Week after week, the canvas glared at Jiyong from whichever place he had relocated it to. On that particular day, it had been watching him from the slightly opened door of his spare bedroom while he screamed along to the lyrics as the speakers blared loud enough to down his voice.

Dancing around in an almost frenzied state with his eyes closed, it was inevitable that he hit something, unfortunately it was the door in front of his new stressor that his hand smacked against. Jiyong looked at the offending expanse of wood. “Really, door?”

The canvas would have giggled to itself, had it not been an inanimate object. In the past month in which it had been relocated over and over again, it had seen Jiyong talking to anything and everything, ranging from the furniture to the cutlery, even the appliances had been coaxed into working properly with a few cajoling words. This, along with the almost always playing music, were the only things that appeared to make him use his voice. The canvas would have pitied him, if it were sentient. Its owner, who chose to deliberately ignore it and keep it out of his sight, only used his voice to sing along or talk to things that didn’t, couldn’t, talk back. He never went out, or at least, he had not gone out for the thirty days since the canvas had been brought to him. It felt as if he were haunting the house, one with the building, and with everything in it, but removed to the possible extent from the outside world. The phone, it rang, the canvas had had a few sounds waves bounced off of it, but Jiyong rarely picked it up. Apparently, the day that it had been brought here had-

‘Here we go again’, the canvas would have thought, when it was lifted up again, with a few grumbles that it couldn’t quite catch. The man who had been meant to bring it to life looked as if he could use some help living too. The vibrant purple hair from the first day the canvas’ bare surface had stared back at him had faded while the original brown tried to reclaim its place by growing long enough to be tied up.

The canvas was carefully laid on the kitchen island. That was one thing it was grateful about (or would have been, if it were living). No matter how much Jiyong seemed to hate looking at it, he was always cautious when relocating it. That could have been because of whom it was given by, but of course the canvas would have seen it as something due to its own traits. But, back to the kitchen island. This was the first time the canvas had been kept in a place so easily seen. After a month of being ignored, being under the bright light was new.

Since it was facing the ceiling, the canvas could no longer watch Jiyong’s actions, but the music cut off suddenly and, in the silence, it was easy to hear the ring of an outgoing call.

“Ji? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yes hyung,” Jiyong coughed, probably because of all the screaming/singing from earlier.

“Are you sick? Do you need medicines?”

“No, no, I am okay. Just a scratchy throat. Umm… I was wondering, are you free later?”

“Depends on what you categorize as ‘later’. I have a meeting at seven, but I should be free around 10, that okay?”

“Yeah okay. Bring me a box from wherever you’re eating.”

Amusement coloured Seunghyun’s voice. “Alright.”

“Thanks.”

“Mind telling me what this is about, or should I spend the entire evening wondering?”

Jiyong huffed out a laugh, “That sounds tempting.”

“Okay, I won’t get you chicken from So Yi’s.”

“Not fair!”

“Is so. Also, I’m being called away, so I gotta go now.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll see you later. I’m planning to paint.”

“Cool, bye. Wait wha-?”

Jiyong disconnected the call and leaned over the edge of the canvas, grinning. “Let’s see what we can do with you.”