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His services haven’t been requested in years. Most of his brushes are covered in dust.
Seokjin gulps before announcing himself at the gates of his commissioner’s humble abode, which is anything but humble. He’s walked past the luxurious house countless times, but never entered. His father told him about its owner, a man of importance whose wife could not bear children, until “a miracle happened”. He painted her portrait during the lady’s pregnancy, when Seokjin was still a toddler. The husband promised to request the painter’s services again, after the baby was born; however, the woman passed away a few days after giving birth. Everyone who knew her spoke of her beauty.
Now it’s Seokjin’s turn to paint the son’s portrait. He’s nervous for more reasons than one: knowing his work will be compared to his father’s; worrying about not being skilled enough to please the prominent family; and meeting the boy who rarely wanders outside those walls, whose beauty is said to rival his mother’s.
A servant escorts him past a garden and into the house, where the master awaits.
“You resemble your father,” the man says, offering a nostalgic smile that Seokjin returns. “I’m sure you’ve inherited his talent too.”
“Thank you. I’ll do my best to honor his memory.”
He’s led to a room where all necessary materials have been prepared. A young man with dark brown hair and sharp eyes bows at him.
“This is Park Jimin, my son’s servant. Whatever you need, ask him.”
Seokjin opens his mouth to greet him, but a fourth person joins them and robs him of all speech.
“This is my son, Kim Taehyung.”
Severely unprepared for such a sudden introduction, Seokjin feels his jaw touch the expensive rug under their feet. The rumors are completely wrong.
His beauty could never rival his mother’s, for it is unparalleled.
Taehyung’s skin shines like gold against his white satin robes; his lips are soft and rosy; waves of caramel hair frame his face; his proportions are magnificent. Seokjin has painted a few portraits of boys he considered artistically handsome, as tokens of his unrequited affections, but Taehyung is something else entirely.
“Pleased to meet you, Seokjin-ssi.”
He doesn’t realize he’s gaping at Taehyung until Jimin clears his throat. Seokjin bows, lunges a tad too low.
“The pleasure is all mine.” His voice comes out hoarse.
“Are you ready to sit in the same position for hours on end, darling?”
Taehyung huffs at his father’s teasing, gently pushing his bangs away from his eyes with long fingers. “Anything for you, appa.”
Although Seokjin moves and reacts when spoken to, his mind is bewitched by the boy sitting opposite him. Taehyung’s father shows him what he wants and advises his son on how to pose, always cheerful and good-humored. With such favorable conditions, it doesn’t take him long to produce a satisfactory sketch, which earns him praises from everyone.
Taehyung gasps, and much to Seokjin’s surprise, places a hand on his shoulder. “You are so talented at making people look beautiful that hardly anyone will recognize me in the portrait!”
“I beg to differ,” Jimin intervenes; judging by the spontaneity of his masters’ reactions, he must be a dear servant, even a friend. “With all due respect, Seokjin-ssi, I doubt any artist could ever capture his beauty, but it shall be fun to see you try.”
Seokjin chuckles, heart thrumming in his chest. “I wholeheartedly agree.”
The house master laughs boisterously and pats his other shoulder. “Talented and funny!”
The day goes by in a blur due to Seokjin’s struggles to avoid staring at Taehyung’s enticing details for too long. The task is so difficult he’s out like a light when his body hits the bed that evening. Even in his dreams, Taehyung haunts him: his mind conjures up visions of his smooth skin, branded by Seokjin’s lips, and his silky curls, trapped in Seokjin’s fist. He wakes up covered in sweat.
As hard as he tries to dull his senses around Taehyung, with each passing day, a new part of Seokjin’s heart surrenders to his charms. Artistically speaking, that’s both good (since it makes him more dedicated to perfecting the portrait) and bad (for the very same reason).
“That’s a beautiful locket, Seokjin-ssi. I have one too.”
He jumps on his seat when Taehyung speaks, after hours of silent posing. Seokjin looks down at the piece of jewelry around his own neck and smiles. “Thank you. My father gave it to me, with a lock of his hair inside.”
“My mother did the same!” Taehyung grins, and the glow of his joy catches Seokjin off guard. He stammers a reply.
“I was told she was beautiful.”
“Would you like to see her portrait?” Taehyung tilts his head to the side, a mix of innocence and coyness in his eyes. Though curious, Seokjin hesitates. “We should stretch our legs a little.”
After some pondering, he concedes. Jimin doesn’t follow them to the master’s office, where the portrait is.
Mother and son share several similarities, Seokjin ascertains as Taehyung stands beside her portrait, though his beauty undeniably surpasses hers. Seokjin also identifies his father’s techniques on the canvas, the ones he remembers learning since childhood. Tears blur his vision as tender memories resurface. He’s never cried in anyone’s presence since his father died, determined to stay strong for his family, but the woman’s smile is so lovely his resolve crumbles a little. Taehyung’s concerned look adds the weight of embarrassment to his grief.
“Apologies,” Seokjin explains. “Seeing my father’s work makes me miss him more.”
Taehyung steps closer to rest a hand on his arm. “It is I who should apologize. I didn’t mean to sadden you.”
“No, please.” His eyes meet Taehyung’s, which, for the first time, show deep melancholy. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
They smile at each other, bonded by loss. Seokjin’s heart races, the skin under Taehyung’s palm prickles. He’s even more dashing from up close.
“I’m thankful too. If it weren’t for your father, I would have never seen my mother.”
A tear falls from Seokjin’s eye. He looks down, ashamed of his vulnerability, but freezes when Taehyung’s hand touches his face, lips parted and eyes fluttering under his feather touch. With an inebriated smile, Taehyung runs a thumb over his moist cheek.
“Beautiful.”
The air around them shifts, sizzles with tension. Taehyung watches him with magnetic eyes, which have lived in Seokjin’s fantasies since he first saw them, then licks his lips. Unlike a few minutes earlier, the last thing on Seokjin’s mind is what shade of red he should use to paint them, revolving dangerously around what they taste like instead.
“Excuse me.”
Jimin’s voice makes Seokjin jump back.
“Yes?” Taehyung sighs absent-mindedly, like a spell has been lifted.
“Your father is home.”
Taehyung locks his jaw and nods before leaving the room. Seokjin follows with wobbly knees.
After a fortnight, the portrait is completed. No commissioner has ever been as delighted as Taehyung’s father, who pays Seokjin twice the agreed value. Although Taehyung congratulates Seokjin after examining the artwork, his smile is cold, detached. Seokjin wants to understand, but doesn’t get a chance to speak to him alone. Insecurity nags at him, keeps him up all night; as soon as the sun rises, he marches to the house, determined to solve the matter.
“He’s in the garden,” Jimin declares, eyes and voice low. Seokjin’s stomach twists. Without a word, he walks in to find Taehyung sitting under a tree, hugging his folded legs.
“Hello.”
Taehyung turns his head to face him, and the sight shatters Seokjin’s heart: his face is red, flooded with tears. Dark circles under his eyes denounce he’s cried all night.
“What are you doing here?” He hiccups from over his shoulder.
Seokjin ignores the question and rushes to sit beside him, propriety be damned. “What happened?”
Taehyung’s misery tortures Seokjin; his own misery reflected in Seokjin’s face brings more tears to Taehyung’s eyes.
“It’s nothing,” he sniffles, turning away.
“Tell me.” Seokjin cups his face the same way Taehyung did his before, wipes some of the wet trails on his cheek. “Let me help you.”
“You can’t. No one can.” He closes his eyes.
“Please.”
He waits in anguished silence, until Taehyung takes a deep breath.
“My mother lost two babies before me… So on her third pregnancy, my parents made a promise.” He hides his face in his hands. His following words puncture Seokjin’s chest like an arrow. “If she gave birth to a healthy child, this child would be sent to a monastery.”
Seokjin’s blood goes cold, his once tight chest now hollowed out. Taehyung keeps talking, but a thick fog takes over his mind, muffles all sound.
“My father doesn’t want me to leave, but my mother gave her life for me. I must accept my fate.”
Only one word leaves Seokjin’s lips.
“When?”
Taehyung sobs. “Tomorrow.”
The arrow in his heart sinks deeper.
He will never see Taehyung again.
Had he known, he would have done it all differently, taken longer to finish that damned portrait, enjoyed every second of Taehyung’s company… But time only moves forward, and theirs is running out before it even starts.
Seokjin does the only thing he’s ever wanted to do, while he still can: he wraps his arms around Taehyung, who melts into him instantly.
“Can you do one last thing for me?” He murmurs against Seokjin’s chest.
“Anything.”
Taehyung rests his hand over Seokjin’s locket. They exchange a knowing, teary glance before Seokjin retrieves a small knife from his bag. Taehyung opens his own locket, and Seokjin is about to cut a lock of hair to place in it when he notices a small, yellowed note folded inside.
“What is this?” He asks, pulling it out carefully. Taehyung goes pale.
“I have no idea.” He unfolds the note and gasps as soon as he reads what’s scribbled in it, eyes overflowing with tears. “It’s from… It’s from my mother.”
Their heads touch as they read it together.
My dear child,
I cannot speak to your father at present, for he is traveling on business, so I hope this reaches you in time. I release you from the promise we made on your behalf. Since I am dying and will not see you grow, it is my life for yours. I wish we had more time.
Be happy and free, always. I love you.
Taehyung falls apart in Seokjin’s arms, his whole body shaking with every pained sob. Seokjin strives to be his fortress, though the heartfelt letter makes him cry as well. He caresses Taehyung’s face, pushes the damp hair away from his forehead.
“I must take this to my father,” he pants, after part of the shock fades. “Immediately.”
He gets up and goes inside the house, all the while aided by Seokjin’s arm around his waist. They find his father in his office; he reads the note in silence, shedding silent tears.
“It really is her handwriting.” His weak smile is full of grateful sorrow. “My boy… You are free.”
They dive into each other’s arms, crying out of relief and longing. Seokjin watches them from afar, holding his own torso and leaning on the nearest wall to support his trembling legs.
“Appa…” Taehyung sniffles when they’re calmer, glimmering eyes on Seokjin from over his father’s shoulder. “Can Seokjin-ssi stay for lunch?”
Seokjin’s eyes widen, but the master’s genuine reply soothes his nerves.
“If that makes you happy, my dear, let him stay forever.”
Taehyung bites his lip, beaming. “Would you like to stay forever, hyung?”
They look at each other so fondly Seokjin can’t stop the dumb grin on his face. Realizing there’s nothing to fear, that Taehyung is not going anywhere, he voices a promise of his own.
“I’ll stay for as long as you want me.”
Taehyung walks up to him with a blinding smile and takes his hand, intertwines their fingers.
“Forever it is, then.”