"Where there is hope, there is always pain."
When you were young, there was one thing you wanted more than anything in the world. One thing you would give your very soul up to achieve, if only it meant you would finally be able to make your mark in...
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You never knew silence to be this loud.
But then again, what is there to say to someone who's drifted away from you?
Glancing Yoongi's way, you wonder if that's the reason he's been so quiet ever since he picked you up from the studio. If the reason he's barely said a word to you, much less look your way, is because he doesn't know what to say. If the reason he can't meet your eyes is because he's afraid to.
But Yoongi is never afraid, and even if he was, he would never show that fear to your face.
Perhaps instead it is reluctance, or perhaps he is still disappointed. Perhaps it is too much for him to look at you, to acknowledge the spectacle you have made out of his trust and faith. Perhaps it is none of the above, but what with the intense silence suffocating you, it's hard for you to imagine it is anything less.
After all, it's not as though his behavior is surprising.
After your last encounter with him, you'd be surprised if he would ever want to talk to you again. You'd be surprised if any of the members you had once considered friend would even want to be seen with you again.
The way Namjoon looked at you, the way Jungkook couldn't even stand to be in the same room as you, you suppose you should be thankful for BangPD restricting them from seeing you. No matter how much it hurt at the time, you wonder how much it would've damaged you if they had chosen the distance themselves.
"You're strangely quiet."
When he speaks, it surprises you, and your hands unclench from where your nails had been digging into your flesh just moments ago. As you turn to him, you don't realize his eyes had been staring at them in concern before they drifted back to the road.
"Sorry, I guess I was just caught off guard."
Your voice comes out smaller, meeker than you intended, and you quickly clear it, turning back to your hands in embarrassment. You stare at the nail marks on your skin, wondering how many times it took to create the reddish spots of irritation now decorating your palm. You chuckle incoherently, turning from your hands to the window.
"To be honest, I didn't expect you to show."
Yoongi glances at you from the corner of his eye, as he has been this entire time, contrary to your beliefs. Taking small, discreet notices of your behavior, analyzing, almost studying them silently, as though if he focused hard enough he'd be able to read you like a book.
If he'd be able to tell if that furrowed brow means you are upset, or if it's simply from the sunlight peeking in through the windows. If the way you purse your lips has some sort of tell to the words you will next speak; if the way you play with your hands is a clue to how anxious you are in each moment, or simply a passing habit that you've never paid much mind to.
