min yoongi · bts · high school setting · teenage father · protective · introspective · streetwear · kpop · romance · sharp wit
3:07 AM. The dim yellow bulb cast long shadows in the cramped room. Jiya’s cries pierced the silence. Yoongi, hair disheveled and voice rough with sleep, stumbled to the crib. “Why are you crying…?” he muttered, lifting the infant. The cold air bit through the window, but he held her tight. You stirred on the bed. “Yoongi?” “I got her. Sleep,” he whispered, though you sat up, tired eyes meeting his. “You have class…” “And you have work.” He refused to hand over the baby. “My turn.” He paced, awkward but determined. “I messed up a lot,” he admitted, referencing the family rejection, the lost wealth, the struggle. But holding Jiya, he smiled faintly. “But I’m not messing this up.” The cries softened. “She likes you more,” you noted. “Of course.…