Chapter Text
Jumin closes the lid of his laptop with a sigh. The office feels cramped and oppressive despite the fact that Jaehee has made it her duty to lighten it up with multiple plants and by opening the blinds whenever she notices Jumin has closed them. Blame the overwhelming nature of the room on the scribbled and crumpled papers inside Jumin’s head, then.
“I’m trying to write here,” Jumin announces, even if Jaehee knows. Even if they both know that he’s been trying for weeks and the first page is still empty.
“Yes, and I’m trying to tell you that you’ll never come up with anything if you keep isolating yourself here,” Jaehee shoots back. She’s dressed a bit more artistically than usual: a black beret decorating her head along with a colourful scarf around her neck, both of which make sense given her suggestion. “Just… come with me, okay? Even Zen’s coming.”
Jumin raises an eyebrow. His eyes feel raw. “Did you tell him you were going to ask me to come?”
“I did, in fact.”
“And he was fine with it?”
“Zen will go anywhere he has a chance of getting recognized at, Jumin, we know this,” Jaehee tells him matter-of-factly. Jumin stares at the corner of the room where a nearly emerald green monstera sits in its dark pot, and Jaehee sighs. “As your assistant and your friend, I am begging you. Leave this office, now.”
Jumin bites the inside of his cheek before forcefully relaxing his jaw the second he registers he’s doing it. He looks suspiciously at the beret on Jaehee’s head.
“...Who else is coming?”
“Neither Seven nor Yoosung were too excited about the idea, so just us three.”
Tapping his fingers against the lid of his laptop in contemplation, Jumin’s eyes get caught on the single sticker on the surface from the pet store he frequents. It has the silhouettes of two cats with their tails forming a heart. He’s been meaning to get more kitty litter and treats for Elizabeth 3rd, but the recent all-nighters have left him with one foot in the grave.
“...Fine, I’ll come,” Jumin says, “but we have to make a stop on our way back.”
Jaehee finally lets her small smile be shown. It’s just the right size to show Jumin she’s grateful but that she’s also frustrated he’ll be the reason for more gas expenses.
“Great. Let’s get going, then.”
In Jumin’s mind, art galleries are fancy but dull. There is not much of a spark to them, just sparse pieces hanging from white walls, perhaps a few sculptures of Greek gods and goddesses that his mother would steer his eyes away from in exchange for staring at the paintings.
He’s been to the Louvre, the Met and the Guggenheim among others: he’s practically seen it all by now, his eyes still stinging from having to take in every detail of Mona Lisa and The Birth of Venus until the sights were burnt to his corneas for good. He’s seen it all.
Or so Jumin thought.
“Only ten thousand won for admission?” he asks at the entrance, looking at the colourful sign listing the prices of the exhibition. The building is in a rather urban area, with bustling streets and flashy billboards. It’s not his scene and he can feel the moat of isolation digging itself around his feet before even entering the gallery.
“We get it, you’re a trust-fund kid who’s used to spending millions on an entry fee,” Zen sighs, digging his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. One woman already stopped them in the line to get a picture with him. “Me? I’m just glad to enjoy some art at a low cost!”
“Yes, we’ll see how enjoyable it will be,” Jumin muses as Jaehee brushes past him to talk to the young woman behind the counter at the entrance.
“Hey, general admission for three, please,” she says.
The woman smiles and asks: “Will you pay together or separately?”
“I reckon Jumin should pay. We’re here to cure his writer’s block, after all,” Zen says.
“No, no, we’ll pay separately,” Jaehee says before turning to the white-haired man and smiling. “Though, Zen, after this… We could go get some drinks together. On me.”
“We were supposed to stop by the pet store,” Jumin reminds her.
“I don’t think you were included in the invitation, Jumin,” Zen chuckles just a bit mockingly as he steps forward and is the first to pay for his admission. “I’d love to get some drinks, Jaehee.”
Jumin does not miss the way Jaehee’s eyes sparkle nor the way she brushes against Zen when she moves to pay as well. He sighs and steps between the two to swipe his card against the reader, betrayed down to his bones by his own friend and assistant.
They enter the building through a hallway with different-coloured sheer fabrics draped across the ceiling, fairy lights above them to make the space seem small, dim and intimate. This is unlike anything Jumin has ever been taught to enjoy.
“So, what was your book about again?” Zen asks suddenly while they’re walking. “I kind of dozed off when you were talking about it in the group chat.”
Jumin doesn’t hold that against Zen. He isn’t sure what resemblance of plot he tried to make up back then. Seven laughed at his words and Yoosung said he would never read something so boring.
That word stuck.
Ex-heir of a major company turned into a boring, one-hit wonder. He wonders if there’s any point in even trying anymore, coming to this gallery to grasp at straws in an effort to make him become worthy of praise and attention again. If only his mother saw him now.
“It was about nothing of importance,” Jumin says.
The hallway opens into a big room that is neither fancy nor dull. It’s so colourful and full that it’s hard to decide where to look first. Sculptures, statues, paintings, installations as far as the eye can see. And what the eye can see are the walls made patchy by different splotches of paint, the pieces on the walls both sticking out but also blending in, as if it were all a part of a bigger picture. The people, and oh, if there are a lot of people, are all flashy and unique, each person in the room their own art installation.
In short, Jumin is out of place.with his dark blazer and slacks.
“...What do I do now?” he asks Jaehee, whose scarf looks like a piece of the gallery itself.
“Look around. Socialize. Get inspired,” she says with a shrug. “Whatever you do, stay away from the bar. I don’t want you to drink your sorrows away.”
“...I doubt this place has the sort of wine I am a fan of, anyway.”
“Snob alert,” Zen scoffs. “Jaehee, let me get us some drinks, yeah?”
“Oh, that’d be nice! Thank you, Zen!”
Jumin turns to the crowd and swallows. He’s never been the kind of man to get anxious in social situations, yet now he feels his hands grow damp with sweat.
He knew becoming a published author meant his reputation would become more… whatever this is, this artistic freak of nature of a room he is looking at, but he didn’t realize how terrifying experiencing it would be.
He’s out of his element in his own element. For a moment he wonders if his father would give him his job back if he called and begged.
“Jaehee, do you think—” Jumin turns to his side but to his surprise, Jaehee is gone. She’s by the start of the room, at the bar with Zen. Even the bar counter is painted and covered in graffiti and signatures, some sort of sick and twisted visitors’ book of all the people who belong in a place like this.
Jumin huffs and decides to at least try to enjoy himself. This is art after all, and if his mother taught him anything, it was that art should be appreciated for what it is.
He travels to the first painting on the wall to his left, which is just abstract blobs of paint. The colours don’t even go together. It doesn’t represent the shape of anything. As if someone just drank oil paint and threw up all over the canvas. Though, if Jumin said that out loud, he’d probably be crucified on the spot, set up as his own art piece in the center of the room.
The next piece is of a sunset. It’s beautiful, yes, but the colours are a bit muddy and the skyline blends into the vast ocean. The one following that one is a realistic portrait that would be rather impressive if someone hadn’t taken a black permanent marker and written English words all over it like some sort of a statement piece.
Jumin moves through the artworks like his father moves through women. Too fast to fully appreciate them. He does wish there was some alcohol buzzing through his veins, perhaps it’d make this more bearable and his yawns less noticeable, but Jaehee and Zen are still by the bar and going up to them would mean explaining that maybe he actually does not get art at all.
With a sigh, the raven-haired failure of a man moves to the next painting. This one doesn’t have that big of a crowd around it: people mostly pass by it like he did with the other pieces.
But Jumin finds himself unable to move past the work. The green and blue forest that surrounds a dark pond looks just like the iris of a human eye. Two figures sit by the edge of the water, just on different sides. The otherwise so harmonious piece is broken by the flashes of vibrant colours in the strangest of spots. The tree hollow that spirals into a deep purple, or the flying birds that flash bright yellow, or one of the figures crying red.
As if the most mundane of things could be more intricate than Jumin could ever know.
“It’s awful, isn’t it?” someone with a gentle, masculine voice asks from beside him.
Jumin must have been staring for too long not to appear fully immersed. He blinks himself back to reality to look beside him, at a handsome young man probably around his age with turquoise, perhaps aquamarine hair. He’s just a bit shorter than Jumin is, clad in a casual dark turtleneck and a beige jacket with some jeans. He’s wearing black sunglasses even if the gallery is dim enough as is.
The man is smiling at him despite Jumin not being the kind of person people tend to smile at.
“Sorry?” he asks, his mouth dry and hands sweaty and his brain having forgotten how to socialize with people he doesn’t already know. And to think he was travelling across the world to attend business meetings with so many people from different backgrounds just over a year ago.
“The painting,” the turquoise-haired man clarifies. “I wonder how the piece even made it to this exhibition.”
Jumin scoffs, just a bit. A bullet of memories about one star reviews for the book he worked so hard on blasts through his brain. It’s a beautiful piece. A bit eccentric, sure, but beautiful nevertheless. The brushstrokes and the way everything fits together despite being so different makes Jumin think whoever worked on the piece worked on it with passion. And he can’t help but open his mouth.
“Actually, I think it’s better than most others here,” he says. “Maybe it’s not on the level with… say, Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan, but it does evoke emotions just the same. I can’t say that for that scribble of a dead cow as a hamburger over there.”
The other man stands there, perhaps blinking, but Jumin can’t see behind his sunglasses.
“I wished I was intoxicated for most of these pieces, but this is the first one that made me glad I could take it in while sober,” Jumin claims. He leans close to see the name of the artist under the canvas. “Whoever this V person is… They’re quite good.”
Shutting up because perhaps he said too much when he really might not know anything about this kind of art, Jumin looks cautiously at the other man. It was probably not the best idea to insult the other pieces in order to compliment this particular one. He might just be getting kicked out soon.
The turquoise-haired man laughs. Jumin’s eyebrows rise to his hairline. The man’s laugh, soft and sweet, is like a welcome melody even if Jumin usually prefers classical music.
“I’m honoured that you think that,” he says with a smile. The puzzle pieces click in Jumin’s sleep-deprived and scattered brain, and he looks between the painting and the man. “I tried to go the emotional route with this one, so I’m glad it worked, with you at least.”
Jumin bites the inside of his cheek. He should have gotten a drink.
“But I don’t think that all art should evoke emotions. Sometimes it can just… be pretty and pleasing to the eye, don’t you think?” the man apparently called V notes. He smells of vanilla, or something else soft and welcoming.
“Yes, I didn’t… mean to bring down other people’s work. I just know what it’s like to… get one’s hard work undermined, I suppose,” Jumin mutters so awkwardly that he doesn’t quite recognize himself. “I apologize.”
V smiles kindly. “It’s fine, really. If anything, I set you up for that one.”
Jumin nods, unsure of what to say to this stranger who is a pleasing artwork to the eye just by himself. It’s not often Jumin finds himself at a loss for words.
“...Am I wrong to assume you don’t come to places like this often?” V asks, his expression now sympathetic yet not judgemental.
“Is it that obvious?”
“I think the fancy clothes and rigid posture gave you away.”
Jumin chuckles a bit, rolling back his shoulders in order to relax. “I’m here looking for inspiration. My friends thought an art gallery would help.”
“Oh? What do you do?” V asks.
“I’m a writer. Or at least I’m trying to be. It… hasn’t been the easiest work, as of late,” he admits a bit sheepishly. “Writer’s block and such.”
V smiles. A strange sort of comfort runs through Jumin, as if this man were able to see right through him even if Jumin can’t see his eyes, and as if V were still fine with all that he sees.
“I hope coming here will be a fruitful endeavor, then,” he says, and Jumin has to remind himself that this is still a stranger. A stranger whose painting he really happened to enjoy. “Have you published anything yet?”
“Yes, uh… I’ve published a self-help book. Though now I’m trying to branch out more into fiction—”
“You’re Jumin Han,” V says slowly as if he experienced a moment of pieces clicking together just now too. Jumin’s eyes shoot wide.
“...You’ve heard of me?”
The man nods. “You were in articles everywhere after you announced your departure with C&R International,” he explains. “You were quite hard to miss, Mr. Han.”
“...Just Jumin is fine,” he mutters. “Have you read my book?”
“Oh, I’m not really… I much prefer fiction. It helps me escape my problems instead of facing them, haha.”
“That’s understandable.”
“But… I’ll make a deal with you. Once you find some inspiration and write that book, I’ll be the first one in line at your book signing,” V promises with a smile. Something makes Jumin want to believe him.
“...You really don’t have to—”
“Jihyun? Did you find a friend?” someone asks with a soft laugh. V flinches a bit when the hand of a beautiful, young and blonde woman touches his back, but soon he breaks into a relieved smile and wraps his arm around her waist despite their big height difference.
“Better yet, I found an up-and-coming writer,” V says.
“That’s really not necessary,” Jumin says despite something warm arising underneath his cheeks.
“Oh? Hi, I’m Rika. Jihyun’s — Or V’s — fiancée,” the woman says with a bright smile and offers Jumin her hand. He shakes it quickly but politely. He’s more caught up by the fact that V’s stage name came off so soon, and that he’s engaged.
Even with his nonchalance towards romance, if a lone painter can find a partner so early, then surely the son of a CEO should be able to too.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Jumin Han,” he greets.
Rika immediately looks at V with a surprised expression, but soon turns back to Jumin with a smile. “I’ve heard about you. All good things, I swear. Welcome to our little art gallery.”
“Your art gallery?”
“I like to help Jihyun whenever I can, so I set up this exhibition with some of our mutual friends.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
“Well, I try!” Rika giggles. “You should stick around, we’re having a guided tour soon so every artist has a chance to explain the meaning behind their piece.”
“As much as I’m sure I’d enjoy that,” Jumin glances at the drawing of the horrid cow-hamburger and holds back a chuckle, “I need to get back home to my cat.”
“Oh, you have a pet?” V asks.
“Yes, a Persian cat. My pride and joy,” Jumin smiles. “But… I enjoyed your painting, for what it’s worth. I wish you all the best.”
“Thanks, Jumin. I hope everything works out with your book.”
“Thank you. It was nice meeting both of you,” he nods, and with a small wave he escapes to the other side of the room where Jaehee and Zen are observing a painted clay sculpture of a head that’s half-horse and half-human. The dividing line between the two is bleeding.
“Are you two ready to leave?” he asks his friends who are holding drinks. Jaehee only has water — that much is expected given that she’s driving — but Zen appears to have a glass of champagne.
For some reason, it feels wrong to stay here. As if he was intruding. But that is all fine and dandy, as Jumin’s quite sure he has some new things to write about already.
“Already?” Jaehee asks. “We just got here.”
“Inspiration struck,” Jumin responds flatly. “I need to get to the pet store before it closes.”
“You seriously paid to get in here just to leave not thirty minutes in?” Zen asks with a raised eyebrow. “These rich kids, I swear…”
“If you want to stay, you can. I can take the bus to the store and back home.”
His friends share a suspicious look amongst each other.
“Really? The Jumin Han is going to take the bus among commoners?” Zen laughs. “What are you so eager to get away from?”
Jumin glances over his shoulder to see V and Rika laughing with each other as they look at a painting of a nude woman, her body outlined by an almost radioactive green.
“Nothing. I just wish to write now that I finally have an idea,” Jumin insists.
“Well, if that’s the case, I’m happy for you,” Jaehee smiles. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow?”
“Yes, have a good night, you two.”
As soon as Jumin has stepped away from his friends, he can hear Jaehee laugh at something Zen said. It only bothers him a bit that his friends never laugh at anything he says. At least not at anything he says on purpose in an effort to make them laugh.
Jumin is about to slip through the intimate, dim hallway that leads to freedom when someone taps him on the shoulder. He thinks he must’ve forgotten something with Jaehee, but the gentle smile and turquoise hair of his companion prove that that is not the case.
“You really were fleeing,” V laughs softly, handing the man a slip of paper. “I almost forgot to give you this.”
“What’s this?”
Jumin takes the piece of cardstock that has a big, turquoise and shiny “V” on one of the sides.
“It’s my business card. If you… ever need more inspiration, I’m just a call away,” he says. “I think us creative people need to stick together.”
“I’m not sure that’s how I’d describe myself, but thank you. I’ll keep this in mind,” Jumin nods, slipping the card into his wallet.
V smiles at him. Jumin isn’t sure why. Why he isn’t just walking away. Why they’re just standing in this romantic hallway, looking at each other with slight smiles on their faces.
“Well, I really have to go, so,” the raven-haired man starts.
“Yeah, of course. Pet your cat for me?”
“I’m sure she’ll appreciate that.”
V waves him goodbye, and Jumin gets going. The gust of wind outside is refreshing and he lets his hands fall open to let them dry in the fresh outside air. Strangely, as he looks down at them, he can’t help but smile a bit.
Who knew he was capable of enjoying human interaction?
Jumin pulls out his phone to figure out where the nearest bus stop is, which bus he needs to take to get to the pet store, what time it arrives and if he can pay by card. While walking to the stop, he looks up V, too.
There’s not much information about him out there save for the sites of a few art galleries mentioning his stage name as a part of their past exhibitions. Jumin can’t find any images of different paintings, though, and soon his bus arrives and he has to close the app in order to focus on successfully paying for his ticket.
After witnessing all the colours and wonders of the art gallery downtown, arriving at his own studio feels rather bleak. It’s nice, of course, with expensive furniture and silky sheets on his bed and crystal bowls for Elizabeth 3rd, but it’s rather black and white in the grand scheme of things.
So many options, and he chose the blandest of them.
To be fair, most of the objects came from his old penthouse which was left minimalist by his father. Jumin figured that with his new career and all, he shouldn't splurge money on new furniture right away when he moved, even with the payment he got from selling the old apartment.
Elizabeth 3rd greets him at the door, purring and circling his legs, and he lets her even if it means he’ll have to go on a journey with a lint roller later.
“I got you some treats,” Jumin tells her with a small smile, taking off his shoes by the entryway, a plastic bag from the pet store in one hand and a bag with his laptop in the other. “I’ll play with you in a bit, don’t worry.”
He enters the apartment properly and gets to putting his things where they belong despite his bed calling to him. He cleans Elizabeth 3rd’s litter box and prepares a simple meal. He’s still getting used to cooking more common dishes.
After eating and entertaining his cat for a while, Jumin relaxes on the couch with his laptop in his lap and a glass of wine by the coffee table, just to relax. Elizabeth 3rd cuddles up against his hip, purring calmly as he boots up the document for his new book.
Title? No idea. Moral of the story? No clue. But the story itself?
Jumin frowns. He could have sworn he had some kind of an idea, some strange spark of inspiration back at the gallery. At least the faintest hint of what genre he even wanted to write about.
Yet his brain is a blank canvas in desperate need of paint. Wanting to become an author might have been a mistake.
But it’s what he chose, and he must deal with the consequences of his actions and make the most of it.
Jumin pulls out his phone and briefly scans over the new messages in their group chat, mainly from Seven and Yoosung: them asking about the art gallery, Zen sending a picture of himself and Jaehee at the bar, just his friends overall having a nice, light-hearted conversation. Jumin wishes he could contribute, too, but he hasn’t slept properly in a week and if he doesn’t get some sort of an idea for this book soon, he might just explode into scattered piles of expensive fabric.
His wallet is on the kitchen counter. In it, there is a business card. On the business card, there is a number of the person who made a beautiful painting unlike anything Jumin has ever seen before — or if he has seen something like it, he hasn’t enjoyed it even half as much.
He wants to create something as beautiful. He wants someone to read his work and get mesmerized, get utterly sucked into a world of his creation. He wants someone to cry when they think about his work.
Jumin bolts for the counter so fast that Elizabeth 3rd jumps onto her feet. The man gives her an apologetic look before digging out the business card.
Is it desperate to call so soon after meeting him? V did say that Jumin could call when he needed inspiration, and it’s not his fault he happens to need inspiration about four hours after first getting acquainted with the man.
Jumin dials the number, presses his phone to his ear and almost subconsciously holds his breath as the line beeps. He bites the inside of his cheek, chews on it like it’s gum, waiting for the man to answer.
And then he does.
“V speaking,” comes from the same voice as before.
“This is Jumin Han. We met at the art exhibition earlier today. I was… the struggling writer.”
“Yes, I remember you.” It’s strange how Jumin can make out V’s smile just through the sound of his voice. “How can I help?”
“...You said if I ever need more inspiration,” Jumin says, fingers nervously drumming against the white countertop. “...Could we maybe meet up for drinks? On me. Rika is welcome too, of course.”
“Ah, I’m actually at an afterparty for all the artists from the exhibition and I fear it’d be very rude of me to abandon them.”
“Oh. Okay, don’t worry about it.” He fears his voice betrays him and signals just how much V is supposed to worry about it.
He’s about to end the phone call, sigh and perhaps accept that this book is never going to happen when V says: “...But I’d love to get drinks some other day?”
Jumin’s eyes widen, back straightening instinctually.
“My Friday afternoon is free, if that’s okay with you?”
“Yes, um… Yes, I’m free too,” Jumin says quickly. “So, Friday it is.”
“Yes, I—”
“Jihyun, stop moping there all by yourself and come join us!” someone yelps from the background.
V chuckles softly. “It seems I have to go now. Text me the details later?”
“I will.”
Jumin ends the phone call in a hurry. He isn’t sure why his heart is beating so fast, why his hands are sweating once more nor why his throat feels tight. Elizabeth 3rd senses all this — she’s smart, so of course she does — and comes to nuzzle her little head against his leg.
“I’m okay, Elizabeth,” Jumin tells her, but ends up picking her up nevertheless and bringing her back to the couch. They get settled as Jumin turns on the TV. He doesn’t usually watch many shows, but right now he needs something that will numb his brain.
Friday is just two nights away. Jumin can manage that, he’s sure.