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jimlingss · 6 years

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Brass & Strings [9]

Episode 8 - Episode 9 - Episode 9.5 OR Episode 10 Words: 5.2k Genre: Fluff, Humour (?), Slice of Life, Music!Au, College!Au Summary: Have you ever wondered what happens to the mean girl after high school? Where do they go, where do they end up? More importantly, what happens when they get mixed up with the classic nerd that's always too nervous to answer 'no'? Things become a lot more complicated when Kim Namjoon encounters you. They dub you as 'bat-shit insane' and you're not ashamed. Notes: This part is inspired by this which actually inspired the entire series.

Cr.

[3 Years Ago]

The cold nips at your skin and you shiver in your thin clothes, shaking in your bones while the dim light of the lamp post is the sole luminescence. For a mere moment, a sickening dread washes over you, causing you to become nauseous to your very core. Did he leave you behind?

There’s no way.

But you can’t help looking down the road, teeth sunk into the bottom of your lip, rocking back and forth in your dirty shoes. No. You believe in him. It’s impossible that he’ll go against his word. He won’t abandon you…..

He’s the only one you have left.

“Fucking finally!” You shout aloud, stomping up to the dingy car as it pulls up on the curb.

It sounds like it’s running on rocks, making chugging noises and barely holding on. The vehicle is a stark contrast to the luxurious neighborhood. The boy inside winces when you get in and slam the door harsher than necessary. “Hey! You’re going to break it, brat!”

“Where the fuck have you been?! I’ve been waiting for twenty goddamn minutes!”

“There was traffic, you ungrateful piece of shit! I nearly got ticketed for speeding here. Do I get no thank you’s?!”

“No,” you huff out while crossing your arms, turning your head to look out the window. Your house stands behind the gate and in the middle of your noisy argument, the lights inside flicker on. It’ll be any moment now that your parents will look out the window and realize where you’re going or more specifically, who you’re with. “Just drive!”

The nineteen year old grumbles and shifts the gear into place, leaving the street behind you.

Yoongi doesn’t speak a single word. You don’t either, leaning your forehead on the cool window, staring out at the passing nighttime sceneries and the other cars who are most likely making their way home. No one at midnight would go anywhere anyways, except for the two of you.

“Why have you been so catty?” Your cousin finally pipes up, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

You’d turn on his radio but it’s broken. “As if you care.”

“Just tell me if you’re PMS-ing so I can avoid you for the rest of the night,” he chides in a sassy tone that has you scoffing with a smile.

“Bitch...fine…” Your arms are still crossed but you sit up straight, peeling the bright paint off of your fingernails. “I’m going to run away.”

His eyebrow perks and he steals a glimpse of you before focusing back on the road. “Oh?”

“My parents want me to go to their university or whatever after high school. But I’d rather die than work an office job for the rest of my life or teach damn science to a bunch of dimwits.”

Yoongi chuckles, “yeah...you don’t really fit the whole professor narrative.” As a seventeen year old, you’re already surprised that you made it this far through high school without dropping out or getting expelled. “What are you planning?”

You shrug. “I’m probably going to pack up a suitcase, withdraw like a good few thousand dollars.”

“Where are you gonna stay?”

“I dunno.” You’d never admit it to him but you haven’t thought up all the details yet. “Maybe I’ll take a plane out of this shit ass place and I’ll stay at a hotel for awhile. You know, I hear a lot of wealthy folks like to pay young people to go on dates with them.”

“You’re not pretty enough for that.”

You fake a gasp. “Wow, fuck you, I’m gorgeous.”

Your cousin exits the highway, making a left turn and you know you’re getting closer to where the underground concert is. Sometimes it’s a rock show, other times it’s a rap or dance battle. Nonetheless, you enjoy watching the different types of performances. It’s not exactly your kind of scene but it’s different from the usual classy and high-end places that you frequently visit.

“You know, Y/N…..I actually think you should do music.”

There’s a long silence.

You burst out into laughter, slapping your knee, wiping away the water that wells up in your eyes as your stomach squeezes. “And here I thought we were actually having a semi-serious talk. Thanks, asshole.”

“No, I am being serious.”

For once, you know he’s telling the truth. There isn’t a hint of humour or mirth in his voice and Yoongi’s expression is stern, despite you only being able to see his profile. “I think you should do music.”

You scoff, laughs dying down and he continues, “believe it or not, kid, I’ve heard you play and you’re not half bad. You’ve got a really good ear for this sort of stuff. Running away...it won’t do you any good after a while. Take it from someone who’s tried. You’re better off pursuing something decent and actually building a future for yourself.”

You roll your eyes. “You sound like my dumb teacher.”

But you’re secretly hanging onto every single word of your close cousin. He’s in his first year of university after all, having fought with his family to major in composition. If you attended the same place as him, you’d at least have someone with you. “...do you really think I could do it?”

The side of his lip tugs. “I really do.”

“How would I pull it off? My parents would never let me major in music.”

Yoongi’s smile becomes a smirk and his grip on the steering wheel tightens, completely aware of your manipulation skills that’s only getting better as you age. “Oh, I know you’ll figure something out.”

[Present Day]

It’s not surprising that Yoongi doesn’t pick up. He tends to ignore your phone calls and texts, unfazed when you blow up his mobile device. What is shocking, however, is that he actually seems busy.

Aside from grumbling about how early he has to wake up to head to the radio station, his shitty shifts at the music store, having no direction in composing, then he’s complaining about having less than ten hours of sleep. In other words, usually Yoongi isn’t that fucking busy.

But he always has time to talk to you. He’s always there.

You don’t think much of it until you drop by the music store after a particularly nice date with a well-off, rebellious gentleman. Maybe you’re lucky your cousin wasn’t there. He’d certainly ask questions about who the person in the red sports car was.

His co-worker raises her eyebrows, “There’s been a pretty girl dropping by lately.”

One foot is out the door but you’re paralyzed, turning around. “A girl?”

“They come and leave together a lot. I think they might be dating. Did you not know?”

Okay. Whatever.

Yoongi isn't involved with your business. You’re not involved in his. It doesn’t matter to you.

You shouldn’t poke your nose where it doesn’t belong anyways. It’s a mutual relationship of respect and trust. That’s what you remind yourself except-

“What the fuck?”

“Wh-what’s wrong?” Namjoon is immediately on alert, darting his head around to where your eyes are. Your arm slowly lifts and you point straight at the girl sitting in her seat next to the window. “Jennie?”

The concertmistress is innocently writing notes down into her notebook. She colour codes, draws diagrams and has a pencil case full of chubby highlighters. She studies on her rose gold laptop, no less than a real-life doll in a television commercial. But what has shaken you to the very core, caused Namjoon to become worried and concerned is that-

“That’s Yoongi’s sweater.”

It’s unmistakable. The white sweatshirt of the band he followed in high school, the black marker signature at the back that your cousin literally dived on stage for. He had taken you that day, snuck you out of your house when you were fifteen for a breath of freedom and during the last performance, Yoongi threw himself to the keyboard player, some Richard guy that you can’t recall completely.

“Y/N.” Namjoon tugs on your arm, forcing you to halt. “What are you going to do?”

You ignore the harpist, shaking off his grip. The suspicions that had slammed itself inside your skull, that made you follow the concertmistress for the past half hour, it’s all confirmed when your eyes pin to the two people across the street. They’re laughing and giggling to each other in broad daylight. Yoongi almost looks...happy.

But you can’t let it happen. “Y/N!”

Your feet cross and they’re still talking to each other until the violinist turns her head. Then, her mouth drops and her eyes enlarge, soaking in your angered expression. “Y/N-”

You rip them apart, shoving her and she stumbles back. Your arm lifts to send a ricocheting slap across her face, one that’ll knock some sense into the bitch but Yoongi instantly covers Jennie with his body.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He shouts, trying to push you back when you try to tackle her again. “Y/N! FUCKING SHIT! You’re psychotic!”

“Let go of me!” You scream at the top of your lungs when your cousin restrains your limbs but you manage to dig your nails into the girl’s scalp, dragging her hair with you. “You bitch! Stay away from him!”

“The fuck?! It’s none of your business!”

“Like hell it is!”

Jennie sobs out and as she reaches up to your hands, she accidentally scrapes her own nails along your skin. The sensation burns and you give a tug on her scalp. Yoongi’s strength is immense, pushing you away but you kick his shin as hard as you can. He falls down and you roughly grab Jennie by her arm, shaking her and pulling on her hair. “Leave him alone! Go find someone else, you bitch!”

There’s a crowd that’s drawing in, murmurs and phones being pulled out. But before mayhem can truly break loose or the police can be called, strong arms curl around your waist.

You’re elevated meters high, feet no longer touching the ground. “Let go of me!”

Namjoon throws you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and he bows, calm and collected despite your fists pounding on his broad backside. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The harpist begins to jog away from the confused horde of people and your bruised up cousin is left with his date. “Kim! Namjoon! Put me the fuck down or I swear to god-”

“You’ll what?!” He retorts with a huff. “What will you do?”

“I-”

“Don’t you know it’s not nice to curse out loud in public? There are children around. It’s not nice to beat up other people either. You can get arrested for that. Didn’t your parents teach you some common courtesy?”

“Namjoon!”

He finally sets you down at some random park where there aren’t many wandering eyes, two full blocks away from where you originally were. “Are you still mad?”

“Yes.” You spit out, flickerings of red appearing in your vision. Your chest heaves and the bruise at your lip, the scratches on your arm don’t faze you. If Namjoon wasn’t Namjoon, you probably would’ve smacked him already for manhandling you like that and for sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.

“Use your words.” The dimpled boy commands, putting his hands on your shoulders to stop you from marching back there. “You’re an adult, not a toddler throwing a tantrum. Tell me what’s wrong using your words and not through violence.”

If only it were that simple. You don’t know what to say. There is nothing your tongue can spit out that would make the pain any easier.

“He’s my only family.” You inhale, eyes red and stinging. “Families protect each other. And-and….”

Yoongi is the only one you have.

“I hate her.”

He’s your only family. He was once your best friend as well, the brother and ally that you never had. But you’ve been lied to. You were betrayed by him before. While you looked up to him your entire life, aspired to be just like him...he never once solicited your advice, never once talked to you about his own suffering.

Out of the blue, he dropped out of school and abandoned the one thing that you two shared and loved together, music.

You don’t know him. Not the way you thought you did. Your admiration and the bond you thought you shared was one sided. Now, he was dating your enemy. As childish as it seemed to be upset, every single bone in your body screams out in agony.

“I hate her...I hate her…”

“You don’t.” Namjoon somehow manages to soothe you, dissipating your anger away. The red spots in your perception begin to disappear. “She’s a good person. You and I both know that.”

“No!” You push away the boy in front of you, trying to breathe. His presence suffocates you. You want to feel angry, you want to feel rage. Those emotions are less painful than sadness.

“You don’t get to fucking pretend to be my counsellor and try to make things better! You-...you don’t get to stand here and tell me what’s right and wrong. You don’t understand shit about me, Namjoon! Stop….stop trying to act like you care.”

You’re shaking. Namjoon takes a step forward. Your head downcasts to the ground. The kind boy reaches out to hold your hand in his. Teardrops fall like rain from your eyes, wetting the cement by your feet.

“You don’t know what it’s like to have no one.” Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, sobs crashing through your mouth and you hate how weak you are, how vulnerable you’re making yourself. “Y-You don’t know w...what it’s like to….to be left behind.”

You’ve been left behind.

The people around are scared of you. They’re frightened. You can’t even get anyone to stay without threatening them, without being forced in a setting or in a room. Your suitors only care about your exterior, the smile that you plaster on your lips. They don’t know what your major is or your birthday, your last name - the meaningless things that add up to make you who you are.

They don’t care. No one does.

You have no friends, no family, nobody.

You thought you had Yoongi - you’re wrong.

“I...don’t have anyone, Namjoon.”

Your shivering frame is cloaked by his warm body. His arms hesitantly wrap around you before they settle, tapping your back gently. You’re thankful that he’s holding onto you, allowing your tears to drip from your eyes onto his shoulder. It would be humiliating for you if he watched you break down.

“You have me.”

You sniffle, looking up at the sky to stop your sobs. “That’s not true. I made you stay.”

“No.” He smiles, wondering why it was that you felt so fragile in his hold. “I could’ve left a long time ago but I didn’t. I chose to stay.”

There must be three minutes of silence. Maybe more or maybe less.

Once you’ve calmed down and realized the amount of stares you were getting, children who were snickering behind their hands and shielded their eyes, bitter single folks mistaking you two as a couple, you speak up. “Namjoon.” Your voice is hoarse. “You can let me go now.”

“Oh.”

He releases his arms and you quickly dig in your bag for your sunglasses. Namjoon still manages to catch the redness under your eyes and the swollenness before you shield them away. “Are you feeling better?” He smiles to himself as you clear your throat awkwardly.

“Much.” You cross your arms, beginning to walk again. “Let’s never speak of this again.”

The harpist isn’t sure if he can keep that promise but he appeases you anyways. “Okay.”

If you aren’t dynamite, then you’re a ticking time bomb. The mere thought of Jennie standing next to your dear cousin still makes you nauseous. You wonder if this is what it feels like in those stories and movies with the older brother protecting his little sister against his own friends.

But in your circumstances, Jennie is someone you already detest.

“We’re just going to run through a few scales and exercises together as warm up before the conductor arrives. Is everyone ready?” The concertmistress lifts her arms and everyone raises their instruments with her motion. The violins are propped on the shoulder, the percussionist holds their mallets and the bassoonists wrap their lips around their reeds.

A little giggle interrupts the session and a few people turn around. “Y/N?”

You’re on your phone, scrolling through some messages and answering some texts. Your instrument is nowhere in sight. The trombonists beside you lean away from your menacing aura. “Hmm?”

“Are you going to participate?”

“Whose authority are you doing this on?” Your pupils flicker upwards, smile void on your lips.

Everyone puts their instruments down. Jennie drops her arms. “I’m the concertmistress.”

“Huh.”

The tension in the room could be cut with a knife. Your classmates swallow hard, averting their gazes and they can sense the fire that is about it ignite. “Will you participate with us?”

“I will but I’m curious as to why you’re the concertmistress.” You look at your nails, flicking off a speck of dirt under them. Your legs and arms are crossed, sitting back in the seat.

“I-”

“Rebecca?” You take a glimpse of the girl in the second seat. “Aren’t you a better player than she is? You’ve been playing for longer and you’ve had more workshop experiences as well. I see you in the practice room a lot. Do you not feel like you are more deserving of Jennie’s position?”

The girl that was dragged into the conversation opens her mouth and closes it. “I-”

Jennie takes a step forward. “Y/N.”

You interrupt all of them. Rose is gaping at you, having no opportunities to interfere and Namjoon is utterly baffled at your disobedience and rudeness. It reminds him of when the both of you first met each other. You were intimidating, unnerving and sharp, a tongue of venom and words that stung of poison. He wonders where the sweet girl he knew went, if she’s hiding underneath the mask.

“Has no one ever questioned the concertmistress before?” There’s silence as your mirthless laugh echoes across the room. You scan the surroundings and the pale faces of all your classmates. “Like, I haven’t ever seen her practicing. If she doesn’t put in the hours, then is she deserving of her seat? It’s kind of odd now that I think about it. How did Jennie get her position? And why do so many professors favour her? Maybe it has to do with her legs being spread-”

“That’s enough, Y/N.”

You look directly into Jennie’s eyes, locking your gaze onto hers. “You pretend to be all innocent and naive, as if you’re a helpless little girl. But you’re really running behind people’s back, fucking their relatives.”

There’s a roaring gasp. People cover their mouths with their hands to stifle the sound. They look around at each other with widening eyes, a simmer of murmurs filling the background. Jennie nibbles on the bottom of her lip, looking like she’s about to weep. Rose stands up but the violinist stops her. “Y/N. Can I talk to you outside?”

“Are you my mother?”

“Y/N.” Her voice does not quiver, does not shake. You’re slightly startled by the stern tone, unable to believe that she had it in her. “As the concertmistress appointed by the conductor for the past year, I require you to step outside the room immediately.”

A flow of curses leaves your mouth in mutters but you follow her. The door is shut and the pair of you face each other.

“You’ve disrespected me in front of our peers. You disrupted the session, insulted me and disregarded my authority.” Jennie inhales, “I know we have private issues but those are private. You are in a professional setting so act like it. If you want to talk to me, curse at me, hit me then do it. I don’t care. But it has to be after practice. In that room, I am your concertmistress. You must respect the position I am in and if you don’t want to, then you can leave.”

She continues to stare at you and you don’t waver. After a second, you notice her pupils shaking. You decide to be merciful. “Fine.”

When the two of you enter the room, it is dead silent.

He pushes his glasses up, staring out the lense to the bustling dining hall. “You look miserable. Is there trouble in love town?”

Namjoon raises a brow towards his friend, Taehyung. “What do you mean?”

The saxophonist grins mischievously in response. “Nothing.”

They both sit down together at a table and the harpist asks the other how he’s been doing. Things have been busy lately and they haven’t been able to keep up to date with each other much. “There are some euphoniums who are thinking about dropping out and there’s a competition soon.” Taehyung groans and moans, hitting his hand on the surface of the table. “I’m the section leader and I have no idea what to do! The stress is eating at me, Namjoon!”

The boy gobbles up his sandwich, faking a sob and Namjoon tries his best to encourage the man. There’s a bit of peace as they both chew and the other conversation next to them reverberates down.

“Have you heard?”

“Oh my god. I was there! Y/N totally flipped out. There’s a bunch of rumours and talk going around now.”

“Jennie’s dating Y/N’s relative, right? What a small world. Y/N’s insane though. She totally went bat shit crazy and Jennie had to pull her out of the room. If I were Jennie, I think I would’ve pissed myself. Y/N’s such a bitch. I hope she gets thrown out.”

“Well I heard that it’s not just any relative.” The girl sips on her juice box. “It’s Y/N’s cousin, Min Yoongi.”

“What?!” They dramatically gasp, huddling closer together in murmurs that are all too loud.

“The Min Yoongi?”

“Oh my god.” The third girl appears confused with a frown, hence the other nudges her. “You don’t know who he is? He’s older than us by two years and he dropped out last year. The genius composer.”

“Didn’t he tell off a conductor and then he was put on academic probation because of it?”

The fourth male student who has joined their group nods. “But it turned out the conductor was actually wrong. The school was embarrassed and they didn’t do anything about it, so he dropped out.”

“That’s cool of him,” one whispers out. “Sticking to his guns like that. I wish I had that much courage.”

“You idiot.” The girl hushes her friend. “It was a dumb move. Now he’s out there wasting his talent. I heard he’s homeless and eating garbage. He should’ve just sucked it up. His pride ruined him.”

“I can’t believe Jennie is dating someone like him.”

There’s a ringing screech. They all turn around, ready to berate the person who scooted back their chair so loudly but then their mouths drop yet again. “Are you done?” More people whirl at the sound of your voice and the gossiping group avoids your piercing eyes, gathering together and shutting their lids tight.

You take a step forward but your arm is held back. Namjoon pulls you away and out of the dining hall, abandoning his lunch and poor Taehyung who is completely bewildered.

“Will you stop? It hurts!” Your lie on his gentle grip causes him to drop his hand curled around your wrist. “You’re so fucking annoying! Stop interfering! Dragging me away from places isn’t cute, Namjoon. Can’t you mind your own goddamn business?!”

The students from different majors and faculties glance over from the shouting but they quickly scatter away.

“No. I won’t.”

“What?”

The wind blows through your hair and the blue sky blinds the back of your eyelids. You wish it was dark out or filled with grey clouds, raining perhaps. The nice weather feels like it’s mocking your existence.

“I won’t mind my own business.” He goes on a frenzy, the most serious expression you’ve ever seen on him. “I care about you too much to not, not stick my nose in your business.”

“Who asked you to care about me?!”

“I don’t know, okay?!” The timid boy’s voice is booming and it occurs to you how much taller he is, shadow overtaking your body. “Don’t ask me that. I’m here asking the questions. What were you going to do back there? Were you going to beat them up?”

“I-”

He retorts in a single statement, “you’re childish!”

You stomp your feet, shocked at what he’s yelled out. “Am not!”

“You are! You’re immature. Are you in high school? Do you know it’s assault?! You’ll be put onto academic probation, thrown out! Maybe even arrested! Everything you’ve worked so hard for will be all for nothing. It’s no wonder your parents had such a tight leash on you. You’re a wild animal!”

It’s difficult to refute him when you’ve never witnessed Namjoon lose it. Your entire mouth fills with cotton and you’re aware there’s some truth to what he’s sprouting. You only manage to scream, “that’s rude!”

“What did you tell me about my hand? You said to me that we become nothing without our hands and here you are, swinging it around recklessly! Fighting people and throwing temper tantrums is not cute, Y/N.” It’s unbelievable how he’s used your own words against you. “You’re an adult.”

You feel like you’re being lectured by your parents. But Namjoon doesn’t waver. His pupils don’t shake. You hate it even more because he’s right.

“Fine. I get it.”

“What are you doing here?” Their faces dim and Yoongi immediately covers her. “Go away.”

It hurts to be treated like a monster, like the evil dragon. Your once dear cousin is now treating you like a beast, protecting his princess which in reality is some chick he’s met for about a month now. It’s insulting how he threw family out the window for ‘love’. It boils your blood but perhaps you’re being a bit more dramatic than necessary.

“Are you serious?”

“Well if you’re going to start throwing around punches, then yeah.” There’s a slight tug on his lips as he presses his palm to his cheek. “You scratched up my pretty face, brat. It fucking hurt.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. We’re both experiencing all kinds of pains, aren’t we? But I’m not here to talk to you, dumbass.” You point your finger at the shy girl behind him. “I’m here for her. We’re going to deal with our private matters once and for all.”

He looks back at her for any sign of reluctance and she slightly pushes him away. “It’s fine.”

The two of you walk off together and Yoongi’s left beside Namjoon.

“I’m sorry.”

You spit it out without looking at her, though it’s still genuine. “I-I don’t know what to say aside from that. I’m childish, I know. You’re the concertmistress after all. I was rude and you were right about leaving private matters outside the classroom. I should have been more professional.”

“Okay.” Jennie smiles. “Apology accepted.”

You’re shocked at how easy it was. A frown mars your face. “That doesn’t mean I like you or I’m approving of…” You make a gesture wildly, “whatever you and Yoongi are doing. I still hate you very much.”

“That’s fine too.”

“Why are you smiling?”

“I’m just happy.” She merely says, looking over to the children climbing on the playground apparatuses. “I never thought you would apologize to me. So...thank you, Y/N. I appreciate it.”

You two sit down at the park bench, silence filling the spaces.

You break it with a question. “When did it start?”

The violinist reminisces. “A few days after the charity event. I called him...and yeah…”

“You’ve only been seeing him for a few weeks?”

“Yeah.” There’s suddenly an onslaught of guilt that heaves upon your shoulders. When the relationship was already delicate and new to begin with, you had tried to tear and break them apart. If Yoongi had true feelings for her, you were ruining his happiness.

“Do you like him?”

It’s a foolish inquiry but one you ask nonetheless. “Yoongi?” She hums, “I do. I don’t know if I love him….I guess time will tell. But I enjoy his company and I think he’s brilliant. I’ve listened to his recordings, Y/N. I’ve seen his composition work and it’s amazing. He makes me feel warm and I feel inspired just sitting beside him.”

“Yeah. I know the feeling.” You nod. “Are you...serious about him?”

“I am.”

You lean back, exhaling a long breath. “This is gonna be pretty cliche of me but Yoongi’s my only family. If you hurt him, I’ll probably set out my path to destroy you.”

Jennie laughs lightheartedly to your threat. “Okay. I’ll take you up on that offer.” You match her smile and as you get up, she tugs on your limb. “Friends?”

You scoff. “You wish.”

The both of you still laugh together, having made amends properly. It isn’t like high school where you’ll hold it against her, spread rumours, go out and attack her. You’re an adult now and everyone can make their own choices, bear the consequences themselves. It’s no use brooding about something out of your control.

It feels better this way. Namjoon isn’t wrong. The bright sky isn’t as unbearable anymore.

It’s extremely awkward between the two males. They’re standing in front of the music shop, watching people enter and listening to the ringing bell chime when the door opens. As Namjoon coughs, he apologizes and Yoongi waves him off.

“Sooo…” He draws out the syllable. “Are you Y/N’s boyfriend?”

“No!” Namjoon protests with a yelp, waving his hands. “I’m not. We’re only friends.”

“I kind of find that hard to believe.” Yoongi smirks. “Are you really just Y/N’s friend?”

“Y-Yes. There’s nothing going on between us.”

“Then….how did you do it?”

The harpist tips his head to the side, confused on what your cousin means. “Pardon?”

“I find you interesting...Kim Namjoon, is it?” The other man nods and Yoongi continues, “if I’m not mistaken then Y/N’s currently resolving her issues by her own initiative. Of all the years I’ve known her, since we were in bassinets together, I have never seen her take the first step before. So let me repeat my question-”

Yoongi’s irises twinkle in curiosity. “How did you manage to control that barbarian?”

“I..” He stutters, “I don’t really know if you can call it controlling…”

“Treat her well. She’s a lot more sensitive than she leads people to believe.” Yoongi pats Namjoon’s shoulder, looking up at him with a proud expression. His impassiveness is spoiled. “I’m glad she has someone around for her. I don’t think I’ve ever been the best influence or mentor for the kid. She’s gone through a lot as well. Try to understand.”

Namjoon quickly pushes up his glasses up the bridge of his nose and nods, making a verbal promise to.

Yoongi muses that the timid college boy who is naive and innocent is quite clever himself. The master manipulator has finally found her match and neither have realized it.

#bts scenario #namjoon fluff #bts fanfic #namjoon fanfic #namjoon scenario #oh man oh man oh man #that drama

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thewriterwhodreamed · 6 years

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Twelve Years Prior: Chapter Three

"Well, well, well. A slytherin out past curfew… My, aren't we in for a treat." Flich says, and I jump, throwing the book across the floor, and I look up to meet his eyes and he's grinning like he's just gotten the last piece of cake at a family party. It was an evil grin.

He yanks me from my spot and before I know it we're standing in front of Snape's study and he's already knocked.

Dread filled me, making my entire body feel like it weighed a million tons, but when the door opened, it was gone. Instead it was replaced with hate, a passionate hate.

"You'd better have good reason to-" His glare is cold and murderous, but all it does is fill me with more hate, and more anger, and suddenly I'm boiling.

"Leave, us." He's cool and collected but as soon as he drags me into his study he loses his demeanour and he is filled with rage. "You have a hat stall and suddenly you think you don't have to follow the rules!" Its somewhere between a yell and loud voice, not quite being either of those. "Most wait a month, but you do it within the first two weeks." He hisses, and I flinch.

"Professor, I-" He glares daggers at me, trying to silence me but it doesn't work, at least not fully.

"I should have you expelled for this."

"For What? Learning past bedtime? I'm not the only one! Others are further up into the night studying, just trying to pass their classes, while I am terribly bored! You're just lucky I haven't ventured into the restricted section!" I yell back at him.

"Detention everyday until Christmas break."

"But Professor-"

"Do not, push me, Skotàdi. It wouldn't do you well." I had boiled over. No one,simply called me by my last name without putting the proper title in front of it, and no one, and I mean it, No one, called me by my full first name.

"And it would serve you well *Professor*, to address me with the proper title of miss!" I yell and storm out, leaving a slightly shocked Snape in hs studies, and I am practically running through the halls to get back to the Slytherin dorms, praying that I hadn't just ruined my chances at becoming a witch and staying in this school, despite how boring it was.

I was almost to the Slytherin Common Room, when I ran into the headmaster.

"Ms. Skotàdi, what a pleasant surprise." He greets me kindly and the anger does subside, but my stubborness doesn't.

"I'm glad it was you rather than anyone else." I mumble.

"Indeed." I stare up at him in shock, surprised he could hear that. "In fact, I'm rather glad I found you, I needed to speak with you on a few matters." I nod in agreement and he begins to walk, so I stand beside him and walk with him.

"Am I in more trouble, Headmaster?" He chuckles.

"No, my dear, I believe Snape will have punished you enough for the rule you broke."

"How did you-"

"It matters not, how I know." His voice is soft, causing me to really listen to the old Headmaster.

"Then, Headmaster, what do you wish to talk to me about?"

"Your stay here are the school, has it been to you liking?" I nod my head. "Good. And your classes?"

"They're easy, none of them hold my interest, and I'm simply bored." He chuckles and nods his head.

"Surely one of them interests you…" Don't say it. Don't even think about saying it.

It turned out, I loved potions, in fact, it was my favourite class. The issue was that it was taught by the Professor I most hated in the school. Snape.

"Potions." No it wasn't, take,it back and say DADA, or Herbology, say anything to take it back. "I really love potions."

"Ah, yes. It is a good class. And what,do you think of the professor who teaches,it?" Think carefully on this answer Rhay, you're telling the Headmaster about one of his own.

"They say he's heartless, but they're wrong. He has a heart, but it's a heart of evil." I spit and he simply nods.

"Remember, Ms. Skotàdi, that the opposite of love, is indifference, not hate. In fact I have often found hate to be one in the same as love, just misplaced and misguided love, perhaps?" He looks to me, hoping for me to give an answer.

"I do not love Professor Snape, Headmaster."

"No, of course not. But perhaps you're feelings towards him will change with time. You yourself said, that he had a heart." I stumble over my feet and quickly fix myself.

"You took my words out of,context, Headmaster."

"Ah, but you still said them." He stops, and I can tell we're nearing our end of the conversation. "Perhaps, he shows his feelings in different ways, maybe you should try to see through his eyes."

"I don't,think that will change him."

"No, but it mau teach you to see through others eyes before you judge." He gives me a stern,look, and I give him a curt nod. "Then,I bid you goodnight, my dear." He walks away and I head once again to the,Common Room.

My head touches the pillow but no sleep comes to me, and I am left to mull over the events of tonight.

What Headmaster had said was cryptic indeed, but it was spoken true.

Professor Snape had a heart, he just didn't show it.

So, I had detention everyday, and maybe Headmaster was right, maybe I would see through his eyes, but I Wasn't going to let him off easy.

No, I would be the most annoying first year, and he would crack before I did. I would make him show his heart before I showed mercy.

When breakfast came, word had gotten around the school of what I had done, of how I had snapped at Professor Snape.

"I can't believe you snapped at him." I hear Aurora say to me.

"What do you mean?" I shove a spoonful of oats into my mouth.

"No one has had the balls to stand up to him, and those who would try, were transferred or expelled."'

"Yeah, man. You're lucky to still be studying here." A third year called John takes a seat next to me and he's already loading his plate. He was the standard Slytherin, slicked back hair, pressed clothes. Once again the image of perfection.

Aurora had helped me get ready, taught me a spell to iron my clothes and the way she applies makeup with magic.

In fact the Slytherin house was just doing everything with magic. Getting the chores done with magic, like cleaning and laundry.

So, needless to say, my face had makeup on it, granted it was just the winged eyeliner and bright red lipstick, it was part of the Slytherin look.

The thing that was different between us, was my hair was down, not up and itt reached my waist in long white curls, making my hair look like white smoke.

I heard a flapping of wings and a brown package landed right in front of me, missing my breakfast.

I opened it and inside revealed a box of red hair dye, the thing I asked my parents for. And it was bright cherry red, the perfect colour for being different.

"Hair dye?" Aurora asks, I nod, a small smile forming on my face. Classes didn't start for another two hours, seeing as how I was one if the first down to breakfast.

It was also Professor McGonagall, who was one of the more relaxed Professor's, and it was close to the dorms.

So, two hours later I emerged with the brightest red hair I had ever seen, and oh weren't people in for a surprise.

The minute I stepped through that door for class, there were whisper and looks, nothing I wasn't used to. It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last.

"Wow." The ravenclaw who sat next time breathed. "Your hair is brilliant." I grin, finally something good.

"Thanks, think it fits me?"

"Without a doubt." She grins. "Hey can you help me, I'm better with music and arts, not studies?"

"Absolutely, I have detention, but after dinner I'd be more than willing to help."

"Really?" She lights up, and brushes a piece of brown hair behind her ear. "Thank you so much!"

"Now class-" Professor says as she comes out of her studies and her eyes meet mine and then she continues with her speech, and tells us to begin to work on pages and write a report, and I spend most of my time helping the ravenclaw next to me.

Finally the bell rings and I begin walking to the door

"Ms. Skotàdi?"

"Yes, Professor?" I turn around to face her.

"Your hair was fine the way it was, why change it?"

"I didn't need my parents called dirty because I'm an alleged pure blood."

"Be careful around here, you may find the past haunting you." I nod and finally leave.

Her words haunted me all through the day, right up until the last thirty minutes of DADA, where I was planning my methods of how to annoy, provoke, and ultimately get Professor Snape to show his heart.

The bell finally rings, and I'm almost running to Professor Snape's studies, a plan already forming in my head.

I barge through the door and he looks up.

That's when I see it, the pain and the passion and love in his eyes.

And suddenly it's like I'm seeing him for thr first time, because I recognize those eyes. I've seen it in my foster parents eyes whenever they tried to get pregnant, but only ended up adopting me.

Love that's been placed in someone and only have that person be taken away.

After awhile, you start to see the same eyes in everyone.

He's quiet, and he's eyeing me, taking me in, and,then his cold and distant demeanour is back.

"Go to quidditch practice." He snaps, and busies himself with whatever he was doing before I interrupted him.

"Profe-" I begin, somewhat concerned for what I saw in his eyes.

"Now." He bellows, and I scram. I hadn't been afraid of him until now. I had no reason to be. Until now.

It was the emotions behind his eyes that had done it. That's what scared me. No one feels that way unless they've lost someone, and maybe at one point he had a daughter, maybe that was the reason he reacted the way he did. It would only make sense.

"Oof." I run right smack into into someone and our books go flying, and at the same time we bend down to pick them we knock heads too.

"I'm so sorry, I apologize-" My words quicker than my brain.

"No, not a problem, I should have been looking." I chuckle at the comment, and after we've collected our things we stand up.

I've never seen a more charming pair of brown eyes, it was like swimming in pools of dark chocolate mixed with a light autumn brown, and all i wanted to do was drown.

His hair was brown with lightest tint of copper, that was slicked back and combed neatly so that the ends feathered out at his neck.

His skin was tan, tanner than any of us here, and his body was built and covered in muscles. He was perfect, like a greek god.

"Say, aren't you the twelve minute hat stall?" I chuckle laughing at my reputation.

"I see my reputation precede me." His smile is handsome and all I can do is stare in awe.

"Only the good part."

"I see many consider my outburst to Professor Snape as a bad, or negative thing…"

"Many do, yes." He nods in agreement.

"Perhaps then, it was needed. If the entire school is in fear of him, they should know now that they can stand up to him as I have done. He does not need to be the tyrant of this school." There this look of awe and wonder on his face and I'm suddenly uncomfortable.

"You're the first to stand-up to him and not get expelled, perhaps there is something different about you, that even he sees. The hat certainly saw it." I roll my eyes.

"Yes, an inanimate object that just happens to know where I would be suited best. Maybe I should have gone in Hufflepuff where I wouldn't be noticed." I mumble to myself and begin to walk, and he matches my stride beside me.

"My name's Chris, I'm a fourth year Ravenclaw."

"Nice to meet you, the name is Rhay." He Starts Talking introducing himself, but all I can think about is how my fingers haven't touched the cool ivory and ebony keys of a piano in almost a month.

Of all the times to miss it now, it had to be mid conversation, but it made sense.

I played all the time, when i was happy, angry, sad, or,even confused. I would play. Just to bring my mind and thoughts elsewhere, away from the problems so to speak.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but do you know where there is a piano? I'm dying to play one?"

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