A matter of letting go [1] eng. | Teacher Yoongi Au
Pairing: Min Yoongi x f.reader Genre: fluff, angst, smut eventually
Sumary: Min Yoongi is one step away from achieving his dream, the one for which he went against his parents, the one for which he had to leave behind the most important people in his life. He was about to feel it within reach, when an unfortunate event forced him to stand in front of a classroom side by side with the one person he never stopped loving.
A/N: Hey there! This is a first for me, am still a little squeaky at my writing in english so am apologizing in advance of the next chapter in hopes that, at least, it's readable and enjoyable. As always, you can leave a coment, share it, also, you can give me recommendations, suggestions or corrections of any kind. Thank u for read. 💌
Everything had fallen into complete darkness. The voices reached him from far away, muffled and swallowed by the abandonment of consciousness. He could still feel the people near him, even as it felt like his soul had left his body.
He blacked out.
Just moments before, an unbearable heaviness had settled on the back of his head and nape, absorbing the news as the faces and objects around him began to spin. The annoying tinnitus in his ear made him stand up, only to fall into the void.
He blacked out.
That very morning, everything had a diferent feeling to it. From the moment he woke up, he carried the feeling that this day would steer his life to a new direction. So he dragged himself out of bed with his usual tiredness, his phone clinging to its last bit of battery, and the deafening silence filling his apartment.
Everything seemed to indicate that Yujin, his roommate, had left earlier than usual. She’d left her coffee cup beside her forgotten set of keys near the door. Still, he didn’t spare it a second though as he stepped out.
Skipping breakfast, as had become his habit, he headed to the coffee-bar right in front of his building, looking for Yujin, as she worked there — just like he used to invest countless of nights working there for minimum wage —, so they could talk about the upcoming bills, while enjoying a large cup of coffee.
To his surprise, Yujin wasn’t behind the counter, or anywhere in sight. None of her coworkers knew where she’d gone, so, a little intrigued, he tried calling her, but his phone had finally given in to its dead battery. Resigned, he took his usual order — the one the staff already knew by heart —, and made his way back to the building's parking lot to grab his car. It was time to head to the recording label.
He was currently an intern in the special program for new producers, at the record label where his best friend, Namjoon, worked. It was thanks to Joon, and his family’s influence, that he’d even managed to get his papers and demos submitted.
He’d brought in a handful of melodies he’d written during his late-night shifts at the café, good enough to catch the ears of the higher-ups. Still, competition for a spot was fierce, and with his lack of experience, he’d had no choice but to start from the bottom as an intern.
That didn't discourage him in any way. He was grateful to Joon, and even for his part-time job at the bar-café, as he could pursue his dream of becoming a producer while still keeping a roof over his head.
Eventually, after pushing himself hard enough, he’d made it through to the second stage of the program by presenting his thesis in Music Production. And now here he was, on his way to present his latest masterpiece: an EP he'd been working tirelessly on, and for which he'd decided to quit his job as a barista to dedicate as much time and dedication as possible.
Sliding into his car, he patted the pockets of his jacket to make sure the USB, holding his project, was safe. It was. Yet a heavy feeling still pressed against his chest, as if he’d forgotten something important. He couldn't help but associate it with the importance of that day.
On the drive, he didn’t dare plug the USB into his stereo, even though he normally played his drafts on repeat on his way. “One careless mistake could ruin everything”, he kept telling himself. So instead, he drove on in silence, the dull chatter of morning radio stations filling the space.
By the time he reached the building, his anxiety levels had spiked high, and refused to calm as he walked through the reception and boarded the elevator. It had become a daily state for him, so he felt a sense of pride when he thought about his hard work.
Despite the way his body and mind dragged him down, despite the suffocating grind of work and uncertainty, he had managed to focus on his desires and inspirations, on his senses and instincts, when creating his songs.
He realized too late, as he stepped into the cramped studio he shared, that he had forgotten his noise-canceling headphones at home. In that tiny workspace, they were essential, not only because privacy and space were scarce, but also out of respect for his senior producer, who showed him the same courtesy in return.
So, instead of asking anyone to change their habits, he simply used the headphones whenever he needed to write his lyrics. Even though his senior was on medical leave, there was always the chance his peace could be broken by the scatterbrained: Park Jisung.
And as if Jisung had some uncanny sense for the worst possible timing, he slipped through the door only seconds after Yoongi had sat down.
“You’re here,” the dark-haired boy noted from the doorway, his usual flat tone doing little to disguise his nosiness.
“We thought you’d be rushing with last-minute edits to your project, you know, with the deadline and all that stuff…” Jisung had a habit of blurting out his thoughts as if they belonged to everyone.
Out of the whole team, he was the only one convinced Yoongi would be scrambling that morning.
“I’m here, yes. And as for the final touches, they’re not big of a thing —nor any of your business,” he thought. “Just a few fine-tunings I can finish today during the day,” Yoongi replied curtly.
He didn’t spare another glance at his gaunt figure leaning against the doorway. Instead, he turned in his chair, slipped on his headphones, and tried to block out both the buzzing lights above and the boy’s petulant little voice.
But Jisung wasn’t finished.
"Still, today’s d-day. Nine a.m., sharp. Which means…” he tapped the clock above the doorframe, “…five minutes, Yoongs.”
Just as the color drained from Yoongi's face, he quickly left the room and headed to Nam's office, pushing past the nosy boy in the process.
His pulse thudded violently as he knocked on the door: no response.
He was on the verge of shouting, maybe even pounding his fists like a tantrum-throwing kid, when his back collided with someone.
The program's supervisor. His boss. Mr. Kang.
“Min Kid, what are you doing here wasting your time?”
The Min Kid in question stood there, petrified, as if his best moments in the company were passing before his eyes, as if the man in front of him were destiny itself, handing his failure into his hands.
“I assume you've already finished your project. If you’re here to deliver it, give it to me. Young Kim is waiting on me to review yesterday’s submissions—I’ll make sure yours is added to the list.”
Before Yoongi could stammer a word, Mr. Kang snatched the USB from his hand and dismissed him with a polite wave.
“Go back to your studio, or grab breakfast. You look exhausted. Everyone’s free to take lunch an hour early—just make sure you keep up the good work.”
With two firm pats on his back, Mr. Kang was gone, striding down the perfectly lit hallway.
Gone, with the USB that carried Yoongi’s life, his future. Everything.
He was willing to die before letting himself fail.
When he returned to the studio, the nosy black-haired man had left.
In the midst of relaxing for the first time that day, he decided to charge his phone and open his book-notes to distract his mind, if only for a moment.
The screen lit up with a flood of missed calls and unread messages, mostly from his mother, sent between the night before and just a few hours ago.
He ignored them for now. It was probably just another attempt to send him good luck or pry for details about the selection process. He locked the phone before it could pull him further away from what mattered: his lyrics and his coffee.
But the coffee hit his empty stomach like acid, and the familiar burn of gastritis clawed its way up his throat. Right then, a call from Yujin flashed across the screen, as an unexpected relief to his tense shoulders.
“Hey, what’s up?” He answered immediately, desperate to distract himself from the anxiety chewing at him while he waited.
He knew that if Namjoon was on the evaluation committee, he would intercede for him to be one of the first to be considered for evaluation, and while that was a nice touch, the anxiety of knowing it only made his nerves worse.
“Are you already at lunch?” The urgent, hurried tone of those words made him sit up straight. “Can you come to the train station?”
“I was just about to leave. I’m on my way,” he replied, puzzled by such a request. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
He hung up, as if this wasn't a casual call to keep up and then hurried out of the building to meet up with his roommate.
Fifteen minutes turn to twenty in the mid-morning traffic, then thirty when he couldn’t find a parking spot close enough to spare him from walking in the sun.
Finally, he made it inside the crowded station, scanning the place is search for her. He was looking for his phone when a hand yanked him by the arm.
“If I’d known you’d take this long, I would’ve just said it over the phone.”
Yoongi recognized when a person was irritable, so this time he decided to remain silent and wait for the girl, with her arms crossed and impassive face, to give him a reason to do so.
“I’ll make it quick. My train leaves in fifteen minutes, so I need to set things straight before I go.”
As the words made sense in her head, she scribbled numbers onto an old receipt. “This is my account number, my parents’ address, and the codes you’ll need for shipping details.”
She handed him the scrap of paper. He raised an eyebrow and grabbed it.
“Clearly you've made a plan,” he said carefully. “Would you mind letting me in on it?
For a beat, the air between them turned heavy, his confusion colliding with her attempt to run away, unnoticed.
“I quit the café. I’m going home.”
Yoongi nodded slowly, gesturing for her to continue the explanation, but when silence stretched on, he finally pushed:
“What happened to wanting to be a singer? You know the work we did was good. The opportunity is right there...why- why walk away now?”
Her eyes flicked from her watch to him, back and forth. With a sigh, she looked directly at Yoongi, who avoided her eyes out of habit, but if he hadn’t, he might have caught the shadow of betrayal hiding in them.
“The truth is… it was never really my dream. It’s yours. If you get in, it’ll be all yours,” she murmured, a trace of guilt tugging at her voice. “And if you don’t, there’s nothing more I can do to help.”
“I need to move on. I can’t keep living like this…waiting for one of us to make it while the other works their ass off just to keep the apartment afloat.”
“You were the one who suggested this,” Yoongi snapped, irritation rising with his hunger. “So what are you talking about now?”
He looked at her for a few seconds, wondering: if giving up made her feel guilty, why did she do it?
Silence stretched thick between them. Around them, the station buzzed with people chasing trains, buying tickets, finding seats, walking in and out of entrances.
But for Yoongi and Yujin, time seemed to hang heavy, pinned down by the weight of everything remaining unspoken.
Finally, she broke it.
“I’m just tired, Yoon.” Her voice cracked under something she couldn’t admit. “I have to go.”
“Fine. If you’re set on leaving… I won’t stop you.” His eyes dropped to the paper he was twisting in his hands, “but what’s this for?”
“I didn’t pay the rent this month,” she said flatly, but she could no longer generate any reaction from Yoongi, or so she thought.
“I’m sure with your new producer contract you’ll manage. Find another roommate, and once you’re financially stable, send me the deposit back to that account.”
"The address is where you should send my things, like the coffee maker and the bedding. Do it when you have the deposit money, so you can pay with it."
His expression was unreadable, his mind caught somewhere far away.
Over the speakers, the call for her train echoed through the station. Yujin placed her hands on his shoulders, grounding him for a brief, fleeting goodbye.
“It was a pleasure helping with your project. It felt… pure, and so real.”
His eyes wandered everywhere but her. “I hope I see you again. No hard feelings?”
Confusion clung to him more tightly than before. He barely managed a nod before she lifted her bags—bags he hadn’t even noticed until that moment—and turned toward the gates. The whole thing felt wrong, as though he’d skipped a crucial episode in the middle of his favorite series.
For now, there wasn’t much he could do. Yujin’s departure wasn’t in his hands, nor was the approval of his project.
The only thing he could control was getting himself some lunch—and that’s where he headed once he finally broke free of midday traffic.
On the way, he slowed to a stop to let a line of children cross the street, hand in hand behind a woman—presumably their teacher.
The sight pulled at him with a strange sense of déjà vu. But before he could chase the thought, the blare of car horns snapped him back to reality, urging him forward.
On the way, he slowed to a stop to let a line of children cross the street, hand in hand behind a woman, presumably their teacher.
The sight pulled at him with a strange sense of déjà vu. But before he could chase the thought, the blare of car horns snapped him back to reality, urging him to move forward.
He had barely finished ordering his meal when his second coffee of the day was handed in front of him.
For Yoongi, caffeine was essential at times like this—when life seemed to slow down around him, the world pressing closer, people colliding into each other as if there were no space left to breathe.
At that table, it felt as if the whole world had been strapped to his wrist, dragging him down with its weight. His dream was already delayed but waiting even a few more hours for it felt impossible.
And then, like fate knocking at the door, like the false hope of a dream too good to last, Namjoon's contact photo lit up his phone screen.
He missed the call.
Within seconds, his phone bloated with notifications; text messages, voicemails, incoming calls. Yet all he could see was that single name flashing again and again. Her name.
And he missed that call too.
Still, it was enough to stir something deep in his memory: today, Y/N returned to his life far from home.
And he had forgotten.
The reminder had been written in his calendar. His mother had begged him not to let it slip his mind. But he had.
He’d completely forgotten the dinner their parents had organized, the same dinner they held every time Y/N came home on summer break, before she had to return to her job in the province.
Three years running.
He clung to the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, a miracle would happen—that when he returned to the label, his contract would be waiting for him, ready to be signed and sealed.
Then he’d have the rest of the evening free to meet her, to say goodbye to the love of his life for the third time.
Determined, he reached for his phone to call her. But Namjoon’s face appeared again, floating in a message bubble. This time, Yoongi couldn’t ignore it.
“Nam, what’s up?”
The line fell silent for a stretch of endless seconds.
“I need you here. Right now.”
The voice on the other end wasn’t the charming, easygoing Namjoon he knew. It was sharp, unsteady, carrying something dark in the tone. A chill spread through Yoongi’s chest, his heart thundering in pure terror.
Namjoon had never sounded so disturbed.
“In case you're wondering,” Namjoon exhaled a breath heavy with dread,
“it doesn't look good.”
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