Yoongi leans against the glass, perched carefully on the large window-seat of the hotel room, a pen between his teeth and a well-worn notepad resting on his knees. However, it’s clearly not his day for song-writing - the words just don’t seem to be flowing today - unlike the raindrops that fall against the see-through panes, chasing each other in a never ending race.

They blur his vision of the world outside, casting the city-scape into dull greys and washed-out blues. 

His phone rings - a text message. 

He ignores it, closing his eyes to the dreary outside world and leaning his head back, notepad falling off his knees as he let’s the rain-song lull him to sleep.