Work Text:
Yoongi's cursor flickered at him from the comment section of his latest fic; a soft, domestic piece about two rivals learning to share an apartment and accidentally falling in love. It had taken him three weeks to get just right..
The comment that had stopped his routine scroll through reactions was glowing, effortless in its enthusiasm:
Yoongi read the comment again, a warm flush of contentment spreading through him. It was strange, he thought, how a few lines of text from a stranger could have such a powerful impact. In the world of online writing, where feedback could be harsh, a genuine comment felt like a lifeline. He realized that every time he uploaded a new story, he wasn't just sharing his work; he was reaching out, hoping to make a connection, hoping someone would see and understand the specific nuances he wove into his writing. It was an emotional exchange that went beyond words, and in moments like this, he felt that the act of writing, and receiving comments, was its own kind of quiet love.
Yoongi had smiled, actually smiled at his laptop screen like some kind of fool, before clicking on mochi95's profile out of curiosity. His favorite commenter, the one who left paragraphs of meaningful thoughts on every single fic, who seemed to genuinely see what Yoongi was trying to do with his writing.
The profile loaded.
Bookmarks: 3,457 Works: 1 User Since: 2019
What he saw next made his stomach drop.
There, in all of its unbelievable audacity, was the lone work of his favorite commenter:
“Applying Literary Theory to Fan Studies | parkjm_95 Class Notes” by mochi95❤️
Yoongi knew that username in the title. He knew it because he saw attached to it every Tuesday and Thursday at 9 AM in his Comparative Literature seminar, belonging to the smug face of Park Jimin; self-appointed class star, professor's pet, and the bane of Yoongi's entire academic existence.
No.
No.
Yoongi clicked on the link with unsteady fingers, and sure enough, there it was: Park Jimin's actual study blog, complete with a profile picture that matched the face Yoongi had glared at across the seminar table for the past eight weeks.
His favorite reader, the one whose comments he looked forward to more than publication itself, the one who seemed to understand his writing on a fundamental level...
Was Park Fucking Jimin.
Yoongi snapped his laptop shut.
Then opened it again.
Then slammed it shut once more for good measure.
💖☠️💖☠️💖
The war between Min Yoongi and Park Jimin had begun on the first day of Professor Kim's Comparative Literature seminar, a class that was supposed to be Yoongi's easy A, his refuge from the hell of his music theory requirements.
Yoongi had walked in with his decaf iced americano and his dog-eared copy of "The Great Gatsby," prepared to coast through another semester of pointing out obvious symbolism and collecting participation points. He'd taken his usual desk in the back corner, spread his materials across the desk in a clear territorial display, and waited for class to begin.
Then Park Jimin had walked in.
Correction: Park Jimin had floated in, because apparently, physics worked differently for a guy like him. Perfect features, perfect posture, perfect pastel sweater that likely cost more than Yoongi's textbooks. He'd smiled at Professor Kim, who'd actually smiled back, the traitor, and taken a seat in the front row.
"Now class," Professor Kim had begun, "today we're discussing the symbolism of the green light in Gatsby. Who'd like to start?"
Yoongi's hand had gone up. This was his territory. He'd read Gatsby four times, written his college entrance essay on it, had opinions.
"Yes, Yoongi?"
"The green light represents the unreachable nature of the American Dream," Yoongi had started confidently. "Gatsby's reaching toward something that…"
"Actually," a melodious voice had interrupted, and Yoongi's eye had twitched, "while the American Dream interpretation is valid, I think we're overlooking the role Zelda Fitzgerald played in inspiring this symbolism. Her letters reveal how she felt like a decorative object in Scott's world, beautiful but ultimately unattainable even to herself. The green light isn't just about Gatsby's yearning for Daisy; it's Fitzgerald processing his own wife's simultaneous presence and absence in his life. Zelda was there, but the person she might have been; the artist, the writer, was always just out of reach, even to Scott."
Professor Kim had beamed. "Excellent point, Jimin! You've clearly done the supplementary reading."
Yoongi had stared at the back of Jimin's head with horror. Supplementary reading? Who does supplementary reading? And who brings up Zelda Fitzgerald's thwarted creative ambitions in a 101-level seminar?
That had been the beginning.
Since then, every class had become a battlefield. Yoongi would present an analysis; Jimin would counter with something more nuanced, always delivered with that same soft, thoughtful tone that that somehow made Yoongi want to throw his coffee at a wall. Jimin would reference obscure academic papers; Yoongi would cite even more obscure ones out of spite. Their classmates had started taking bets on who would make Professor Kim tear up with an insight first.
The worst part, the absolute worst part, was that Jimin was never mean about it. He never gloated, never smirked, never did anything that would give Yoongi a legitimate reason to hate him. He just existed in his perfect, brilliant, infuriating way, making Yoongi feel like he had to fight for every scrap of recognition.
And now, now, Yoongi discovered that this perfect, infuriating person was also mochi95, whose comments made Yoongi's entire week, whose enthusiasm reminded him why he loved writing in the first place. There was no way he could enjoy those comments anymore. Jimin had ruined class, he’d ruined Yoongi’s love of writing, Jimin had ruined everything.
Yoongi opened his laptop again and stared at Jimin's profile.
Then he opened a new document.
If Park Jimin was going to ruin his life, Min Yoongi was about to become Jimin’s worst nightmare.
💖☠️💖☠️💖
He scrolled through every single one of Jimin's 3,457 bookmarks, taking notes like he was preparing for a dissertation defense. Patterns surfaced: Jimin loved found family dynamics, hurt/comfort with emphasis on the comfort, and apparently had a thing for cooking scenes and sports anime with ridiculous power scaling. His favorite fandoms were specific: Naruto, Prince of Tennis, and a surprising number of K-drama AUs. There were film-based fics too; Jimin had an entire collection dedicated to Parasite AUs and character studies.
Jimin left comments on almost everything he bookmarked. Not just "loved this!" but paragraphs analyzing characterization, praising specific word choices, and pointing out callbacks to earlier chapters. He was a fic writer's dream reader, and Yoongi felt a twang of guilt that he quickly smothered.
This was war. Yoongi's pride had been wounded across eight weeks of academic humiliation. Park Jimin could handle a little fictional heartbreak.
The first strike was calculated. Yoongi noticed that Jimin had bookmarked an impressive number of Parasite fics, character studies of Kiwoo, AU explorations of what-ifs, and analysis of the Kim family's bond before everything fell apart. There were comments about class dynamics, about families struggling together, about the tragedy of circumstances beyond anyone's control.
One comment in particular stuck with Yoongi:
mochi95❤️ Sun 19 Jan 2025 11:05AM KST
the kim family's love for each other is what makes the story so compelling. they weren't bad people. they were just desperate, and they loved each other, and they were trying to survive together. i love fics that explore their bond 😭💕
Typically, Yoongi avoided major character death in his fics. If he had to choose based on Jimin’s interests, a movie that already had character deaths seemed to soften the use of mcd Yoongi, so that he could live with himself after.
So Yoongi wrote the saddest Parasite fic in existence.
He titled it "The Scholar's Rock Falls Upward" and poured his spite into 6,000 words of outright tragedy. It starts as a fix-it AU where the Kim family actually manages to buy the house after the Parks move abroad. Everything seems fine, they're decorating, planning their new life, Ki-jung is starting art school, Kiwoo is studying.
But the scholar's rock, which they've kept as a memento, is cursed.
One by one, in increasingly improbable accidents, the family members meet their end. Ki-jung trips over the rock and falls into a decorative koi pond that they just had installed and somehow drowns in two feet of water. The father, grief-stricken, backs into the rock while carrying groceries and tumbles down the stairs they were so proud to own. The mother, angry at the rock, misses it when she tries to kick it and kicks into a rusted nail instead, gets tetanus, and perishes from infection despite modern medicine.
Kiwoo is the last one standing. He tries to destroy the rock with a hammer, but it's too strong, even though it’s artificial. In the end, Kiwoo decides to get rid of the rock by throwing it into the Han River. But on the banks of the river, he trips, dropping the rock, and the rock supernaturally rolls uphill toward him. In his effort to get away from it, he falls into the river, the rock rolling in after him.
The last line: "The scholar's rock sank slowly to the bottom, having claimed its final victim. In the end, Kiwoo had been right; it really was a metaphorical stone."
Yoongi posted it at 2 AM on a Thursday night and went to bed with a vindictive smile, thinking he'd been terribly clever with his motif about class mobility and inescapable fate.
By 9 AM, exactly one hour before their seminar, there was a comment from mochi95:
mochi95❤️ Thu 30 Oct 2025 9:00AM KST
authornim... AUTHORNIM. i'm sitting at a campus café and i don't know whether to laugh or cry??? 😭😭😭 the ROCK? the CURSED ROCK??? kijung drowned in TWO FEET OF WATER? the rock rolled UPHILL??? i'm??? this was simultaneously the most tragic and most unhinged thing i've ever read. the commitment to the metaphor. the audacity of that ending line. i'm BROKEN but also what did i just READ. why would you do this to us 😭💔 but also... the writing was so confident in its absurdity that i believed every word while also not believing any of it??? you have such a gift for dramatic irony. i hate it. i love it. i'm so confused. that ROCK.
Yoongi read the comment twice. There was something achingly genuine about it even in its confusion, something that made his chest feel tight. He'd meant to ruin Jimin’s day, but instead Jimin seemed caught between emotional devastation and baffled laughter.
Then he walked into the seminar and saw Park Jimin in his usual front-row seat, looking completely normal. Perfect, even. Pastel blue sweater today, color-coordinated notes spread across his desk, that same small smile as he chatted with the student next to him.
Yoongi's eye twitched. Had the fic not affected him at all?
Professor Kim was discussing "The Metamorphosis," and right on schedule, Jimin's hand went up.
"I was thinking about Gregor's death," Jimin said, "and how Kafka uses absurdism to highlight existential tragedy. The arbitrary nature of Gregor's transformation mirrors how systems can arbitrarily destroy people, like, for instance, a family being destroyed by something as ridiculous as a rock."
Several classmates looked confused. Professor Kim looked intrigued. "Are you referencing something specific, Jimin?"
"Oh, just something I read this morning," Jimin said breezily, and Yoongi could swear he saw the corner of Jimin's mouth quirk. "It was actually brilliant in how it used physical absurdity to underscore class critique, although a little redundant, given the source material it was based on. The rock, obviously a symbol of aspirational thinking, literally defying physics to destroy the family? Chef's kiss. The commitment to metaphor over realism was bold."
He turned slightly, and Yoongi could have sworn Jimin's eyes flicked toward the back of the room for just a second.
"Sometimes the worst tragedies are the ones that shouldn't work on paper but somehow burrow into your heart anyway. The author really understood that emotional truth transcends logical consistency."
Professor Kim beamed. "Excellent analysis, Jimin! That's exactly the kind of critical thinking I want to see. The intersection of absurdism and emotional resonance."
Yoongi stared at the back of Jimin's head, his jaw tight. The bastard had just turned Yoongi's spite-fic against him. He'd taken the absurd tragedy, found the academic merit in it, and had somehow used Yoongi’s own writing as a class participation point for himself.
And he'd done it all while looking completely unbothered.
Fine. The absurdist approach hadn't worked. If Jimin could go hard, Yoongi could go harder.
💖☠️💖☠️💖
The second fic came three days later.
Yoongi had noticed Jimin's extensive collection of Dragon Ball Z bookmarks, particularly anything featuring Goku and Vegeta's rivalry-turned-friendship and the Z Fighters as found family. So he wrote "When Gods Fall Silent", a post-canon fic where a battle against an impossible enemy forces Goku to use a technique that saves Earth but erases him from existence entirely. Worse than death, complete erasure, where even the memories of Goku begin to fade. The fic ends with Vegeta standing alone, the only one who still remembers, unable to explain to anyone why he feels like someone essential is missing from the universe.
The comment came within hours:
mochi95❤️ Mon 3 Nov 2025 7:27PM KST
authornim i'm starting to get worried about you 😭 are you okay?? this was beautifully written but so SAD. the way vegeta kept trying to tell people about goku but couldn't make them understand... i felt that in my SOUL. if you need someone to talk to, i'm here! your writing is incredible but maybe... maybe we could have a happy ending next time? 🥺 i believe in your talent but i also want to make sure you're taking care of yourself 💕
Tuesday's seminar featured a debate on tragic versus comic literary traditions, and Yoongi watched Jimin passionately argue for the value of happy endings.
"Not everything needs to end in tragedy to be meaningful," Jimin said, and there was something desperate in his voice. "Sometimes the bravest thing a writer can do is let their characters be happy. It's easy to erase someone for emotional impact, it's harder to earn a happy ending that feels genuine."
He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. "Like, imagine if Goku from Dragon Ball Z just... disappeared, completely erased from existence and memory. That's cruel because it renders all his relationships, all his meaning, void. But it's also…" Jimin's voice cracked slightly, "...it's almost inhumane to the readers who've invested in those bonds. Sometimes characters deserve to come back. Sometimes the people who remember them deserve to be heard."
Several classmates nodded along, though a few looked confused by the DBZ reference.
Professor Kim looked intrigued. "That's a very specific example, Jimin. Are you thinking of a particular text?"
"Just... something I read recently," Jimin said, and his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "About erasure and memory and what it means when someone refuses to forget. The tragedy was beautiful, but it made me wish the author believed in resurrection as much as they believed in loss."
Yoongi ducked his head, pretending to take notes, and absolutely did not feel guilty.
Yoongi lingered by the doorway as the classroom emptied, watching Jimin quietly closing his laptop with a distant, hollow expression. The soft hum of chatter dwindled, leaving only the shuffle of papers and the sound of chairs scraping against the floor. Yoongi hesitated, his chest twisting uncomfortably. He fished out his phone, pretending to check messages, though what he really looked for was a whisper of connection from mochi95, a notification that never came. The silence of the missing comments felt heavier than the echoes of students' footsteps fading into the hallway.
The worst part was how Yoongi kept finding himself scrolling through Jimin's old comments on his and other people's fics. Just last night, he'd spent an hour reading through them, mochi95 leaving encouraging words on a newcomer's first attempt at writing, offering critiques so gentle they didn't sting, and celebrating other authors' successes as if they were personal victories. There was one comment on a tiny rarepair fic with only twelve kudos where Jimin had written three paragraphs about why the author's characterization was brilliant and underrated.
And in class, Jimin was the same way. Always building on other students' points instead of tearing them down, finding merit in interpretations Yoongi would have dismissed, approaching literature with the same generosity he showed fic writers. Even when he contradicted Yoongi, it was never mean-spirited, just genuinely, earnestly better.
Yoongi had spent two days reading through Jimin's digital footprint, and what he'd found was someone who made every space he occupied a little bit kinder. Someone who saw the best in people's creative efforts. Someone whose excitement was infectious and whose insights were actually earned through careful thought, not just showing off.
He tried not to think about how much he missed reading mochi95's thoughts on his work. Tried not to wonder what those kind, insightful comments would say about his future writing, the stuff that wasn't designed to wound. Tried not to acknowledge the growing curiosity of what it might be like to know Jimin, to be the reason for his laughter instead, to have friendly debates over coffee, to be the one Jimin said all of those things in the comments to, except in real life. And what if Yoongi could say sweet things in return?
That was never going to happen, though.
He aggressively shoved those thoughts away. Park Jimin started this war by being perfect and brilliant, making Yoongi feel small. Comparative Literature was supposed to be Yoongi’s easiest class, and it was Jimin who kept making it harder. If Jimin was hurting, well. That was the point, wasn't it? That's what Yoongi had set out to do.
That night, he scrolled through Jimin's older comments on other authors' works. There was a generosity to them, an openness. Jimin praised specific sentences, pointed out clever structural choices, and thanked authors for their hard work. On a particularly ambitious Dragon Ball Z AU with shaky grammar, Jimin had left a comment praising the author's creativity and gently suggesting a beta reader if they wanted one, even offering to help.
Yoongi clicked on Jimin's class notes. It was... endearing. Jimin posted hand-written notes with little doodles in the margins, including what looked like a small sketch of Goku, shared his favorite K-drama OST playlists for studying, offered encouragement to his followers about their exams. There was a comment from last week:
mochi95❤️ Tue 16 Sep 2025 8:09PM KST
having one of those days where everything feels hard! but i made myself a nice cup of tea, rewatched my favorite episode of moving (the one with the rooftop scene 😭), and reminded myself that i'm doing my best 💪 to anyone else struggling: you've got this! take breaks, be kind to yourself, and remember that your worth isn't determined by your productivity 💕 currently rereading legendary moonlight sculptor to destress. weed's journey always reminds me that growth takes time!
Yoongi stared at the post for a long time.
Jimin even wrote kind comments to himself to cheer himself and others on. At this point, Yoongi couldn’t even tell who or what he was angry at; the only way to get this feeling of fuming agitation out of himself was to let it out through words.
Yoongi opened a new document and started plotting his magnum opus of Park Jimin’s demise.
If he was going to do this, he was going to make it count.
💖☠️💖☠️💖
The One Piece fic took Yoongi a week to write.
He researched obsessively, re-reading arcs, studying the dynamics between crew members, and analyzing every comment Jimin had ever left on One Piece fics. Jimin loved the Straw Hats like they were real people. He left crying emojis on crew reunion scenes, wrote essays in comment sections about found family dynamics and the meaning of nakama, and had once told an author that their depiction of Luffy's unwavering faith in his crew had "restored his faith in fiction."
So Yoongi wrote "The Last Voyage of the Thousand Sunny."
It was 15,000 words of carefully constructed heartbreak. An enemy they couldn't defeat. A ship that couldn't be saved. One by one, the crew members sacrificed themselves so that Luffy could escape and live on to carry their dreams. Zoro pushed Luffy away, telling him to live, his swords finally breaking as he held off the enemy. Sanji's last words were about the All Blue, how he hoped Luffy would see it someday. Nami entrusted her maps to Luffy with shaking hands. Usopp finally became brave. Chopper, Robin, Franky, Brook, Jinbe, each one fell protecting their captain.
The final scene was Luffy alone adrift in a barrel, the Thousand Sunny sinking behind him, the straw hat heavy on his head, knowing he was the only one left. The last line: "The Pirate King sat alone in an empty ocean, and for the first time in his life, Luffy couldn't smile."
Yoongi re-read it four times, perfecting every emotional beat, every callback to canon, every moment designed to devastate. It was objectively the best thing he'd ever written. He hated himself a little for weaponizing his talent like this.
He posted it on a Monday night and immediately felt sick to his stomach.
The first comment appeared within twenty minutes:
Then, an hour later:
mochi95❤️ Mon 10 Nov 2025 10:41PM KST
i just... i can't... how COULD you?? the straw hats are FAMILY. they would never... luffy would NEVER let them... i'm not okay. i'm NOT OKAY. this is the most beautiful, terrible thing i've ever read and i HATE IT. i hate that you made me feel this much. i hate that you're so talented at destroying me. the scene with zoro pushing luffy away, telling him to live, the way you wrote sanji's last words about finding the all blue, nami giving him her maps, brook's final song... i'm SOBBING. i've been sobbing for an hour. i can't breathe. the thousand sunny sinking while luffy watches... how DARE you. that ship is their HOME and FAMILY.
mochi95❤️ Mon 10 Nov 2025 10:55PM KST
i need you to know that i'm done. i can't do this anymore. your writing is incredible but i can't keep doing this to myself. i'm unsubscribing. i'm so sorry. i hope you find whatever you're looking for in all this tragedy, but i can't be there with you anymore. thank you for all the beautiful stories, even the ones that broke me. i'll remember them forever, and i'll miss your writing, but i have to take care of myself. goodbye, authornim. i hope you find happiness. 💔
Yoongi read the comments seven times, and with each pass, the vindictive satisfaction he'd expected to feel never came. Instead, the sourness in his gut twisted more and more with the realization that he'd gone too far.
💖☠️💖☠️💖
Tuesday's class was worse.
Jimin showed up five minutes late, which never happened. His eyes were puffy, and he was wearing a hoodie instead of his usual put-together outfits, a plain black thing that swallowed his small frame. He slumped into his seat without greeting anyone, pulled out his laptop, and stared at the screen without seeing it.
The class was discussing "The Things They Carried," and when Professor Kim asked for thoughts on the chapter about Kiowa's death, Jimin's voice cracked.
"Sometimes grief isn't poetic," he said quietly. "Sometimes it's just... empty. And the people left behind have to carry it anyway, and it's not fair, and there's no meaning to extract from it. Like… like in One Piece…” Jimin choked on the words. He shook his head, smiled, and tried again. “Like in Sky Castle, the way they showed how academic pressure destroys families. Sometimes the tragedy is just... real. And pointless. And…" He stopped abruptly, blinking rapidly. "Sorry. I'm not feeling well. May I be excused?"
Professor Kim nodded, concerned. "Of course. Feel better, Jimin."
Yoongi watched Jimin gather his things with shaking hands and leave the classroom, and Yoongi crumbled in on himself completely.
After class, Yoongi made his way to the campus coffee shop where Jimin always studied on Tuesday afternoons. He found him in the back corner, earbuds in, staring blankly at his laptop screen with an untouched matcha latte going cold beside him.
Yoongi hesitated, then sat down across from him.
Jimin looked up, startled, then pulled out an earbud. "Yoongi?" He sounded confused. They never spoke outside of class unless they were arguing about literary theory.
"You look like shit," Yoongi said, because he'd never been good at this kind of thing.
Jimin laughed weakly. "Thanks. That's exactly what I needed to hear."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"Since when do you care?"
Yoongi scoffed. Why would he care about the guy that’s been tormenting him with… what? Having a different opinion? For genuinely appreciating his writing? Yoongi could have met Jimin’s challenges in class and let them sharpen his reasoning. Yoongi could have asked Jimin out to coffee and said, I know this is weird, but I figured out you’re my favorite commenter, and some days it’s your words that get me by. Instead, Yoongi had let his insecurities and pettiness get the best of him and had actually been the one tormenting, no, torturing Jimin.
So, since when did Yoongi care?
Since he learned that Jimin leaves encouraging comments on struggling writers' fics at 2 AM. Since he discovered that Jimin’s study blog has a post about dealing with imposter syndrome, that made Yoongi feel less alone. Since he started looking forward to Jimin’s insights in class, even when they contradict his own.
Much worse than any of this, Yoongi had cared since he had discovered the improbability that the kindest sweetest commenter, that read all of Yoongi’s deepest darkest truths laid bare through the medium of fanfiction, and showed up with love and encouragement… that commenter was a real human, a brilliant gorgeous human that Yoongi had been blessed with twice a week and it had felt so impossible that anything more could come of it, that Yoongi destroyed it so badly he wouldn’t have to bear the hope of it.
"I don't know," Yoongi said instead. "You've seemed off lately. Even Professor Kim noticed."
Jimin sighed, a sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep and tired. "Have you ever had something you loved, something that brought you genuine joy, and then it just... turned on you? Became something that hurt you?"
You, Yoongi thought. It didn’t even feel fair to think it.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "I have."
"There's this fanfic writer I love… loved," Jimin corrected himself.
Yoongi's heart lurched at love, then he winced at the past tense. Jimin had loved him, at least a part of him, and Yoongi had ruined it.
"Their work got me through some really hard times. When I was struggling with transferring schools last year, feeling like I didn't belong anywhere, their stories reminded me why I love literature, why I love words. They poured every part of themself into their writing. I felt like I knew them, that I was living and breathing in each story they told."
Yoongi's throat felt tight.
"But lately..." Jimin continued, staring at his cold matcha. "It's like they're in pain, and they're pouring it into everything they write, and it's so beautiful but it hurts, and I've tried to reach out, tried to let them know someone cares, but they just keep... destroying everything.
His hands were shaking around his cup. "I know it's just fiction, I know that, but it feels personal, like they're systematically going through everything I love and setting it on fire."
He set down the cup and looked at Yoongi with something like helplessness. "It's weird how much you can care about a stranger, you know? I just... I just want them to be okay. Even after everything, I want them to be okay."
Yoongi felt something crack in his chest. Jimin wasn't angry. He wasn't vengeful. Even now, after being deliberately, methodically hurt, his first instinct was concern. For the person who'd been torturing him.
For Yoongi.
Jimin laughed bitterly, wiping at his eyes. "God, listen to me. I'm having a breakdown over fanfiction in front of class prodigy, Min Yoongi, who probably thinks I'm ridiculous."
"I don't think you're ridiculous," Yoongi said, and he meant it. His voice came out rougher than intended. "I think you feel things deeply. That takes strength."
Jimin looked up at him, something shifting in his expression; surprise, maybe, or confusion. "That's... actually kind of nice of you to say."
"Yeah, well." Yoongi stood up abruptly, unable to handle the weight of Jimin's gaze, unable to sit across from the evidence of his own cruelty for another second. "Feel better, Park."
He was halfway to the door when he heard Jimin call after him, soft and genuinely grateful, "Thanks, Yoongi."
Yoongi didn't turn around. He couldn't. If he looked back at Jimin's tear-stained face, at the matcha gone cold, at the raw vulnerability of someone who'd just confessed to being systematically destroyed by their favorite writer…
He kept walking.
Yoongi went home, opened his laptop, and stared at his AO3 dashboard. At the comments section where mochi95's name no longer appeared. At the silence he'd created.
Then he got to work.
💖☠️💖☠️💖
Yoongi didn't sleep for three days.
He started with "The Scholar's Rock Falls Upward," opening the original document and creating a new version titled "The Scholar's Rock Finds Its Place (Revised)." He kept everything up to the family buying the house; the hope, the fragile new beginning, the scholar's rock as their talisman. But then he diverged.
In the new version, there was no curse. Instead, Kiwoo and Kijung, unable to sleep in their new home, spend nights researching the scholar's rock. They discover it's a rare geological specimen, valuable to collectors and museums. The family debates: sell it for immediate money, or keep it as a symbol of how far they've come?
They decide to donate it to a museum, with one condition. The placard must read: "Donated by the Kim Family."
The act opens unexpected doors. A museum curator, impressed by their knowledge of the stone's history, offers Kijung a position in the museum's art restoration department. It's entry-level, the pay is modest, but it's legitimate. It's hers.
Kiwoo uses his actual skills: the quick thinking, the ability to read people, the talent for teaching that he'd demonstrated with the Parks' son, and gets hired as a legitimate tutor at a hagwon. No forged documents this time. Just his real abilities, finally recognized.
Chungsook gets a job at a café, her years of quick meal preparation translating into the efficiency the café manager needs. She's proud of her knife skills now, using them to prepare food instead of defending her family in a basement.
Kitaek, tired of driving for others, starts a small delivery service. It's just him and a used van at first, but he's his own boss. No more sitting in front seats while others occupy the back. No more pretending not to hear conversations. He drives on his own terms now.
The final scene is the Kim family visiting the museum on Kijung's first day of work. They stand in front of the scholar's rock behind its glass case, reading the placard with their name on it. Kitaek puts his arm around Chungsook. Kiwoo takes a photo. Kijung adjusts her new employee badge. They go to the café where Chungsook works, and she makes them all coffee, on the house, just this once.
"Sometimes survival isn't about climbing to the top," Yoongi wrote. "Sometimes it's about finding solid ground and building something real on it. The scholar's rock had led them to the Parks' house, yes, but more importantly, it had led them back to themselves, to the understanding that they didn't need to infiltrate someone else's life to matter. They just needed a chance, one real chance, to show what they could do.
The rock sits in its case now, no longer a symbol of aspiration, but of transformation. The Kims had learned what it truly meant to be displayed with dignity: not as decoration in someone's garden, but as proof that they existed, that they mattered, that their name deserved to be written in stone."
💖☠️💖☠️💖
He moved on to "When Gods Fall Silent." In the new version, Goku's erasure wasn't permanent. Vegeta's stubborn refusal to forget, his insistence that something was wrong with the universe, that there should be someone there to fight, eventually created a crack in the erasure. He trained harder than ever, pushing himself to impossible limits, because some part of him remembered that he'd always had a rival to chase, even if he couldn't recall the face.
The Z Fighters felt it too. Gohan kept setting an extra place at dinner without knowing why. Krillin found himself looking up at the sky, waiting for someone. Piccolo meditated in silence, sensing an absence where there should have been presence. Bulma built technology she couldn't explain needing, preparing for a return she didn't consciously remember.
Their collective refusal to accept the wrongness of the world, these bonds that persisted even through erasure, weakened the technique. And when Vegeta finally screamed his rival's name into the void, not knowing why he knew it, not understanding why it mattered, just knowing that it did…
Goku came back.
The final scene was Vegeta and Goku sparring again, and when Goku asked why Vegeta never gave up, Vegeta just smirked and said, "Someone has to remember that you're an idiot, Kakarot. Even when the universe forgets, I don't."
The Dragon Ball Z fic became "When Gods Remember."
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For the One Piece fic, god, the One Piece fic, Yoongi completely restructured it. "The Last Voyage of the Thousand Sunny" became "The Thousand Voyages More."
The enemy was still impossible. The ship still took catastrophic damage. But this time, when the crew members tried to sacrifice themselves, Luffy refused. He fought harder than he'd ever fought, awakening new abilities born from sheer desperation and love. Because Luffy didn't want to be Pirate King if it meant being alone. The King of the Pirates needed his crew.
They fought together. Zoro's swords didn't break, they rang true. Sanji's kicks blazed with renewed fire. Nami navigated them through impossible waters. Usopp's bravery wasn't a final sacrifice but an ongoing choice. Jinbe held the helm steady even as the ship threatened to tear apart beneath his hands. Chopper, Robin, Franky, Brook, each one stood their ground because that's what nakama did.
The battle was brutal and costly. They all bore scars. The Thousand Sunny was battered almost beyond recognition. But they won.
The final scene was them rebuilding the ship together, bickering and laughing and planning their next adventure. Luffy sat on the lion figurehead watching his crew work, the straw hat on his head, and smiled that bright smile that meant everything was going to be okay.
"The Pirate King sat with his nakama," Yoongi wrote, "and realized he already had everything he'd ever wanted. The Thousand Sunny would sail again. There were still seas to cross, adventures to find, meat to eat. But most importantly, they were together. That's what it meant to be free."
Yoongi wrote until his fingers cramped and his eyes burned. It wasn't about cheap fixes or unearned happiness: he worked hard to make each happy ending feel right, feel earned, feel true to the characters and the source material.
He thought about Jimin. The way Jimin had praised dignity and hope. His belief that characters who protect each other deserve to stay together. His conviction that survival could be its own kind of victory. Every encouraging comment Jimin had left on struggling writers' fics, every insight in class that made Yoongi rethink his own perspective, Yoongi poured all of it into these revisions.
He was writing the way mochi95 had taught him to see stories. The way Park Jimin had taught him to see people.
At 4 AM on Friday morning, he posted each revision with a note:
Gloss 93's Author's Note
Notes:
I owe you all an apology, particularly one reader who I've realized I was hurting. These stories deserved better than what I gave them. You deserve better. Writing should be a gift, not a weapon, and I lost sight of that. I hope these new endings can serve as the apology I don't know how to say out loud. Thank you for reading, even when it hurt. -Gloss93
Then he opened his Statistics page. Subscriptions: 341. Down one from last week.
He stared at that number for a long time, and something in his chest clenched. Not because he'd lost a subscriber, though mochi95 had been his favorite, had been the one whose comments he checked for first, had been the reason he kept writing some days. But because that missing subscription had a face now. Had red-rimmed eyes and shaking hands and a cold matcha latte. Had a voice that cracked when talking about stories that mattered. Had a name, Every one of his subscribers meant something to him, but Jimin meant everything.
Yoongi closed his laptop and stared at the ceiling as dawn light crept through his window. He couldn’t fix the endings for Jimin if Jimin had no idea they were fixed.
This wasn't about getting Jimin back. Jimin deserved those happy endings regardless of whether he ever read another word Yoongi wrote. Deserved to remember why he loved the Straw Hats, why he believed in second chances, why stories about hope had gotten him through transferring schools and feeling like he didn't belong.
Yoongi had taken that from him. The least he could do was give it back.
And if Jimin never commented again? That was fine. That was fair. That was what Yoongi deserved.
The thought of never writing again crossed his mind more than once over those sleepless nights. What was the point, without mochi95's enthusiastic comments to look forward to? And if Jimin did come back somehow, if he forgave Gloss93 without knowing who he really was, wouldn't that be worse? Wouldn't every comment feel tainted by the knowledge of what Yoongi had done? By the secret he was keeping?
Yoongi didn't have answers. He just had three revised fics and a guilty conscience and a growing, aching fondness for someone with whom he had blown any chances of getting to know better.
He dragged himself out of bed and went to the print shop.
💖☠️💖☠️💖
His hands quivered as he handed over his flash drive at the counter.
"I need three stories printed and bound together," he told the sleepy student worker. "Nicest paper you have. Professional binding. I need it by Monday."
The worker yawned, plugging in the drive. "That's gonna cost you. You want a custom cover or just a color?"
Yoongi hesitated. "Yeah. Custom. I'll email it to you."
He stepped aside, pulling out his phone and opening his image editing app. His fingers moved almost on autopilot, searching through stock images until he found it: a photograph of a dock at night, a single light at the end of it, glowing across dark water.
He adjusted the hue, sliding it until the light burned green. Luminous. Distant. Unreachable but impossible to look away from.
His thumb hovered over the send button.
Then he slid the hue adjustment again. Watched the green shift warmer, softer, until it glowed yellow.
Yellow like the sweater Jimin had worn on Tuesday. Yellow like the way Yoongi felt about the comments he would always hold dear. Yellow like warmth, bright and generous and given freely, without expecting anything in return.
He stared at it for a long moment, then emailed the image to the print shop address.
"Got it," the worker said, pulling it up on screen. "Huh. Kinda artsy. That full cover image in color is going to cost you extra."
Yoongi pulled out his card. "I don't care."
💖☠️💖☠️💖
Monday morning arrived with the kind of nervous energy that made Yoongi's hands shake as he held his decaf coffee.
The bound manuscript sat in his backpack, wrapped in brown paper with a yellow ribbon. He'd spent twenty minutes in the craft store agonizing over ribbon colors before committing to yellow. The note was tucked inside, signed simply "Gloss93."
Not because Yoongi was a coward, though he probably was. But because this apology needed to be clean. Uncomplicated. Gloss93 owed mochi95 an apology for weaponizing his writing, for turning stories into targeted cruelty, for breaking something that had been special.
Min Yoongi owed Park Jimin a different apology entirely: for the resentment, for making him an enemy over nothing, for every time Yoongi's ego had bristled at being outshone in class when he should have been grateful to have someone who made him think harder.
If Yoongi ever got the chance to give that second apology, he would. But this wasn't the moment to tangle them together. Jimin deserved to get his stories back without Yoongi complicating it with classroom politics and academic rivalry and all the petty, small feelings that had started this whole mess.
One apology at a time. The most important one first.
He arrived at the literature building at 8:45 AM, earlier than usual. The hallway was mostly empty, and through the classroom window, he could see Jimin already at his desk: of course he was, punctual as always, reviewing notes with his yellow highlighter.
More importantly, Jimin's backpack was hanging on the back of his chair, the top unzipped.
Yoongi's heart pounded. This was ridiculous. He was being ridiculous. He should just walk in and hand Jimin the package like a normal person having a normal interaction.
But he wasn't normal about this. He wasn't normal about Jimin, or his writing, or the way he'd weaponized one against the other. And the thought of watching Jimin's face as he received this, of having to explain, or worse, having Jimin figure it out right there with Yoongi standing in front of him, would turn this into a conversation. It would tangle Gloss93's apology with Min Yoongi's presence, and Jimin deserved better than that confusion.
So he did what any rational person would do: he waited until Jimin got up to sharpen his pencil at the front of the room, then quickly slipped into the classroom, shoved the package into Jimin's backpack, and retreated to his usual seat in the back corner before Jimin returned.
His heart was racing like he'd just committed a heist.
The note he'd tucked inside, signed simply "Gloss93," had taken him almost as long to write as the revisions themselves. He'd gone through seven drafts before he found words that felt honest without being self-pitying, apologetic without making excuses. Every sentence felt too heavy or too light, too much or not enough. But Jimin deserved words as carefully chosen as the ones he'd always given Yoongi in his comments. So Yoongi tried. It read:
Gloss 93's Letter to Jimin
Jimin,
I'm not good at apologies, so I'm going to do this the only way I know how: through the written word.
I’m sorry.
These are the stories I should have written. The endings your comments deserved. I can't take back what I did, but I can give you this: proof that I heard you. That your words matter. That you were right about happy endings being harder to earn, about characters deserving to stay together, about survival being its own kind of victory.
You once commented that I have a gift for showing love in quiet moments. I think you have a gift for finding light in dark places, for seeing the hope in stories about determination and found family. You taught me how to see stories the way you do: with generosity, with faith in happy endings, with the belief that people and characters deserve second chances.
Thank you for every comment you've ever left, even, especially, the ones on those terrible tragedies. Thank you for caring about stories, about writers, about words themselves. Thank you for being kind to struggling authors at 2 AM when you could have been sleeping. Thank you for making the world of fanfiction a kinder place just by being in it.
I'm sorry I made you feel like you had to protect yourself from my writing. I'm sorry I turned something you loved into something that hurt you. I'm sorry I couldn't see what was right in front of me: that your comments were a gift I didn't deserve, and I threw that gift back in your face.
I hope these stories remind you why you loved them in the first place. I hope they give you back what I took from you.
I hope you can forgive me, but I understand if you can't. You don't owe me anything: not forgiveness, not comments, not another second of your time. I just wanted you to have the endings you deserved.
It's weird how much you can care about a stranger. I just want you to be okay.
-Gloss93
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Yoongi watched Jimin walk back to his seat, then immediately dropped his gaze to his notebook and started writing nothing: just moving his pen across the page in what he hoped looked like note-taking and not the scribbles of someone having a quiet breakdown.
Jimin sat down, completely oblivious to his new cargo. He went back to his notes, occasionally sipping his coffee, and Yoongi spent the entire class in a state of low-key panic, barely hearing Professor Kim's lecture on "One Hundred Years of Solitude."
At 10:50, class ended. Students began packing up. Jimin reached for his backpack, and Yoongi watched, trying not to be obvious about it, as Jimin's hand encountered the unexpected package.
Jimin pulled it out, confused. Looked at the yellow ribbon. Turned it over in his hands.
Then he looked around the classroom, searching.
Yoongi ducked his head, pretending to be very interested in organizing his notes.
When he glanced up again through his lashes, Jimin was staring directly at him with an unreadable expression.
Yoongi panicked and ran for the door.
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Yoongi managed to avoid Jimin for exactly seven hours.
He skipped lunch, holed up in the music building's practice room working on an arrangement, and congratulated himself on his tactical retreat. He'd said what he needed to say, or rather, Gloss93 had. The ball was in Jimin's court now. If Jimin never figured out who left the package, that was best, safest.
At 6 PM, Yoongi finally emerged from the practice room, exhausted and hungry. He was halfway down the hallway, earbuds in, when he sensed movement in his peripheral vision.
He barely had time to turn his head before a small, furious body slammed into him at full speed.
"What the…oof…"
They hit the floor hard. Yoongi's hip took most of the impact, his phone skidding across the linoleum, and suddenly Park Jimin was on top of him, pinning him down with surprising strength for someone so small, his hands fisted in Yoongi's hoodie.
The hallway was clearing of other snickering students, but not fully before Jimin let him have it.
"YOU," Jimin said, and his eyes were blazing. "You SANK THE THOUSAND SUNNY."
Yoongi's brain tried to catch up with what was happening. Jimin was straddling him in the middle of the hallway in the music building. Jimin had just tackled him. Jimin knew.
"I can explain-"
"You killed ZORO," Jimin continued, shaking him slightly. "You killed SANJI. The entire crew DIED, Yoongi. Min Yoongi. Gloss93."
"IT WAS BAD, YOONGI."
"I know," Yoongi said quietly. "I know it was."
Something in his tone made Jimin pause. The fury in his expression flickered, softened.
"Why?" Jimin asked, and his voice was smaller now. "I don't understand. I thought... I thought you all of the sudden hated my comments. I thought I was annoying you, that maybe I was too much, that's why you were trying to make me go away…"
"No." The word came out harder than Yoongi intended. "No, Jimin, your comments were the best part of posting anything. I looked forward to them more than the kudos, more than the hits, more than anything. When I saw that notification, mochi95 commented on your work, it made my whole week. I don’t want you to go away there… or here."
Jimin stared at him. "Then why?"
Yoongi exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling tiles because it was easier than looking at Jimin's face. "Because I found out mochi95 was you. And I couldn't... I couldn't handle it."
"Handle what?"
"That the person who understood my writing better than anyone, who saw exactly what I was trying to do and appreciated it, who made me feel like maybe I wasn't just shouting into the void..." Yoongi swallowed hard. "Was the same person who made me feel like an idiot every Tuesday and Thursday at 9 AM."
Jimin's grip on his hoodie loosened. "I made you feel like an idiot?"
"I made myself feel like I had to fight for every scrap of recognition in that class. Like nothing I said was ever good enough because you'd already said something better." Yoongi finally met his eyes. "And the fact that you are smart and insightful and genuinely passionate about literature, you were so perfect. But I was so used to being good at this one thing, and then you showed up and made it look effortless, and I didn't know how to deal with that except to be angry about it."
"So you took it out on mochi95," Jimin said slowly. "Why?"
"Because you didn't know," Yoongi corrected quietly. "And I think... I think part of me wanted to push you away before you figured out that Gloss93 was just me. Before you realized that the writer you admired was the same guy you out-analyzed every week in class. I thought if you knew, you'd be disappointed."
Jimin was quiet for a long moment. Then, inexplicably, he laughed: the kind of laugh that was halfway to a sob.
"You're an idiot," he said. "You're such a complete idiot, Min Yoongi."
"I'm aware."
"I loved arguing with you in class." Jimin's hands fisted Yoongi's hoodie again, but gentler now, almost holding on. "Do you know how hard it is to find someone who actually pushes back? Everyone else just agrees with whatever I say because they don't want to bother. But you fought me. You made me defend my positions. You made me think."
Yoongi blinked. "You... liked that?"
"I looked forward to that class because of you." Jimin's cheeks were flushed, his eyes still bright with unshed tears. "I'd stay up late preparing my arguments because I knew you'd have a counterpoint. I kept a list of discussion topics I wanted to bring up just to see what you'd say. I told my roommate about you so much he threatened to start charging me a fee every time I mentioned 'the grumpy guy with the good literary takes.'"
"Oh," Yoongi said faintly.
"And the whole time, the whole time, I was also going home and reading your fics and thinking, 'I wish the people in my real life understood stories the way this author does.'" Jimin made a sound that was half-laugh, half-groan. "It was you. It was always you, and I was too oblivious to see it."
"To be fair, I was actively trying to hide it."
"By sinking the Thousand Sunny!"
"I brought it back…"
"AFTER you made me cry in a coffee shop, Yoongi. The barista asked if I was okay. I had to pretend I was watching a sad video. She gave me a free cake pop out of pity."
Yoongi bit the inside of his cheek, trying very hard not to find this endearing. "I'm sorry about the cake pop."
"You shouldn’t be. It was delicious"
They stared at each other. Jimin was still sitting on him in the middle of the hallway, and Yoongi's hip was definitely going to bruise, and somewhere in the building someone was practicing scales on a clarinet very badly.
"How did you even find me here?" Yoongi asked. "I've been hiding in the practice room all day."
Jimin's expression shifted to something almost smug. "I’m a little bit of a stalker myself. Your author profile says you're a music composition major who writes fic to 'escape the tyranny of time signatures.'"
Yoongi closed his eyes. "Oh no."
"You complained about time signatures out loud in the hallway last month. You were on the phone with someone, ranting about how 7/8 time was invented specifically to torture you." Jimin poked him in the chest. "I was right there, Yoongi. Three feet away. You walked right past me."
"I didn't see you…"
"You never see me," Jimin said, and there was something raw in it. "You look right through me in the hallways, like I don't exist outside of class. Do you know how many times I've tried to say hi to you on campus? You just... don't notice."
Yoongi felt that like a gut punch. "I didn't... I didn't think you would actually want to talk to me."
"I even made you a playlist," Jimin said flatly.
"What?"
"Last month. I made you a playlist of songs that reminded me of your fics and I was going to give it to you in a comment, but I chickened out because I thought it was too much." Jimin's ears were bright red. "And then I was going to tell you, the real you, in class, that I'd found this author you might like, because I thought maybe we could bond over it, but you always left so fast after class and I never got the chance, and now it turns out I was trying to recommend you to you and I have to live with that forever."
"You made me a playlist," Yoongi repeated.
"It's called 'songs for the writer who makes me feel things,'" Jimin admitted miserably. "It has twenty-three songs on it. There's a whole section that's just for the breakfast scene in the rivals-to-roommates fic."
"The one where he remembers the coffee order?"
"The one where he remembers the coffee order." Jimin's voice was barely more than a whisper. "Because that scene made me realize I'd memorized your coffee order too. Decaf iced americano, which doesn't even make sense, Yoongi, why do you get decaf…"
"Because I like the taste of coffee, but not the way it makes my stomach feel. You remembered my coffee order?"
Jimin stopped. His mouth opened, then closed. The pretty flush had spread from his ears down to his neck.
"I remember everything about you," he finally said, very quietly. "I remember that you tap your pen against your notebook when you're thinking. That you always sit in the back left corner. That you dog-ear your books instead of using bookmarks, which is barbaric, by the way. That you smile when Professor Kim makes a bad pun, even though you pretend to be annoyed." He took a shaky breath. "I remember that you looked at me in the coffee shop like you actually saw me, for the first time, and I didn't understand why until I read your note and realized you'd been seeing me all along. Just... not the way I thought."
The clarinet in the distance hit a particularly sour note. Neither of them flinched.
"Jimin," Yoongi said slowly, "are you still sitting on me because you're angry, or because you don't want me to run away?"
Jimin laughed. "Maybe both. Maybe I'm afraid if I let go, you'll disappear into another practice room for seven hours, and I'll have to stage another ambush."
"I won't run." Yoongi reached up, hesitant, and his fingers grazed against Jimin's wrist. "I'm done running."
"Promise?"
"I promise." He swallowed. "And I promise I'll never sink the Thousand Sunny again."
"You'd better not." But Jimin was smiling now, small and tremulous and real. "I'm going to need that in writing, by the way. Notarized. With witnesses."
"I owe you a thousand fics from your favorite fandoms, all with happy endings."
"And what about us?" Jimin asked softly. "Do we get a happy ending too?"
Yoongi looked up at him. Jimin's eyes were still bright from crying, his hair mussed from the tackle, his hands warm where they pressed against Yoongi's chest.
"I don't know," Yoongi said. "I've never been good at writing those."
"Liar." Jimin's smile grew. "I just read three of them." He lifted one hand from Yoongi's hoodie and pressed it gently against Yoongi's chest. "They were beautiful. Because they came from here. And you, Min Yoongi, are beautiful"
Yoongi's throat felt tight. "I wrote them for you. And even though I wanted it, I didn’t think I could be worthy of…"
He couldn't finish. The words stuck in his throat, too honest, too raw.
But Jimin's eyes went wide and bright with wonder.
"Worthy of what?" Jimin whispered.
Yoongi's hand came up to cover Jimin's where it still pressed against his heart, their fingers intertwining.
"You," he said simply. "Worthy of you."
The words hung in the air between them.
The hallway was silent except for the sound of Jimin's shaky exhale. His forehead dropped to rest against Yoongi's, so close that Yoongi could count his eyelashes, could see the faint tracks where tears had dried on his cheeks.
"Then maybe," Jimin said, his voice barely above a breath, "you should keep writing for me. And I'll keep leaving comments. And we can figure out the ending together."
Yoongi's other hand found Jimin's cheek.
"Okay," he whispered. "Let's start there."
Yoongi smiled, the kind that made his eyes crinkle.
He pulled Jimin down the last inch between them. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, then deepening, a story meant for Jimin only.
And just like he always had, Jimin responded.
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mochi95❤️ Fri 24 Oct 2025 06:17PM KST
authornim this was SO SOFT 😭💕 the way you wrote the morning breakfast scene? i felt like i was there!! the little details about how he remembers his coffee order, how he pretends to hate the humming but actually finds it comforting... you have such a gift for showing love in quiet moments. thank you for sharing this with us! 💖