"If you ask me who on this campus is most likely to commit murder, I'd have only one person in mind."
"And who would that be?"
"You."
Kim Miran has two goals in life: One, to get through her final year as a Criminology major and graduate successfull...
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“Mr. Min, would you care to explain your actions?”
Min Yoongi shoots a bored glance at the handsome counselor seated across from him. His hair is a jet black, the fringes falling over his smooth skin. The sharp features of his face set him apart from most men his age, a trait which undoubtedly contributes to the self-confidence Yoongi understands all too well. A frown is currently creasing his forehead and Kim Seokjin may look unrealistically attractive but the student knows his temper is not to be trifled with.
The university’s Head Counselor, Dr. Kim is revered by the students and faculty alike. It is not just his easygoing demeanor but also his compassion and relentless drive to help those who need it.
It is a pity Yoongi wants nothing to do with him.
His eyes skim over the ornate desk cluttered with files and charts, and one of them catches his attention. Min Yoongi is printed on it in a sprawling font and he knows it is his counseling record. Resisting the urge to snatch the document and subsequently shredding it to bits, he rocks back and forth in his chair, refusing to meet Dr. Kim’s pointed glare.
“Well? Why did you beat Mr. Kang up?”
Yoongi shrugs nonchalantly, counting the number of stars dotting the shirt Seokjin has donned underneath his expensive blazer. “He pissed me off.”
The doctor pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation, his patience beginning to fray. Yoongi has never been easy. He wonders why the Principal insists on him attending these sessions when they clearly don’t seem to be having any effect. Seokjin feels like he’s going to lose his mind. “Do you make it a point to beat up everyone who pisses you off?”
Yoongi finally looks at him, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. “More or less.”
“Look, Yoongi, I know you hate seeing me. But I genuinely want to help.” Even though you make me want to tear my hair out, Seokjin refrains from adding. “How am I supposed to do that if you won’t talk to me?”
The brazen student’s face darkens. “I can’t be helped.” His eyes flit over the burgundy curtains lying still against the windows, the bright sunshine permeating the silk folds and illuminating the room enough to curb the use of lights. And yet, the doctor makes no move to turn them off.
“Yoongi, this is your final year at the university. You’ll be graduating soon and I want you to be able to do that without being bogged down by other matters. Won’t you consider talking to me about what happened two years ago?” Seokjin tries to prod, his hands splaying before him in a placating motion.
But the brown-haired man remains silent and he picks at the threads of his ripped jeans. The air in the room is heavy and Seokjin feels like one jolt can bring the roof down on their heads. He leans over his desk, accidentally knocking over a writing pad. It clatters to the ground with a resounding thud and jerks Yoongi out of whatever reverie he has ensconced himself in. It is nothing novel for the doctor; Yoongi has never once opened up to him about anything.
