Like heavy, harsh waves crashing against ocean shore, Yoongis heart bangs his ribcage as if it were a drum. He stares blankly at the damned yellow paper before abruptly ripping it off his door- the adhesive used to stick it up had left a mark- and rushes inside. He drops his bag onto the floor, not caring at the way his belongings collide loudly. Yoongi feels his breath fall short, trying his best to read the finer text even with blurry eyes. His gaze quickly scans the paper, looking for one thing and one thing only.

'Notice for eviction......                    Min Yoongi.........
       ...........on the twentieth....
unpaid rent.... Due to this......
   Complaints and.........
              .... Two weeks before
.........
       If you have any further questions, please contact the number below:
Xxxxx xxxx xxx'

Yoongi pulls out his phone faster than he thought humanly possible. His fingers fumble but he manages to type in the numbers needed. He begins the call, practically slamming the phone against his ear and waits. It rings a total of six times. Yoongi chews on his fingernails, a bad habit that he was trying to give up but right now it was the only thing he could do to calm his nerves.

"Hello there, this is **** city's rented building questions and complaints, how may I help you?"

He inhales, trying not to let the confusion, sadness and anger show in his voice.

"Hi, Uhm... I just got an eviction notice for not paying rent. I've always paid my rent on time every month so I don't... understand what this is about?"

"I see sir, my apologies for this mix-up. If you could just tell me your full name and the address of the building I'm sure we can get this sorted out."

Yoongi feels a small bit relieved. He hopes that this really was all just one misunderstanding. He gives the information that was asked for before being told to wait a minute. The line on the other side goes completely quiet and the black-haired man could tell that it had been muted. He looks at his chair and contemplates sitting down but then he can hear the other person's voice.

"Sorry for the wait. It says here that there's a number I can redirect you to. I'm sure this will get you all your answers so I'll send it over now."

"R-right, yeah... Okay.."

He thought that he might've had to wait a while until he gets to talk to someone else but, to his surprise, his call gets answered almost immediately. Opening his mouth to speak only to get cut off, Yoongi feels all his previous panic and so, so much more rush back in an instant.

"Hi, i-"

"Yoongi-ah."

It was him.

("But don't forget, my son, we tried doing this the civil way. Don't blame us for what happens next.")

"You bastard." Yoongi hears his voice shake and he knows that his father had heard it too. He finds that he doesn't really care. "Now, now, child. That's no way to speak to your father, is it?" The want to laugh is back again but even stronger, this time, he doesn't resist. "I'd hardly ever call you that." His voice is nothing short of venomous - dropping an octave or two and suddenly growing gravelly. "What do you want?"

His father scoffs. "You know what I want. I did this to let you know that I still and always will have power over you - no matter how hard you try to escape I will always find you and you will comply with my every order. This is only the beginning, my dear child." Yoongi feels his jaw clench. "Have I ever mentioned the fact that I have very close connections to not only the headmaster at the school your little friend attends but also the owner of the apartment complex you and your roommates are residing in as of right now? I won't be afraid to take action, as I hope I have made very clear."

"You're a monster, you know that right?"

"Yes, I am very aware. However, this line of work tends to murder your morality."

"Yeah? And you want to murder mine, too?"

"What needs to be done, needs to be done, Yoongi-ah... You'll understand soon enough. If you look at the lovely little letter you've just received, you'll see that your deadline is two weeks, that is how long you have to make a decision. I may be willing to compromise if you ask nice enough; if I don't hear back from you past then, I'm afraid I'll have to take everything else from you, dear. Be wise now." 

And then he hangs up. Yoongi is left standing in the middle of his studio, feeling unsure of what he's feeling.

Anger? Obviously. Sadness? Sure. Shock? Maybe. But there's something else there. Something foreign. Something that dulls every other emotion he could and probably should be exhibiting right now. His heart drops to his stomach and then he's able to identify that mysterious emotion.

Nausea.

He feels sick. Like he could throw up right then and there. He feels sick at his father, at himself, at this damned shop, at his lifelong dream, at the tattoos that adorn his body, at everything. And when he is actually about to throw up, the door swings open. Yoongi looks over to see a vaguely familiar face.

"Hi.. Uhm.. I have an appointment now but the sign on the door says closed? I saw you in here so I was wondering if you were actually open?"

Oh, right. Yoongi still had work. He apologises to his client, asking him to turn the sign around before offering him a seat. The black-haired man decides to feel later. His eyes glance over at his phone and he sees a message from Jungkook. It says something about how he might not be able to come in today because his friends want to celebrate something with him but Yoongi didn't care enough to read it fully. He instead decides to completely submerge himself into his work to combat thinking about the absolutely bizarre situation his father had forced him into.

It works. He doesn't think about it. He doesn't think about anything, actually. He wishes he could be this empty forever.

-

Sadly, when the last customer leaves with a large smile and big tip, Yoongi feels all his emotions crash into him like they had done when he first saw the eviction notice on his door. His limbs feel heavy as does his heart.

He wishes he could just forget. Then he remembers there's a way he can forget, even if it's just for a little while.

"I need a fucking drink..."