Work Text:
Yang Jungwon was the prettiest boy Sunoo had ever seen.
The moment he stepped on the door, Sunoo knew his heart was at risk. Falling for Yang Jungwon was never on his to-do list as a freshman in College. The time their eyes met felt like decades for the foxed-eyed boy, the bubbly feeling inside his chest grew.
He ignored it, but he couldn’t help but to think about his tiger-like eyes. It was so captivating, Sunoo felt like his brown orbs were drawing him in, pulling him closer, trying to ignite something inside of him.
He was so occupied with his thoughts that his pencil rolled down on his chair. His abstract was looking at his eyes directly like it was saying something, something Sunoo knew but he never wanted to.
He glanced at his teacher, who’s talking about how feelings influences your subjects and blah blah blah, next to his classmates who’s clearly not paying attention to the topic, and lastly, to his pencil on the floor.
He decided to pick it up without making a noise but a hand, slightly bigger than his took it first. Sunoo swore he felt his breath hitch when he realized who it was – Yang Jungwon.
The person who owned the eyes of his abstract, smiling so brightly at him. There it was, his heart, thumping so loudly he wanted to curse himself because he doesn’t want Jungwon to hear what it says.
“You create art because art is the extension of yourself. It may be your feelings, the way you view things, what you wanted to say but you can’t… or you won’t. Art is… you.”
Indeed.
Yang Jungwon stirred up something inside Sunoo, as he picked up his old brushes from the attic.
Some people would say that love is like taking a breath – you cannot live without love. Even if you don’t know how to or don't want to feel it, you have to live with love.
The question is: Is love really a choice? If it was, then why is Sunoo slowly feeling the need to breathe whenever Jungwon is around? Even when he doesn’t want to?
It feels like Yang Jungwon was a breather in this world full of suffocation. It was just a simple greeting from him, a simple hello. It was just a normal day, why would… how could Yang Jungwon smile at him like the brightest person in the room? How could Sunoo felt so safe whenever the boy is around?
Out of all the people, all the eyes that travel and meet his own, all the smiles he receives and gladly returns, why was Yang Jungwon the only boy he could see even with his eyes closed?
And why was Yang Jungwon’s smile the only thing he could draw?
“Art is a mediator of the unspeakable.” - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.
What couldn’t he say and why was he always at a loss for words whenever Yang Jungwon was around?
If you could take one picture for the rest of your life, what would it be? Some people would say a family, their dogs, something that has a sentimental value to them or a memory.
The night breeze was kissing Sunoo’s cheeks softly as some of his classmates made their way to their own spots to take a photograph for their art class. Some of them took a picture in broad daylight and went back to their cabin while the rest, like Sunoo, wanted to take a picture in the dark. Sunsets are overrated anyways.
“Mind if I accompany you here?” If someone had captured how Sunoo’s eyes widened at the realization at hearing the voice of the boy beside him, he was damned. So damned, he couldn’t even utter a word beside Yang Jungwon.
It was surprisingly… calm. Yang Jungwon was so gentle… like dandelions swaying with the wind, like the first sip of coffee on a busy Monday morning and like a calm sea under the splashing streaks of stars. Sunoo never felt so safe, so he smiled.
A sudden flash from his side took his attention from the landscape, slowly turning to Jungwon. The boy suddenly looked so nervous, his right hand was on his nape, lightly scratching it as he turned his eyes away from Sunoo. “Did you take–”
“I did… you looked beautiful under the stars, Kim Sunoo.”
Sunoo didn’t waste a second as he hastily took a picture before Jungwon could say anything. The waves weren’t heard as much but the laugh took the moment.
When they bid each other goodbyes, it was then Sunoo realized that the only photograph he took was Yang Jungwon.
“A picture is a poem without words.” - Quintus Horatius Flaccus
Again, there are words in Sunoo’s head that only Yang Jungwon made him think about.
“As you can see, these are all painted by me. It took me years to know the meaning of art, as Art is something we couldn’t possibly give meaning to, something we can’t comprehend even though it is present before we could even open our eyes to view the colors of the world,” Sunoo smiled as his audience was listening intently to what he says.
The “Golden Painter.” as what people would name him recently put out his gallery in his hometown. He made articles and was even on the Forbes list at the young age of 24. Sunoo was known for his realistic paintings, giving light to the eyes of his subjects and striking colors to make it livelier.
“At first, to me, art is the mirror of what we feel. Some days when I feel so bold, I use red when I feel revolutionary, when I feel powerful, when I need to draw a message for the people to view beyond the vivid colors of my art… but most of the time I use it to hope, to live and to make people feel love.” He smiled to himself.
“And then art would speak for you, at times I failed to say what I wanted to, art spoke for me. Blue is freedom and with someone I felt so blue. There was this person… and he felt like a breather – freedom to me.” He paused.
“He was the subject of my first abstracts, the reason why my hand moves so lightly, and why art felt that way before.” He moved to caress the cloth that was covering his last painting.
“Soon enough, I came to realize that art… is not something we can easily define on our own. It takes time for us to know what art could really be, what art represents, what art means to you.” Sunoo took time to breathe, carefully finding his words that filled up his head for the past years he moved his brushes like a feather dancing on the wind.
“For me… art has one and only meaning.” Sunoo pulled the string for the people to see the last piece of his painting.
A raven haired man with eyes closed but full of life, the soft kisses of sunlight on his face, a small flower drawn on his face. Sunoo’s never felt so proud in his life, not until he worked on this masterpiece in front of him.
“Art is Yang Jungwon and Yang Jungwon is the only meaning of art for me.”
Claps were heard across the gallery as Sunoo traveled his eyes through the crowd. There were whistles and cheers heard, as he waved to acknowledge their compliments. Some people continued to walk and look at his other works and some of them were greeting and taking pictures of him.
“Marc Chagall says an art must be an impression of love or it would be nothing.” The familiar voice echoed through Sunoo’s head as he felt the subtle tug in his heart. He couldn’t help but to smile as he replied.
“Every art of mine is my impression of love.. Because this abstract is nothing if it isn't you.”
And there he was, Yang Jungwon, still the prettiest boy he had ever seen.