Work Text:
The feeling of the chilled drink flowing down his throat is ever so satisfying. The iced tea, left unsweetened, has always had a charm of its own; it tasted like home, well, to Jeonghan at least. At a single sip, he’s reminiscing through the endless stream of memories that flow into his mind. He’s left breathless as a picture of his mother churns into his memory and he could see every flawed perfection.
He feels the goosebumps rise over his skin, the air conditioning seemingly dropped down a few degrees colder than what he liked, but he allows his mind to wander about his mother. She was a beautiful, charming woman and she always seemed to make everything better.
The corner of his lips begins to curve when he reaches a memory of them sitting together in the living room. Her easel propped up, facing against the window, as she laid out her supplies in front of her.
“Jeonghan, sweetie, will you get mommy the cloth on the kitchen counter?” She asked, fondly smiling at the young boy sitting next to her.
“Of course mommy!” Jeonghan says, beaming up at her before padding his way towards the kitchen. His mother’s smile had never been so content and her voice is ringing in his ears.
The smile on his mother’s face, whenever she painted, was something he ached to see every day. But maybe his love for art originated from his mother’s passion, except his hasn’t died out.
Suddenly, he’s back in the school’s art room, surrounded by the smell of acrylic paint and old canvases. He sighs as he realizes a container of paintbrushes had fallen over earlier, bringing him back to reality. He goes to pick them up and put them back into their place when he hears a sweet voice singing outside the door, as quick as it appears, it vanishes.
Jeonghan hurriedly pushes the door open just in time to catch the stranger’s backside and he’s already left in awe as he watches the lean male walk down the hall, his hair a defying orange to Jeonghan’s own silver lilac. Something goes off in Jeonghan and his fingers are itching to do something, anything.
And so he shuts himself back into the art room and fishes out a fresh canvas. He lays out his supplies, similarly to the way his mother used to do, and takes a deep breath. He finally picks up the brush after his tenth exhale, and he starts.
Hours have passed, and it’s half past 7 p.m. and he’s exhausted, but he’s proud. The piece of artwork lies in front of him, and it seems to scream, “This is what you’ve accomplished.”
It isn’t too big, a 24″ by 32″ canvas, and has been decorated by a field of colors ranging from blue to orange. Yet, Jeonghan can’t believe he had just painted someone by their backside.
By the time he has finished cleaning up, the painting is dry. He covers it with one of the old sheets and he’s walking out of the room with the voice of the stranger serenading his way home.
His studio apartment isn’t that far away from campus. It’s located on the 5th floor of the complex and contains a lot of minimalist tones. There are papers scattered around his desk, usually drafts of his late night sketches, and his bed is a mess as always. His kitchen is littered with granola bar wrappers and organic banana chip bags. Everything seems out of place, but he finds comfort in messes because messes could be art.
He dumps his bag next to his shoes and he’s pulling off all his clothes before making his way to the bathroom, a new set of comfortable clothes in one hand, his iPod in the other. He’s scrubbing off all his worries and passionately singing along to the lyrics of Hyukoh’s Comes and Goes.
By the time he gets out, leaving the steamy bathroom, it’s 8:42 p.m. and he can’t decide whether he should make an effort for dinner, or just skip it all in one go. He decides that he should at least eat something because he knows he’ll probably feel like a deadbeat the next day. He settles for some grilled chicken; it’s easy to make and filling and maybe he’ll add a strawberry smoothie to his meal.
He gobbles down his meal slower than he thought. It’s probably because he got distracted by the pretty lights of the city. He abandons his dinner in one go and presses himself against the cool glass and smiles down at the bustling street below. It always seemed to be busy around this time, parents hurrying home to tend their children, friends coming home from parties, and teenagers tugging along at their friends to find something to eat. The low humming of car engines seems more comforting to Jeonghan than anything else.
The rest of the night is spent browsing through YouTube, mixed with some notes for statistic class. After a few hours, Jeonghan ends up falling asleep halfway through a BuzzFeed video with his hand clutching a pen.
-
He’s late for class already, busily sprinting through the crowd occasionally bumping into his pupils along the way. No one really says anything though, Jeonghan is known as one of the kindest people on campus, so no one has the heart to tell him to “watch it.”
Once he reaches his lecture hall, he breathes out in relief when he realizes their professor is also late. He slides into his seat before quickly taking out his materials and resting his head on his arms, catching a bit more shut-eye.
When the professor arrives, class passes by in a flash and before Jeonghan knows it, he’s in the art room staring at last night’s painting. The corner of his mouth lifts and drops trying to see what he did, but he can’t seem to lay a finger on it. He walks to the storage cabinet and pulls out a can of scarlet red paint with a bigger brush. He pops open the container and dips the brush fully in the paint before making one quick stroke against the canvas. The paint drips down the picture, red clashing against indigo. It was gratifying.
It’s about 3 p.m. when he hears the stranger again. This time, he’s singing in a foreign language. It sounded a lot like English, but it’s hard to know when his voice if muffled by the door. Jeonghan allows himself to push the door ajar and to take in the melody of the song. He peeks at the stranger, catching his side profile on the way, and wow, he’s really good looking from what Jeonghan could tell.
Jeonghan closes the door once again and settles down for another canvas. His fingers are aching to paint again, and he does with passion. He paints along to the voice singing in his head, along with the voice he heard from the stranger.
When he gets home that night, he does what he does every night. Shower, eat, do some of his stuff, and sleep. Except this night, he ponders about the way the stranger’s eyes were closed in appreciation of the song, and the smile that was present on his face. He dreams about his side profile, and a world of beauty he wants to seek but is too afraid it’ll be ruined.
The next day, there is another stripe of scarlet against the canvas.
-
It’s been a week since Jeonghan has found about the boy who sings. His curiosity gotten the better of him and he decides that he wants to see the boy, to hear him sing.
It’s about 4:26 p.m. when he hears the familiar voice approaching and he opens the door wider this time. He steps outside and stops the stranger, and the other looks taken aback before he smiles at him.
“Hi, do you need something?” He asks, his voice is like velvet and Jeonghan wants to drown himself in it.
“Sing for me.”
“Excuse me?”
“Sing for me,” Jeonghan repeats before adding, “and I’ll paint for you.”
“I don’t even know your name.”
“And I do not know yours.”
“You’re crazy.”
“I’m flattered.”
The boy seems to be convinced as he steps into the art room, gasping at the dreams that hung on the wall. His eyes glance at every inch of the room and he feels like he’s looking at hundreds of worlds. His eyes finally fall on the boy with lilac hair in front of him. Jeonghan, if he were to recall correctly, was his name. He had heard about him before, words like endearing, lovely, and handsome, but he’s never seen him like this: surrounded by his passions, looking the most attractive.
Jeonghan points to a spot on the ground next to an empty canvas, and motions him to sing. And he does. He puts ever drop of emotion into his singing this time. His voice trembles at some points, but the artist looks undisturbed as his paintbrush smooths over the canvas in a wide stream of colors and shapes. He doesn’t know what the other is painting until he sees splotches of orange blend with a skin tone and his mind pauses, but his voice continues.
Him. Jeonghan is painting him and he’s never felt so alive. His skin is crawling as he watches Jeonghan pieces him together so beautifully that he feels his eyes water a bit. There’s so much passion with the way his wrist flicks in different movements.
The song he’s singing ends, but Jeonghan just continues creating and the singer is watching him in adoration. He watches as Jeonghan swipes a piece of hair behind his ear, which fell out not too long after he tried. He reaches forward, and tucks the strand away for him, chuckling lightly as the other freezes for a moment before going back into his painting.
The singer looks around the room, indulging himself with the messy sheets and the smell of used paintbrushes. However, he finds his eyes falling back to the gorgeous boy next to him, with his eyebrows furrowed in concentration and his hand diligently moving back and forth, gently wiping the brush onto a towel.
After a few hours of silence, Jeonghan is finally done with the paint. He sits back against the box of cleaning supplies and wipes his sweat against the back of his hand. He turns to the singer and motions him to look with a swift movement of his fingers.
Jeonghan grins as he sees the light fill in the other’s cat-like eyes, his mouth dropping open to an ‘o’ shape as he takes everything in. Jeonghan could feel the adrenaline rush into his body as he sees the boy reach out to caress the air above the painting. He looks like he’s adapted to a new world, a world not too far away from Jeonghan’s.
“What’s your name?” Jeonghan asks suddenly, watching the other jolt away from the artwork.
The singer smiles, and Jeonghan feels like heaven is shining down him, “My name is Jisoo. Hong Jisoo.”
-
Jisoo. Jisoo. Jisoo.
The name has been dancing around Jeonghan’s head for the past few days. It’s been a few days since he had last heard his voice serenade him through the door. He craves the honey-sweet voice, and the crinkles at the ends of his eyes when he smiles. But most of all, he misses the spark in Jisoo’s eyes when it’s focused on something he did.
The art room is filled with red stripes. It’s contradicting to the rest of the cold tones. Jeonghan is exhausted. He’s been wasting time staring at a white canvas when their final project’s deadline is coming up. He has no inspiration and he wants to pull at his long locks. He’s about to give up and pack up when he hears a knock on his door.
Jisoo pops his head in Jeonghan drops everything immediately, telling the other to come in.
“How are you doing?” is the first thing Jisoo asks, placing his bag on the ground.
“Terrible.”
“Terrible?”
“I have no inspiration to create another dream,” Jeonghan replies, his fingers twirling around each other nervously.
“Let me sing to you.”
“Okay.”
Jisoo pulls Jeonghan closer to him and lays him down on the floor with his head in his lap. He gently rests his fingers under Jeonghan’s eyes and the other takes it as a hint to close them. Jisoo threads his fingers through his hair and Jeonghan feels at home in the presence of his warm voice.
Jeonghan’s dreaming of them. With their bodies tightly pressed together on his bed and Jisoo pulling him closer by the waist. He dreams about waking up to Jisoo’s scent, Jisoo’s face and Jisoo’s voice. But the biggest one was of them lying side by side under the stars; there’s nothing more than mere whisperings of sweet nothings in each other’s ears.
He shoots up, nearly bumping heads with Jisoo and runs around the room picking up paint tubes. He’s dumping everything next to the canvas but before he does anything, he grabs the large brush with scarlet red and runs it on the canvas. Next, he’s applying different shades of blues and purples and Jisoo is watching in awe as it all happens.
The canvas is not small. In fact, it is quite huge. An outstanding 40″ by 40″ and Jeonghan is frolicking about finding different uses of angles and it’s all too wonderful.
It’s passed the time Jisoo would be in the comforts of his own room, but seeing the other working in concentration has brought him too close to the edge to want to go home. He’s just about to fall asleep when the other slows to a stop. Jeonghan turns to him, offers a joyful smile.
“Would you like to come home with me tonight?”
Jisoo feels the blush rise to his cheek as he shyly nods, “I would love to.”
-
Jeonghan must be foolish, inviting someone he barely knows to his home. He’s fumbling with the keys and he hears Jisoo laughing in the background. Jisoo’s laugh sounded like his mothers: loving and happy. He’s pushing the door in and lets Jisoo enter first. He really wished he had cleaned up before, but it wasn’t like he knew he was going to have company.
“I apologize for the mess. I didn’t know I would be having guests over.”
“It’s endearing,” Jisoo says, “It feels lived in.”
Jeonghan smiles at the other’s words and shows him around. He shows him all of his old sketches, good and bad. He explains why he finds minimalist tones wonderful to live in. He talks about his mother and how his love for art started. Jeonghan doesn’t know why he’s pouring his heart out to a stranger, but there’s something about Jisoo that makes him seem reliable.
It’s 1:43 a.m. when they’re both washed up and snacking on almonds and unsweetened ice tea. Jisoo is wearing Jeonghan’s favorite shirt and sweats, and the artist wishes to see the sight every day.
“Tell me about Jisoo,” Jeonghan says, his hand pressing into his kneecaps.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything you want me to.”
Jisoo gives him a stern look before taking a deep breath. He spills everything to his heart’s content, his eyes tearing up at some points. He mentions his parents unsupportive ways, bidding him haunting words. He talks about being new to the school and about how he was so afraid that no one liked him. He speaks about Jeonghan and how he thought the other was so beautiful and enticing.
As the stories come to and end, Jeonghan pulls the other from his spot on the couch net to him onto his lap and he’s burying his face into the crook of Jisoo’s neck. He’s breathing in the faint smell of vanilla shampoo and lavender soap, just as he imagines so many times. He’s whispering calming words, hoping that the boy stop shaking in his arms.
If there was one thing Jeonghan wanted to do forever; it would be to protect Jisoo. He never wants to see the boy break down and tremble in his arms other than in pleasure. Jeonghan wants Jisoo to be happy, with himself, with Jeonghan.
“I don’t know if it’s too soon, but I think I’ve fallen for you,” Jisoo says suddenly.
Jeonghan smiles against the skin of Jisoo’s neck before lifting his head to look at the boy whose face is tear streaked.
“I think I’ve fallen for you too, love.”
That night, they spend quality time in each other’s arms. Jisoo’s head in using Jeonghan’s arm as a pillow while he rubbing comforting circle into Jeonghan’s abdominal.
-
“This is an excellent painting, Mr. Yoon,” his art professor says, examining the artwork, “I’m glad you have conveyed a different emotion into your art this time.”
Jeonghan’s smiling so wide, he thinks his cheeks are becoming sore, “I would like to thank you, madame. You have taught me well.”
His professor lets out a chuckle.
“I can’t teach you something you already know, Jeonghan. I am assuming you’ve met someone very dear to you.”
Images of Jisoo fill his head, and his hold on his medal tightens, “Yes, I think I have met someone who does me good.”
The sound of quick footsteps arriving draw their attention. Jisoo comes in looking a bit out of breath, but he beams when he spots Jeonghan. He quickly makes his way into the other’s arms.
Jeonghan’s about to turn back to his professor, but he catches her giving him a smile and gestures him to continue being with the other boy before he walks to a different section.
Jisoo loops an arm around Jeonghan’s waist before they both turned to look at the art piece hanging on the wall. He lets his eyes wander over the mass of acrylics and vivid colors. He focuses the most on the small post to the right of it, imprinted with the words:
“To my beloved.”
Jeonghan feels so warm inside with the way Jisoo looks at him. Jisoo and his gorgeous eyes and charming smile. Jisoo who makes him feel like the top of the world; who stands with him at the top.
-
epilogue :
Jeonghan is waking up to the smell of freshly made french toast. He peeks from under his lashes at the sight of Jisoo running around his kitchen trying to keep everything in place and not burn anything. The other looked absolutely endearing with his messy orange hair and wearing an apron that fitted to big on the both of them.
He rises from his position on the bed and navigates his way to the kitchen, avoiding some of Jisoo’s music compositions on the floor. He hugs Jisoo from behind, feeling the other freeze in his arms before relaxing and together, they sway side by side. Jisoo’s singing Sunday Morning again and Jeonghan should be tired of it, but it’s the way he sings with a lighter tone that keeps Jeonghan coming back for more.
“Morning babe,” Jeonghan mumbles, voice raspy from the good sleep.
“Morning!” Jisoo chirped, twisting his arms to peck him on the lips, “Do you know where I left some of my guitar picks?”
It’s been about a month since Jisoo had moved in with him. The tons of black and white now had more color in them. There’s a guitar next to his bedside and lyrics all over the floor. There are two different styles of clothing in his closet and another mug matching his own in the sink. There are two pillows on his bed, two sets of shoes in his hallway and two bags hanging from the hanger. There are two people sharing one love.
Jeonghan hadn’t known what home had actually felt like in a long time, but Jisoo’s here to remind him. He feels happy, warm, and loved all at once and he doesn’t remember when the last time he had ever felt so alive.
He feels a poking at his cheek and he almost forgets that he’s off daydreaming in the first place. He glances at Jisoo to find the other pouting while waving around the spatula.
“Stop zoning out on me,” he says, looking undeniably adorable.
Jeonghan laughs, “Sorry love.”
Jeonghan thinks that Jisoo will still stay his muse, even if his paintings are not of him, because his paintings had turned to everything Jisoo reminds him of.