Work Text:
Yoo Joonghyuk woke up to the feeling of brushes against his skin and the sound of soft humming. Unwilling to disrupt the peace, he stayed still, but couldn’t help cracking an eye open to take in the scene.
Hovering over his back with a tranquil but faraway expression, Kim Dokja let his brush run across Yoo Joonghyuk’s back in assured but careful strokes. His material was strewn all over the covers, his colorful palette resting on his crossed legs. The way the morning sun filtered through the curtains, hitting Kim Dokja’s face just right, made Yoo Joonghyuk itch to grab his camera.
He wanted to capture this moment, to be able to go back to it over and over again. He wanted to freeze in time the way the sunlight made his hair shimmer, his features sharper, the way it made him look so unreal, so god-like. Yoo Joonghyuk could still remember Kim Dokja’s nearly non-existent self-esteem back when they met, his struggles to see himself the way Yoo Joonghyuk saw him.
Even though he had finally started to carefully tread on the path of self-love, Kim Dokja still had a hard time finding himself beautiful. As Yoo Joonghyuk watched him raise his head enough to catch his lover’s gaze, his face softening and the sunlight turning his eyes a warm golden; he thought that if Kim Dokja could see himself now, he would get it.
And usually, Yoo Joonghyuk took it upon himself to show him. Each time he found his partner especially beautiful, he would whip out his camera and snap him from every angle possible. The way Kim Dokja always got flustered, either whining or giggling, made Yoo Joonghyuk bring it out as often as possible. Needless to say, the amount of pictures of Kim Dokja he had snapped over the years well exceeded the number of days they had known each other.
But rather than twisting around to grab his second most prized item – Kim Dokja would occupy the first spot for as long as Yoo Joonghyuk breathed – he remained still and watched his lover go back to work. Only then did Yoo Joonghyuk truly register what Kim Dokja was doing.
“Before you start grumbling, this is a paint specifically made to be applied on skin unlike last time,” Kim Dokja said softly, voice still rough from sleep. Had he started painting Yoo Joonghyuk as soon as he got up? Something warm sipped into his chest at the thought that Kim Dokja had seen him first thing in the morning, and felt inspired enough to immediately get to work.
He simply hummed, letting the silence take over. The room was warm, the summer heat unrelenting even before noon. Lulled by the warmth, Kim Dokja’s humming and the soft caresses of brushes and fingers on his skin, Yoo Joonghyuk felt himself drift away.
He was brought back some time later by a weight suddenly lending on his lower back. Unwilling to open his eyes again, he groaned in a way he hoped sounded questioning.
It apparently did. “Just trying to get a better angle.”
“What are you even painting anyways?” Yoo Joonghyuk’s voice was muffled by the pillow, slurred by the remnants of sleep. Still, Kim Dokja understood him. He always did.
“Just whatever comes to my mind.”
“And wouldn’t a sketchbook be a better support?”
“When have I ever used a sketchbook, dearest?”
Never. At least, not in the near decade he had spent with Yoo Joonghyuk. Back then, it was bewildering and quite maddening to share a dorm room with him. Kim Dokja drew on everything that shouldn’t be drawn on. Napkins, tables, walls, furniture, sheets, plates, and on one memorable occasion, his exam paper. Yoo Joonghyuk just couldn’t understand it, and wasn’t exactly willing to when their shared living space was constantly turned into a mess of nonsensical art, often studies rather than actual pieces.
It drove him insane, leading to many arguments and a rocky start of a relationship between the two. However, as time went by, he got used to it. Kim Dokja made efforts to restrain his artistic chaos to specific surfaces, and Yoo Joonghyuk stopped criticizing everything he drew. It’s only on their very last day in the room, as he watched Kim Dokja apply a coat of white paint over the wall he had claimed as his when they had made their little arrangement, that he realized he had never asked him why he refused to use paper or canvases like everyone else.
Kim Dokja thought for a long time before answering him. “There’s something too unpersonal about canvases, or whatever else people usually use,” he had finally said with a thoughtful look. “I don’t like that. I don’t want to draw just for the sake of it, to go from nothing. I like to add to life, rather than creating it.”
Upon seeing the confused pinch of his eyebrows, Kim Dokja softly laughed. He looked over the remaining drawings – which were far too numerous for Yoo Joonghyuk’s taste when they had to be gone by the end of the afternoon – and pointed at one of them.
“See this one?” It was a study of a landscape, more specifically a lake with a little island floating in the middle. “The island is actually a water stain. And this,” he showed the body of a butterfly spreading its red and black wings, “is actually a huge crack in the wall. And over there,” a happy looking squid waving at them, a tentacle thrown around a grumpy sunfish, “see the bubbles coming out of their mouths? They are bumps I painted over.”
Kim Dokja went over each of his drawing, pointing at what was actually not his doing, but merged with the picture as if it had been there for the sole purpose of completing the image Kim Dokja wanted to show.
When he was done, Yoo Joonghyuk observed the wall some more before saying, “So… you want to draw over what already exists and give it a new aspect?”
His heart skipped a beat at the happy grin he received as a response. Truly, he had been a fool to not realize his feelings back then.
“You got it, Joonghyukie. I spent a long time only able to see the ugliness of the world, to point out its flaws and feel disgusted at the sight of them. It took me a while to realize that each one of these flaws was actually the remnants of a past story, or at least, the perfect start for one. There’s beauty in everything, you just have to shape it out, don’t you think?”
The first time Kim Dokja asked to paint on him, Yoo Joonghyuk refused. He had already seen him ask their other friends exactly that. Each time, it ended with them half naked, Kim Dokja using the curves of their bodies, their freckles, their beauty signs, their pimples, their dips, their stretch marks, and everything else that made their body theirs, to form detailed drawings. Kim Dokja’s favorite canvases were people, that was a well-known fact.
Yet, even as his closest friend – and soon to be partner – Yoo Joonghyuk had not wanted to subject himself to the experience.
He didn’t take pride in his looks, unlike what most people believed. He knew he didn’t look half-bad – it would be impossible not to when each person he met felt the need to point it out. But because people were appreciative of his face and body didn’t mean that he was. Actually, he thought that if they were to see him, the whole of him beyond his appearance, they too wouldn’t like the sight much better than him.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s body was littered in scars. That in itself wasn’t an issue. He didn’t feel ashamed of them to the point of covering them up intentionally. People didn’t mind them either. If anything, he had been told that it gave him a charm, reinforced his mysterious vibes, and made people curious. To them, they were cool marks on his body that made him all the more attractive. To him, they were constant reminders of an unkind past.
Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t like the story his scars told. It was an ugly, painful one. Nothing to extract beauty from, like Kim Dokja liked to do with his art. And so, he spared them both the troubles, and refused each time the man asked him.
One thing he had been made painfully aware of during this time, though, was that Kim Dokja was a stubborn bastard. And a smart one at that. He didn’t give up, but also wasn’t overly insistent. No, he bid his time, choosing the perfect opportunities to bring it up again, changing the phrasing, coming up with counter arguments for each one of Yoo Joonghyuk’s doubt. Kim Dokja being a menace was nothing new to anyone who had known him long enough, but even Yoo Joonghyuk was impressed at the sheer amount of cunning his now lover had displayed during his year-long quest.
So impressed that he ended up agreeing. The first time he laid on his stomach, back bare for Kim Dokja to decorate, he was tense all over. His muscles hurt from how wound tight they were, ready to shoot up and leave at any time. But, progressively, as Kim Dokja remained silent, never once frowning or commenting on the scars, he started to relax. Each of Kim Dokja’s stroke dented a bit more at his countless walls until he unknowingly started telling his story.
He didn’t remember when the first tear slipped, or when he gave up on minimizing what happened, painfully honest in a way he had never been. What he did remember was Kim Dokja’s silence. The way he never pried, never laughed, never cried. He listened intently to each one of his word, no matter how long it took him to push it out, and never once tried to intervene. Because Kim Dokja had always been better than him at telling what Yoo Joonghyuk needed.
He had known that all Yoo Joonghyuk wanted at that moment was someone willing to listen to his story without judging any part of it. Without blaming him for his stupid decisions or comforting him for the unfair treatment he received. Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t need anyone’s thoughts or sympathy for his past actions, his past wounds. What he needed was someone willing to listen to his story, to read it, to watch it – and accept him for who he was now. For the person it shaped him into.
By the time they were done, the sun had since long set. Kim Dokja rose slowly, and, still silent, held his hand out for Yoo Joonghyuk to take. He slowly led him to the bathroom and made him turn his back to the mirror, facing him.
Cupping his face with a gentleness that might just have broken Yoo Joonghyuk beyond repairs if there was anything left to break, he whispered, “I love you.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes forcefully shut themselves, physically pained at the onslaught of emotions. Three little words that carried more meaning than everything he had ever been told in his entire life. That was the power Kim Dokja had over him. He let their foreheads touch, hands grabbing at his lover so hard, he knew he was leaving bruises, but neither of them cared.
Kim Dokja dropped a kiss on his nose, saying it again. Then he kissed his eyelids, repeating it. His cheeks, his jaw, his chin, his forehead, his lips. He kissed every part of him, chanting the words like a prayer. Then, Kim Dokja leaned in and breathed against his ear, “Look behind you.”
Yoo Joonghyuk did.
Kim Dokja had always liked drawing landscapes the most. It was what he did the most, and so, what he was the most talented at. Yoo Joonghyuk had more often than not found himself speechless at the worlds Kim Dokja was able to bring out. But this time, rather than simply having his breath taken away, it felt like something had punched all the air out of his lung.
He had thought that Kim Dokja had simply been listening as he spoke the story of his life. He had thought that he would listen, take it in, and never bring it up again unless Yoo Joonghyuk did first. He hadn’t thought that Kim Dokja would do what he was best at: bring it to life.
He had drawn Yoo Joonghyuk’s journey. He had turned each one of his story into a drawing, using the very scar it resulted into as the base of it. He took his memories and engraved them into his skin.
He didn’t try to make it any prettier. Most of the scenes he painted were sad, dull, lifeless, chaotic. They expressed all that Yoo Joonghyuk couldn’t. The unrelenting waves crashing on and turning over anchored boats on his shoulder blade pinpointed to perfection the feeling of losing everything he had ever known, of watching his life fall apart and losing all his marks. It translated the feeling of the glass shards digging into his skin as his mother threw the broken wine glass at him, screaming at him to get out.
The nearly overturned train, flying out of tracks and about to crash told of his loss of control, of saying ‘fuck it’ and thinking that he was fully freeing himself from all the expectations of his past life, when he was just further ruining himself. The pain of the knife digging into his back as he woke up without remembering how he got there, who were the people in the room with him or the clearly unstable guy claiming that he stole his spine; all of it was still fresh in his mind.
The log of wood gliding along a peaceful river, lush vegetations bordering it, unaware of the sharp cliff it was headed towards, grey stone nearly blending with the growingly dark sky, reminded him of the pain of betrayal. Of being lulled into a false sense of safety and trust before being literally stabbed in the back.
Countless scenes adorned his back, so many that Yoo Joonghyuk couldn’t quite believe they all fit in. It made his back look so much broader, so much lonelier and more wounded. Just looking at it was enough to bring back the helplessness that seemed to accompany him wherever he went back then. The feeling of drowning, of swimming towards the surface but having forgotten where it was and ending up going deeper.
“Look closer, love.”
Yoo Joonghyuk startled, having nearly forgotten about the other presence in the room even though he was still clinging onto him like a lifeline. He looked closer.
At first, he couldn’t quite tell what Kim Dokja wanted him to see. To Yoo Joonghyuk, all there was to see was pain and mistakes, his own failures as fate played around with him. What more was there to see than that? What use was there in looking at this any longer, in feeling this pain all over again? He wondered that but didn’t look away. Because he trusted his lover. He trusted him so much, it scared him. He had trusted before. He had done so so many times, thinking that it would be worth it this time, before being brutally reminded of how vile people could be. He had sworn to himself he would never make that mistake again.
Yet, here he was, years later, looking into the most beautiful pair of eyes he had ever seen, seeing only care and love, and wanting to believe that these eyes would never want to see him in pain. And so, he continued to look, until he spotted it.
It was a small thing compared to the rest of the painting. So small, he completely missed it. On his lower back was one last scene. Except that unlike the others, it didn’t tell of destruction, disappointment, or hopelessness. It showed a park, basking in the afternoon sun. And there, on the grass, on the far left side of the scene, were silhouettes. They were very vague considering the size of the drawing, mere black lines. But Yoo Joonghyuk could name each one of them.
The three laying down were Han Sooyoung, Jung Heewon and Lee Jihye, roasting but still listening to an excited Kim Namwoon beside them telling them about his new project. The big of the group, standing in a circle, were Kim Dokja, Lee Hyunsung, Yoo Sangah, and Lee Seolhwa, all looking down on a rare species of flower the latter was happily chattering about. The three smaller lines a bit farther away from the group were Yoo Mia, Lee Gilyoung and Shin Yoosung, playing some sort of revisited – and slightly worrying, if the talk of murder was anything to go by – version of catch.
He could tell because this was a scene he had witnessed no later than last week. He remembered walking into the park, picnic bag under his arm bouncing as he hurried to get there. Work had held him up longer than he had thought, making him the last one to arrive. He remembered walking down the path, accompanied by the wind and crunching leaves, and coming to a stop once he caught sight of the group.
There was nothing special about what they were doing, but he found himself transfixed by the scene. By how nonchalant and happy they all looked, how they had left untouched the food they had brought because they were waiting for him, how they laughed easily. Suddenly, he was hit by the realization that these people were his family.
When he had slammed shut the door of his childhood house, with only a few bills in his pocket and a little sister under his arm, he had never thought he would get there. When he was beaten to a pulp in the streets, when he was sleeping under a leaking roof, when he was choosing between feeding Yoo Mia and clothing her, when he was faced with the vilest side of human being over and over again– not once had he thought about a bright future for himself. About a house, a family beside his sister, a lover, a stable job, a fucking monthly family gathering in a fucking park. He hadn’t allowed himself to. Hadn’t thought he deserved it.
Yet, he had it. And he wouldn’t give it up for anything in this goddamned world.
Shaking himself out of his daze, he had walked forward and cleared his throat, greeted by a chorus of happy greetings and grumpy complaints about being hungry. He hadn’t thought anyone noticed him before that, much less that anyone would be able to tell what he was thinking about. Of course, that was underestimating Kim Dokja. A beginner mistake, truly.
“Joonghyuk-ah.”
His eyes slammed shut. He had done more crying in the past hours than in his whole life. Once upon a time, he would have been ashamed of that. Tears didn’t put clothes on Yoo Mia’s back, or food on the table, so what use was there to them? They were a luxury; one he didn’t have the mean to afford.
But that was in the past. Now, crying was something he was allowed to do. Something he allowed himself to do. And there would be someone there to support him while he did. He was still a long way off from freely expressing himself, years of repressing his emotions doing their share of damage, but that was still more than what he was capable to do yesterday. At least, that’s what his therapist – and Kim Dokja; truly, that guy should just sign up for a psychology course – said each time he showed progress.
Baby steps, Joonghyuk-ah, baby steps.
Once he had himself back under control, he opened his eyes, ignored how blurry his vision was and peered at Kim Dokja. It looked like he was smiling, but something was off about it.
“Joonghyuk-ah, dearest, I know this is an emotional moment and all, but could you let go just one minute so I can fix the shading of the lighthouse over there?” he gestured towards Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoulder blade. “It will keep me up at night if I don’t. I swear we can go back to reflect on your trauma right after.”
The rest of the evening was a bit blurry in his memories, but what he did remember was laughing until he couldn’t breathe anymore.
His reminiscing was interrupted by a triumphant voice. “Here! All done!” Yoo Joonghyuk looked back at a grinning Kim Dokja, whose smile turned a bit mischievous at he said, “You know, I think this might just be my best piece so far. Truly a masterpiece putting Da Vinci to shame. What can I say, you’re my muse, Hyuk-ah.”
Yoo Joonghyuk stared at his boyfriend for a second before suddenly throwing him off his back. Kim Dokja yelped, cursing at him for his rudeness as Yoo Joonghyuk made a bee line for the bathroom, ominous feeling rising in him. Once faced with the very same mirror he had bared himself in front of years ago, he did a sharp turn and discovered Kim Dokja so-called masterpiece.
A sunfish. A huge sunfish spreading all over his back, with small squids floating all around it. If he had to be honest, that was a truly impressive drawing. The colors, the shading, the accuracy, everything told of Kim Dokja’s talent. But he didn’t feel like being honest. He felt like beating his beautiful and idiot of a boyfriend’s ass.
“Kim Dokja.”
“Don’t you think I outdid myself here, love? A perfect portrait of you, I’m so proud!”
Yoo Joonghyuk was going to kill him.