Archive of Our Own

“I hope you find someone who speaks your language so you don’t have to spend a lifetime translating your soul.”

After working out details for the entire school year, the first-year students of Neo University are finally about to open their year-end project, their very own art exhibit.

For just a few days, the students’ classes will be put to a halt and they will have to be present at their art exhibit, standing next to their artworks, at all times. There, other students, teachers, family members, and outsiders can walk in and experience the year-long work they’ve put their hearts and souls into. There, the artists will answer questions, promote, and ask for any comments about their pieces which they will then be graded on.

Before opening day, Mark stands in front of the empty wall where his painting will be put up. He turns, spotting Jeno across from him, and he just can’t hold his laughter. He walks closer, “Well, if it isn’t Jeno Lee.”

He watches as Jeno visibly freezes, how his body tenses and his feet glide to turn to face him. “Mark,” he puts his hands in his pocket. “Isn’t it so nice to see you?” he says sarcastically.

Mark scoffs, “What are you here for? Wandering around cause you haven’t finished? Or,” a gasp sarcastically comes out, “dare I guess, your piece got rejected?” he crosses his arms.

The other boy rolls his eyes, “I’m delighted to tell you Professor Lee and Professor Suh both loved my painting.” He smirks, “It’ll be displayed right here,” Jeno points behind him.

This time, it’s Mark’s turn to freeze.

“Hm?” Jeno notices, “Cat got your tongue?”

Mark furrows his brows, “Right there?” he’s left in disbelief, arms falling to his sides.

Jeno turns to look at the plain wall he’s standing in front of and then back to Mark, “What, didn’t expect it? Scared, even?” A smug smile is drawn clear on his face.

“No,” Mark shakes his head, “just, mine will be right here.” His voice falls flat and he points behind him, right across from Jeno’s area.

Jeno freezes, for the second time today. 

If you asked him prior to this day, he wouldn’t believe Mark Lee could have shocked him twice in one day nor how his hard work will have to put up with facing Mark’s (probably shitty, according to him) painting too.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” his arms go limp in his pockets.

In the next second, their two professors walk in, hand-in-hand. “Ah, my two best students!” Ten marvels.

Mark and Jeno seem to unfreeze, immediately bowing and greeting their teachers.

“Professor Lee,” Mark sucks in a breath and asks, “why do I have to have my painting situated right across Jeno’s?”

Ten raises an eyebrow, “Are you questioning our decision?”

Mark’s eyes widen and he clears his throat, “No, no! Just,” he presses his lips together, “just wanna know.”

“Chill, dude!” Johnny laughs, “It’s okay!” His hand falls from Ten’s and instead places his arm around the other’s shoulder. “I know you two haven’t been the friendliest with each other, so maybe this’ll change things!”

“Plus,” Ten adds, “Mark, you painted the sun while Jeno, you painted the moon.”

The two students furrow their brows and they look at each other, shocked.

Ten smiles, prouder than he could ever be, “Perfect opposites, see?”

No one speaks. Mark and Jeno only stare, eyes squinting more and more, as if staring will make the other go away, as if staring will uncover something more.

Johnny exhales, understanding the tension, “Well! Me and Prof. Lee over here best be going! More students to, uh, talk to!” They both walk away quickly, hurriedly finding another student to talk to.

But the two boys stay still, stay staring, and unknowingly moving closer somehow.

“The sun,” Jeno whispers.

Mark doesn’t turn his gaze away, “The moon.”

They know the glint in each other’s eyes. They can see it, smell it, and sense it—the following week will be torture. 

Pure and absolute torture.

“May the best painting shine,” Mark straightens his back and crosses his arms again.

Jeno scoffs, “Don’t be so full of yourself.” He watches Mark raise a brow, “It’s on.”

Mark is back inside the exhibit early in the morning on opening day. He finds his painting finally up on the wall. He smiles to himself, finally seeing his piece hung up and so insanely gorgeous. After days and days of thinking on it, he landed on calling this piece “Donghyuck (Haechan).”

Mixing summer vacation, his love for the sky, and his mother’s flowers, Donghyuck was born. A boy turned toward flowers, eyes closed with honey skin and angel wings, and with the sun shining bright in the corner. All in oil. All in complete beauty. Full sun.

He is proud of it, completely. Proud to see it, to love it, and to say it got nothing but praise from everyone he showed it to. Proud to have created something that makes one stare at it in complete awe.

On the other hand, Jeno stands with his back across from Mark, staring at his own artwork. Though he has never created something of this scale and something of this style, Jeno will say he did an amazing job— not just good or okay, but something stunning.

He is no dancer, but he got inspired when he watched a ballet for the first time in its entirety—he’ll have to thank his mom again for that the next time he sees her. Jeno found himself painting a boy on arabesque à terre (again, with the help of his mom) against the dark of the night—only the moon illuminating what seems to be his stage.

After the two boys marvelled at their own works of art, they strolled around the gallery, though eyes never catching, until Mark sees it. And he can’t help but stare.

Mark finds his eyes glued to the boy Jeno named Jisung, a modern boy painted with a post-impressionist style. He swears he is seeing each brushstroke Jeno laid on that canvas. And Jeno has impressed him—though he hates to confess it—, on different occasions, but this one takes the cake. This one, makes him absolutely speechless. But he still will not confess so. 

Instead, Mark turns back to his own painting, to Jeno staring, as if mesmerized, at his work. He turns to look at Donghyuck, at his Fullsun in oil. And he can’t help but wonder, how did Jeno and he create two things separately that seem to fit so well together?

And just like clockwork, Jeno turns too, and their eyes finally meet.

Mark clears his throat while Jeno blinks and shakes his head, yet they both walk closer to each other.

The look in Mark’s eyes changes and he sucks in a breath as he places his hands in his pockets. “The moon?”

Jeno scoffs as the other teases, “The sun?”

“You know,” Mark shifts all his weight to his right foot, “I will commend you for finishing,” he smirks, “your biggest piece to date?” Jeno licks his lips as Mark continues, “It’s good! But unfortunately, not up to par with mine.”

“Not up to par?” Jeno raises his brows. He walks back toward Mark’s painting and points to a spot on the canvas with paint that seems to be out of place, “I think you missed a spot over here, Mark Lee? Now, I’m no Monet, but at least I don’t leave any,” he sucks in his teeth and smiles at Mark’s annoyed face, “mistakes.”

Before Mark is able to retaliate, three claps resound through the gallery. Ten says with great excitement, “Everyone! The doors will soon open to the public! Recall what you were taught, answer questions with a smile, and always remember the fun you had whilst you all completed your works!” He took a look at everyone in the room with a deep breath before saying, “I’m proud of you all.”

The students all nodded at his words before he went off toward the entrance.

Mark exhales as he looks back at Jeno. “Well, let’s leave it to the public, shall we?” He holds his hand out for Jeno to shake.

“Sure.” Jeno responds, but instead of shaking Mark’s hand, he walks past him and stands in front of his painting.

The other boy scoffs, turning his head to find Jeno no longer acknowledging him. Rolling his eyes, he then took the place next to his painting.

Throughout the day, Mark was immersed in telling the story of his painting as well as answering any question that popped into people’s heads. From what inspired him, the materials he used, and to his biggest motivations. Undoubtedly, almost every eye that entered the room found itself laying on Donghyuck for at least a couple seconds.

However, similarly, everyone was compelled to Jeno’s work too. From opening to closing, Jeno talked about the importance of trying new things, of creating something out of an art you have never tried—ballet and post-impressionism for him.

By closing time, Mark and Jeno once again found their way toward each other. Jeno starts, “I don’t know about you, but Huang Renjun from the literature department told me that I just painted something words can’t even begin to describe.”

Mark furrows his brows, “You sure he just didn’t know how to tell you how bad your painting is?” He tilted his head with a chuckle. “Renjun also came over to mine and told me my painting reminded him of one of his favorite books.”

The two then went on, comparing compliment after compliment on their artworks only to find that they received comments from basically the same group of people.

Frustrated, Mark decided to give Jeno the chance again. “Today’s a tie,” he holds his hand out again, “shake on it?”

Jeno’s eyes fall to Mark’s stretched-out hand. He meets Mark halfway, gripping his hand before nodding, “Today’s a tie, then.” They shake hands before Jeno says, “Tomorrow will be different.”

As the lights turn off and the building falls empty, a secret is unraveled.

Clay softens and paint slowly thins. Sculptures are capable of their own movement and captured moments in paintings are more than just still lives. Because in the darkness, when no one is looking, art takes life. And it breathes, the same air humans do, just with no one to witness it.

However, there are rules that keep the worlds separate.

In this world, each and every piece of art has the ability to move the second they are out of every human’s sight. They feel this freedom when they can move, but will immediately freeze into their original positions once any eye is on them.

Though they can move, they still have their limits. All the artworks move in complete silence. No one has the ability to speak, neither to themselves nor to one another.

Additionally, paintings are limited by their frames. Sculptures, in turn, cannot move their legs or whatever is holding them in place on the ground.

Tonight is Jisung’s first in the art gallery. He turns his head to look around, assessing the new environment. When he looks around, he finds a few sculptures stretching, with most of them near and clustered together. A quick look at the wall in front of him causes him to see flowers and a few abstract works.

He sighs, recognizing no one there.

He has spent most of his time in Jeno’s art studio, waving at his other paintings, and though Jisung was not exactly friends with them, at least they were people Jisung knew—who he saw through each of their stages.

Jisung loved dancing, and he felt more at ease doing so in front of Jeno’s paintings, because he knew they didn’t care about his dancing. But this place was new. Here, he had no clue who was watching him.

But still, pushing down the embarrassment and unease, Jisung started stretching. As much as he would love to stay dancing the entire night, he dedicates ample time to warm up, as even paint cracks.

After making sure he is able to straighten his leg when lifting it up to his head, he takes a step back to give himself the space to do a grand jete. With this, he did a few pirouettes before going to practice a routine he is still polishing.

Jisung then spent the rest of the night completing the routine and making sure everything was perfect. Sure, it can be tiring, but he will continue dancing, because even with no one watching, even with no applause nor praise, he will dance, because it is all he has. 

When he is finally out of breath and happy with his progress, he is almost certain the sun is about to rise. Yet the second he stops to rest, when he looks forward to the painting right across from him, he finds the sun has always been there. With a boy who is standing still, staring at him, as if hypnotized by his dance. And Jisung can’t help but be hypnotized by him too.

But a door opens and they freeze back into their original states, eyes turned away from each other, and out of each other’s sight.

 “Good day, Mr. Jeno Lee.” Mark stands in front of his painting with a smirk when he sees Jeno enter the gallery, “Ready to lose today?”

Jeno tilts his head as his eyebrows raise, “How can you be so sure?” He stands in front of Mark.

Mark takes his time to answer, he taps his foot against the floor before sucking his teeth and answering with a teasing tone, “Guess I woke up on the right side of the bed?”

“Well, waking up on the right side of the bed will be the only good thing you get today,” Jeno starts as his lips turn up and he walks to his painting, walking backwards to still face Mark, “I’ll be the one winning today.”

When the gallery opens, just like the day before, Mark and Jeno are both hoarded with people intrigued by their paintings and asking them questions.

Again, Mark retold the story of Donghyuck, as Jeno did with Jisung.

However, around the middle of the day, Mark found Jeno excusing himself and running straight to the bathroom with his hand over his mouth. 

Mark blames it on his curiosity but really, how could he not worry? He thanked the students he just wrapped up his conversation with and walked straight to the bathroom to find the other boy.

But behind them, as everyone else is preoccupied by the other paintings and sculptures, and with no one standing next to Mark and Jeno’s works, Jisung feels the liberty to move.

He feels the weight in his arms but he holds them in place. What urges him more to move was the mix of wanting to stretch and the need to take a better look at the boy he didn’t stare long enough at. So he turns his head, just slightly, and his eyes meet the name Donghyuck.

“Donghyuck,” the name is on his tongue, he mouths it, and imagines how it would sound as his eyes go to look at who owns it.

He finds Donghyuck, who is as pretty, or maybe even prettier than the flowers next to him, and he looks like someone made from the idea of love.

And for a second, he almost drops out of his painted position, but just before he is able to, he is frozen back in the place he was created into. Someone looks his way.

Soon, Mark comes back with his arm supporting Jeno. The younger boy looks defeated as Mark brings him to take a seat in the benches across from where their art is exhibited.

”Stay there,” Mark says before eyeing the water dispenser and grabbing a cup.

He comes back to Jeno with a full cup of water and tells him to drink. Jeno, though grateful, can’t help but say, “Mark, I’m not gonna drink a cup of water with the taste of vomit freshly in my mouth.”

He watches as Mark’s brain short-circuits. “Hold on,” he turns around to the snack table prepared for any hungry guests and he grabs a few different kinds of cookies. “Good?” he holds out all the snacks.

Jeno chuckles, “Good.” He takes a random cookie, opening the plastic and taking a bite before swallowing down water.

Mark just watches. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Just,” Jeno manages to give Mark a soft smile, “bad breakfast, that’s all.”

Mark nods in response.

They’ve underestimated the time Mark tended to the other, with Ten shortly finding them and scolding them for leaving so abruptly.

“Mark, Jeno, we did not teach you to leave your paintings to hang out!”

“Professor,” Mark starts with a stern voice, “I’m sorry, but Jeno isn’t feeling well, so I had to check on him.”

Ten’s face softens as he turns to Jeno, “If that’s the reason then don’t say sorry but, Jeno, why didn’t you tell us!”

“I’m fine, seriously.” Jeno promises.

Their teacher sighs, ”Okay, thank you, Mark, for being here for Jeno, but please head back to your place and I’ll take it from here.”

With his eyes glancing at Jeno, Mark stands and wipes his hands on the side of his pants. “Yes, of course.”

As Ten is about to occupy the seat Mark was just in, Jeno says with a soft voice and with the most gratitude, though wavering confidence, “Thank you, Mark.”

The older boy gives him a smile before nodding and heading back to Donghyuck.

A few minutes later, Jeno took his spot back across from Mark. And though he looked perfectly alright, Mark couldn’t help but sneak a few glances here and there.

When the day ended, the two boys met eyes again.

“So, I’m guessing you won today?” Jeno rubs his forehead.

But Mark will always fight fair. “Nah, today’s a shake-on-it day too.” His hand, yet again, reaches out in between them. “It wouldn’t be fair if you weren’t feeling your best.” He says it with conviction, with worry lining his voice but playing it off as good competition.

Jeno smiles, big and full of truth, and he shakes Mark’s hand.

Finally getting out of his frozen state, Jisung’s arms fall to his sides as his head turns immediately to face the figure in front of him who he now knows is Donghyuck.

The other stands in front of him, unmoving inside of his frame, and expressionless.

Their eyes lock, stuck in a trance, before Jisung gains the courage to bring his hand up and wave.

Donghyuck’s eyes widen. He gets shocked at Jisung’s acknowledgement. It takes a second but he waves back, with a small smile placing itself on his face.

The dancer then supposes he should introduce himself first. So, he points to his right, to the label with his name outside his frame, and he mouths it too. “Ji-sung,” he says slowly, with no sound escaping his lips.

Donghyuck leans forward, mouthing “Ji-sung,” with the same slowness the other used, and looking at him in assurance. “Jisung,” he says it quicker, making sure he remembers the taste of it on his tongue.

Jisung nods in response, smiling.

Knowing he got it right, Donghyuck smiles too and chuckles to himself. But he then shakes his head, turning to his left and pointing to his label, to his name. “Dong-hyuck,” he says per syllable, just as Jisung did with his name.

And though the younger boy already knew this, he repeats it still. “Dong-hyuck, Donghyuck.”

For a few seconds, they stay smiling at each other. But the awkwardness interrupts them, and they are left staring at each other with nothing to say.

Donghyuck’s lips part as he hesitates pushing through with what he wants to say. And Jisung sees it. He nods to assure Donghyuck it’s alright before the boy starts moving.

Jisung didn’t know what to expect, but he didn’t even begin to imagine the image of Donghyuck trying to copy his routine from the night before. Jisung doesn’t want to be mean, but it’s obvious in Donghyuck’s stiffness and lack of technique that Donghyuck doesn’t know how to dance. Jisung tries to hold it in, but a laugh makes its way out of his system, and unfortunately for him, Donghyuck catches it.

Donghyuck immediately stops trying to dance and puffs his cheeks, with his wings shrinking and coming closer to his body. He points to Jisung and does a small dance step again before clasping his hands together.

And now, Jisung gets it. Donghyuck’s asking him to dance again.

But before he assumes, he points to himself, “Me?”

Donghyuck nods, pointing to him. “You.”

It makes Jisung become a mixture of shock and gratitude. Someone wants him to dance. Someone sees him. And that someone happens to be the prettiest boy he has ever seen. He gives Donghyuck a small smile before nodding his head and beginning to warm up. While cracking his neck, stretching his limbs, and pointing his toes, he sees Donghyuck only very slightly mimicking his moves.

He smiles after finishing all the stretching. He looks Donghyuck in the eye and gives him one last smile before stepping backwards. And, he dances.

What he performs for Donghyuck is not the same routine as the night before. Instead, he freestyles it, captures the words of gratitude he wants to say to Donghyuck, and he dances it. Because although he has practiced and perfected routines, they were all for himself. But now, now that he knows there is someone willing to watch, someone who wants to see him dance, he dances. Just for him. Just for Donghyuck.

Jisung ends his routine with a bow, his arms spread wide like Donghyuck’s wings yet his smile is so much wider. “Thank you.”

When he raises his head, Donghyuck is clapping and mouthing, “Bravo! Bravo!”

The dancer takes a step closer, taking a seat and bringing his knees to his chest. He points to Donghyuck, “You?”

“Me?” Donghyuck looks with shock all over his face and his finger pointed to himself.

Jisung nods as his arms go to wrap around his legs.

With not much thought, Donghyuck’s shoulders go up. “I don’t know.”

But the other boy is skeptical. He furrows his brows and squints his eyes.

In disbelief that Jisung doesn’t believe him, Donghyuck’s mouth falls open and yet again, he lifts his shoulders up. “I really don’t know.”

But then Jisung asks, “Wings?” He points to Donghyuck and mimics the motion of wings with his hands.

Donghyuck takes a look back at his wings before stretching them out and flapping them. He’s surprised to catch Jisung sit up straight, at attention, and light up. He giggles, mouthing, “You like it?” And he doesn’t know if Jisung gets the message but he’s sure that he just saw Jisung say something to him—

“Pretty.” Jisung stands up, slowly stepping back before closing his eyes. And he dances again. This time it’s shorter, softer, and he ends the routine on one knee and his hand stretched out to the other boy. “You’re pretty.”

Donghyuck shies, cheeks a pretty pink, and he smiles too big to be able to hide it. Thinking for a second, he looks somewhere behind him before pointing to the corner of Jisung’s painting. To the moon.

Jisung turns to look at it. Similarly, he points somewhere up Donghyuck’s painting. To the sun. And they smile faintly at each other.

Hesitating, Donghyuck licks his lips as he points to the sun and the moon, and then to Jisung and himself. “Us,” he intertwines his fingers together. Jisung smiles so hard he bows his head down. And Donghyuck just can’t help but be endeared. Taking this time where Jisung doesn’t see him, Donghyuck quickly takes a flower from the many beside him and he holds it up in front of him.

Jisung lifts up his head, still with a smile, but he grows shocked when he sees what looks like Donghyuck giving him a flower. He can’t believe it, doesn’t know how to, but this idea is only confirmed when Donghyuck moves it closer to him and nods. “For you.”

The boy looks around, wanting to give Donghyuck something back. But there’s nothing as pretty as him.

Donghyuck laughs, shaking his head. “It’s okay.”

The silence then comes back and by then, Donghyuck has figured out a few things about Jisung. He doesn’t know much, but what he does know is that Jisung dances whatever he falls short on. When he doesn’t have the words, he performs. When he doesn’t have anything worth much on his hands, he will dedicate a dance for you. He gives through dance, speaks through it, and loves with it.

But Donghyuck doesn’t know how to give back something worth as much as Jisung’s dancing. 

He steps forward, taking a peek into the other paintings and sculptures next to them, and he points. To a winged fellow wrapping her wings around another. When Jisung looks back at him, he points to the boy and to himself, once more intertwining his hands and saying, “Us?” And his wings copy the motion, giving Jisung a hug through the distance. 

Jisung giggles, and he watches as Donghyuck does too. Jisung then wraps his arms around himself and nods, affirming, “Us.”

When Mark arrives, he already spots Jeno standing in front of his painting. “Hey,” he says, “are you alright for today?”

Jeno scoffs, still not so used to such a caring Mark Lee, but still, he smiles. “Yeah, man.”

“Don’t run out on me today, got it? I still have to win against you.” The older boy smirks.

Tilting his head, Jeno challenges, “You’re so on.” Now this time, it is Jeno reaching his hand out for Mark to shake. It takes Mark aback as he does, but he laughs into it, shaking it firmly.

In the silence after the handshake, the two boys turn to look at Donghyuck. Mark is yet again admiring his work before Jeno raises a question.

“Hey, Mark, did you change your painting overnight or something?”

It makes Mark snap his head back to look at the other. “What in the world are you talking about?”

Jeno takes a step closer as he points toward the bunch of flowers bloomed beside Donghyuck, “I could swear there was another flower there.”

Mark’s mouth widens as the corners of his mouth raise and he realizes, “You’re paying great attention to my masterpiece, Jeno Lee.”

“No,” Jeno shakes his head, “I’m being serious.”

Mark turns to look at where Jeno’s pointing to, “What do you even—” He sees it, “Oh.” There’s an empty patch of sky in the same place he strictly remembers he painted his prettiest flower on. He stares at it, squints his eyes, thinking that maybe staring at it long enough will give him answers. “Did you do this? What the heck, dude?” Mark looks at Jeno with hurt eyes.

Jeno’s eyes shoot open and widen, “Hey, if I did, then why would I bring it up? Plus,” he furrows his brows, “I don’t hate you enough to mess it up.”

It takes Mark a few seconds to reply, “I’ll take your word for it. But,” he turns back to his painting, “what even happened? Why did it change— How did it change?”

Their professor then passes by and Jeno calls out, “Professor Lee!”

Ten stops in his tracks as his name is called, and he faces the two boys. Mark turns to face him too. “Yes? What’s the matter?”

Jeno eyes Mark before beginning to speak. When the older one encourages him, he does, but not without hesitation. “Could someone have possibly, hypothetically, altered our work here?”

Ten shakes his head, already full of worry. “Is there something wrong?” His voice turns awfully cold and serious, “Do I need to call security?”

The two boys panic, simultaneously pleading, “No!” 

Confusion replaces Ten’s worry, and he looks at them wanting answers.

Mark stands up straight in a hurry, “Nothing!” he says as convincingly as he can, “It’s nothing! We were just,” he looks at Jeno, “wondering?”

“You sound unsure there?” Ten questions.

Jeno puts his hand up, waving it hurriedly, “It really is nothing!”

The professor takes a look at the two boys again before being convinced. Though Mark and Jeno seem to be filled with nerves, Ten takes their word. “If you two say so, then I’ll be off.” Before he leaves he reminds, “Opening is soon, so if you feel unwell,” he eyes Jeno, “please tell me or Professor Suh.”

As Ten walks away, Mark and Jeno let out a big sigh. But they have no time to dwell on it. They turn back to the painting.

“Whoever did this,” Mark clicks his tongue, “did a pretty dang good job at blending it in.”

Jeno agrees, “It doesn’t even look like it was covered, just. Erased. Completely.”

“God,” Mark’s hand comes up to rub his forehead, “I think I’m hallucinating. It’s whatever, I’d only be angry if it was broken.” He’s about to turn around when Jeno suddenly stops him from doing so, his hand flying to Mark’s shoulder.

With Jeno’s hand leading Mark back to look at the painting, he points to Donghyuck’s hand as he squints, “Was this flower here?” And again, Mark finds something he never painted.

In Donghyuck’s hand, something is in between his fingers. Something pink and pretty, that looks so much like a flower. And it would be crazy to assume but it seems like the flower in Donghyuck’s hand is the same one missing from the flowers to his side. “No,” Mark says in a sigh.

Silence envelopes them, with a mix of confusion and disbelief.

Mark turns back to the other boy. “Is it crazy to think my painting,” he licks his lips, “moved?”

Jeno looks at him like he’s crazy, “What?”

“Like,” the older thinks of a reasonable comparison, “like the ‘Night at the Museum,’ the movie.”

“I’m not following.”

Mark closes his eyes, “You know, the movie where the statues and historical stuff come to life at night?” he hopes Jeno understands, somehow.

But then Jeno deadpans, “Mark, we are not in a movie.”

The older boy gulps and blinks, sighing, “I think I need some sleep, man.”

The two boys shake their heads and unglue their eyes from Mark’s painting. They head to go grab a few snacks before opening, but as they do, two certain paintings start to move.

As Mark and Jeno, as well as everyone else, stop looking, Jisung quickly turns his head and sends a wink Donghyuck’s way.

And Donghyuck catches it, chuckles slightly, and smiles, before they are yet again frozen in place and unable to see each other.

As night washes over yet again, Donghyuck has an idea. “Turn around,” he says as he motions circles with his finger.

Jisung’s head tilts and his brows furrow, confused as to why Donghyuck would ask him that.

And Donghyuck sees his confusion. So, he flaps his wings and says, “Practice,” he speaks it slowly, so Jisung understands, “flying.”

Jisung’s lips turn up and he smiles. Would he be too full of himself to think Donghyuck’s doing it for him? “I can’t watch?” he questions, and Donghyuck’s cheeks quickly turn pink. He’s shy.

The boy quickly shakes his head, his lips pressed in a thin line, and his eyes pleading.

It makes Jisung chuckle. He nods his head as he slowly turns away, and starts wondering what he’ll do to pass the time. But just then, his attention is caught by the tree branches that surround him. An idea sparks in his head and he wonders. Maybe he can make something out of this.

On the floor, he spots a few fallen branches. Perfect, he thinks, and he takes a seat down and gathers as much as he can.

He first finds bigger ones, ones that can hold a shape and are sturdy. He places these in a circle big enough to lay nicely on someone’s head. They don’t all perfectly fit together, but it’s enough. 

But not long after that, Jisung finds he has no clue how he’s attaching all the branches together. Biting his lip, he looks around frantically. Only to find there’s nothing he can use. His elbows rest on his thighs as he stops, disappointed at his unfinished idea. But then he looks down. And maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t hurt to sacrifice a few fabric.

As he looks back to the circle he laid out on the floor, he makes up his mind. He carefully rips the bottom of his pants in a few different strips for him to use to tie the branches together.

He works on it carefully—eyes squinting and his tongue being bit by his teeth. Until the base comes together. His smile is wide as he fits it on his head, and he can’t lie, he’s proud of himself. He hurriedly goes to build on it, using some more strips of fabric to attach smaller branches on.

In the end, Jisung has a crown. It isn’t full of flowers; it’s made of twigs and branches. But it’s what he has. And it’s what he made so diligently.

He stands, full of enthusiasm, and he turns to Donghyuck again. The boy is flying around when he meets Jisung’s eyes, turning bright pink again and telling him to turn back around. So Jisung does.

He takes his seat again and starts admiring his creation again. But as the floor is covered still with branches and a few scraps of cloth, Jisung deems that it wouldn’t hurt to make another crown while Donghyuck isn’t looking.

On the other hand, Donghyuck takes a hand at flying.

Occasionally, he has flown before. But, he never tried any tricks. He always flew around, stayed in the sky as night turned to day outside his frame. But never tried anything more. He decided that with Jisung here, maybe now was the time to.

He first tries to fly in a loop. It takes a few deep breaths before he gets the courage to go at it, but it only ends with him having to go back down on the ground and rubbing his head out of dizziness. 

So maybe he shouldn’t try that first.

After biting his lip and thinking some more, with the urgency to impress Jisung on his mind, Donghyuck comes up with a plan. Instead of trying what usually would be considered ‘impressive’ tricks, he practices something that would feel more heartfelt. Or at least, he hopes will be.

The second time Jisung turns around, with the two crowns he made on the floor behind him, Donghyuck’s ready.

Jisung nods for Donghyuck to proceed.

At first, Donghyuck slowly extends his wings out a bit more, giving the other boy a small show. Then, he lifts his feet off the ground. His smile grows wider the higher up he goes, before turning his back and flying far enough for Jisung to see what he has prepared.

He starts it off by flying in a straight line to the side of his frame. He does a few zig-zags to the other side, then doing one loop around, back to the center.

He exhales, turning to Jisung to see his reaction. The dancer is clapping and cheering, and Donghyuck starts feeling a bit shy. Jisung gives him a thumbs up and he gets encouraged again.

This time, Donghyuck’s movements in the air aren’t definite. They aren’t patterned in a repetitive manner. As Jisung’s eyes trail to see where the boy moves, he realizes that Donghyuck’s spelling something out.

First a J, and then an S. JS. His name.

He exhales with a smile as Donghyuck flies closer to him, seeing if he got it. And with a smile as big as the one plastered on Jisung’s face, he sure did.

Donghyuck giggles, flying back around and drawing another figure.

This time, it’s a heart.

He flies back down, back to where Jisung can see him clearly, and he’s hoping Jisung liked it. “Good?”

Jisung nods instantaneously, “Really good.” He doesn’t know how to entirely express it, but he wants to tell Donghyuck that this, was the most he has ever received. The most someone has ever said his name.

Slowly, he takes the crowns off the floor and presents them to Donghyuck. “For you,” he holds one out. He then places the other crown on his head, “For us.”

“You,” Donghyuck’s mouth falls open and he can’t believe Jisung’s giving something to him yet again. “You made that?”

Jisung nods, “They aren’t perfect, but…” he trails off, shrugging his shoulders.

“They’re perfect,” Donghyuck quickly reassures. “You shouldn’t have.”

“I wanted to.” Jisung mouths the words slowly, giving them emphasis. Because nothing Jisung will ever do is something forced out of him. Especially when it’s for Donghyuck.

The wings on Donghyuck’s back contract, and it looks as though a weight has fallen off his back. “Thank you.”

“Thank you.” The way Jisung looks Donghyuck in the eyes is soft. It’s grateful and full of love.

They’ve given each other all they had. Even if it wasn’t much. From their names to what makes them, and even up to the things that surround them. Dance, wings, flowers, and twigs. The sun and the moon. And all these things, that may seem so small in their little frames, will always be worth so much more to the two of them.

Jisung has never given himself, as a person—as a dancer nor a lover—, wholly, to someone. But now he has. And it’s all extremely worth it.

Because for the first time, Jisung feels so seen. Every part of him. So understood and appreciated. And it’s all thanks to Donghyuck. Donghyuck who wanted to see him dance, who gave him a flower, who showed him his wings, who gave him his time, and knew who he was. Donghyuck who is so near but so out of his reach.

So Jisung steps forward. Closer to his frame than ever before. And his palm is flat against the varnish.

Donghyuck moves as he does, and they are the closest they have ever been.

Outside it is dark and cold, stars speckled across the sky. But inside, in the gallery and in the distance between two opposing frames, it is warm. It is warm and light with, according to Jisung, stars in Donghyuck’s eyes.

And though they don’t speak—they don’t hear, nor do they touch—, on the flip side of it, they know. They know more than they could ever convey with words.

Dancing once was the only thing that made Jisung feel complete—was the one thing he never failed to do every night. But after this? Donghyuck has changed Jisung’s life. And he dreads, so cruelly, the day they will no longer be seeing each other, eye-to-eye. Because now, within his dim and moonlit frame, he will never be complete. Not without his sun facing him.

“Wish I could,” Jisung exhales, “touch you.”

Donghyuck’s eyes widen and he takes a step back.

Jisung’s afraid he scared him. “Sorry—”

“Jisung,” Donghyuck calls out. And for some unexplainable reason, Jisung hears him, and it’s his turn to be taken aback.

They both exhale sharply, before stepping forward and holding their hands up against the varnish yet again. “Donghyuck.”

“I hear you,” the boy smiles, “I wish I could be with you too.”

And Donghyuck’s voice is prettier than Jisung could have ever imagined. His eyes soften and he confesses, “I would,” he pauses, “melt, willingly, spill myself all over the frame, the floor—” he blinks away tears, “anywhere but the canvas, just to reach you.” His heart is full, it’s cracked open and on a silver platter in Donghyuck’s name, and he won’t take it back.

Donghyuck smiles, and with no hesitation he admits, “I’d give my wings up for you.”

Hearing that makes Jisung shake his head, “No,” he rejects the idea. Because there is no possibility, in the entire universe, where Jisung would let Donghyuck give up something that makes him. Never in a million years. “Not your wings.”

“Hey,” Donghyuck chuckles, “didn’t you just say you’d melt and somehow deconstruct to reach me?” The air between them eases and it breaks Jisung into a smile.

“That’s different.”

“Yeah, how?”

Jisung’s head falls down before saying, “I would never be able to take one thing away from you. I would never,” his voice cracks slightly as he looks back at the boy, “wish for you to live without your wings. And with me as the reason.”

Donghyuck watches him, listens, and feels his sincerity, but his voice grows stern and still he stands his ground. “I still would.”

Jisung shakes his head, “I wouldn’t forgive myself—”

“You’d have no reason to apologize.” Donghyuck inhales before his voice grows soft again, “I mean it. Say you mean it?”

Jisung nods, palm pressing harder against the canvas, closer to the other, “I mean it.”

Now Love may not normally be defined as a force that brings an emotion of self-destruction just for a single touch, but Love is not always a singular feeling. For Love, despite restrictions, is the willingness of doing the impossible. The willingness to melt. The willingness to give up a part of yourself. For Love, is a moon and his sun, palms pressing against the surface, hearts pumping out of their capabilities.

In the morning, Mark and Jeno are astonished with the gallery that greets them. What causes their jaws to drop is how what remains of their paintings are only the backgrounds they painted. No more Donghyuck. No more Jisung. As if they disappeared completely. Erased. Just like the flower from Mark’s painting the other day.

Splotches of paint, however, are scattered across the floor. Trailing out of the gallery. Along with that are flowers, branches, and even a few feathers.

As the gallery is cleaned up with the other students continuing on with the exhibit, Mark and Jeno are pulled into Ten’s office along with Johnny.

“Okay,” Ten takes a deep breath in his seat. Johnny stands right beside him, his hand leaning over the desk. Both facing the two painters. “Tell me what happened.”

Immediately, Mark and Jeno start talking over each other. Mark mentions a flower he never painted, and a possibly moving piece. Jeno rambles on about clean cover-ups, erasures, and the sheer impossibility of what just happened.

Johnny’s eyes move between the two boys and he sighs, “One by one,” he catches their attention, “please.”

The two boys stop speaking. Their heads turn to look at each other, and Mark starts, though with hesitation lining his voice. “We think that, somehow,”

“Our paintings got out of their frame.” Jeno deadpans, “Came to life and,”

“Moved.” They say in unison.

Ten shakes his head, “What?”

“Like that movie, ‘Night at the Museum—’” Jeno gets cut off by their professor.

Ten’s complete confusion causes him to rub his temples. “You two didn’t mess with it? You’re sure, absolutely sure, that no one else did either?” He tries to be sensible.

“Professor,” Mark’s tone turns stern, holding enough weight to sound convincing, “I didn’t paint Donghyuck in one night. It’s completely impossible that someone erased him within a couple of hours,” he moves forward and his hands lay on the desk. “It was too perfect— too seamless.”

Jeno nods along, “Same with Jisung. They just,” he shrugs his shoulders, “must have moved.”

“But how would that even be possible?” Johnny leans in a bit closer to them.

Then Jeno acknowledges, “We have no clue, but we all saw it.” His arm raises slightly as he moves his hand toward everyone in the room, as if saying ‘didn’t we?’ He inhales, “I mean, the feathers, the flowers,”

“The paint on the floor, the branches,” Mark completes.

Something clicks into Ten’s head. He blinks, “Oh my God,”

Johnny frantically turns to him, questioning what happened.

But quickly, Ten is rummaging through his drawers, “I got a package earlier, a snow globe— actually there wasn’t any snow, but—” he picks something up, “I thought nothing of it.” He brings it up to his eye-level, looking at what’s inside closely. The globe then gets shaken and Ten places it on the desk. He slides it over to Mark and Jeno. “But isn’t this your Donghyuck and your Jisung?”

The two boys immediately crouch down. And there it is. An angel standing next to a dancer. With the sun and the moon on opposite sides. They stare, completely in awe.

Johnny takes a look too, before asking, “Who sent it?”

“There was no sender, just paint…” Ten lights up, “Just paint over what would’ve been the shipping label.”

But Mark and Jeno don’t hear their words, they stay staring. At the two tiny boys in front of them who they once kept within frames. “They’re,” Mark exhales, in almost a whisper. But he doesn’t continue the sentence. Because something splatters across the window and suddenly everyone goes to crowd over it.

The window is now covered in some drops of a blue paint Jeno remembers using. As they hurry to look out, they find a falling feather.

And then there’s two figures rising up to the sun. With hearts ever burning.

Words unsaid are now left for them to scream. And are said softly through touch. Art without a frame. With no background, artist, rules, nor varnish. Art. Pure and complete art. Birthed solely from love that cannot be painted.

Two souls, one oil-painted and another sun-kissed, now under the same light. With no more distance between them.