The sun had long dipped beneath the horizon when Y/N slipped out of the penthouse. She pulled her hoodie tighter, disguising her face under the city's flickering neon lights. Her schoolbag felt heavier than usual — not because of books, but because of the choice she had made.
She'd told no one but Yoongi.
The ride to the old district was quiet. Her thoughts screamed, but the world outside the cab was still. The driver barely glanced at her through the mirror, though the neighborhood they were entering wasn't the kind you sent a teenager to alone. Abandoned warehouses. Dim alleys. The sharp scent of metal and oil in the air. But Y/N wasn't scared.
She was curious. She was ready.
The studio was tucked between two crumbling buildings, hidden like a secret in the city's underbelly. She hesitated outside the door, her fingers brushing against the cool metal. Then it opened from inside.
Yoongi stood there — clad in black, eyes shadowed by his cap. He didn't smile, but his gaze softened slightly at the sight of her.
Yoongi: "You're late."
Y/N: "Blame my school bus."
A twitch of amusement crossed his face. He stepped aside, and she entered.
The studio was nothing like she imagined. Worn-down walls, tangled wires, a piano in the corner, sound panels peeling — but there was soul here. Instruments were scattered like old friends, and the air hummed with energy.
Y/N: "This place… it feels like you."
Yoongi: "It is. It's where I come to be myself. Away from suits, boardrooms, and bloodstained meetings."
He gestured to the piano.
Yoongi: "Sit."
She obeyed, setting her bag down and pulling out a small notebook filled with lyrics, sketches of melodies, unfinished thoughts.
Yoongi: "Play something. Anything."
Her hands trembled slightly as she rested them on the keys. She began — hesitant at first, but then flowing, the melody rising like smoke from her fingertips. It was raw, not perfect — but it was hers.
Yoongi stood behind her, arms crossed, head tilted slightly. He didn't interrupt.
When the last note faded, he spoke.
Yoongi: "You've got a good instinct. You play with feeling. But you lack control."
Y/N: "That's why I want to learn."
He nodded once.
Yoongi: "Then I'll teach you. But not just music."
She looked up, confused.
Yoongi: "You live in a house built on power and blood. The world you're trying to escape will follow you — even into music halls. I'll teach you how to protect what's yours. How to survive."
She swallowed hard. This wasn't just about music anymore. It was about proving that she could have both — a dream and a backbone.
Yoongi: "But this stays between us. The others wouldn't understand."
She nodded quickly.
Y/N: "I won't say a word."
He handed her a set of headphones, then walked to the old mixing table and pressed play. A beat she'd never heard before filled the room — haunting, intense, beautiful.
Yoongi: "Let's see if you can write to this."
The night stretched on as the two of them worked — teacher and student, brother and sister — building something only they understood.
Outside, the city pulsed with danger. But inside that hidden room, a fire was beginning to burn — quiet, fierce, and unstoppable.