Chapter Text
Being a sculptor has never been easy.
In fact, all jobs related to art have never once been a piece of cake due to their connection with creativity. Money is one problem, but the most brutal reason of all is inspiration. You would sometimes need something, as Zeal calls "muse", to finish a piece of work—something that you can't just come up with on a normal Tuesday.
As for Zeal, he hasn't found out his muse just yet.
That means his studio has zero progress, only chunks of plaster scattered all across the floor and table, trying to carve out anything yet looking like nothing right now. That's also the reason why he's now here outside his studio, at the park nearby, trying his very best to search for the said muse.
"This is hopeless," he thinks to himself, clearly finding this situation rather bizarre. All he does is sit by the park bench and lean backwards, trying to listen to the birds chirping and watch the scenery above for some kind of inspiration. But of course, everything is hopeless—only Zeal sits there from day to day, from morning to afternoon, just to seek anything that catches his attention.
But again.
Nothing.
Nothing comes to his mind right now.
Well done, Zeal Ginjoka. Well done.
He laughs at his own pitiful state, and a little regret about his own occupation for chasing his own dream instead of working a boring job in an office. At least he has his own freedom and no one can rush him for it, not even the parents he used to have big arguments with about this.
Well, even though he's a little regretful about this, he's still somewhat glad to chase his own dream. Though right now, his work is getting delayed because the so-called muse hasn't appeared just yet, and it's driving him crazy.
"Now what am I supposed to do right now?" He asks himself, despite knowing he himself can't answer this question either.
He can only accept his boring, peaceful life until he physically and mentally can't anymore, or at least until he finds out something—someone to spark up his motivation and imagination. Well, here goes his life, supposedly so. All he can ever do is accept it as the days pass by, letting such boredom consume him from the inside out.
.
.
.
.
.
Until.
Until his muse finally appears.
"Excuse me, can I sit here?" The unknown voice asks, pulling Zeal out of his train of thought as he looks at the man standing in front of him. And—woah.
The man is breathtakingly gorgeous, and Zeal truly does mean it.
His smoky turquoise hair and sunset eyes certainly stand out more than anything, and his styling makes him look more elegant than anyone else that Zeal has met before. The way he softly speaks is like a sweet lullaby that Zeal forever wants to lose himself into. It feels like he's shining in his own way underneath the sunlight—having this calm, soothing energy that Zeal doesn't know how to explain but is mesmerized by.
And that's when Zeal knows.
This is it.
This is his muse.
This is the one Zeal has been looking for, the home for his art.
The masterpiece that he needs to work on later on—No, he wants more; he wants to work on such beauty by carving, molding, by losing himself in such a sight.
This is—!
"Uhm…excuse me?"
"Oh…sorry." Zeal quickly snaps himself out of his thoughts as he looks at the man who still stands there in front of him, confused by the dazed state of the man sitting in front of him. It's making Zeal a little embarrassed as he scooches over, leaving the other man some space to sit on the bench. The man just shakes his head as he takes his seat, feeling a little bit confused but still softly smiling nevertheless.
He pulls out a notebook under Zeal's gaze, the one that clearly wants to ask something but is too shy to ask it right away. Only when the other pulls out a pencil and flips through the pages does Zeal realize the other man's occupation.
The sketchbook.
The designs.
The pieces of art themselves.
"Oh. That makes sense." Zeal quickly shuts himself out of embarrassment, but the other man just smiles, not expecting such words but also doesn't despise it at all. Instead, he leaves the notebook wide open for Zeal to see all the clothing sketches with varied styles and varied types of clothes. Zeal looks in, dazed at such beauty, especially with how all the sketches look so refined and well-done, beautiful and elegant in a way he doesn't know how to explain.
"I often come out here when I need some kind of peace and inspiration to myself, works whenever I need it." The other confesses as he looks down at his pieces of work, then to the man sitting beside him with a gentle gaze. And oh…Zeal only knows he himself has lost in those sunset eyes, always looking at him with this kind of peacefulness that he doesn't know how to explain.
It's also the same for Zeal, though he already found his inspiration.
He keeps those words to himself, knowing how such words will pour into letters later on. All he knows is that this is his muse, the one who sparks what has been hidden and deep-buried inside him.
"I'm Zeal, Zeal Ginjoka. I'm a sculptor." Zeal says as his eyes meet the other's, eyes glinting with adoration at the sight of the man sitting beside him. The other man just smiles back at him in response to what Zeal just said, letting themselves get comfort from such peace wrapping around them both.
"I'm Freodore. Nice to meet you, Ginjoka."
_____
From that day, they start to hang out more by the same bench where they first met, talking and just accompanying each other side by side under the sunlight. Freo would talk about his passion for fashion design, then about his customers, each with a different style and different approach to fashion itself. Zeal would then listen, sometimes sharing about his work as a sculptor also.
And yet.
There's still something left unsaid from the ravenette.
He doesn't share everything with Freo, especially with his own actions behind the closed door of his studio. He doesn't tell Freo about all the letters sent to such a muse all by himself, afraid of being known for this and being disgusted by it one day. His studio keeps getting more and more statues of the turquoise-haired man without his knowledge, filling the entire space with plaster sculptures of Freo himself, each in a different pose and at different angles.
That's the ugly truth that he's afraid of being seen by such a muse himself.
How can Freo be fine when someone carves plaster statues of him, remembering each and every feature appear on his face—such elegance that no one can ever be mistaken for anyone else?
So when the other man says he wanted to be there at Zeal's studio, Zeal can't help but feel extremely nervous. He can feel every drop of cold sweat running down his forehead, every drop reminds him of what exists in his studio that Zeal has no way to clean up or make up to hide it.
All the statues, all the letters are there.
Just patiently waiting for its owner to react to it, whether it's bad or good, Zeal has to accept it.
Whatever the other's reaction is, Zeal just doesn't want to hide his adoration—his muse any longer.
Not when he wants to keep this for the long term – both their relationship and the secret he's been hiding for way too long.
Zeal can only sigh as he looks at all the pieces he created, filling everywhere in his studio. A bell door then rings, pulling Zeal out of the messy thoughts and notifying the presence of someone who is making him nervous right now. Zeal slowly makes his way towards the front door, with every step somehow feeling heavier and heavier as he walks.
"Hi there, Ginjoka." He opens the front door, revealing his muse—the one he's been so nervous about. Zeal nods to the other man as he makes way for the other to come in, though he can't help but notice his own heartbeat beating faster and faster with every second standing near his muse. It seems like Freo doesn't acknowledge it as he nods in thanks and steps inside, walking and looking around the ravenette's studio.
He can't help but be mesmerized by it, all the pieces of work, of gorgeous art existing everywhere in the studio. Plaster statues are rather…ethereal, too ethereal for Freo to believe a human hand can create something as beautiful as this.
It makes him want to see more.
Or more, he wants to see himself—wondering what he would look like if he got carved out as a plaster statue. He wants to know more about the other man just as much as the other does, though Zeal doesn't know anything about this.
.
.
.
.
.
"Woah…this is—"
Him.
Yes, him.
All him, but as statues, and existing everywhere in Zeal's studio.
There's one with his hair tied up from that one day he was tired of a customer complaining about his piece of work. There's also the one where he smiles oh so fondly at their coffee and Sonic talk, feeling content knowing there's someone sharing the same interest as him. There's also one statue of him looking down, in which Freo assumes it must have been the version of him who focused on sketching ideas, with Zeal staying by his side to watch it all.
There are letters, also.
Freo slowly makes his way towards them—the pile lying there on the table—and carefully checks each and every single one of them.
They're all love letters, the ones that were supposed to be sent to him but never had the chance to. They are all written on different dates, but Freo realizes those dates right away—from the day when they first met, to the first talk that they shared—more and more, almost as if every single day whenever they have a chance to talk to each other.
It just…shows how much Zeal cares about them, about this relationship, and most of all…
Thinking of Freo as a muse – his muse.
The title that seems so high above for those working in the art spectrum, and Freo understands it too as a fashion designer himself. And yet, that title is entitled to him, to the once strangers he met on a normal day at the park, where the magic began and the wheel had already been spinning since then.
"This is…"
He can't lie but got stunned by it, knowing how meaningful it must have been to the ravenette.
"For you, Freodore. All for you."
Zeal, as he awkwardly scratches his head, worries if his love ever becomes too much for the designer himself as he stands there in awe. Though it's the complete opposite, as Freo takes a step forward toward the ravenette, his sunset eyes meet the amethyst ones. Their bodies are an inch away, which makes Zeal gulp from the sudden closeness.
"Thank you, Zeal."
And then.
He leans upward to kiss the ravenette on the cheek, catching the other completely off guard with the sudden action. Zeal can only stand there, stunned, totally captured by the boldness that both of them have zero clue about. They laugh fondly together, hands intertwined as they lean in for more mutual comfort.
"I'm glad."
'I'm glad that you didn't push me away even when you know about this — about you being my muse.'
'I'm glad you chose to stay despite my own obsession for you, for the title I pushed onto you ever since the day we first met.'
'I'm glad that you are you, Freodore.'
'And I'm glad that you are my muse, the most precious, ethereal of all.'
Though all such words and thoughts remain inside Zeal's thoughts. Instead, he shows such appreciation through hugs and kisses, feeling more than glad to finally have such a muse in his hands.
From now on, the letters are finally belonged to where it supposed to be.
From now on, he now has the muse next to him, forever and ever.
And best of all, he doesn't have to hide his love for such a muse anymore—not when the other is already there and ready to welcome him with open arms.