Work Text:
“Therefore, your final assignment is going to be different this semester. I decided to give you more freedom.” Professor Khang says with his hands perfectly folded before his body, gently smiling for the class. He was a middle aged man, his dark hair starting to turn gray, already wearing his spectacles on the terminal end of his nose. However, he was still student’s favorite among the Fine Arts department. “There’s only one criteria: you have to paint something that amazes you.”
Professor Khang is teaching his pupils how sentiments influences our senses, how two different people can look at the horizon and produce completely different artwork. At the end of the program, the students would eventually discover that art was on the eye of who’s watching, it can be completely subjective. “You are free to use any of the techniques of the vanguards we’ve been learning.” He finishes seconds before the clock ticks four p.m, notifying the end of class schedule.
There is a growing murmur among the atelier, the muffled sound of stuff being shoved inside backpacks fills the air as the young artists prepare to leave university for a well deserved weekend. Mr. Khang’s classes were always the last one, he had an unorthodox method of teaching History of Art by actually making students try and copy the techniques of famous artists, nonetheless most of it happened in the atelier, where they could work away without worries or space constraints.
Taeyong is always the last one to leave the room, as he slowly grabs his material from his tripod. He decides to take all of his affairs back to the dorms, eagerness starting to erode his lower abdomen thinking about what amazed him enough to become art, carefully washing his paintbrushes and capping his oil paint tubes. He carries more than one backpack when Mr. Khang’s classes are on his daily schedule, partly because he is too much self organized for his own good and partly because he never knows exactly which materials he would be in the mood to use, then he just shoved all kind of tints and brushes and papers and canvas on a side bag and crossed the campus carefully.
Maybe he could paint the students of Dance major. He would always be open mouthed and awestruck when he gets the chance to watch their performances, arms and legs moving harmoniously in a rhythm his brain couldn’t quite comprehend, but never failed to accomplish as one of the most beautiful things it has ever processed.
But he decided it was a fleeting amusement, he needed something bigger.
Lithe steps covering the dark ground, his mind wonders far away, but he can’t be completely oblivious due to all the load he’s carrying. Taeyong suffered of hips pain, he was too young to have problems with his bones but he used to be a reckless dancer himself, smashing his back against the ground without thinking about the future. Well, the future has arrived and brought with it that sour tingling on his waist, growing bigger and bigger as he supports the tripod against the gap between his higher thighs and the end of his torso.
He takes a deep breath. It must only take ten minutes walking at his pace to reach the dorms and he can handle it, it’s not the extreme of pain he’s ever felt. His eyes still can look at his surroundings, searching ceaselessly for something beautiful to be paint and molded by his hands, something that was worth losing time and putting effort. Something that would guarantee him an A.
And then it hits him, right against his rib cage. It sends him down to the floor, spreading all of his stuff around, tearing one of the canvas in the middle. His eyes are turbid with shook, he’s sitting with one hand against his head, trying to bring himself back on tracks and understand what just happened.
“I’m so sorry.” He hears this clear and warm voice saying, there is a guy on his knee gathering all of his material and slipping it back to his bag. “I was distracted and didn’t see you coming. Did I hurt you?”
And it’s when he turns his face at Taeyong that he knows he found his inspiration. Behind the dark locks of his bangs rested a sweet shade of chocolate eyes, shining worriedly at him as a smoked make up adorns his eyelids very softly. He stops moving for a moment, mouth opened in a gap with his chapped lips shaping an “O”, clasped in the intensity of Taeyong’s gaze.
Taeyong doesn’t quite believe this love at first sight bullshit but he’s mesmerized. He can’t deny it, his mind is hushing miles and miles under the soft aspect of his hair. He almost forgets how to blink, lost in the seeming smoothness of his skin, imagining how it would feel if he could stroke his thumb over his cheeks. Then he coughs and shifts his weight from one knee to the other, conspicuously uncomfortable with the lack of answer to his question.
“Ah…” Taeyong blinks, lifting his eyebrows as he realizes he’s been staring too much. “No, I’m okay.”
The stranger offers a short smile, which sends shivers down Taeyong’s spine, and keeps on gathering his materials. He holds the torn canvas, his brown eyes seeing right through it with an apologetic gaze, and Taeyong still doesn’t know how to react. It seems like the connection between his brain cells are lost, frozen, he can’t do nothing but stare and admire from afar.
“I’m really sorry about your stuff… I will refund you for the canvas.” He says, quickly getting back to his feet and offering his hand for Taeyong to grab. “I’m Moon Taeil, by the way.”
Taeyong shakes his head, collecting the tripod before accepting his hand and standing straight as well. Realization hits him when he takes a better look that it is such a beautiful name for such a beautiful boy, and he can’t help himself but smile.
“Lee Taeyong.” He answers, flickering his hair off of his eye. He glances at the canvas and back at Taeil again, nonchalantly. “And it’s okay, I’ve got dozens of it back home.”
“Then at least let me buy you coffee.”
He hesitates for a moment, of course he does. It seems like this is a scene happening in his head, he doesn’t quite understand what this very good looking stranger would want with him in a cafeteria, but Taeyong has been trying to be more loose lately.
“I insist, it’s the least I can do.”
He thinks about the weight he’s carrying and his hip pain is there to remind him that he needs to go quick. But he wants to go with Taeil, there’s something inside his chest telling him he shouldn’t let him go and Mr. Khang number 1 lesson is to always follow your instincts. He was an artist, for God’s sake, he shouldn’t be that rational.
“If you insist...”
♡
“So, you’re in Fine Arts then?”
It’s that awkward stage where there’s a mutual desire to be closer but no one knows exactly how, appealing to obvious and uninteresting matters to avoid the unsettling silence that embraces strangers just like them. Taeyong takes a sip of his cold americano, shaking the ice cubes with the end of his straw as he’s feeling the sweet and bitter flavors caressing his taste buds gently.
“Yes, second year.” He replies with a smile. It may be uninteresting to talk about majors but Taeyong is very proud of himself. “Before you bumped me in the hallway I was just in History of Art.”
“Leonardo Da Vinci and company?” Taeil asks, eyes glimmering with surprisingly consideration for the topic of the conversation. He’s drinking coke directly from the can, coffee was too risky and he liked his sleeping schedule. Besides, coke is not coke if you don’t feel the metallic flavor.
“I guess you can put it that way.” Taeyong giggles lightly, quickly shoving the straw back to his mouth again. “What about you?”
“I’m in Music major.” Taeil says after a moment. Anyone could tell he was also proud of himself by the way the corner of his lips curled up in a restrained manner whenever he talked about his major, and Taeyong didn’t fail to notice that. He decides he liked the way Taeil smiled. “Third year.”
“Beethoven and company?” Taeyong asks back, there’s a hint of flirting in the way he’s said it. Maybe it was just the way he batted his lashes quickly, gazing through his lids as he sips the very last of his americano.
And Taeil notices that. He could not to, when he himself is playing this dangerous game for perhaps half an hour now.
“I guess you can put it that way.” He repeats, tongue trailing along the line of his lips, tasting the vestige of his coke.
There it was. The unsettling silence, brushing through the air as both parts of the conversation wonder about the hidden intentions behind every phrase said, not that they said much. Truth being told, Taeil sucks at first conversations, he never knows what to say or how to act and because of that, everything just feels awkward. In the dark alleys of his mind, his eyes wandered through Taeyong’s, and he knew he had seen that gaze somewhere else. He knew it isn’t strange, at first he would think that fierce look was just about to pop holes into his soul, but he could see through it. He knew it is sweet and if he looked very closely, Taeyong have such puppy eyes.
“Wait a second.” Taeil abruptly says, his face lightening up from his own realization. “Aren’t you that guy from Ten’s birthday party? The one who collapsed in the bathtub and they had to break down the door?”
Taeyong’s face wriggles on a grimace, he hides his eyes behind his hands and titters. He’s ashamed of this event, therefore he never admits it out loud, but in the back of his mind he still thinks he ruined Ten’s party. Truthfully, he can’t recall what happened in the most of the weekend, as he has never been that drunk ever on his life, but he’s partly happy that it happened since it seemed to entertain his friends. It was one of the first parties he went to after becoming a freshman, sipping drinks from unknown’s cups until his legs were seemingly too heavy for standing still, so he decided he wanted to lay down. In the bathtub. And only wake up with the heavy sound of wood cracking and Ten crying in despair.
Nevertheless, it was one of his best memories of freshman year and it would be something to tell his children, if he had any. “We just threw the party of the year. All the veterans are remembering us now.” Ten would say, with his arms lazily thrown on his shoulder as they walked around the campus, heading to the lecture rooms.
“It was me.” He sincerely admits, a sly grin resting upon his lips. “You were there? How come I not remember you?”
“Considering the fact that you slept on the bathtub, I would be surprised if you remembered anything.” Taeil giggles, and Taeyong crunches his face. It’s the sound of heaven’s gate and he wants to hear it again. “But yes, I was there. I’m friends with Doyoung, from Economics, and Johnny, from History.”
“Well them I can remember.” Taeyong points out, shrinking in his cushion. It’s not like the whole night was a blank, he remembered flashes and blurred moments, but specifically he remembered Ten disappearing inside his room with Johnny. He remembered being pissed because he couldn’t sleep on his bed, and that’s how the whole bathtub history happened. “How does such a cool guy like you hang around with morons like them? I mean, they study Economics.”
“It’s only Doyoung and he’s my roommate, that’s why.” Taeil rolls his eyes, his voice starting high pitched and getting lower as the phrase died on his throat, as if he is used to say that. “I’m not quite the guy who’s get called cool very often, should I say thanks?”
“Yes and you should do me favor, since I was so nice with you.”
Taeyong isn’t familiar with being so straightforward like this, but he only realizes what he’s about to do when the words have already come out of his mouth and he can’t take them back now. He watches as Taeil’s left eyebrow lifts, in skepticism, and the wrinkle in between his eye stands out for the first time. He can’t blame him for being like this, after all, they were just strangers.
But Taeyong is decided to have him as his muse and he isn’t giving up before he hears a “no”.
“Well, I guess asking is not a crime, is it? Shoot.”
“As you know, I’m from the Arts department and stuff.” He begins, and Taeil finds it cute that he needs to make a speech before asking for a favor. The older nods, suggesting he should proceed. “And I have this assignment where I have to paint something.”
Taeyong thinks it’s better to leave the specifics of the essay out of question, the last thing he needs is Taeil thinking he’s a weirdo. “And I was thinking if I could paint you.”
But well, how come one does not think somebody who wants to paint a stranger as a weirdo? He was asking too much from Taeil, who almost choke on his own saliva, eyes leaping in surprise.
“What do you mean?” He asks, frowning.
Taeyong scratches the back of his neck. It’s embarrassing to give life to such thoughts, he doesn’t think he can be straightforward again and just tell him he wants to paint him because he thought he looked like a fucking galaxy. That was lame.
But it was also true.
“Ah I don’t know.” Taeyong answers, embarrassed, because he’s suddenly wordless. He didn’t think this far, he assumed Taeil would only accept it without questioning. “I just saw you and I thought I could make something good if I had a face like this as a muse.”
He doesn’t specify, but he doesn’t need to. Their gazes meet briefly, Taeil’s mouth is opened again in that cute little “o” because he didn’t think Taeyong could be that bold, but again he thinks he might be fooling himself. Taeyong is an artist, you can never be sure about them.
“How important is this essay?” There’s a glimpse of concern in his tone. He isn’t exactly doubting of Taeyong’s techniques – which he yet didn’t know, but he would definitely feel like some parts of the fault were on him if the boy received a bad grade on his artwork.
“I kinda depend on it a lot.” He’s crunching his face as if he’s scared of Taeil’s reaction, but the only thing he does is saying a little “ah”. Taeyong straightens his spine, he doesn’t hesitate before laying his hand above Taeil’s, attracting a curious glance from the latter. “But don’t worry, if I’m Leonardo da Vinci you’re definitely Mona Lisa.”
♡
Their first session happens on a sunny Saturday and Taeyong couldn’t be in a better mood. They’re on the front gardens of University, there is a fresh smell on the air resembling dawn dew on green leafs, birds humming sweetly on the far horizon and the landscape is just perfect.
Truthfully, Taeyong didn’t thought Taeil would come, so he was just acquiescing to the idea that he would have to paint some boring trees and pretend he is amazed by clorophila and photosynthesis, and he’d better be convincing because Mr. Khang always knew.
But Taeil’s short figure shows up in the corners of Taeyong’s eyes, dragging a little wooden stool underneath his arms because “I thought muses were supposed to stay still for a long time and I didn’t want to hurt my legs”, wearing the most cute white t-shirt Taeyong has ever seen in his life.
Well, it is just a regular white tee, but anything looked cute on Taeil anyways.
Taeil decides he wants to seat on the grass, it looked too cozy to let it pass. It’s the first time he is in the gardens like this, not in a hurry, peacefully sweeping his eyes through the robust façade that welcomed individuals to the University with its huge beige columns, and he likes the view. He never really payed attention but it’s somewhat charming, vintage — or just old, if you wish. He thinks the sober shades of nude arranges with his personality, as he was never someone who dragged attention, always coming unnoticed everywhere he goes, never too good to be a highlight and never too bad to deserve anyone’s preoccupation.
And he is satisfied with all that, really. By the time he was already a teenager and had to deal with the dramas of his older sister, he came to the realization that it was better to flow with the tide rather than trying to change its curse. Dragging attention attracted drama and troubles he wasn’t sure he could handle, then he just settled and accepted he was born to be an observer.
And that’s why he was so shocked when Taeyong wanted to paint him. And not for pure hobby, he wanted to do it for grades. On real life. On university.
He accepted it because he liked the way Taeyong’s eyes glimmered like he was ready to give Taeil all the attention he ever wanted but never got once in his life. And partly because Taeyong was cute, too.
“So, how are you gonna do this?” He asks and stretches his neck out, trying to peak on the paper. Taeyong has been brushing a piece of coal against the white skin surface of his drawing paper for about a time now, too quiet for Taeil’s sake.
He smiles broadly, placing the coal on the tripod and wipes the dirt off of his hands. Taeyong wasn’t quite sure of which techniques he wanted to try for this work, he was particularly good in a bunch of them — he had an A on the paintings he made for cubism, surrealism and abstract art, but he never adventured himself in trying to paint portraits. They existed in most part of European arts, but artists used so many different perspectives and methods to create them, it was hard for Taeyong to remember at least one that could fit his style. He silently invites Taeil with a movement of his head, watching his smooth steps covering the grass until he was squaterring on his side.
“I was trying coal drawings, but I don’t think this is what I want.” He says, brushing his finger on an almost perfect drawing of Taeil, who’s mesmerized with the simplicity and beauty of it. “Think I’m just going for oil on canvas.”
“You know that this is looking perfect, right?” Taeil’s eyes are lost on the soft curves Taeyong drew on the height of his collarbones, harshly covered by the beam of his shirt. “You’re so talented.”
Taeyong looks over Taeil, watching his eyes wandering through all the details he carefully drew. He knew it was good, he could have an A if he delivered it, but it would be just a meaningless grade because Taeyong is that perfectionist, he needed to do something that would trespass his own boundaries and really challenge himself.
“You can keep it if you want. I’m doing something different.” He replies after a moment just observing the other guy, and gently detaches the paper from the block, offering it to Taeil.
“You’re not gonna sign it?” He asks, standing straight and taking one last look at the drawing. Taeil thinks that he’s looking way more beautiful in the drawing than in real life, and he wants to thank Taeyong for being this genius he is. But he doesn’t, instead he decides to say something stupid: “Artists should sign their works, I could easily go around telling everyone I drew this.”
“I trust in you.” Taeyong replies with a sincere smile resting upon his mouth, and Taeil feels his heart melting on his chest. “Now go back to your stool, oil on canvas takes a lot more effort and time.”
“Yes, sir.”
Taeil totters back to his previous location, this time choosing to sit on the bench. He watches as Taeyong pop opens some oil paint tubes, holding the cap between his perfect white teeth, and pours some of the creamy content on a wood palette. He’s suddenly mixing some combinations of primary colors, and Taeil can see when he’s got the purple, green and orange on the tip of his paintbrush. He can see the crease growing in between his eyebrows as he looks forward, directly to Taeil, right in the middle of his forehead, his face is all crunched in focus and he bites on the soft skin of his lower lip, perhaps wondering where to start.
Taeyong is beautiful and Taeil isn’t crazy to deny it. He thought he was since the first time he put his eyes on the younger, back to Ten’s birthday party, poorly sleeping on a bathtub even after they teared the door down. But only today he could establish that Taeyong is passionate, he has so much love inside him for everything he does, even if it is a charcoal drawing he doesn’t mean to deliver. Every move his hand makes, dancing with the yellow brush against the canvas, drops love in its purest kind. Every time he stops and looks around, and beholds the nature around him, Taeil swore he could see a love he had never saw before irradiating from his thin body.
No wonder he is so good — and Taeil was so sure about it even though he had only seen one artwork. Because he loves to see the enthusiasm on anyone’s eyes, and it was way more fulfilling if the enthusiastic eyes belonged to someone as pretty as Taeyong.
“Can we talk or it will disturb you?” Taeil asks with a little pout. He thinks he may fall in love if he stays silent, just looking at Taeyong’s romance with his art. “I’m starting to get a little bored.”
“Sure” Answers him, with a little smile, but his eyes never deviate from his canvas. “What do you want to talk about?”
Taeil rocks his legs back and forth, thinking about something to say.
“Why Fine Arts?”
Taeyong pouts, leaning his brush on the easel. Both his hands travel to his waist and his eyes prowl to the sky, he had answered this question so many times before, when his parents couldn’t understand why, of all the majors on the world, their talented son chose to study Arts. But it is different this time, because Taeil doesn’t want a positivist and technological answer like “because I want to work at a museum”. Just a look and Taeyong can understand he really wants to know why, from the bottom of his heart, he chose to surrender to the Arts.
He takes a deep breath; “Well, do you want a simple answer or a complex one?”
Taeil smiles, because this is something he was absolutely sure Taeyong would say.
“Surprise me. If you do, I’ll invite you for a drink.” The older replies, evocatively, smirking slyly.
“Your treat?” Taeyong questions and Taeil nods, giggling. Taeyong sighs, complex answer it is. “Well, ever since I was a little boy my mom and dad encouraged my artsy side. They always filled me with crayons and tints of all kinds, because they wanted me to follow dad’s career — he’s an Architect. But as I grew older, I started to see the Arts as a tool to see the world, you know? It’s a form of expressing the most obscure feelings and sensations, it can be either beautiful or arouse the worst on someone.” He takes a pause, his eyes meeting Taeil’s, whose expression is blank. He’s just quietly listening. “And there’s this thing… you see, a face is a face, right? Everybody’s got the same features — two eyes, one nose, one mouth. But they are never the same, the combinations of forms and colors make everyone’s faces be different. There’s 7 billion people in the world and even if they look alike, they are different. This is why artists all over the centuries paint portraits, because Art is just like faces: it’s never the same. Even if two different people paint the same landscape using the same techniques, it won’t be the same because these two people are different. Art is something that comes from the inside, and it’s inside me so overflowing that I can’t imagine my life without it.”
Taeil’s widened eyes sparkle. He opens his mouth in awe and smiles sweetly, shaking his head.
“That shit was poetic.” He answers and Taeyong titters. “Well, would you like to go for a drink with me?”
“Yes, I would love to.”
♡
The following sessions happen on the atelier Taeyong built for himself when his roommate left and the university didn’t assign him a new one. It is the beginning of the monsoon rain season, which means it isn’t safe to stay outside for long. There is a gloomy sky, greyly pouring non stop, obliging everyone to hide for who knows how long.
It is, also, the fifth time they meet, not that anyone was counting. Taeil is sitting on a slightly more comfortable bench, his back leaning against the white drywall, decorated with some drawings and paintings Taeyong was proud of. His mind is drifting far away, and Taeyong could tell by the way his pupils stares blankly at the horizon, counting as the acid raindrops come down the windowsill. A deep sigh wooshes out of his mouth, his chest coming up and down slowly.
Taeil started to think of their painting sessions as therapy. He enjoyed sitting there, listening the brush stroking against the porous skin of the canvas, inhaling that strong manufactured smell of tint. He enjoyed observing the wrinkles on Taeyong’s nose every time he focused on a smaller detail, the lost conversation they both shared about some meaningless subject.
But today, it seems nothing but rain and lumbar pain. He is bored and Taeyong is a coward.
By this time, Taeil had already realized Taeyong is taking too much for painting that portrait. Occasionally, when he thinks Taeyong isn’t looking, he steals a glance at the canvas. He thinks it’s finished; the enormous dark green leafs rising from the ground behind his blank expression figure, the outlines of his body becoming one with the nature. There’s some sunlight highlighting the right side of his face, beautifully resembling of those paintings from the Classicism. But Taeyong always seems to find something wrong and goes back, diving his face on the work, too concentrated to see a palm ahead.
But the truth is that even him think it’s ready. He’s just afraid Taeil won’t come back if there’s not a reason.
Taeyong sighs, eyeing him from beyond his lashes. There’s the ongoing noise of his shoes rocking against the floor, restlessly thinking of something to make Taeil stay.
But there’s not a way out. He’s got nothing more to do, the artwork is complete and it’s sincerely one of the most beautiful things Taeyong ever created with his bare hands. Mr. Khang would absolutely feel the amusement.
“It’s finished.” He utters under his breath, catching Taeil’s attention. “Wanna take a look?”
Taeil nods, finally lifting from his seat. He feels like that bench is part of himself, for he had been seating there forever. Taeyong arranges the tripod, for both of them to appreciate the painting as they stand still, arms crossed before their chests.
And Moon is out of words. He can’t see all the layers of oil tint Taeyong used to create the effect of spreading woods behind him, a perfect image of that sunny Saturday they spent on the gardens. He is amazed once his eyes realizes there’s no contour for any of the elements composing his work, but it isn’t messy: it looks real, like the eye would catch a vision of Taeil’s hair swaying with the light wind, the leafs jiggling, crashing against each other, the hummingbirds flying on the clear sky.
His eyes are wide, his mouth is opened, once again. Taeyong wasn’t lying when he said he could do much better than the coal drawing, for it seems like a legit Monet or Cèzanne or whatever the names Taeyong speaks about every time.
“How are you feeling, Mona Lisa?” He asks, beaming meekly because even not needing anybody’s recognition, he’s silently waiting for Taeil’s words.
“Taeyong, I feel like Rose after Jack drew her like one of his french girls.” Taeil jokes, his eyes glimmering with admiration. He waits for Taeyong’s chuckle before he can congratulate the younger. “I have to admit that I didn’t think it would look this good. You surprised me.”
“Once again, right?” He nudges Taeil’s waist, folding his hands before his body. “This leaves you owing me two hangs out in the pub.”
“If you get an A you pay the drinks.” Taeil points out, eyebrow quirked in a dare.
“It’s a deal.” Taeyong replies after a moment, offering his hand.
Taeil doesn’t take long to shake it. He is also feeling that saddening load inside his chest telling him there was not a reason to come see Taeyong again, but he wants to — he isn’t sure if desire is reason enough, tho.
His eyes linger on Taeyong’s and he can see he doesn’t want to let the bond go too. It’s like the younger’s pupils are silently asking Taeil for a solution, for an invitation, for a reason to keep waiting for his figure to appear by the door leaf. He knows Taeyong would be up to anything he suggested, but there is something… there’s something inside his core inhibiting him from doing what he wants, from acting with his heart. It’s like rationality took over.
He takes a deep breath, the grin growing colder and colder and Taeyong feels that it’s time to say goodbye, his eyes becoming greyish, drearily roaming everywhere but inside Taeil’s ones. He shakes his head, this isn’t time for his brain to take control.
“Hey, listen.” He calls and there’s a glint of hope sparkling on Taeyong’s eyes. “There is gonna be a party today, at Chanyeol’s house. Maybe you could come?”
“Chanyeol from Business?” Taeil answers with a nod, his face is also lightening up with the expectation of seeing Taeyong again. “Yah, sure. I’ll meet you there.”
“See you around, Leo.”
“See you later, Mona.”
♡
“Why Music?” Taeyong’s deep voice reverberates through the wood walls of the tree house. He’s sitting on the floor, legs crossed, nails tugging on the splinters of wood loosen up from the ground and eyes glued on the figure before him.
Taeil smiles widely, he knows it was taking too long for Taeyong to ask. He arranges his posture, his spine standing straight, lifting his index finger on the air.
“Listen carefully.” He demands, growing quietly. There’s this indie upbeat music coming from inside the house, standing out from the murmur of people chatting on the balcony. Taeyong tilts his head to the side, the noted wrinkle appearing on his forehead as he concentrates on the music. “Now imagine this same moment without it.”
“It would be sad I think.” He answers, rubbing the back of his neck nonchalantly.
“Yeah. Have you ever thought about human existence without music? There’s a genre of it for every moment in our lives, since we’re starting to learn some words to our funeral.” Taeil says, his eyes glimmering and his lips tugged at the side. “I don’t have a beautiful motive like you do, I just love it. It’s what I was born to do.”
“This is a beautiful motive.” Taeyong proclaims, firmly, there’s not a single sign of mocking on his features. “Can you play instruments?”
“Yes.” Taeil nods, proudly. “Guitar and piano mostly, but I can play some others.”
“Oh so when are you appearing in my dorm window to make me a serenade?” Taeyong asks, jokingly, lowering his face and watching Taeil through hooded eyes. The older one bursts into laughter, his jaw popping and his mouth opened but there was no sound coming out of it.
Taeyong thinks he looks stunning like that. His eyes almost disappear as the salience on his cheekbones lift up, almost as if the younger one said the most funny thing ever. He shakes his head, the resemblance of the laughter resting on a slothful grin.
“Never.” He denies with his head. “This is too cheesy.”
“More cheesy than painting a whole impressionist artwork of you?” Taeyong’s voice tone comes out a little bit affected.
Taeil rolls his eyes, nudging his arm dramatically. “Well you said you needed the grade, right? It’s not cheesy if you did it for a bigger purpose.”
“I could’ve painted anything but I chose you.”
Taeil’s gaze rises to him. His ears suddenly can’t hear no indie upbeat music or the growing murmur as the party started to crowd. Everything his eardrums can catch is the sound of his own heart skipping a beat, stumbling on his own feelings, his breath stuck on his throat.
Taeyong sustains his gaze without adding anything. He had, in the past, decided he wasn’t going to tell Taeil about the truth of his assignment, but it escaped. It hovered out of his mouth as naturally as breathing can be, his secret intentions kept on that old tree house. And he isn’t going to take that back.
“Why did you choose me?” Taeil enquiries, chewing the insides of his mouth.
“The assignment was to paint something that amazes us and well, I felt stunned by your beauty.” Taeyong shrugs, but his confidence is long gone since his pupils drift anywhere but Taeil’s features. “And by your personality, after I met you.”
Well, you see, Taeyong isn’t in love. He’s known by his capability to be head over heels and jump with his head on any meaningless relationship and often was seen with his heart broken. Blame it on his astrological sign or the fact that he is an artist, but Taeyong isn’t afraid of feelings. He wants to experience them all, for life is nothing without feelings, so he gives himself to the ceiling wherever he felt something.
And he felt something for Taeil. Astonishment. For his beauty, for his humor, for his everything.
“It would be creepy if it wasn’t you.” Taeil hums, smiling shyly behind his blushed cheeks. “Thank you, Tae.”
“Yah, and I didn’t even earned a kiss.”
Taeil raised an eyebrow. A side smirk grows on his face, he knows Taeyong is kidding but he can’t lie and say he didn’t think about kissing him once or twice. It was because he thought Taeyong was cute that he accepted the outrageous idea to be his muse, therefore he stands on four, a clue popping on his mind.
Taeyong frowns, not understanding where he’s going, crawling like a cat. Before he can question anything, Taeil is sitting on his lap, legs straddling his hips, curling up on his back. He doesn’t know how to react with Taeil’s face this close, but the older one holds on the collar of his flowery shirt, a smug smirk resting on his face.
“You want a kiss, huh?” He asks, attaching their foreheads together. Taeyong feels this dying urge to close his eyes, to feel Taeil’s hot breath blowing lightly against his pores. His smell is everywhere, inflating Taeyong’s lungs. He nods. “You didn’t need to paint me for that. All you had to do was ask.”
“I couldn’t lose the opportunity to look at you for hours on end.” Taeyong returns, lips parted, ghosting over Taeil’s, who smiles. Taeyong runs his fingers along his spine, digits tugging mildly on the range between his bones.
Taeil withdraws a little, denying with his head, before his fingers tangle on Taeyong’s red hair. He strokes the skin of his cheek slightly with his free hand, thumb going back and forth, close to the curl of his lip and back to the contours of his face. “How come such a beautiful boy like you want to kiss me?”
“Cut the bullshit and kiss me already.”
They both giggle, but the surroundings become severe again once Taeil starts approaching, his lips carefully fitting Taeyong’s lips. There is a last uncoupled breath before their mouths become one, gently tangling himself on Taeyong’s arms.
And Taeyong can’t explain what he’s feeling. It’s that pleasant sensation you get in the beginning of a kiss, where there’s the relief to be finally fulfilling your desires, but there is, also, the unsettling eagerness to make everything right. Either way, his hands press against the older’s back, bringing him closer — if this is even possible.
Taeil arches his back, holding Taeyong’s face with both hands. They are peppering long kisses on each other’s lips, a satisfied grin appearing every once they pull apart, just to disappear when they kiss again. Even with this little, Taeil feels complete.
There’s a pause where they just gaze at each other deeply, making sure the other one was feeling it. It felt like there was no other place in the world where they should be but kissing the other’s lips, and they want more. Taeil heaves the hairs on Taeyong’s nape, gluing their mouths back together, but this time his lips are parted.
They are opened to receive Taeyong’s tongue, who slides moistly inside his wet and hot oral cavity slowly, just appreciating every piece of Moon Taeil he could get. Taeyong’s tongue stumbles on Taeil’s tongue, nudging it faintly, inviting the other one for a silent dance, where they bump and slide freely against the other. The kiss they share is full of the desire they have been nurturing for weeks now, filled with the thoughts and prospects that just wouldn’t leave their brains since they met in the hallway.
There’s passion in the way Taeil tugs on Taeyong’s hair, making a mess out of his red strands, as their mouths crash again and again, endlessly into that cinematographic kiss. There’s astonishment in the way Taeyong trails his hand by Taeil’s back, gripping his blue shirt slightly when the older one sinks his teeth on his lower lip. He doesn’t know for how long he’s been waiting for this kiss, to feel complete like this, like all of his parts are put together for once.
He doesn’t know what will happen after they pull apart, but sincerely, he doesn’t want to.
♡
Taeyong catches himself painting Taeil’s face again. For the fourth time.
Some would say he’s obsessed, some would say he’s in love. He doesn’t care, he just needs to express what he’s feeling.
And what he’s feeling is complicated. He doesn’t know how to put it into words, he doesn’t know how to think clearly about it. The only thing he can do is paint sceneries where Taeil is on the main frame, awkwardly smiling or hiding half of his face, looking blankly at the pouring rain coming down outside his window. Or painting the kiss — that one time kiss that stamped him so severely he even thinks it’s something that changed his nature.
Today’s canvas is about Taeil’s messy hair on the first time they met. He called it “wrecking train”, suggesting the way he bumped so hardly against Taeyong. Maybe it was back on this day that Taeyong felt that thing. He felt love hitting on him as a bullet, straight to the heart, cowardly hiding so deep Taeyong couldn’t even distinguish what it was.
He takes a look to his right, where the first painting is hanging on the drywall. He definitely got an A, for Mr. Khang couldn’t stop complimenting his techniques and the way everything was carefully placed in order to make it seem like the world revolves around Moon Taeil. He couldn’t say this guy didn’t amaze Taeyong when he seemed like an angel, it was a silent love letter and Mr. Khang was #1 stan of that romantic shit.
The only thing nudging his chest was the fact that there was not an apparent reason for him to see Taeil again.
Not that he needed one, he could do things purely for the strength of his feelings, but Taeyong seems to think it doesn’t work like that for everyone. Taeil has his number, if he wanted to see him, he would call.
But days went by and he didn’t receive not a single text. He isn’t suffering, gazing at his phone dramatically waiting for something, but it is disappointing to check the hours and notice that there is not a new notification. That there is not a missing voice call.
He shakes his head, getting his hands to work again. It’s almost the end of the spring semester, but Taeyong isn’t stressing around, staying up until late hours preparing for finals. He’s got most of his grades settled and the works for the rest are all done, so his days resume to paint Taeil and watch television shows. He doesn’t get bored, even still. Taeyong knows how to enjoy every moment on his life, even it means he’ll just stare at the white wall, silent with his own thoughts.
That’s when the doorbell rings and he crunches his face on a grimace. Nobody he knew used his doorbell — they all knew Taeyong’s dorm room was always opened for them, so they just let themselves in. He drops the brush on the tripod and recklessly walks over, a worn out sigh whooshing out of his mouth as he wipes the white tint on his wrecked jeans. He opens the door, his heart almost jumping out of his mouth with what he sees.
It’s Moon Taeil, smiling toothless on his doorsill. It’s Moon Taeil, dressed on a simple oversized white shirt, holding a guitar and offering Taeyong his heart.
It’s Moon Taeil.
“You’re not really making me a serenade, right?” Taeyong jokes, as a form to lighten up the environment around them. “I was just kidding.”
Taeil giggles and shrugs. “Well, then I guess I’ll be going home.”
Taeyong rolls his eyes and they just stay there, staring at each other, saying everything but telling nothing. Their voices can’t be heard, but both uncoupled hearts skips beats, screaming that they missed the other.
The younger one steps aside, silently inviting Moon in. He’s not ashamed of his obsessive painting, he knows Taeil will understand. He always did, since the first time he awkwardly asked to paint him. He steals a glance at Taeil’s features, feeling quite satisfied when he captures the blinding glimmer on his eyes, spotting every single one of the canvases with his face on it.
He stops moving when in the center of the atelier, tilting his head to the side.
“Did Leonardo da Vinci painted Mona Lisa that many times before he painted the one we know?” He asks, a genuine worried look upon his face.
“I don’t know.” Taeyong shrugs. It suddenly doesn’t feel so appropriate having all of those in here.
“Seriously, Tae. Why did you paint me this many times?” He questions, stepping backwards until he’s close to Taeyong again.
He has the perfect answer for that inquiry. One of the sides of his mouth curls up on a peaceful smile.
“Claude Monet painted his water lilies over 250 times or more.” He answers, watching the wrinkle between Taeil’s eye growing bigger. Then, he decides to elaborate. “His garden made him feel things, things that he couldn’t explain with words, so he painted it. Over and over, underneath sun and rain, because he wanted to express his feelings.”
“You’re trying to express your feelings?” Taeil concludes, blankly staring at the unfinished canvas on the tripod.
“I’m trying to express the fact that I found my water lilies.” He finishes, fists buried inside his pockets, gazing at the back of Taeil’s head in contingency. “I couldn’t get over that kiss, Taeil.”
“Me neither.” He turns back, his eyes dark with something Taeyong can’t decipher. “I… huh, wrote a song about it.”
Taeyong quirks one eyebrow and Taeil shoves his hand inside his backpack, pulling out a pale paper from inside. “It’s about you, actually. I got an A for this song on Composing.”
His wobbly hands stretches the paper forwardly, delivering it on Taeyong’s hands. But his eyes can’t focus on that shaky letters right now, he just can’t leave Taeil’s face.
“What does it all mean, Taeil?” He asks, taking one step closer. His heart was uneasy inside his chest, screaming, abusing his tissues and the rib cage. He wants just one answer, just one possibility could settle his uncertainness.
“I don’t know, Taeyong.” Taeil looks away, back at the first canvas Taeyong painted. “I just… when I heard I got an A for the song I wrote about you, it just felt right to come over. I missed you, you know? And this is awkward.”
It really is, because Taeil is not used to being attached that easily. But he can’t forget the little grunts that crawled out of Taeyong moistened mouth every time he moved on his lap, or the way his hands seemed to fit perfectly on his own back. He can’t forget the shy smiles whenever he caught Taeyong staring too much, or the way his fingers carefully withdraw the red strands of hair who insisted in falling in his eyes when he was focused, painting.
Every time he closes his eyes, Taeyong’s face is there.
“I think all of this-” Taeyong gestures, pointing the canvases. “is because I missed you too, but I wasn’t sure if that kiss meant the same to you as it meant for me.”
“What did it mean for you?”
Taeyong takes a deep breath. The things he had been trying to discover through his artsy side is, right now, exposed on his front as clear as autumn skies.
“I felt complete, like if the missing thing inside my soul were your lips.” He assumes, firmly sustaining Taeil’s gaze, his hands tangling on his shirt nervously. “Kissing you… it changed me, it feels empty without you now.”
“Stop being a poetic hoe and just tell me already, Taeyong.” Taeil slaps his arm, slightly, but there’s a grin lingering on his lips. “I’m trying to find out if you like me too.”
“Too?” He asks, his shoulders coming up on tension.
“Yes, Leo. I like you.” Taeil finally says, with a roll of his eyes as he drops the guitar and his backpack on the floor. His lithe steps cover the distance between them. “A lot.”
“I like you too, Mona.” Taeyong replies, his arms wrapping the small figure close to his body, a clicked smooch on Taeil’s forehead. “A lot.”