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1470 - Firenze
The way into Firenze’s art is the night. All the lords come together in one place. You’ll have to find your way into their circle if you want to succeed in this city.
Donghae remembers the words of his Venetian mentor as he walks to the Ponte Vecchio. The sun has just disappeared at the horizon line and the city is plunged in the dark of the night. Some merchants, still at their colourful stall, have put torches up for late walkers to stop by and look at their goods.
Donghae has always been one to follow rules and instructions. As instructed by his old mentor, he counts the arches and stops at the third one, spots the butcher’s shop, and looks for the backdoor. As his mentor said, it is hard to miss. Some young men are already slipping through the entrance. He follows them and tries to mimic them and look as natural as possible.
The room he walks in is as dark as the night outside. A few candles lit up the way to another door on the other end of the room. As one of the men opens the door, music floods in as well as the smell of spilled wine and sweat.
He has come here for a few nights now. Donghae looks around as he moves around the room and lets the smell fill his lungs. The ceiling is quite low which makes the room even darker, and the few wood chandeliers do not provide much light. There are a few long tables and benches on each side; both used as seats. Men, some young, others older, some dressed, others fully naked, gather here every night. If in Firenze, this is seen as part of the socializing and networking scene, other European cities would be outraged to find men in this promiscuous situation. The room is loud and the shouts of laughter and pleasure reverberate through Donghae’s body.
Donghae eyes the dark corners of the room. His gaze falls upon a face hidden behind a cup of wine. His body is fully on display despite his clothes. His white shirt is unlaced, his doublet probably forgotten at the door, tight black trousers and high-knee boots leave no imagination to what’s underneath. Donghae looks at him and waits until the man’s eyes settle on him. He knows he has noticed him the other nights he has been here as well. The man had been with the same boy for three nights, but his usual companion does not seem to be there tonight. He looks at the bodies in the room the way Donghae’s Venetian mentor looked at his models - intrigued and hungry for more. Once their gazes meet, recognition settles on his face, the man steps outside of the dark and puts his cup down.
Donghae does not waste time to cross the few meters separating them. Under the light of the dying candles, Donghae examines the face of the man - almond eyes, round nose, rosey-wine cheeks and full lips he would love to draw. He knows the latter is looking at his body. He lets him take his hand. The touch is feather-like against his hands that were hardened by the work of the stone.
“You’re a sculptor?” The man asks, interest sparkling in his eyes.
“I am.”
The man lets his hands travel from Donghae’s hand to his arms and shoulders.
“I’ve seen you every night this week. But every time you kept to yourself and left alone. So I wondered about the reason you came.” The man is flirting. Donghae chooses to be dense and play hard to get.
“I have to learn about bodies to sculpt them as perfectly as possible. Close observation makes a great tool.” The man’s gaze follows Donghae’s eyes around the room - full bodies on display, hard muscles and soft-blushed skins.
The man lets out a dry chuckle. “Human bodies are the farthest thing from perfection.”
“Isn’t it what makes them so interesting? Capturing every flaw and making them perfect to the untrained eye?”
“You’re new to town.” A small smirk appears on the edge of the full lips.
“What gave it away?”
“Your naivety. Every eye is well-trained around here.”
“Would you be kind enough to train me then?” Donghae steps closer.
The man laughs out loud. “Not that naive, I see.”
“I know where I stepped foot, sir.”
“Hyukjae. First lesson is that in this room, everyone is equal.”
Hyukjae. Donghae wants to hear the name on his lips but he holds back, just nods.
Hyukjae takes Donghae’s hands and guides them to unlace the last of his shirt. Soon he is shirtless and lets himself fall on the edge on the table behind him. He grabs Donghae by the front of his trousers and places him between his opened legs. Donghae notices the small waist, strong shoulders and perky nipples.
“Walk me through your sculpture process?” Hyukjae says.
Donghae’s mentor’s voice resonated in his head ‘If they mention your art while getting undressed, you know you got them’.
“I like to feel texture first, to know the kind of depth I want to give to the stone.” Hyukjae hums and brings Donghae’s hands back on him as he keeps talking. “I usually sketch. To get all the details as precisely as possible. Multiple sketches at different scales.”
Donghae can feel his breath getting heavier. He feels every goosebumps of the skin under his fingertips, every tense muscle. He tries to remember each form and aspect to put them on paper later.
“You want to draw me?” Hyukjae’s neck is flushed, his lips shiny as he keeps licking them.
“I’d never dare to ask.”
“But I’m asking.” Hyukjae insists. “Come on.”
The lithe man gets back in his boots and picks his shirt up from the floor. He takes Donghae’s hand and leads them out of the Ponte Vecchio to the North bank. They walked in dark alleys, close to each other and close to the walls. Donghae cannot keep track of where they are going and he knows he will have a hard time finding his way back home.
They turn a corner and Donghae finds himself being pushed against a wall. Hyukjae puts a blade to Donghae’s throat. Instinctively, Donghae tries to grip onto Hyukjae’s hand to put it away but the other man’s grip is made of steel. The flush left by the wine on his face and hazy eyes had disappeared, soon replaced by a blank stare.
“I am a trained condottiero. So you’d better not be a thief or I’ll give you a slow death. What’s your name?” The sultry voice turned cold.
“Donghae, sir.” He cannot help his shaky voice.
“Full name and your position in the city.”
“Lee Donghae. I just arrived from Venezia. I’m a sculptor.”
“You’re looking for patronage?”
“I am.”
Hyukjae snorts. “You’ve been trained well to go to the right places.”
“A starving artist has no time to waste, sir.”
Hyukjae slowly puts his blade away but Donghae finds himself unable to move away from the wall.
“Show me what your hands can do and maybe I’ll be your patron Lee Donghae.”
Hyukjae turns around and resumes walking the nightly streets, Donghae follows quietly. Soon they reach a better lit street, Hyukjae pushes a side door that shows them in a spacious kitchen.
“Good evening Marta.”
“Evening, Master Lee.” Marta, the kitchen maid, greets back.
“I’ll be in my quarters with my friend. You know what to do.”
“Yes, Master Lee.”
Donghae nods to her as a greeting. He follows Hyukjae up tiny stairs leading to another door. Hyukjae does not speak to him as they walk through the immense corridors and marble stairs. On the second floor, he opens a door further down the corridor. He lets Donghae in and closes the door behind him. Donghae looks around the room. It looks like an artist den, every resource and tool an artist would need is here. He approaches the white stone and touches it carefully. There is a full wall of white stone to be carved, in front of the actual wall of the room. Four walls adorned with panelling and warm red curtains, two gigantic windows opened on the street. Donghae spots a tiny bed that could also be a longing sofa on the far end of the room.
“Do you sculpt too, sir?” Donghae asks his host.
“I don’t. I’m just a patron and I want the best for my artists.”
Hyukjae has sat down on the sofa. He is pouring wine for two and shows Donghae the paper and charcoal on the table.
“Sketch me and if it pleases me then you’re mine.”
Donghae raises an eyebrow. It could not be that easy. Still, he picks up charcoal and paper and goes to sketch the soft face of the man. He goes as far as drawing his upper body he touched earlier.
Hours go by, the maid comes in with food and seems surprised to see them in this position - Hyukjae sitting on the coach and Donghae behind the easel. Once satisfied, Donghae hands the work to the other man. Hyukjae’s lips stretch into a pleased smile.
“I knew these hands wouldn’t disappoint.” Hyukjae sets the paper aside and stands up. “Come closer.”
Donghae leaves little space between their two bodies. Hyukjae laces their hands together, the charcoal on Donghae’s staining his.
“If you accept my patronage, meet me tomorrow. Same place, same time. I will be waiting.”
You must accept everything they throw at you. Anything they ask from you. You must. For your art.
Following Marta to the exit door, Donghae feels like he has prepared his whole life for this moment. He has sacrificed so much for his art, he has been ready to sacrifice everything from the start. He will accept everything and anything from the man in this house. Even if by all means, he will rot in hell for it.
♛
So the following night Donghae finds himself on the Ponte Vecchio again. Same place, same time. He barely slept and spent the day walking through the city, taking in the magnificent buildings. When he came back to the inn he had been staying at, he packed his bags.
The room still smells of wine and sweat. Donghae looks around the room and can see Hyukjae is not here yet. He takes a cup of wine from a tray held by a young boy and stands in a corner of the room.
He observes the scene taking place in front of him. Men between 16 and 40 years old drinking wine and talking art and spirituality, trying to transcend what they know of their world. Donghae left everything he knew back in Venice because he knew he belonged to a place like Firenze. His art is the only thing that keeps him going forward, and it has led him here.
He registers movement in the corner of his eye. He recognises the thin and lithe limbs, the full lips and the flushed chest. Lee Hyukjae is looking at Donghae while another man entertains him. The condottiero presses closer to his current lover while keeping eye contact with Donghae. Once satisfied, he moves away, gives a kiss to the man before joining Donghae against the wall.
Donghae tries hard not to stare at the flushed naked body in front of him. He also tries hard to conceal any reaction. Hyukjae looks at him with lust and determination.
“Good evening Donghae.”
“Hello Hyukjae.”
The man rolls his eyes in pleasure from hearing his name on the sculptor’s lips.
“You’re a quick learner, I like it. Have you been waiting?”
“Not at all, I just arrived.” Donghae holds his cup tighter and stops himself from chugging it down at once.
“You’re way too dressed and sober for this party.” Hyukjae’s eyes sparkle in the dim light of the candles, his lips are still shiny from the kiss he had. He takes Donghae’s cup and drinks from it, pushing their bodies closer together. Donghae tenses up at the contact which makes Hyukjae chuckle.
“You were braver yesterday.” Hyukjae whispers sultrily. He takes Donghae’s hands and puts them on his lower back. Donghae breathes in at the touch of the warm skin. Hyukjae presses his mouth to Donghae’s throat. Donghae holds Hyukjae’s body closer and lets the heat transfer to his. They drink, kiss and touch each other.
They are basking in the afterglow, Donghae still high and mouthing the man’s shoulder, when Hyukjae asks.
“Did you have a lover in Venezia?”
“I did.”
“Was it a man?”
“It was.”
“Was he your muse?”
“I don’t believe an artist could take inspiration from only one person when there’s a whole world to see.”
Hyukjae hums. “That’s why you were looking for a patron? To see the world?”
“Among other reasons.”
When the time comes to find their clothes again, Donghae thinks of Hyukjae’s soft touches and hazy eyes. None of his previous lovers had ever been that gentle. The condottiero finds him again, this time fully dressed and presses a long kiss to his lips. Donghae gets dizzy and has to grip Hyukjae’s arms.
“Where are you staying at the moment?” Hyukjae asks once they part.
“At an inn, not too far from here.”
“You can live with me. The room you saw yesterday is yours.”
“Thank you, it’s very generous, Sir.”
“It’s actually quite selfish.” Hyukjae laughs airily. “I just want you close to me.”
Through the next months, Donghae will learn the difference between the different moods of his patron, usually influenced by his intake of alcohol or his luck at his nightly gambling. Sometimes Hyukjae will sneak him from the Ponte Vecchio to his bedchamber, and ask him to call him by his name. Other times, Donghae would come back to his room to find Hyukjae naked on the sofa asking him to be sketched. They spend wild nights on the Ponte Vecchio, while quieter times are spent in Donghae’s room. Hyukjae can be closed-off, tight-lipped; he gives great thoughts on Donghae’s work. Hyukjae also complains childishly about higher-ranking officers while asking Donghae to pet his hair in the bath hot water.
Condottiero Lee Hyukjae is astute, a great strategic military leader. Donghae has seen soldiers and high-ranking officials more than once in the house. The whole city seems to know about this bachelor living with his one maid and his artist of the month. But they do not really know him. Donghae thinks about how he learns to know Lee Hyukjae. His favourite wine to savour and the one to get drunk on, his favourite art medium, his favourite bedsheets, his favourite stew. Sometimes Donghae feels like he lives with Hyukjae rather than around him. The young captain seems happy with his company. He even brought the sculptor to Livorno to, allegedly, get inspiration from the Mediterranean sea. They spent hours basking in the sun on the balcony of the house, Donghae sketching either the city or the tanned skin of the other man.
There is rarely a day when they do not see each other. Hyukjae will always make a point of having dinner together, no matter how late it could be. At times, he does not say much or ask much. Both men seem to enjoy each other’s silent company. Donghae reminds himself each time he wants to ask a personal question that they are still in a financial transaction of some sorts. They are not friends, even if the bits of Hyukjae Donghae gets to see make him feel like he would like to be his friend.
Donghae’s art grows beyond sculpture, and soon renown families are asking for commissions. The majority of Donghae’s work is Hyukjae-inspired. He swore he would never need a muse, that the nature around him was his only muse. Every work depicting the human body is coming straight from Hyukjae’s model. He spends a lot of time watching Donghae creating pieces. He lets the sculptor’s rough hands roam his body to find out every little detail he might have missed.
When the last candles of the room are dying out after a long working night and Donghae only has his sense of touch left to understand the human body, Hyukjae stays still and lets him explore. Puffs of air are leaving his full lips as Donghae strokes the muscle of the inside thigh again and again.
“Are you exploring or teasing?” Hyukjae’s breathless voice asks.
Donghae chuckles as he straddles Hyukjae’s thighs, kissing him from his navel to behind his ear. Sometimes he wished his art had sounds, just so he could incorporate Hyukjae’s to his works. His laugh, his moans, his voice. All of it inspires him.
The sun is barely up, both of them spent from the night that just ended. Hyukjae’s muscles are tense and his skin is getting goosebumps from the lack of covers. Donghae gets up and grabs charcoal and paper. He sketches quietly the man in his bed, his disheveled hair, his full lips, the sharp jawline and long neck, the cute nose. Hyukjae is an infinite source of inspiration. Once done, he gets up to hang it with the rest of the Hyukjae-inspired sketches that will never leave this room. He has a whole wall dedicated to this series.
“You know you don’t have to keep drawing me to impress me. I’m already your patron.” Hyukjae says from where he lies on the bed. “And you already convinced me and half the town to spend their money on you.”
“So you’d be fine with me drawing other people?”
Donghae knows patrons are usually really possessive of their artist. Especially when having the type of relationship Donghae shares with Hyukjae. The artist looking for inspiration somewhere else would be looking for trouble and a possible end of the patronage. Hyukjae has been anything but nice to Donghae. However, sometimes damaged pride brings out the worst in powerful men.
“That’s what I said.” Hyukjae insists.
“Fine with me having other people getting naked in this room?”
Silence answers Donghae’s question. He turns around to see Hyukjae standing up and walking to him.
“As much as you’d like me to be the jealous patron that wants you to myself. I’m not. I relish your company, I enjoy your art. But you’re free to do whatever and whoever you want.”
Donghae stops himself from telling him that for now he does not want to draw something or someone else. Hyukjae’s eyes have gotten softer in the last few weeks. It scares Donghae. Hyukjae’s touch has always been soft, but accompanied by steel dark eyes and raw determination. This change also impacts Donghae’s art, more charcoal drawings and less stone work. He feels like Hyukjae could not be contained in stone, he is too vivid in Donghae’s mind to immortalize him in stone.
Hyukjae ruffles Donghae’s short hair on his nape.
“I’ll be away for a few weeks. Marta will take care of you and feed you.”
“Where will you be going?” Donghae tenses at the news.
“Just a small campaign to keep the city safe from intruders.”
Donghae nods. They stand in silence, gazes deep into each other.
“You shouldn’t rely on me for your art.” Hyukjae whispers before putting his clothes back on and leaving for the day.
♛
Hyukjae has already been gone for three weeks, Donghae is painting in the garden when he hears a feminine voice that does not belong to the Italian kitchen maid.
“Lee Hyukjae!” The woman calls.
The voice gets closer until a woman appears on the edge of the garden. She wears a floral gown and her hair is styled in a low bun. She looks strangely familiar - almond eyes, round nose, rosey-wine cheeks and full lips.
“Who are you?” She asks fiercely and threateningly.
“Lee Donghae, milady."
“What are you doing here? Where is Lee Hyukjae?”
“He’s away on a campaign. I’m under his patronage.”
“You’re the sculptor?” She looks surprised.
“I am, milady.”
“Where is Marta? The maid?” She walks in his direction.
“She probably went to the market, milady.”
She hums and looks behind his shoulder to see his canvas. A smile curls up on her lips.
“You paint too?”
“I do, milady. Sir Lee has gifted me with many tools and resources under his generous patronage.”
“He sure has.” She laughs. “He did not lie about you. You’re quite handsome. I understand why he keeps you to himself.”
Donghae is too dumbfounded to answer anything. Hyukjae has been talking about him to people. The captain has always seemed reserved about his private life, at least to Donghae. But again, why would a patron share private thoughts with his artist?
“I’m Sora, Sir Lee’s older sister.” She extends her hand.
“Milady.” He takes her hand and bows as he should when meeting a lady from her rank.
“Hyukjae wrote to me saying he would be coming home today. I’ll be around expecting him.”
“Of course, milady.”
“I will see you for dinner, Donghae.”
“Milady.” Donghae bows again as the woman turns around and goes back inside the house.
Hyukjae wrote to his sister while he was on his campaign. Donghae has not been expecting a letter but knowing his patron will be back within the day he feels like he needs to present him with a finished work. Yet, Donghae has not been able to finish anything for weeks. His room is filled with unfinished sketches and torn canvas. The only finished sketch is from a nude class from the week before - he ripped it apart as he came back home, not satisfied with the curves of the body or the softness of the woman’s traits.
He stays a few hours more in the garden, focused on the movement of the wind in the trees. The canvas gets filled with paint, but Donghae is far from satisfied.
Opening the door to his room, canvas under the arm, he is welcomed by a full-armored body facing the stack of unfinished sketches on his desk. At the sound of the door, the man turns around. Hyukjae looks tired, eyes held down by dark circles, new scars on his cheeks barely healed.
“Hi.” Hyukjae smiles tiredly.
“Welcome back, sir.” Donghae says.
“You met my sister.” Hyukjae starts to take off the metal plates from his armour.
“I did, sir.” Donghae goes to the corner of the room, leaving the canvas with the other unwanted ones. “She is lovely.”
“She’s not.” Hyukjae snorts, before coughing hard.
Donghae turns back to him and goes to help him take off the armor to help him breathe better. Hyukjae’s body slumps in his arms.
“Was the campaign hard on you, sir? Maybe you should lie down.”
Donghae drags him to the bed and lies him down before taking off the rest of the armour. Hyukjae keeps coughing and catches hold of Donghae’s arm.
“Should I call for someone, sir?” Donghae is worried for the man that never showed any sign of weakness in front of him since the day they met.
“Just give me some water, will you?”
Donghae does as he is told. He helps Hyukjae drink the glass of water.
“I’ll rest for a bit. Wake me up before dinner, would you?”
“Should I move you to your chambers?”
Hyukjae shakes his head. “Just keep me company.”
Donghae watches as Hyukjae’s eyes flutter until they are closed. His face is skinnier than before, his cheeks not as round, dark circles seem darker now that his eyes are closed. Donghae takes a wet cloth to wash the dirt and dried blood off the man’s face. Hyukjae whimpers at the contact of the fresh cloth.
“It’s okay.” Donghae whispers.
Hyukjae opens his eyes. “Did you miss me?”
“I did.” Donghae smiles. “Couldn’t create much in the last weeks.”
“I thought I told you not to rely on me for your art.” Hyukjae chuckles weakly.
“No one is as willing to let me explore as you are, sir.”
Hyukjae stops Donghae’s hand. Donghae cannot seem to read his patron’s eyes. His next question is surprising.
“Why did you choose the arts?”
“My mother was trained in the arts and she trained me as soon as I could hold a brush. She deemed art to be the best way to survive in this cruel world. She left me in the care of my mentor when I was 8 years old. Art, in all forms, is all I’ve ever done since.”
“Do you regret it?”
“I don’t believe in regrets, sir.”
“You don’t believe in much.” Hyukjae sighs.
“Believing won’t feed me nor keep me alive, unlike some people think.”
“But I will?”
“That’s what you’ve decided for now, sir. And I hope you’ll keep me by your side some more time.”
They have dinner with Sora who takes a perverse pleasure in mocking her little brother. She tells them she actually came to invite Hyukjae to the ball she is holding next week. She insists until Donghae accepts to be there as well.
Later, Donghae is lying in bed when Hyukjae opens the door without knocking. After dinner and a bath, the officer looked like he did before his campaign - composed and handsome. The only light in the room comes from a candle on Donghae’s bedside, it shivers when Hyukjae walks past and lays next to the sculptor, their bodies touching.
“I missed you.” Hyukjae’s voice is weak but resonates in the quiet room. “I couldn’t wait to see your face again.”
Donghae chooses not to answer. He already confessed to missing the other man earlier. He could not again, especially in such a private setting.
“Were you with anyone else?” Hyukjae asks.
Donghae turns his head, surprised by the straight-forward question he would only expect from a pouty Hyukjae coming back from a night of drinking with his superiors and asking silly kisses from Donghae. Even in the dark, when their eyes meet, Donghae’s heart skips a beat.
“I told you before leaving that you could do whatever and whoever you wanted. That I’m fine with it. You didn’t answer back then, which made me think that you were waiting for permission.”
“I wasn’t.” Donghae lets out quietly, he diverts his eyes back to the ceiling.
“Oh.” Hyukjae’s tone seems disappointed.
“Sir, I wasn’t. I wasn’t waiting for permission and I wasn’t with anyone else while you were away.” Donghae clarifies.
Hyukjae slips his hand in Donghae’s, holding them between their bodies.
“I’d like for you to call me Hyukjae.”
♛
The day of Sora’s ball, Marta knocks on Donghae’s door before letting herself in. Instead of food, the maid lays brand new clothes on his bed.
“Master Lee would like to see you now.”
Marta does not like Donghae. He has understood quickly that she does not agree with the life her master chooses to live, but he is the one paying her and feeding her so she stays. Donghae has tried to get to know her, without success, she only shared that her husband died years ago and that her son was a baker in town.
Donghae still thanks her before she leaves the room. He tidies his desk before heading out as well. Hyukjae’s chambers and office were on the same floor as Donghae’s room. The whole week, Hyukjae has spent every night with Donghae, he only used his chambers to work. Donghae knocks on the door and waits to be invited inside. The door opens but no one stands in front of him.
“Hyukjae?” Donghae asks while walking in. The door is closed behind him and a warm body pushes him against it.
“Hi.” Hyukjae smiles against Donghae’s lips. “I was taking a bath and thought you should have one too.”
Donghae smiles as well and lets his lips move against Hyukjae’s, tasting wine he understands the officer’s behaviour. He is soon dragged to the bath. He can see two empty bottles of wine on the floor.
“I don’t think the both of us will fit.” He notices as Hyukjae helps him get in the water.
“It’s okay, I like to have you close.”
And close they are, knees knocking into each other, noses touching. Hyukjae scrubs Donghae’s back with a washcloth while making small talk.
“Have you made the improvement Sir Lorenzo wanted on his piece?”
“Hmhm, it was more difficult than I thought but he’ll be happy with the results.”
“I hope he won’t be too happy, he’ll steal you from me. I’ll probably have to show you around tonight.”
“Will he be there as well?”
“My sister surely invited the whole city, knowing her. I hate those events. If my parents were still here…”
Hyukjae stops talking suddenly, as if he knew he was sharing too much.
“Your parents didn’t like those events either?”
“Not exactly. My mother enjoyed them. She liked dancing, you see.” Hyukjae keeps his eyes on the washcloth with which he is scrubbing Donghae’s chest. “At least my parents protected me from my sister’s ideas.”
“Which ideas?”
“She wishes for me to get married.” Hyukjae mumbles.
They stay silent for a while. This issue has never been brought up between them before. Donghae feels weirdly uncomfortable. He wonders what it would be like if Hyukjae had been married from the day they met. For a start, he would not be in this bath right now. Hyukjae would have probably been even more secretive. They would have never woken up to each other in bed as they do so often.
“For a while, she would bring young ladies here, eligible stock she would call them.” Hyukjae’s chuckle is dry and unhappy. “She will probably force someone on me tonight, so even for a dance don’t even think of leaving me alone. Or she will work her evil magic and I’ll be lost forever.”
Hyukjae has let go of the washcloth and cages Donghae’s face between his hands. His eyes are bare and truthful, with a hint of fear.
“I won’t leave your side if that’s what you wish.” Donghae says.
“Don’t say it like that. It makes me feel awful. I wish you’d want to stay by my side as much as I do.” Hyukjae strokes Donghae’s cheek.
“I do not want to leave your side.” Donghae feels butterflies in his stomach when Hyukjae’s whole face lights up.
“Why did you choose to become a patron?” Donghae bites his lower lip, trying to divert the conversation.
“Artists and soldiers view the world very differently, but we’re also very similar. We serve a superior motive. Also I have money, so I might as well use it for something else than golden cups. And I got to meet you.”
“We would’ve met on the Ponte Vecchio even if you weren’t a patron.”
“But you would have never looked at me.”
Donghae stays silent. They both know the reason he was on the Ponte Vecchio every night that week.
“But for now, I’m happy you’re mine. Just wait and I’ll show you the world.” Hyukjae says softly against Donghae’s lips. Donghae never would have thought a confession could hurt this hard.
As promised, Hyukjae shows him around that night. Sora lives in a beautiful mansion in the heart of the city near Santa Croce. On the way there, Hyukjae explains how his parents found the perfect match in the Florentine high society for their daughter, Carlo Rucellai. He comes from a family that helped the arts develop in the city, a family that got to marry into the Médicis and embrace their power. As expected, every important person in the city is here tonight. Carlo and Sora stand in the far end of the room, shining in their matching gold and red robes. Every guest comes and greets them. When Hyukjae’s turn comes, Donghae stands further back.
“Sister.” Hyukjae greets, bowing his head. “Brother-in-law.”
“What a pleasure to see your face again.” Carlo greets. “I have heard you came back successfully from your campaign. Congratulations and thank you for keeping the city safe.”
“I did.”
“Hyukjae is the most successful patron of the city nowadays, dear husband.” Sora adds, eyeing Donghae behind her brother. “Donghae, please don’t be shy.”
Donghae walks to Hyukjae’s level and greets the couple.
“Thank you for inviting me. You have a beautiful house.”
“I understand better how busy you’ve been, Hyukjae.” Carlo chuckles.
Donghae keeps his eyes downcast, he does not like the implicit tone used to speak about Hyukjae and him. He feels Hyukjae’s hand on the small of his back guiding him away.
“Condottiero Lee!” The voice has Donghae lifting his head. A middle-aged woman is walking towards them. Her deep-blue dress seems too tight on her and the blush of her cheeks unnatural.
“Signora, long time no see.” Hyukjae mutters between his teeth, displaying a fake smile.
“Oh and who is your friend?” She asks, barely looking at Donghae.
“Artist Lee Donghae, under my patronage. Don’t forget to come and commission, his talent is without limits.”
“I am sure it is, especially under your care.” The woman winks. “I came with Isabela, I don’t know where this child disappeared again.”
“I have business to attend with Sir Lorenzo, please forgive me.” Hyukjae bows and drags Donghae by his sleeve.
The woman tries to hold them back but soon discourages herself. As the night goes on, Hyukjae introduces Donghae to the powerful sphere of the city: patrons, politicians, and highly-regarded condottieri. They obviously respect Hyukjae and try to hide their revolted stares from Hyukjae’s hand on Donghae’s back.
Hyukjae is in deep conversations on military campaigns in the north. Donghae stands on the side, fiddling with his cup, when an older man approaches him. He must be in his late sixty. He is wearing long white and gold robes that make him look like one of those rich cardinals Donghae used to see in Venezia.
“Donghae, right? The artist?”
“Sir.” Donghae nods.
“How long have you been in our wonderful city?”
“A few months, Sir. Almost a year.”
“Condottiero Lee is keeping you to himself. I had heard of you but never seen you.”
“I work better when secluded, Sir.”
“I know, I've seen your work and commissioned it without ever meeting you. I have an opportunity for you, if you’d accept it.”
“Any new opportunity is worth having a look at, Sir.”
The man smiles. “I will be traveling to Roma in a few weeks, I have a committee meeting. I’d like for you to come, I know your finesse will be appreciated there. I would just be offering a seat in my carriage and a room in my house. None of the transactions you are in with Condottiero Lee at the moment.”
Donghae’s whole body stiffens at the mention of transactions between him and Hyukjae.
“My secretary will write you the details. You’ll be kind enough to return the letter with your answer.”
“Of course, Sir.”
“Thank you, my boy. Have a good evening.”
Donghae bows. The man is obviously part of the clergy, any committee in Roma is church-related. When he turns around, Hyukjae is looking at him, with nobody surrounding him anymore. They smile at each other. First thing that crosses Donghae’s mind is the feeling of not seeing Hyukjae everyday. He immediately hates it. Would Hyukjae hate not seeing Donghae everyday too?
“What did the old man want?” Hyukjae asks.
“Just wanted to congratulate me on the last work he ordered from me.” Donghae lies, his voice trembling.
♛
Donghae spends the following week locked in his chamber. He refuses company, fakes a cold, pretends he does not hear the knocking on his door, and pushes his desk in front of it so it cannot be opened. He cannot remove Hyukjae from his own house, so Donghae shuts himself out. He sketches, paints, sculpts the little stone he has left. He lets everything out and everything still shouts Hyukjae. His hands are set in stone, his eyes immortalised in paint, and his body rediscovered on paper.
It is dawn when he removes the desk from against the door and lets the cool breeze from the patio inside the room. The door at the end of the corridor opens instantly; as if Hyukjae has been waiting all week for Donghae to finally come out.
“How are you feeling?” Hyukjae asks, his voice is hoarse like he has been screaming all night.
”Better, thank you.” Donghae stays at his door, not trusting himself around his patron. The man he has come to love.
“We should talk, I’ll ask Maria to bring breakfast to my office.” Donghae does not discuss, and walks to Hyukjae’s office, waiting for him to return.
”You lied to me.” The door closes, Hyukjae sits behind his desk, in front of Donghae.
”I’m not sure…” But Donghae is cut off before he can lie again.
”The Priest. He didn’t want to talk about his last commission. He asked you to leave me for him.” Hyukjae speaks matter of fact, no emotions. “What more did he promise? The letter he sent is really vague, but he would not take any risk in writing.”
Donghae now notices the letter on the desk, from the priest’s secretary as the old man said.
“He just offered me to go to Roma with him, to work. Nothing more.”
”Are you considering it? Is that why you’ve locked yourself in that room?” Hyukjae’s voice is rising and dangerous.
”I’ve been confused…” Donghae is scared to look the other man in the eye.
”Confused about your work?” Hyukjae tries.
”You were right, I’ve been relying on you for my art, and I shouldn’t. But you’re everywhere, you’re all I see, all I have left in my mind even after days.” Donghae feels like he cannot breathe; Hyukjae is taking up all the air from his lungs.
“So you want to leave.” The Condottiero says.
”No! No… I like it here. With you. I like my work here.” Donghae trips over the words. “I just never had a muse before.”
”You don’t need one. You have more talent than this whole city, you certainly don’t need a muse, especially not me.” Hyukjae’s eyes are cold, emotions controlled. The army commander is sitting in front of Donghae, not the carefree young man who scrubbed his back in the bath the week before. “You should go to Roma, follow the priest.”
”I don’t want to leave here.” Donghae’s throat closes.
”Firenze will still be here in a few months or years, believe me.” But Hyukjae might not be here. Maybe he will finally cave to his sister’s wishes and find a lady to marry. They will leave this house, this city, for the Tuscanian countryside. He will go on many campaigns, to forget the lovely sculptor that has been haunting his every thought since that first night on the bridge.
Donghae is silently begging him to ask him to stay. But Hyukjae’s mouth is sealed, eyes round trying hard to read Donghae’s.
“Donghae, I…” He finally lets out. “I’ll miss you. But if that’s what you want, I’ll let you go.”
Donghae’s eyes fill with tears, trying to push down any feeling that he might have had for the other man, who obviously does not share them.
“You should start packing.”