Work Text:
Sehun sees him seated a bus stop. The most beautiful boy Sehun has ever set eyes on.
He’s wearing a high school uniform, smart dark blue jacket with red trimmings, dark blue pants, white shirt, red and blue striped tie. He has his earbuds plugged in, jamming to himself, bopping his head up and down to the beat of the music that only he himself can hear, raising his hands at elbow level, jabbing them in the air rhythmically, matching perfectly with his head bops.
Sehun presses himself right into the car window, gawking openly at the beautiful boy, knowing that he won’t be seen. He is so close. He can’t be more than two metres away.
Only two metres, but it is an entire universe separating him and the boy. Should the boy look up, he wouldn’t even be able to see Sehun. All he would see is a black limousine with black-tinted windows.
The light changes and the limousine starts to pull away. Sehun cranes his neck, trying to keep the boy in his line of sight for as long as possible.
The limousine turns a corner, and the boy disappears behind a tall office tower. Metallic and modern, it cuts the sky proudly and without an inch of sympathy. Sehun curses himself, for not snapping a photo of the boy when he had the chance. He checks his watch. It’s 7.02 am. The boy is on his way to school, Sehun realises. He’s waiting for the bus that would take him to his high school.
The boy is on his way to school, like any other boy their age in South Korea. He is the norm, but Sehun is the exception. Probably the only boy in South Korea travelling not to school at this time of the day, but to a press conference. Sehun looks back at his lap, where he has the printed copy of his press statement laid out on his portable lap desk. Sehun knows he should go back to reading it. He should familiarise himself with the statements, so that when he says them later, they will come out natural, not like he’s reading from a script.
Sehun tries, he really does, but his thoughts keep returning to the boy. The pencil in Sehun’s hand flits across the paper. Light strokes skims across the surface, and lines bloom and form on the paper. A skeleton of lines form the pillars and seats of a bus stop, and of a figure of a boy, seated right in the centre. A few more short strokes, and more details appear on the paper, the shape of his fringe, the parting of his hairline, the straight ridge of his nose, his jawline, and the dimple on his cheek, the folds of his jacket, the dangling of his tie, the cut of his shoes.
By the time his limousine is pulling into the parking lot of his destination, Sehun is looking down at the sketch of a boy.
A beautiful boy, at a bus stop, whom he’ll never meet. Never get to know.
A beautiful boy, from a different world.