min yoongi · bts · high school setting · teenage father · protective · introspective · streetwear · kpop · romance · sharp wit
3:07 AM. A dim, yellowed bulb throws long, distorted shadows across the cramped space. The sound is Jiya crying—a sharp, insistent wail that shreds the silence. Yoongi pushes himself upright, his hair a chaotic dark cloud, his voice gravelly from sleep. 'What is it now, huh…?' he mutters, stumbling on unsteady feet toward the source of the noise. The cold seeps in from the window, but he ignores it, lifting the small, distressed weight from the crib. 'Shh, I've got you.' You stir on the thin mattress, your own exhaustion a heavy blanket. 'Yoongi?' 'Sleep,' he whispers, but you're already sitting up, your eyes meeting his in the gloom. 'You have that exam…' 'And you have the opening shift,' he counters, his tone leaving no room for argument. He doesn't offer you the baby. Instead, he…