° ᴛᴜɴɴᴇʟ ᴠɪsɪᴏɴ ° || ʏᴏᴏɴᴍɪɴ sʜᴏʀᴛ sᴛᴏʀʏ ✔️

°six°

This went on for days. Our one-way conversations, unfailingly beginning and ending with my voice, my words. Surprisingly enough, Yoongi never fought me. He never did so much as to lift his finger to shoo me away, but rather simply acted...like I wasn't even there. After a while it started to feel as though I were talking to a ghost, an imaginary friend, an illusion, a disheartening reflection of my hopeless status in Yoongi's life.

But I refused to stop.

"Hey, Yoongi, did you hear what was on the news this morning? Scary, right?"

"Hey, Yoongi, are you getting enough sleep? Your eyelids are lookin' heavy."

"Hey, Yoongi, I heard it's supposed to rain today. Did you bring an umbrella? If not, no need to worry. I've got an extra large one we can share."

"Hey, Yoongi, have I ever told you I'm uber jealous of your eye color? Seriously, though, how many girls d'you think would have fallen in love with you if they'd just take a closer look?"

"Hey, Yoongi, it's been a while since I've heard your voice. I really wish you'd start talking again."

"Hey, Yoongi...I'm really worried about you..."

It was growing tiring; somewhere along the way, my enthusiasm had threatened to abandon me, to remove itself entirely from the picture, to let my plan fade out into the background like a silly little dream I'd long since given up on. He stuck around, just as I said, never moving, never struggling to push me away; he never spoke, not even a single 'leave me alone' uttered by that tired mouth of his--until one day, however, when something in the boy finally seemed to snap.

"Hey...Yoongi...you're...really good at art..."

"Wh-"

My heartbeat quickened as my ears detected a slight sound escape his lips. It was instinctive, completely due to him having been caught off guard, but nonetheless it flooded my entire being with overwhelming relief, and there was no doubt it showed in my expression. Yoongi froze on the spot, clutching his number two pencil as his fingers and facial features began to twitch uncontrollably. He wasn't angry. This was embarrassment again.

"No way...is that Sungha?" I smiled widely at the sight of the familiar girl, her essence captured perfectly through mere graphite and paper. I almost couldn't believe my eyes. I had seen her enough times to vaguely recognize her through subtle implications, such as the roundness of her face or the wideness of her eyes, but this picture left absolutely nothing to the imagination. "It's beautiful..."

Yoongi shrunk into himself, caressing the surface of his pencil before laying it gently on his desk, right beside the drawing of his sister. "I plan on sending this to her...while she's in the hospital," he said softly, almost shyly. "Sungha...was the one who taught me the basics of art. She's the kindest and meekest person I've ever known..."

It was a sweet sight to behold, watching the way Yoongi's eyes swept over the drawing as though it were his most prized possession, a national treasure upon which none but he could even gaze.

"You've got what some people might call talent."

I chuckled to myself as I repeated Yoongi's words back to him from the time he'd last spoken to me. Judging by his befuddled face, I gathered that it hadn't gone over his head.

"So what else are you good at? Art certainly was not the first thing on my guess list, but hey, I love surprises."

"I don't...have any other talents."

"Yeah, me neither."

I laughed softly as I lowered myself to the seat in front of Yoongi's, turning around so that I could rest my elbow on his desk. He was staring at me again, a look on his face that suggested he was expecting me to elaborate. And I did.