”
“I, in fact, do have an idea--and it’s a very clear one, as you've literally been talking about him nonstop for the past two weeks.” Yoongi cuts him off exasperatedly. He isn't fooled by Hoseok’s rambling about the weather. Hoseok’s been anticipating the start of the ballet unit in his dance class since he got the fucking syllabus.
Hoseok groans good naturedly. “I know, I know! But! I mean, his dance . I’ve never really been into ballet, but have you seen his dancing? I’m shook , okay Yoongi, I’m shook . Ugh, I want to dance so badly I can’t wait for dance class, Yoongi, help me I can’t wait this long .”
“Calm the fuck down, Hoseok. You can do it.” He turns and seizes Hoseok by the shoulders. “ Control yourself . You just have to wait another five hours.”
“Okay. Okay .” Hoseok takes a deep breath and steadies himself. “I got this. Just five hours. I got this.” He brushes a hand through his hair and lets his perpetual grin fall over his face as he looks for a suitable distraction. Which just so unfortunately happens to be Yoongi. “So! Yoongi!” His grin gets even wider--which, according to Yoongi, should not be humanly possible (but then again, Hoseok has always defied human limitations)--and gets the mischievous edge that makes Yoongi want to bolt in the opposite direction.
Yoongi scowls. “ What ?”
“ So ?” There’s a eager, teasing tone to the word and immediately, Yoongi knows what Hoseok’s about to say next.
“No.” Yoongi says decisively, interrupting Hoseok before he can say anything else. “Nope.”
“But Yoongiiiiiiii,” Hoseok whines, “Don’t you want to know who it is?”
“Didn’t you hear what I just said?” But Yoongi knows it’s too late. Once Hoseok gets started on something, nothing can stop him.
“What if your secret admirer is hot?” Hoseok sends Yoongi a lascivious, suggestive look.
Yoongi sends him a flat stare. “I don’t give a shit. I don’t give a fuck.”
“Yoongi, they’ve been sending you love notes, for goddsake! Aren’t you at least a little curious?” At Yoongi’s flushed scowl, Hoseok adopts an annoyingly high-pitched falsetto the he knows Yoongi hates and bats his eyelashes exaggeratedly. “ Oh Yoongs-bear, ” he coos, “ I just luuuurve your piano playing so much, I stay up all night with my ear pressed to the window just to hear you play. I bet you got some fine-ass fingers too-- ”
Horrified, Yoongi slaps his hand over Hoseok’s mouth. “ Shut the fuck up .” He hisses viciously, partly from the eternal embarrassment that Hoseok never fails to cause him. He’ll probably be sent to his grave like this. ‘Min Yoongi,’ it’ll say on his tombstone, ‘struggling music major, long-suffering best friend to Jung Hoseok. He lived a short but embarrassing life, thanks to Jung Hoshit.’ “That is not what the notes say. At all.”
Hoseok gives him a shit-eating grin and not for the first time, Yoongi wonders how the fuck someone like Hoseok became his best friend. “Oh, you know you like it.”
A disgustingly mortifying blush now covers 95% of Yoongi’s--and he quotes, as per taken from Jung Hoshit himself-- “pale as fuck vampire face that makes you look like an anemic, grumpy cat” and he just wants to sink into a hole in the ground and possibly just build his casket there.
As usual, though, Hoseok is right. Yoongi does like the notes. He loves them--not that he’d ever admit it to anyone. The notes are always meticulously folded, with neat but boyish handwriting printed on the inside. Mostly, Yoongi loves the words. The words are shy, but passionate and admiring. Every time Yoongi composes something new, he finds a note under his door the next day.
He’d only first noticed them when he slipped on one of them and nearly broke his fucking arm. It wasn’t his fault--who the fuck looks at the ground when they’re walking through a door?
But they were there. Starting from his first shitty composition when he’d gotten the piano at the beginning of senior year, and throughout the rest of the semester.
(Everyone who lived on the floors above and under Yoongi’s remembered, with varying degrees of trauma, the day Yoongi had brought back a broken, half-price piano--which he’d later fixed up himself--and had tried to carry the entire thing up the stairs alone, much to Hoseok’s exasperation.
It was also the day Yoongi had actually interacted with other people besides Hoseok for the first time. Jin and Namjoon, who also lived on the third floor, had been nice enough to help out. Yoongi already knew Namjoon--they’re both music majors in the same year with an obsession with writing lyrics and rap. And Yoongi knows Jin because he’s known Namjoon since sophomore year, being in the same major and all, and Namjoon’s known Jin since freshman year and the two are practically married (although they’d never admit it), so of course Yoongi had to meet Jin at one point or another.
What Yoongi hadn’t expected was for a kid from the second floor, Jungkook, and two weirdo roommates named Jimin and Taehyung from the fourth floor to come and help out as well.
After that day, he’d briefly acknowledged Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung whenever they passed by but he’d never really had prolonged conversation with them. That was Jin and Hoseok’s job.)
Anyways, all Yoongi knows about the mysterious note-sender is that they live close enough to hear Yoongi’s piano playing--which doesn’t quite narrow it down because Yoongi always leaves his window open at night--and that their words are an inspiration for Yoongi.
It’s clear that the note-sender knows absolutely nothing about music theory, but they always manage to pick out and empathize with the emotions in his music; and frankly, their gushing is a definitely a self-esteem booster that Yoongi needs.
So yeah, he loves the notes but he’s too busy and tired to bother with finding out who’s been leaving them.
Hoseok, who is an absolute romantic, has been obsessing over the whole “secret admirer” thing ever since he’d accidentally stumbled on one while hanging out in Yoongi’s room. He’s probably written up an entire list of possible suspects.
"It's fate, Yoongi," he'd said, "It's fate!"
But Yoongi--he just doesn’t care. It’s nearing the end of the winter semester and he’s got a shit load of finals to study for and work on.
“Well if you won’t find out who the secret admirer is, I’ll just have to do it myself.” Hoseok says to Yoongi’s silence.
Knowing that Hoseok won’t drop the subject any time soon, he sighs. “Let’s just go. Aren’t you going to be late for your first class soon?”
Hoseok’s eyes widen. “Oh, shit !” He starts sprinting towards the dance building but looks over his shoulder at Yoongi and makes the classic “I’m watching you” gesture. “This isn’t over!”
Yoongi rolls his eyes affectionately at Hoseok’s rapidly disappearing form. The two of them have their first class at the same time but Yoongi gives zero fucks about being late and Hoseok actually gives a fuck or two.
He continues trudging along and shivers when a particularly chilly gust of wind blows. It’s days like these that the air stings his lungs and makes his throat ache from the cold. The tip of his nose scrunches up as he pulls his giant, wooly scarf closer to his neck. It’s so large that it covers most of the upper half of his body and lower face, and it looks absolutely ridiculous on him because Yoongi just happens to be on the shorter side of height, which Hoseok finds side-splittingly hilarious.
Hoseok had knitted him the scarf as a joke last year, but Yoongi wears it anyway. Thankfully, it’s dark blue and not hot pink like it was originally supposed to be.
He’s two-thirds of the way there when he hears footsteps slapping against the concrete behind him getting closer and closer.
“I’m gonna be late!” Taehyung greets him, not at all out of breath.
Yoongi raises an eyebrow and Taehyung’s disheveled form. “I can tell.” And because he can’t resist, he adds, “Where’s Jimin?” The two are like a buy-one-get-one-free deal except it’s not a deal and it’s more of a curse. Taehyung and Jimin are insane together and they’re more than what Yoongi wants to handle. They’re also disgustingly affectionate and Yoongi has seen more than enough PDA than he ever needs to.
“Ah,” Taehyung visibly droops a bit. “He got really sick over the weekend so he’s at home resting.”
“Oh. I hope he gets better soon.” This is getting too personal for Yoongi’s liking (and it’s probably the most he’s said to Taehyung, ever) and he has no idea how to properly deal with these kinds of situations. That’s what Hoseok’s for.
Despite the awkwardness, Yoongi does genuinely hope Jimin gets better. Jimin’s a good kid--kind, warm, and caring. And he keeps Taehyung in check, so. Yeah.
Taehyung seems to understand the sentiment behind Yoongi’s choppy, stilted words, and gives him a boxy grin. “Thanks, man! I’ll tell him you said that!”
“Don’t you have a class to get to?” He says in reply.
“Don’t you? Oh, and nice scarf, by the way.” Yoongi can't tell if Taehyung is being genuine in his compliment or not.
He twitches. “Get going, kid.”
Taehyung laughs loudly, his voice rich and free. “Bye!”
Yoongi flaps his hand in some sort of half-hearted goodbye gesture but Taehyung’s already dashing away.
Feeling drained, Yoongi starts to walk even slower, even though it’s fucking cold and there’s nothing he’d like more than being in a warm building.
People always say to stop and smell the roses, so why the hell can’t he do it right now?
By the time he’s gotten to class, it’s already halfway over.
He silently opens the door and spots Namjoon, who shakes his head with disappointment at Yoongi’s chronic lateness to morning class. Namjoon quietly waves him over to the empty seat beside him.
“Hey.” Yoongi says tiredly.
Namjoon frowns. “How much sleep did you get last night?”
“Not enough.”
“Yoongi…” Yoongi looks away. He knows the worry in Namjoon’s voice when he hears it, and he hates it.
“I’ll be fine.”
Namjoon knows not to push the topic but he continuously sends Yoongi concerned glances throughout the rest of class.
As soon as the lecture is over and they’re out of the room, Namjoon asks, “Was it the insomnia or the workload?”
Yoongi shrugs loosely. “It’s fine.” Namjoon’s always been a worrier, and right now, he has that “I’m completely serious so don’t fuck around here” look on.
A group of students walk right through Namjoon and Yoongi and Yoongi takes that chance to start walking faster towards his next class so he won’t have to deal with Namjoon’s inquisition.
Unfortunately, Namjoon knows Yoongi’s habits pretty well by now and catches up with him. “Really?”
“Sorry. I’m trying to keep my perfect attendance record.” Yoongi says innocently.
Namjoon snorts loudly and unattractively. “Bullshit. Now tell me--was it the workload or the insomnia? You know I’m going to keep asking so you might as well tell me.”
“Fine.” The word comes out like a cut. “The insomnia. Happy?”
“Yoongi.” The way Namjoon says his name is soft, caring. Like a parent trying to console an upset child. Yoongi fucking hates it. He doesn’t need anyone’s pity.
“Yoongi.” Namjoon says again, reaching out and catching Yoongi’s wrist, ignoring Yoongi’s glare of irritation at the physical contact. He looks straight at Yoongi, his eyes dark and filled with warm concern behind the black frames of his glasses. “You need help. You’re going to destroy yourself at this rate.”
“My insomnia is fine . I’m not taking medication.” He spits out the last word like a curse, all rusty edges and disgust. Medication fucks him up and he needs to be able to think straight to compose. He can deal with the insomnia himself. He always has. And he’s got his piano.
It’s silent for a moment. And then Namjoon sighs resignedly. “Okay.” He pauses again. “Okay. I know you can handle it. I just wish you took better care of your health.”
A flush of warmth blankets Yoongi’s heart at Namjoon’s obvious concern. “Thanks, Joonie.” There’s quiet affection behind the way Yoongi says the name. “See you at the restaurant.”
Namjoon smiles, all gentleness and dimples. “See ya.” He lets go of Yoongi’s wrist.
It’s Monday.
And in Yoongi’s oh-so-professional opinion, Mondays should be blasted from existence.
It’s a long, hard, day.
But hey. At least he’s got friends.