ｗｅ ａｒｅ ａｌｌ ｍａｄ ｈｅｒｅ

six.

You've seen how Yoongi would abuse his own body just to produce that one, perfect, single track of music. You've noticed him skip meals in favour of writing lyrics. You've had your share trying to persuade him to come out of his room after he had locked himself in for a whole twenty four hours, lost in composing. You've known his love for music since day one living with him and the others, and you were sure nothing could surpass such a pure appreciation and passion for music.

So when one day you came back and found him just laying on the floor, unmoving, you immediately dropped your possession and rushed to him in panic, calling out his name in a series of horrified chant, wild thoughts running rampant in your head. Did his fatigue finally caught up with him? Did he faint because of caffeine overdose? Could you even overdose on caffeine and faint??

His eyes opened with a scowl at the loud noises, and he gruffly returned your question about his wellbeing with a short, clipped, "Noisy."

You stared at him in disbelief and dropped your voice into a whisper, "What are you doing on the floor?"

"Dying," he said dryly. You held back the urge to roll your eyes. He sighed, "I'm trying to finish this song, but nothing's coming to me."

"..... Will it come if you keep pretending to be dead on the floor?"

The corner of Yoongi's lips twitched at the deadpanned tone in your voice, "..... Probably not."

You watched him silently as he continued to stare at the ceiling, and chewed the insides of your cheek. The gears in your brain turned.

His complexion was far too pale. You last saw him yesterday morning when you were having breakfast with the others. Assuming the worst, which is probably what the current situation was, he hadn't eaten and hadn't exited his room since then. That was most definitely not healthy and wouldn't help his brain to have the energy to crunch out the song he needed.

Maybe you could bring him to a place he could relax and eat. A cafe?

Memories of the many times Taehyung would giggle and showed the musician all the adorable dog photos on his phone fell into your mind out of nowhere. With the idea lightbulb lit up inside your head, you stood up, and resolutely grabbed his arms.

He stared back at you blankly, unmoving, "What."

"Let's go outside."

"Ugh."

"Trust me. I know of a place."

"I don't need alcohol right now."

"You can meet my favourite Pomeranian, he's friendly and fluffy and his name is Ollie."

Something flashed in his eyes, and he allowed you to pull him up, obediently waiting as you grabbed one of your bag which contained your essentials, and went straight out the door. You marvelled at how he was following you, his eyes considerably brighter, and were kind of impressed at yourself for the great idea.

Thirty minutes later, true to your prediction, Yoongi looked extremely at peace as a dark brown furred poodle sat on his lap, a cup of steaming black tea and a proper meal laid on the table in front of him. The gummy smile on his face was just as endearing as your small friend who had been sitting on your lap and had been insisting to lick your face every ten seconds.

You would make sure to relay the information to Jin, in case he needed to persuade the bright haired boy to go and get some fresh air next time.

As you both walked back home in sunset after three hours well spent in the dog cafe, you were heedless at the way your companion studied you from behind. He observed the scene in his eyes, taking in every details, and just then, the inspiration struck him out of nowhere.

You continued to be oblivious when Yoongi stopped walking and had opted to instead stare at your back, eyes focused on the way the setting sun highlighted your hair, the way the wind made you squint your eyes and lick your dried lips -- a picture perfect scenery in front of him. In his head, as if someone had flipped a switch, the lyric formed itself almost automatically, and he could almost hear the soft buzz of melody filling his ears.

You yelped in shock as Yoongi walked past you breezily and yelled at him to wait as you tried to catch up with him. He never did, and had went back to locking himself in his room as soon as you reached home.

A week later, someone had slipped a large bar of your preferred brand of chocolate under your door and a tub of your favourite ice cream in the freezer, clearly labelled with your name. You immediately recognised whom it was based on the handwriting -- you've seen the same style, written by a certain bright teal haired music major whenever he scribbled lyrics or melodies on any random surface he could find.

You flashed him a smile when you met in the hallway, hoping that he knew how grateful you were.

And you could swear you saw his lips curve upwards into a minuscule smile.