Work Text:
Minseok stares up towards the vast black sky, his mind floating as he hums a tune familiar to his ears. Tonight, the sky is clear, with loads of stars twinkling across it. Minseok feels his mind at ease.
Night time has always been his favourite, especially when it means he can stargaze while painting. Stargazing has always helped with his creativity, and Minseok feels like he can concentrate better during the night.
He grabs his paints and a few brushes before sitting down on the floor of his terrace. He settles a 50x30 cm canvas on his lap comfortably and holds the brush firmly on his hand.
"What are you up to?" He hears a voice asking him, startling Minseok slightly, but he quickly regains his composure as his brain tells him who the owner of the voice is. His lips form a little gummy smile as he dips his brush into the black paint gently.
"Painting," he answers nonchalantly and starts moving his brush. Soon, the canvas is half-painted with black ink; the night sky that Minseok loves and adores. "Are you here to look for writing inspiration from the night sky too, Dae?"
A soft laugh escaped successfully from Jongdae's lips, and Minseok feels his heart warming up and the sound of it. The older man finally lifts up his head and gazes towards the other; moving his head slightly to point at the vacant space beside him. Jongdae looks at him with a confused gaze, albeit still smiling.
It's empty here, if you want to sit beside me, his gaze tells Jongdae. No words needed, Jongdae understands him completely. He proceeds to sit beside Minseok with a small smile playing on his lips.
"Perhaps," Jongdae says out of nowhere, and Minseok, again, gazes at Jongdae; his painting forgotten for a moment. "Perhaps I am here to look for writing inspiration from the night sky. Or, maybe not." Jongdae takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, a note in one hand and a pen in the other.
Then, he opens his eyes and stares right at Minseok's eyes. "Who knows," he whispers softly, and Minseok shivers slightly.
Jongdae tears his gaze away from Minseok, to which the older man is silently grateful for, because his heart won't stop beating wildly otherwise. The younger rests his gaze on his note, so Minseok decides to say nothing and continue with his painting.
He dips his black-ink-covered brush into the water, cleaning it gently before dipping it into a different color, this time white. He ponders for a few moments, before placing his brush against the canvas to draw some more.
"Are you drawing the stars?" Jongdae suddenly asks.
"I am," Minseok answers shortly with a smile. He now knows what to draw. "Now can you shush, I need my full concentration here."
Jongdae lets out a soft chuckle. "Alright, won't bother you some more," he whispers. "Show me when you finish, okay?"
Minseok nods gently; a silent promise known by only both of them and the twinkling stars.
"Are you done? Can I see?" Jongdae peers over Minseok's shoulder to see what he's been painting for quite some time.
Minseok tries to save his painting from Jongdae's prying eyes. "Shush, I am not done yet!" He argues, but too lateㅡJongdae has seen what he's been painting.
"Hey!" jongdae yelps when minseok elbows him to save his painting (God helps his waist so that it won't become a bruise). "Isn't that me?" He points at Minseok's canvas with his right hand. "I thought you're painting the stars?"
Minseok looks at his canvas, then at Jongdae, then back at the canvas. True, on Minseok's canvas is a painting of smiling Jongdae gazing at the sky, the younger's eyes painted with love and longing. Minseok feels his cheeks warming up slightly.
"I am," he tells Jongdae. The other man pouts.
"That's not stars! That's me! Stars don't look like that!" Jongdae argues again.
"Well, how do you think stars look like then, Mr. Kim Jongdae?" Minseok throws him a question, a playful smile on his lips. "Enlighten me, please."
"God, Minseok, I thought you are the painter here." Jongdae answers with a laugh as he opens an empty page in his notebook and draws quickly. Then, he shows Minseok his drawing of a star.
"Stars look like this, Minseok."
Minseok frowns upon seeing Jongdae's drawing of a star. It is a typical drawing you'd usually see when you ask a kid to draw a star. Exactly with five pointed sides. Minseok suppresses the urge to laugh, yet he fails as a small smile threatens to appear on his face. Jongdae sees it and he, again, pouts, like the pouty baby he is.
"What? I am not wrong!" He protests while pouting. Minseok, again, has to suppress the urge to kiss that pout away.
But Jongdae looks so cute with that pout on his face. He looks like a baby, and, oh myㅡMinseok does not know whether he has enough self-control not to kiss the man in front of him or not.
(Perhaps no. Minseok does not have that big of self-control.)
"Stars don't actually look like that, Jongdae," he tells him with a patient voice. Jongdae looks unhappy still, his eyelashes fluttering as he blinks rapidly in confusion.
"My art teacher taught me that back then in school," he tells Minseok. "Are you saying that what my teacher taught me was wrong?"
"What? No! What your teacher taught you is not wrong." Minseok laughs. Then, he is silent for a moment, his expression telling that he's thinking about something before he finally continues. "You know why I draw you instead of those common stars your teacher taught you?"
Jongdae shakes his head, so Minseok uses it as a cue for him to continue.
"Everyone has their own version of stars. And my star does not look like this, Jongdae," Minseok says as he points towards Jongdae's star drawing. Then, he gazes at Jongdae's eyes; the eyes which hold his galaxies. His universe.
His stars.
(Fuck self-control. Here goes nothing.)
"My star looks like you," he says, leaning in towards Jongdae, so he can finally, finally, reach those stars, and kiss that pout away.
"You are my star, Jongdae."