Chapter Text
Art is subjective is what Ricky’s lecturers like to say to him when he comes to their cramped little offices for coffee & art criticism hours every Thursday and Friday.
In between scrutinizing his charcoal drawing of a half-eaten strawberry and praising his black loopy cat sculpture, they like to tell him, Don’t worry too much about your subject. Your intention in drawing them will come through on its own through your sincerity. At the same time, in coffee sips interlude, they also like to tell him, Make sure that your art brings up the curiosity in people.
Sometimes, in between peach tart numbers four and six, Ricky gets this urge to tell them that they’re saying a bunch of things that don’t really register or make sense to him, that they’re contradicting themselves. How could he not worry too much about his drawings when he has to make sure his art brings up questions? If art is subjective, shouldn’t he worry about the subject too? Make sure the subject will be well-received? Also, what if his art doesn't bring up questions or create confusion? What if it clears things up instead?
When that urge to question his elders comes through, Ricky fights it. Throwing back snippy lines at his professors won’t do him any good. The artist reflects the art after all. He can't flunk art school like he did high school just because he couldn't hold his tongue for a few hours. He'd promised his parents that he'd do better than the 1.4 GPA he got in high school in university if they let him choose art. If they let him make a choice for himself and not for the good of the family business. So he can't afford to fail school this time for some pettiness. Plus, he’s got a Thursday-Friday afternoon person routine he can’t miss.
So, usually, after the peach tart professor finishes his last round of criticisms, Ricky will pick up his art pieces and put them in his tubes and bags. He’ll thank the professor for the coffee and guidance and say nothing inflammatory back. Zhang Hao and Kuanjui, art minors, will poke their heads in. They always wait for their turns outside the door together, whispering gossip between themselves while they wait. One of them will come in, bringing in their own drawings. Ricky will walk out of the office to the other and sigh and complain. He’ll then drop his things off at the student association and take his sketchbook and brush pen with him to the faculty’s steps. He’ll sit and draw whoever walks by. But really, he’ll only really draw Park Gunwook, who always saunters past at almost six and stops at the faculty of art's cafe to get his caffeine fix. Ricky always watches as Gunwook cheerfully greets the music-major-slash-phenomenal-barista Hoetaek and gets his mocha from him. They make small, nonsensical talk. Gunwook passes by to go to the faculty of economics and business next door and Ricky tries to hide his sketchbook, tries to hide his latest hastily-drawn portrait of Gunwook. Sometimes, Ricky swears Gunwook has seen the sketch, swears that he smiles at it.
That’s his Thursday and Friday afternoon routine. Normal but fun and relaxing. Good for his art. His routine definitely does not involve watching a business major boy with the shiniest smile walk past. It doesn't involve having a giant crush on the person Gyuvin is most scared of fighting one on one. He’ll never admit that he has a crush. He isn’t Zhang Hao watching the dance studio like a hawk for a glimpse of dance major Sung Hanbin. He’s worst actually.
He draws.
He draws Gunwook instead of just searching for his face in places.
He draws and damn, does his drawing make clear his feelings for Park Gunwook.
When night seeps in, Ricky takes the bus home. Sketchbook tucked neatly inside one of his bags.