Eternally Parallel | WheeTae x TaeIn Drabbles

Sound & Color

A/N. In which Wheein draws and Taehyung used to draw. It is named after the only song I know by Alabama Shakes. I allude to some mental health issues here. Having never had serious mental health issues, I realise that this may rub some people the wrong way or I might have misinterpreted it. If so, please let me know in the comments and if I feel that I cannot fix this chapter to do it justice, I will willingly take this chapter down. This is meant to explore some of the possible side effects of fame on your mental health, art, and music therapy.

BTS & Mamamoo have both retired and are in their early to mid thirties.

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Wheein fingered the black stains on her fingers. She sighed.

"Now, now." Her therapist chided. "Try again."

Wheein stared at the canvas. "I don't know. I don't know what it means. Or what I'm thinking. Everything's just. Blank."

Her therapist held back her sigh. "Alright. So, you can see how it works - I'm going to give you an example." Wheein watched as she got up off the couch and walked to behind her desk. The gentle flipping of papers reached Wheein's ears. She buried her face in her hands - she knew this wasn't going to work. She liked art. Sure. But that didn't mean it was going to help her get better.

"Here." Wheein heard the sound of thick paper slide across the table. She looked up to find an oil painting staring up at her. At first sight there wasn't much to look at. Lots of green and black. Then she looked closer.

...

It still wasn't much to look at.

She gave her therapist a nonplussed look. "It's not working."

Her therapist clucked her tongue in response. "Give it a minute. Try to think about what the artist was feeling as he painted. Think about his thought process."

Wheein turned back to the painting begrudgingly. It seemed that he began with black. Lots of black. As if he wanted to destroy the purity of the white canvas. Then the swirls of green were streaked in - almost like an afterthought or an attempt to make things seems less dreary. "Why green?" Wheein wondered out loud.

"It's his favorite color."

He was trying to make himself feel better. Wheein was sure of it. Just like how orange made her feel brighter - green must be the same way for him. He seemed sad - she noted. But he desperately didn't want to be. 

"This artist...is he - ok?"

Her therapist smiled. "I'll have him tell you himself sometime. For now, what do you think of your own artwork? What does it say about you?"

So it means he's still alive. Wheein thought morbidly. She almost chuckled out loud.

___

Wheein shut the door behind her as softly as she could. Listening for the telltale click of the knob. She began her trudge down the hallway - her steps a little lighter than before. As she walked, her mind flipped through snippets of green swirling into, over, and across the painted black canvas. 

Unbeknownst to her, she walked right past the turn in the corridor she was supposed to take to the exit. Her steps silent and her mind elsewhere. Then slowly, like the way the green spiralled in and out of the dark, a melody that was both sweet and mournful reached her ears.

Music.

When was the last time she actually liked what she heard. Maybe this therapy thing really is working. Wheein stopped in her tracks and listened for the direction of the music. She closed her eyes.