Where the stairs twist - teaser
# Synopsis - youâre a curious one, never taught to stay away â stay out of things that didnât concern you. After months of well taught self-discipline, you canât help the impulsive choice of following the sound of the dancing piano keys, up the twisted stairs, behind the locked door.
# pairing - pianist!yoongi x female!reader
# warnings/tags - mentions of sa to female reader, boarding school, strict schooling staff, mentions of weird behaviour from teacher to student, mentions of disappearance of a friend.
Sat in the back of Mr. Sirâs English class, you twiddle your thumbs â your head is cast down and youâre alone. Glued to the confines of the wooden seat that holds your weight beside the empty one where your best friend Sara should be sitting. Except sheâs not.
You try your best not to catch the eye of nosy students who pretend to crack their backs, hands gripping the wooden back of their chairs as they stare into your soul. Wondering where Sara is.
The anger you feel is unjustifiable as you are just as curious as the other students â you canât help the ache in your chest that tells you to run to your dorm room and scribble a letter to her home in search of her whereabouts.
She hadnât shown in two weeks now, youâd brushed it off after the first two, your hands leaked with sweat due to the worrying pit in your stomach on the eighth day, your head spun with a million thoughts on the tenth, and youâd given up thinking by the thirteenth.
And here you say on the fourteenth day of your best friends disappearance, unbothered.
Rumours said sheâd dropped out, bad mouthed people said sheâd ran away, others said sheâd been expelled.
No one knew the truth, you didnât know the truth, and that annoyed you most. Why didnât you know? What didnât she tell you? Had she been weird in the final few weeks before her disappearance?
âIâd prefer if your eyes watched me teach rather than watched your fingers dance together, y/n.â Mr Sirâs voice rings out from the top of the classroom and you raise your head swiftly to catch the fed up look on his face. His glasses pulled down slightly, strands of his hair tousled and sticking out in all kinds of directions. Some slicked against his forehead, some looking as though they were trying to jump off his head.
âApologies, Mr. Sir.â You clear your throat, a cheesy smile over taking your features as you glance around to catch a few cautious eyes, one or two giggling girls sat close to the front.
âNo, itâs simply not enough,â Mr. Sirâs voice cuts through the silence created in the moment youâd taken to latch onto your pencil and look towards the blackboard. âI will see to it that you are dealt with by Mr. Burnford.â That catches your attention in the most horrific ways.
Mr. Burnford. Oh, Mr. Burnford. A man he is, and a monster he hides.
You swallow the lump formed in your throat and Mr. Sirâs eyes turn to slits as he anticipates your reaction, your response. âThatâs fine, Mr. Sir. Iâll see to it that I am properly disciplined.â
His brows raise, a student chokes on their own breath â a few heads turn to get a glance of how you look, wondering if you were even mentally conscious to what you were letting slip past you lips.
âR-right, well. Back to my lesson, I suppose.â Mr. Sir loosens his tie â but you donât miss the way he turns around and shifts his pants.
A vile man once, a vile man always.
The scrapes of chairs pierce your ears and the sounds of busied pens and flicking papers leak into the classroom void of voices. Mr. Sirâs chalk screeches as it assaults the blackboard with his writing.
And youâre just motionless, frozen to your seat with clasped hands and eyes slightly widened.
And in a place as guarded as the boarding school your parents had you chained in since the ripe age of four, you knew there was no escaping it.
Your heart began throbbing with a sort of sickly feeling that felt close to fear but boarded on the line between sadness and anger.
You knew that if Mr. Sir had his way, you wouldnât receive the usual punishment of a ruler to the palm. No. Youâd receive so much more, the attention of his own. And you didnât want it.
It was never fun prying sticky notes from the side of your face, but how could you avoid it when you had something as boring as detention instead of a peaceful walk through the school gardens with nothing but your jammed sandwiches and the serene company of your own mind.
âMr. Burnford wonât take kindly to knowing one of his students slept peacefully throughout an entire detention.â You snap your eyes towards Mr. Sir who stands, leaned against the door frame and your stomach drops.
âSay the word and Iâll make sure he hears nothing of it.â You shake your head immediately. Not today. Not ever again. âIâll take another two hours Mr. Sir.â You offer, heart beat in your ears as you do so.
âAs you wish, mouse.â
And heâs gone, and heâs left you with a sheen of cold sweat coating your pale skin, and youâre sick, the green kind that ends in vomit spewing from your guts.
You hated that man. Oh, you never hated anything as much.
The classroom falls quiet under the sound of your harsh breathing, you can almost see the dust particles passing you by due to the stillness youâve allowed your body to endure.
You glance about, posture to its perfection, hands clasped, mind boggled.
Itâs about this time when you hear it, the faint sound, the quiet sound. Almost silent sound of piano keys dancing about from far away.
From the music room? You rush to think, maybe one of the older years were practicing for their end of school music exam.
You change your mind quickly when the door placed furthest from Mr. Sirâs desk in the corner slips open the smallest bit at the feel of wind against its wood.
You change your mind because of the music that drifts from behind.
Your body canât help itself but freeze into a state of shock? Fear? Curiosity.
Youâd been so good for so long, for five very long months youâd kept your nose out of things, youâd stayed on your best behaviour per Mr. Burnfordâs request with a side of Mr. Sirâs weird touches and whispered pleads.
Your eyes look away, you cast your nose upward as you cross your arms and squeeze your eyes shut. It was a test, you felt it in your bones.
A door didnât open alone, a piano didnât play at random. It was a test, you were so sure of it.
And so you left it, left the curiosity plague you while you dropped your head to the desk you were bound to in the chains of detention. And closed your eyes, closed off your ears of noise.
I understand that this is quite short, itâs simple a teaser to the series âwhere the stairs twistâ. I didnât see a need in a lengthy teaser..đ
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