The scent of rain lingered in the air, the faint drizzle from earlier soaking into the earth outside. Yoongi sat by the window in the library, staring blankly at the pages of an old book. His fingers brushed over the worn leather cover, but his mind wasn’t on the present. It had drifted, as it often did, back to a time when life was simpler—or at least, it felt that way.

Flashback

Yoongi was ten years old the first time he truly understood what it meant to be a Min. The family mansion was enormous, intimidating even, and his father’s voice carried through its halls like thunder.

“Yoongi,” his father barked, his tone sharp. “Stand up straight. You’re not a child anymore.”

Yoongi had clenched his fists at his sides, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from speaking. His father’s presence was always suffocating, a shadow that loomed over every corner of the house. But Yoongi knew better than to show weakness. Weakness wasn’t tolerated in the Min household.

When his father finally left the room, Yoongi exhaled, his small shoulders sagging with relief.

“Yoongi hyung!”

He turned to see Seokjin bounding down the hallway, Taehyung trailing behind him. Taehyung was barely five at the time, his chubby cheeks pink from running. He clutched a crumpled drawing in his tiny hands, waving it around proudly.

“Look, look!” Taehyung said, shoving the paper into Yoongi’s hands.

Yoongi unfolded it carefully, his lips twitching into a faint smile. The drawing was a mess of colors—greens, blues, and yellows blending together haphazardly—but at the center was a shaky outline of three figures holding hands.

“It’s us,” Taehyung announced proudly. “Me, you, and Jin-hyung!”

Yoongi knelt down to Taehyung’s level, ruffling his hair. “It’s great, Tae.”

“Come on,” Seokjin said, tugging at Yoongi’s sleeve. “Let’s go to the library. I found a new story to read.”

The library had always been their refuge. It was the one place in the house where their father’s presence seemed to fade, where the weight of expectations lifted, even if only for a little while.

The three of them had spent hours there that day, curled up on the plush carpet as Seokjin read aloud from an old storybook. Taehyung listened with wide-eyed wonder, clinging to every word, while Yoongi leaned back against the wall, letting the sound of Seokjin’s voice wash over him.

For a brief moment, the world felt safe.

“Hyung, do you think we’ll ever live in a castle like this?” Taehyung asked, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

Yoongi smirked. “We already do.”

Taehyung pouted. “But castles are supposed to have knights and dragons!”

“And princesses,” Seokjin added with a grin. “Don’t forget the princesses.”

Taehyung wrinkled his nose. “No princesses. Just knights and dragons.”

Yoongi chuckled, pulling Taehyung closer. “Fine. No princesses.”

But the peace never lasted long.

One night, weeks later, their father’s temper flared again. Yoongi had accidentally spilled ink on one of his father’s important documents, and the punishment had been swift.

“You’ll never amount to anything if you can’t even hold a pen properly,” his father snapped, the words cutting deeper than any physical blow.

Yoongi didn’t cry, even though his throat burned with the effort of holding back tears. He retreated to the library that night, his hands shaking as he ran them over the spines of the books.

“Yoongi?”

He turned to see Seokjin standing in the doorway, his expression soft with concern.

“What happened?” Seokjin asked, stepping inside.

“Nothing,” Yoongi muttered, sitting down by the window.

Seokjin didn’t press. He simply sat beside Yoongi, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to tell me, but… you don’t have to go through it alone either.”

Yoongi glanced at him, the words catching in his throat. He wanted to say something—to tell Seokjin how much he hated their father’s expectations, how much he wished he could be free of them—but he couldn’t.

Instead, he leaned against Seokjin’s shoulder, the warmth of his older brother’s presence offering a comfort he couldn’t put into words.

As they grew older, the three brothers drifted into different roles. Seokjin became the caretaker, always stepping in to protect Yoongi and Taehyung from their father’s wrath. Taehyung was the dreamer, his boundless energy and optimism a constant light in their lives. And Yoongi… Yoongi became the quiet one, the one who carried the weight of their father’s expectations in silence.

Music had been his only escape.

Late at night, when the rest of the house was asleep, Yoongi would sneak into the small room at the far end of the hall where an old piano sat gathering dust. The first time he pressed a key, the sound had been hesitant, almost timid. But as the notes filled the room, something inside him shifted.

For the first time, Yoongi felt like he had control—over the music, over himself, over the emotions he couldn’t express in words.

Taehyung had caught him one night, peeking around the doorframe with wide eyes.

“Hyung,” Taehyung whispered, “that was beautiful.”

“It’s just noise,” Yoongi replied, his cheeks flushing.

“No, it’s not,” Taehyung said, stepping inside. “It’s… you.”

The memory faded as Yoongi blinked back to the present, his gaze lingering on the rain-soaked garden outside.

Those moments—those fleeting pockets of happiness—were what had kept him going back then. And now, as he sat alone in the library, he wondered if he’d ever feel that way again.

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