Min Yoongi sat on his bed, flicking through photos upon photos that he had taken with his brand new camera. He may be 9, but his photographic skills - along with the high-tech equipment he owned – were a lot more advanced. His portraits, that were once blurry shapes of people around him due to his constant movement from one subject to the next, were now sharp and beautiful; not professional, but were beyond the quality that many adults would not be able to achieve with the most powerful camera.

Perhaps this was due to the equipment, having the most up-to-date version of the brand tends to help with taking a good photo, but for the most part it was due to his comfort and experience with the people he was photographing. After all, he’s grown up surrounded by these people his entire life, studying them, learning their habits and their best sides was inevitable.

He sighs as he continues to scroll through them; each face a repetition of the one he’d photographed at the beginning of the week, nothing new or exciting. He pushed the laptop away from him, allowing it to slide across the silk sheets to the end of the bed, before sighing loudly, leaning his chin on his palm. His mother found him with a pout on his face, and his eyebrows slightly furrowed; she chuckled softly before realising that her little boy was clearly upset about something, and not just pouting out of pure boredom (although that was part of it).

“Yoongi dear, what’s with the sulkiness? Do