old cigarettes | min yoongi

lvii.

yoongi stared at the notes in his hand, dumbfounded. quickly, he turned around and started walking. he was in a daze and didn't properly register where he was walking, just like the first day. his feet took him all the way through half of the main street, where he suddenly took a sharp turn into an alleyway.

a faint tremor traveled through his hands as he looked down at the notes. why...? yoongi shook his head as a small voice in his head replied for him. she said so herself, dumbass. you tried to preserve your identity, but in the process it backfired.

it had done just that. he'd tried telling her that he just had a really big family, but then it turned around to smack him when the busker had pressed his notes back into his hands, now slightly crumpled from how she clutched them.

she was not making this whole 'avoid feelings' thing easy. yoongi let out a tired chuckle as he slumped down against the wall of the building behind him, his head hung low as he thought. he really didn't feel like going back to the house, but if he was out much longer, it might worry the others. already, the sun was cascading down, sunlight leaking down past the horizon line.

he played with the money in his hands. he could always try and give them back, but where...? his memories transported him back to the music shop, where he'd been only this morning.

yoongi pried open the door with slight difficulty, the frost having sealed the door shut tightly. he'd gone there looking for the busker, but there was no one there. or so it seemed, as a teenager hurried out the back room, combing a hand through her messy hair. yoongi could tell immediately that she was the busker's sibling. the resemblance was almost scary.

"oh my god, i'm sorry about the door. we can't afford heating, so we kind of have to deal with the frost. is there anything you need help with?" yoongi winced at the mention of them not being able to afford heating, but shook his head. he walked over to the pianos, not really paying attention to his surroundings as he dragged his fingers along the hard wood of the instruments, tracing over the lacquer in hypnotizing patterns.

the busker's sibling stared at him for a beat before scrambling over to the back room where she was before. yoongi had guessed the two of them were poor, but not like this. that would explain why the busker looked so skinny. so... devoid of life, as if all the toning to her skin was sucked down into the chasm of her cheeks.

yoongi furrowed his brow as the sister walked back into the room, carrying an armful of books that she began to stack on a twistable shelf. "hey, uh," he began, and the sister's head whipped up, "that busker that performs in the park... who is she?"

"oh! that's my big sister. she performs in the park from eight in the morning until four in the evening every saturday, and pretty much non-stop. it gets us quite a bit of attention. just enough to keep ourselves afloat." she grinned widely, and even in this small section of a conversation, yoongi could tell she really adored her big sister.

he stayed for a little longer. the shop was fairly small, but instead of cramped, it felt cozy. the walls were covered in instruments so much that they looked like one big collage. a small and dusty radio played on the counter, playing a song by a girl group. behind the counter there was a set of stairs leading upwards. to where, yoongi wasn't sure. he didn't hang around after that for long. leaving with a short nod in her general direction, he exited the shop and made a beeline for the park.

yoongi's eyes flickered back open. the shop, the staircase, it must have been where the two of them lived. all he would have to do is show up there, give her the money, and then go back to the others before they started worrying about him. simple. and of course, try not to be an idiot and compromise his own identity.

it was tiring being recognized by everyone. no matter where he went, there was always going to be someone who took photos. always. without fail. just once, he wanted to be seen as a person, not a celebrity, not a title, or someone who is on tv. just once.

that was what the park trips had become. no one took photos of him, but they did look twice. it was good enough. and just so long as the busker didn't recognize him, it would be fine. all would be well.

with that thought, yoongi got back up and dusted himself off. the busker would probably have gotten home by now. he was watching her pack up just as he left, and the music shop wasn't that far away. he hoped that she wouldn't mind him going over there. after all, his actions over the past few weeks were definitely stalker-like.

ripping off his hat and mask and pocketing them to stop the choking feeling they gave off, yoongi made his way down the street, back towards the music shop.