- trigger warning -

BYEOL POV. 

For some reason I was on edge, I was waiting from someone to stomp around the corner and yell at me for f-cking up again. But no, that didn't happen. After Lay braided my hair I was too embarrassed to say anything. So, like the mortified coward I was- I got up and walked out. Quickly walking through the house I felt like I was close to running, but paused when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I looked like a softer version of myself, with little daisies braided in my hair and suddenly I was seven again and looking out the window to the view of my front garden. My little hands were placed against the glass itching to pluck the flowers for my mother. The girl looking back at me had bags under her eyes, she was the kind of pale that you look when you're sick, and her eyes were scared. They always looked scared. Then there was these beautiful little flowers, so white, so lovely. It almost made me cry. 

"Oh."

My head whipped round to see Chanyeol staring, it was like today was my day for being constantly flustered. I was too self-conscious about how I looked right now and knowing Chanyeol- he'll probably make fun of me in a second. In seconds he crossed the few feet that seperated us and I craned my neck to look up at him. He had a strange look on his face, and he held out his hand about to touch my hair but pulled back at the last second. I frowned, too aware of my own appearance. 

"Come with me," He said, and the whirlwind that was Chanyeol dragged me along with him. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me through the kitchen where Luhan, Kai and Xiumin sat eating- all of them giving confused looks. But we didn't stop there, he brought me to another sitting room, one that I hadn't torn apart. He let go of my wrist and pulled out a footstool, then continued to shift furniture around and I could only watch him throw things frantically aside. Chanyeol stopped and stared at the footstool then muttered something I couldn't make out before moving it a centimetre to the left. 

"Sit," He said awkwardly and gestured to the seat. He didn't make eye contact but when I didn't move he looked at me, he scratched the back of his head and waved his arm at the footstool. Intrigued at this change of character, I complied for once and sat down. 

"Ok, great, stay there," He stammered out then flew out of the room. He was back within a minute with what looked like a book, an array of pencils, and other art items. I casually observed him as he threw them around and spreaded out his materials. He then opened his book and only then did I realise it was a sketchbook. I didn't speak when he flipped through it to a blank page and stared at me intensely. 

"... What are you doing?" I asked him. 

He didn't reply, his hand was moving wildly around the page. His brows furrowed, eyes flickering back from my face to the page. It clicked that he was sketching me, I thought of his previous art- the demented, and distorted images of fire, suffocation and agony. I wondered what I would look like when he finished- unknowingly tilting my head in thought. He stopped, the lack of scribbling created an uncomfortable silence. Before I could react, he leaned forward and poked this side of my head to its original position. 

"Don't move please," He said sternly. 

I frowned, which caused a small glare from him since I moved my features that time. I huffed, and looked around the room instead. It was cosier than the rest of the house, like their other house with mismatched rooms, this room was furnished with what european features contrasting with the house's minimalistic decor. The vintage chairs had ornate embroidery, you could tell they were incredibly expensive. 

"Excuse me."

My wandering eyes snapped back to Chanyeol, who looked unamused for a second but then became blank. 

"What?" I snapped. 

"I- um," Chanyeol stuttered, which confused me yet again, "Just... keep looking at me ok?" 

There was a long lasting awkward silence which made him shift in his chair. 

"It'll help when I'm sketching," He explained. 

I squirmed in the chair, suddenly become flustered- why was he taking this so seriously? I swallowed nervously. 

"Why are you sketching me?" I murmured. 

He paused in his scribbling, not looking up from the page. 

"Because I want to," Was his reply. 

"Well I want to leave," I told him. 

"I know you do." He continued to draw, not caring about me wanting to leave.

"You don't usually draw pe