#and the descriptions both of the paintings and hyunjin and their feelings were so beautiful

[astraystayrec]

WAHHHH THIS WAS SO BEAUTIFUL OH MY GOD

Visions of You in Solitude

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x fem reader

W/c: 26.5k

Warnings: erotic painting, mentions of masturbation, sex in a semi-public place (no one is around), breast/nipple play, dry humping, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex (fem receiving), cum eating, use of pet names, drinking

Synopsis: You were hired to paint him- not fall for him. But intentions quickly shift when Hyunjin finds himself infatuated with you and learns the secrets you harbor.

[this work was based off a request by “🐼” anon - thank you for requesting!]

18+. Mdni!

•

There’s something to be said about the loneliness that comes with being an artist. The repetitive cycle of translating tangibility to canvas or paper in whichever chosen medium. Fleeting muses you draw inspiration from, which quickly become burdensome as you’re faced with them every waking second of your day. Obsession with perfecting your craft, the anxieties that come with criticism of your life’s work and sometimes even succumbing to changing it entirely at the hands of someone else’s advice.

It’s very seldom even your craft at a certain point, only existing to satisfy the visual demands of others and turn a profit when displayed at a show. And it’s certainly not for everyone, not when it’s this lonely and rooted in the discomfort of personal solitude.

*

From this proximity, the blinding white walls that span the perimeter of the waiting room feel like that of a prison’s- coupled with the glossy laminate flooring and glaring white lights, you feel completely entrapped.

“They’re almost ready for you,” your boss says abruptly as he enters the room and occupies the gray folding chair next to you. “You have everything you need?”

Headcount- your black leather briefcase of oil paints, brushes, charcoal, pencils, paint thinner, old rags and your painting palette.

“The canvas is already set up,” your boss chimes in as if he can read your mind. “And there’s a seat for you. Just relax, and don’t push yourself.”

You take a deep breath, doing your best to follow his advice- but a part of you wants to get up and leave, to run away from all of this. Painting is your passion, it’s your forte and it’s been your life’s work for as long as you can remember. But being commissioned like this, for men much richer than money you’ll ever see, it feels suffocating.

They don’t tell you their names these days, nor the name of whatever organization they’re from. Last month it was an elite group of stock investors, the month before, it was a famous violinist from Japan. And today, it’s a male group, eight members with net worths that look like telephone numbers, or so you’ve been told. And it’s not that you’re intimidated, but you do get self-conscious at the prospect of people watching you while you paint. At some point, it’s like you become the model, their eyes boring into your flesh as you paint long strokes across the canvas and order them to hold still.

“Five minutes,” your boss now says, checking the time on his silver watch and adjusting it so that it sits a little higher up on his wrist.

You wish he wouldn’t count the minutes. You wish he’d stay quiet, allow you to sit with your thoughts and ruminate the day ahead of you. And yet he taps his heel in syncopation with the second hand on the clock above you, the echoing click of both driving you up the wall.

“I need a breather,” you state suddenly, sitting up from your chair and smoothing down your smock. “I need to go outside.”

“Three minutes,” he responds sterly, tapping at the glass lens of his watch and motioning to the door.

You shove your way past the double doors, past the white tiled hallway and just in front of the double doors that lead to freedom again. Two minutes.

It’s like your body is giving out on you involuntarily, your knees buckling as you grip the stair railing and steady your breathing. A quick glance around to ensure no one’s caught you heaving so nervously- and you’re too late. A man saunters down the hallway past you, his hands shoved casually in his pockets as he cocks his head to stare at you, his long black hair falling loosely around his shoulders as he does. He’s tall, and slim, with an elongated torso hugged by an expensive denim coat, his slender legs on display in black slacks and complemented by a sharp pair of boots. You don’t catch a very good look at his face, his figure blurring by as you check your watch, to the second now- you’re supposed to be inside.

You waste no more time jogging down the hallway past the figure and back into the waiting room, where your boss is angrily tapping his heel and scanning the room for you.

“There you are,” he says frustratedly. “No more breaks if you can’t manage your time. They’re waiting for us.”

And with a deep breath, he helps you gather your art supplies, motioning in front of you to the brightly lit room. You take one breath, and then two, as you finally begin into the painting room, eight men already seated and ready for you.

*

The crowd is nothing like the stock investors, or the violinists you’re used to. They’re rowdy, and loud. They very seldom sit still, cracking jokes amongst themselves and shoving each other off the wooden stools every other minute. You do your best to keep your gaze away from them when you don’t need to look at them, trying to memorize their features in intervals so you can focus on just the canvas in front of you as you paint. But it’s nearly impossible, their melodic voices pressing you for answers and insights into your artist career.

“What’s the hardest painting you’ve ever done?” One asks, his baritone voice sounding almost startling in contrast to his bright appearance.

“There’s lots,” you reply quietly. “I’m not sure I can pick one.”

You give him a small smile, trying to memorize the freckles on his face before turning back to the canvas, hoping you won’t have to glance back over at him for the next minute or so.

“Let’s take five,” your boss says as he enters the room again, two iced coffees balanced in his hands. “Thanks, guys.”

And the men scatter to their break room, where neat trays of food are already set out for them to choose from. As the doors swing closed behind them, you watch them select from a variety of pre-cooked noodles, assorted fruits and vegetables, packs of chips and trays upon trays of desserts. They’re fed as though they’re the ones doing all the painting.

“Coffee,” Q says, setting down a plastic cup in front of you, the straw already conveniently placed for you.

“Thanks, Quinton.”

Your boss, Quinton, or Q, is a brutally honest man when he wants to be, quick to comment on your work and keep you in your place. He runs your calendar like the military, never missing an important appointment and opting you in for every profitable painting session possible. He’s another thing you find suffocating at the worst of times, always somewhere breathing commands down your neck and dragging you to every private event under the sun.

“Let me see,” Q states plainly, gesturing to the canvas with his cup of coffee. You shyly angle the canvas toward him, hoping he won’t scrutinize anything about your pacing- you’re trying to get out of here as quickly as possible, and you silently pray the art doesn’t reflect that sentiment.

But to your surprise, he doesn’t, swiping a few stray eraser shavings off the canvas and giving you a nod.

“Looks good. Remember, we just need the skin tones and facial features. The clothes and all that can be filled in later with our reference pictures.”

You nod in response, taking a generous sip of your coffee, realizing this is probably the worst beverage you could’ve picked to calm your nerves. The caffeine pulsates through you, making your heart flutter even more than it already is, and the bitter taste leaves little to salivate over.

“How much longer, do you think?” You inquire, chewing on the tip of your straw nervously.

“No more than an hour, if you keep up this pace,” Q responds. “I’m going to the bathroom real quick, have everything ready again for when I get back. Don’t make me wait.”

You watch as he gets up from his own wooden stool, placing his cup of coffee where he sits, and exits the room to the corridor once again.

You’re alone in the painting room, the white sheets that line the floors staring back at you with little eyes in the form of paint splotches. From behind the door, you can still hear the eight men shuffling about, laughing loudly and downing their snacks. And you want to leave again, the feeling instilling another sense of foreignness inside of you. Like you don’t belong here, even though you’re the painter. You feel small, cramped, even useless, as you stare down the painted flesh outlines across from you.

A click of the door closing beside you garners your attention, and you look up expecting Q to return and resume the session. But it’s not Q- it’s the same figure from earlier in the hallway, slowly making his way inside and hoisting himself back up on the wooden stool. He keeps his head down as he gets comfortable again, two hands running through his black hair and slicking it back out of his forehead.

And then he looks at you- or stares, rather, two hands resting on the exposed wood in front of him as his legs balance on the wooden beams below. You can feel his eyes burning into your figure, and you do everything in your power to avert his gaze and keep your eyes locked on the canvas in front of you. But he remains like that, staring, for several minutes, until you nervously tilt your head to catch his gaze.

You feel your heart race as you do, catching a glimpse of his flawless features as he furrows his brows in concentration. His silky black hair isn’t the only striking thing about him- he has piercing brown eyes, which narrow with such intensity as he remains seated there, unmoving and confident in his stance. His plump lips contrast beautifully against his chiseled jawline, and his lanky figure makes him look like the contemporary art statues you’re so acquainted with, like he’s formed from wire and positioned to slouch so artistically in his spot.

You say nothing to the man, opting to give him a little nod, before focusing back on the beverage in your hands. And despite his clear fascination with you, he doesn’t reciprocate, instead pulling a cell phone out of his back pocket and preoccupying himself again.

You can’t quite tell if he’s rude, or strange, or even just unaware that his presence is so uncomfortable when he’s choosing to speak through cold stares instead of words. As you watch him through your peripheral vision, you hear the familiar sound of Q’s boots click through the doorway, gesturing rapidly at you and at the canvas.

“Let’s continue,” he orders, clasping his hands together with such purpose. “Where are they?” Q then questions, his eyes darting over the quiet man’s indifferent posture. And the strange man finally gets up from his stool, making his way through the break room door to usher the others inside once again.

They follow like a row of ducks, back to their respective seats, some of them with drinks in hand as they share whispered laughter amongst themselves and make little effort to sit still. You have no trouble picking up right where you left off, the innate talent to mirror figures in front of you coming in handy as you race the clock to complete their flesh-colored outlines.

Most of them converse lightly amongst each other, holding your gaze with a more serious expression when they catch you looking over at them.

Except for the strange man.

He’s relentless in his ways, continuing to stare so impolitely at you, his eyes piercing daggers right through your soul as he cocks his head to the left, and then the right, studying your face as you study all eight of theirs. What his intentions are exactly, you have no clue, simply opting to avert his gaze when you can and keep busy with your painting.

One hour later, the canvas illustrates all eight outlines of flesh and distinctive features, highlighting the beige freckles on one man’s, the toned biceps of another, and all other features that set them apart from each other. True to Q’s reminder, their clothes are traced in outlines, but color is void of their stencils, as you still have to bring the canvas home to complete the finishing touches. When they’re dismissed for the day, the gentlemen are all led by a sculpted man with a big smile who introduces himself as the leader, orchestrating the bows and applause that are held for you.

And as he ushers them out one by one, the strange man who’s been watching you all day is the last to leave, lingering a little bit too long with his hands shoved in his pockets like he wants to say something. He loiters by the canvas for several minutes, but you make no move to angle the painting at him, usually maintaining a certain extent of confidentiality in your work to keep the surprise.

He seems to take the hint, almost nodding indirectly at you and more toward the wall, as he finally saunters out of the room with his hands still in his pockets, his strides painfully slow as he disappears from your sight.

And when you look back to the painting, you cock your head at his outline, trying to gauge whether your art properly captures the sheer sense of unnerve he instills in you with his features alone.

*

Painting sessions are burdensome. They require a lot of planning ahead of time, stocking up on supplies, scheduling around the hours-long timeframe and of course, the mental preparation of having to be stared at by rich men for several hours.

But perhaps critique sessions are even worse these days.

Your paintings are typically set in stone after the initial outlines, considering there are usually a few important figures who review your work and give you the go ahead to take it home and finish it.

Yet sometimes, you still have people complaining, pointing out unimportant features like the color of their sneakers which aren’t to their liking. It’s normally Q who fights these battles for you, refusing to allow you to make any changes since the payments are made upfront, too. But sometimes, even he caves, ordering you to pull out your briefcase and mix a darker shade of green or add more volume to the subject’s hair.

It’s the worst with investors, who put their audacity at the same level as their incomes. But with boy groups like this, you’re unsure, having never done a painting for a band prior to this one.

The finished canvas is transported in a nylon zip-up bag, held by yourself and Q as you fit it inside the truck and secure it with metal prongs. While the drive there is just an hour long, it feels much longer than the last time you traveled there, perhaps because you’re much more nervous.

And perhaps also, it’s because of the same strange man as last time, who you already know is going to have a mouthful to say. The way he lingered by your work station a little too long, wouldn’t stop staring and even excused himself from his own break early to resume his insufferable task of making you uncomfortable. You reckon it’ll be a comment about his hair, asking for a longer length or more volume. Maybe something about the stage outfit you were presented with and how it doesn’t make his legs look long enough. Or knowing his douchebag tendencies, maybe he won’t hesitate to ask for a fucking bulge in his pants at this point.

When you arrive, Q calls over the building staff to help transport the collosal work of art, while you wait awkwardly on the side with your hands shoved in your pockets. You take a moment to crane your neck and look up at the building, a tall glass monument with blue-tinted windows and cobalt text that displays the company name. It’s just as intimidating as you remembered it, instilling the same unnerving feeling that a hospital might.

When the building staff are finally making their way inside, you follow reluctantly, making yourself as small as possible behind them while they navigate the long blinding corridors. It’s an unusual feeling to be at the top floor of the building that you were just looking up at from the street below, and as you pass the windows that line the hallways, you can make out the rows of cars and people that now resemble ants from this high up. It’s as though you were never down there to begin with, like the world is different from up here, much more secluded and shut-in.

And seeing the pin boards that line the walls, with photos of successful artists and flyers for company events, it very well might be, this haunting building where dreams either go to flourish or decay.

Into the last door on the right, eight chairs lined up for eight artists who definitely seem to have flourished. The building staff set up the canvas at the front of the room, securing it into its wooden easel, and Q occupies himself setting up a recording camera which points directly at the painting and captures all eight chairs in the frame. It’s common protocol for events like these to be filmed, not always for public consumption, but for the staff to archive important commemorative moments in the artist’s name. Once the camera is rolling, Q gives you a thumbs up, gesturing to the staff to permit their exit as you make your way to the front with him.

“Ready?” He asks, clasping his hands together as he eyes the camera nervously. You say nothing in response, giving him a small nod, before taking your spot on the other side of the canvas and folding your hands behind your back.

For a few moments of complete silence, the two of you keep your gazes fixed on the clock that lives on the wall across you, the hands ticking with the passing seconds as you await the arrival of the band. Q turns to say something, seemingly disregarding it as he turns back to the wall and shifts his eyes to the door every few moments.

You wish he wouldn’t be so… anticipatory. You wish he’d just stand there, like a rock, indicating nothing of importance, so that you could put less weight into this and unveil the painting to them without any reservations.

Here’s the painting, you want to say. It took me forever, so don’t criticize it. You guys are shorter than my usual subjects. Except for the weirdo- and he stares too much.

You smile to yourself at the thought of being so candid with them, before an abrupt push of the door startles you, and you instantly straighten your posture at the sounds of boots clicking along the floor, leading the eight men who live on the canvas behind you.

One by one they take their seats, dressed to the nines this time in black slacks and collared button ups. They even flaunt ties, mirroring the businessmen you’re used to painting, and the fancy attire quickly makes you nervous as they fold their hands in their laps and fail to joke around like they did the last time.

“Welcome,” a booming voice says, as other important looking figures stand around the room and eye the covered canvas. “It’s a pleasure to have you here, and we’re eager to see what you’ve come up with.”

Applause fills the room, inclusive of the members of the band, which you finally allow yourself to look at. They sit properly, hands folded in their laps and serious expressions painted on their chiseled faces.

Except for the strange one, again, whose gaze is locked on yours. He cocks an eyebrow curiously, as though you’re the one doing the staring. And you quickly turn your attention back to Q, hoping that disregarding the men will calm your nerves a little.

“… she’s paid particular attention to detail,” Q continues, and you realize you’ve missed half his speech already.

“And we are so excited to hang her work in this renowned building as a commemorative piece for the members. Without further ado, please let’s unveil the artwork.”

As he finishes, two members of the staff tug on the beige cloth, letting it fall to the tiled floor beneath it and expose the giant portrait.

Their faces light up instantly, little “woah’s” filling the room as they rise from their seats to take a better look. They laugh at their own figures, they point out each other's and most of them even pull out their cellphones to snap photos of your art. It’s always a gratifying feeling, having a crowd admire the fruits of your labor this way, especially when you aren’t immediately met with verbal protest against your creative choices.

You take a few steps back to give some room to them, the staff talking amongst themselves and gesturing to the building where you presume they speak about where the painting will live.

“It’s a hit,” Q says, coming around to tap you lightly on the arm. “You should be very proud of yourself.”

“Thanks, Quinton,” you respond. “I’m glad everyone enjoys it.”

And the staff applaud you once more, bowing to you and lining up to shake your hand as they begin to file out of the room again.

The members stick around for a good while, unable to take their eyes off the painting as they point out each other's features and admire their own. And as they begin to leave, several of them thank you personally on the way out, giving you a bow and shaking your hand.

“Thank you, really,” the man you remember being the group leader says to you. “We are so honored to have worked on this with you.”

Another clasps your hand in his, bowing several times before speaking. “Seungmin,” he states his name politely. “Thank you, I think you really did our old group leader justice.”

“Hey!” The leader calls, and you can’t help but laugh a little in response.

The others share similar sentiments, bowing and shaking your hand as they exit, chatting excitedly amongst themselves as they make their way down the hall for their next schedule.

And when you turn to face Q, you’re met with the last member, who folds his arms in front of him coldly and eyes the painting with raised eyebrows.

Like clockwork. He doesn’t like it, he’s going to request a change be made to it and he’s going to berate you in front of your own boss.

“It’s nice,” he chimes in casually from where he’s standing.

“Thanks,” you reply, Q gathering the cover from the floor and zipping it up again.

“Just one thing,” he says now, turning to face you.

“Oh, we normally don’t make changes after-”

“I have a freckle under my eye,” he finishes. “The left eye. You didn’t catch it.”

Your eyes scan the painting, where his chiseled face and long hair stare back at you, a serious expression in his eyes like he wears in person. And then you glance at him standing in front of you again, a small brown mole under his left eye, just like he speaks of.

“Go ahead and add it,” Q says, as he zips up the cover. “That should be on there already.”

And you nod your head at both of them, unzipping your briefcase again to retrieve your paints. He’s watching you like a hawk again, towering over your bent figure as you pull out a thin tube of brown paint and squeeze just a miniscule dollop onto the back of your hand. You retrieve your thinnest paint brush, dipping it into the paint and swiping it across your skin to rid the excess from the fine hairs.

It feels as though you have to paint it with his permission, as you bring the brush to his face and glance over at him for instruction. He gestures to his eye, motioning for you to start, as you bring the brush to his canvas flesh and tap on a tiny, single dot.

He stares at it for a moment, cocking his head as though a brown dot somehow won’t be to his liking. And even Q holds his breath while he waits for a comment from the man. You begin to say something, your lips parting silently, stuck on what to remark as you await his feedback. And then with bated breath, he finally speaks, giving a small nod as he does.

“Good,” he says simply. “It’s me now.”

Q nods at him, nods at you, and then gathers your belongings as you cap the loose tube of paint.

“Do you have a card?” The man asks suddenly, and Q pauses his shuffling about to retrieve one from his coat pocket.

“Here’s her card,” he says, against your silent protests. “She’s available for commission any time. Payments are up front and scheduling is through me only.”

The man nods, thumbing the gold foil cardstock in his slender fingers, and then shoves it into the pocket of his slacks.

“Hyunjin,” he says curtly, reaching his hand out to yours. “I’m the main dancer.”

And you just nod, placing your hand in his reluctantly as you shake once.

“Y/n.”

His hands are cold to the touch, the metal of his rings feeling like blocks of ice in your grasp. He holds it there for a moment, his narrowed eyes shooting daggers into yours, before he finally pulls away and pivots to leave with the rest of the band.

And you can only catch a glimpse of the back of his head when he’s halfway out, before Q turns to speak to you.

“Looks like we may be back very soon,” he remarks, latching your briefcase once more. “I’d hold on to that brown paint if I were you.”

*

Exactly four days pass before you hear from Hyunjin again. In fact, you’ve all but forgotten about the little run-in, until Q barges into your studio while you add the finishing touches to another client’s piece.

“I have a proposal for you,” Q voices, setting an iced coffee on the table beside you while you dip your paintbrush in a muddy cup of water.

“What is it?”

“Well financially, a massive opportunity. Career-wise, much of the same thing you’re already doing.”

“Businessmen?” You question, working your paintbrush in thin strokes to add hair to the figure on the canvas.

“Band,” he replies simply. “The same band you did last week. Just one member, though.”

And you know instantly who he speaks of, your face contorting into an expression of disgust as you wash your paint in the cup of water once more.

“Hyunjin?” You query.

“That’s him,” he says, snapping his fingers as the name comes back to him. “He’s offering double what we paid last, and just for an individual piece. That’s a massive markup from what we usually charge.”

“I don’t know,” you reply hesitantly. “I’m pretty busy with this, and we-”

“I already said yes,” he states simply.

“You did? What- I thought this was a proposal.”

“Yeah,” he says with a scoff. “A proposal to get your stuff ready. We start tomorrow. And he wants you to bring every color you’ve got.”

“Tomorrow? Don’t we already have a prior commitment?”

“Already moved them out,” Q says, sitting on the chair across from you.

“Look,” he begins, sighing deeply. “I know you’re hesitant about these things. But this is the best move you can do, career-wise. Painting these famous figures is a gold mine for us. One day you could be commissioned to paint royalty, and then we’ll be reaping three times our salary.”

And you sigh, too, knowing very well that he’s right. Being a painter who gets commissioned to commemorate important characters, you know the best thing you can do for yourself is say yes to every opportunity. You’re very seldom able to, which is why you have Q in the first place. But the prospect of spending another day with Hyunjin scares you, and you’re not sure Q would consider it a legitimate concern if you brought it up to him.

“I’ll be there, too,” Q interrupts, almost as though he can read your mind. “It’s just him. One day, max, and then you can pick up your other projects.”

It doesn’t seem like there will be a way out of this one, no matter how much you pray that things will fall through eventually.

“One day,” you echo. “And then I’m tunnel vision on the rest of my projects.”

*

You can tell Hyunjin’s thought about this very carefully, judging by the way he saunters into the room with purposeful strides and slings a bag off his shoulder.

He’s dressed a little more casually today in a denim jacket and jeans, with layered silver jewelry that contrasts nicely against his jet black hair.

“Like a model headshot, but painted,” he describes his vision to you, gesturing with his hands as he speaks.

“I want it to look really serious. And maybe a cool-toned color palette.”

He’s meticulous with his requests, and you wonder briefly if he dabbles in art, himself.

“Sure, we can do that,” Q responds, jotting down a few points in a small notepad.

You say nothing, letting Q do all the talking, but Hyunjin’s eyes glance over at you briefly like he wants you to acknowledge the request. So you just nod graciously, giving him a thin-lipped smile, and begin to undo your briefcase.

Hyunjin assumes his same spot on one of the wooden stools, dragging it closer to you by its leg and propping it within eye-view of your big canvas. And then he sits on it, or rather slouches, adjusting his gaze to look straight at you and maintain a cold, serious expression.

It’s just as unnerving as you’d remembered it, having this model-looking figure pierce daggers through your soul while you mix your paints- cool-toned ones, at his request, and prepare for the hour-long trek of capturing his essence.

At least you won’t have to talk to him- or so you’d assumed from the last session you completed with him.

“What’s your process like?” He asks, his sultry voice perfectly matching his features.

“Oh,” you remark, mixing a set of paints to mirror his even skin tone. “I don’t know, I just paint what I see.”

He nods, satisfied with your less-than-wordy answer, and then he begins to prod you with more questions.

“What are your favorite art supplies?”

You cock an eyebrow at this, well aware that you have a long list you can indulge him in, but not wanting to share your secrets with this complete stranger.

“I dunno,” you reply softly. “Oil paints, and graphite pencils really.”

Hyunjin nods again, and then he glances at Q, who gives him a thin-lipped smile much like yours, trying his hardest to remain polite with Hyunjin. You know Q is likely frustrated with you for not entertaining this conversation in a more lively manner, especially considering what he paid for this session, but you’re not going to indulge him in anything except painting him- and only for this one session, like you promised Q.

And the rest of the session is uneventful, Hyunjin poking you with questions about your personal favorite paintings or inquiring about a time you messed up on an important piece. All questions which are answered with brief “I don’t know’s” or “there are so many, I can’t choose.”

And although you are trying hard to keep Hyunjin at a distance, nothing seems to faze him, his head nods and little hums serving as indicators of his satisfaction with all of your answers. He doesn’t get pushy, like your other clients often do, and he even presses Q for a few answers as he makes sense of your work.

At just past 5, the session draws to a close, as Hyunjin rises from his stool and announces he has to tend to his evening dance practice.

“It’s nice seeing you again,” Hyunjin says as he approaches you, giving a small bow as Q waits off to the side.

“Thank you,” you voice back, glancing at Q for a push to leave.

And Hyunjin extends a single hand, gesturing for you to place yours in his, as he towers over you with a curious expression.

You reluctantly place your palm in his, letting the cool metal of his rings graze your skin as he clasps his thumbs over your fingers and rubs them in gentle back and forth motions. He doesn’t bring it up for a cordial peck, he doesn’t shake it- he simply caresses your artist hands tenderly, before letting go again and turning to give Q a small bow as well.

“Take care,” Hyunjin says, pivoting to exit the room into the corridor.

And as Q pesters you with orders to clean up your workstation, you examine your own hands, rotating your own fingers around, like they might somehow be changed by his touch.

*

ON HOLD- The notes under your projects on the big calendar in Q’s office read, written in dark red pen and underlined twice across the pages.

You furrow your brows in confusion, setting your bag down as you enter for the day and ready your art supplies.

“What’s going on?” You ask Q, who’s busy sorting through a stack of invoices.

“Have a seat,” he replies plainly, gesturing to one of the leather chairs that accompany his grand wooden desk. And you do, sitting on the very edge of the chair as you await further instruction from him.

“A gift came for you,” Q says, slinging a large box on the desk in front of you.

You stand up once again, peering inside at the myriad of oil paints, sharpened charcoal pencils, new smocks, palettes and even books about artists and their works. You dig through the supplies, heart racing at the expensive choices, feeling undeserving of all the presents the box contains.

“This is all for me?” You question, baffled at the prospect that anybody could care enough about your career to indulge you in such a fine assortment of goods.

“Read the card,” Q then says, his arms folded in front of him as he nods toward the top of the cardboard box, where a simple yellow envelope is taped to the cover, cursive text scribbled on the front. Hyunjin, it reads.

You undo the seal, pulling out the small card inside, which only contains a short, cold sentence, in contrast to the warm gift.

“For the next few”, it says, not so much as a sign off or even a simple “thanks”.

“Next few?” You repeat, meeting Q’s gaze with a confused expression.

Q sighs, sitting across from you, folding his hands out on the wooden surface where you can see them.

“His manager called this morning,” he begins. “And commissioned us for another one. Except this one has a long set of rules. He wants you to use these supplies, he wants to visit your studio instead of occupy the company building. And he specifically asked me not to accompany you.”

“What?” You exclaim, angered at the sheer audacity he has, and knowing very well that you only agreed to one painting.

“That’s completely against our rules,” you continue. “Did you tell him no?”

And Q gives you a sheepish grin, gesturing to the stack of papers he flipped through earlier. “They’re offering quadruple the pay,” he says sternly. “He’s obsessed with your work.”

“So what?” You argue. “I have a ton of other projects to finish. And I’m not throwing all of that away because some guy wants time alone with the artist.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting alone time with an artist,” Q emphasizes.

“This is a huge sacrifice, Quinton. I wish you would’ve run this by me earlier.”

Your eyes meet the calendar above his desk again, counting the number of projects with a big ON HOLD scribbled below them. Q sighs, evidently feeling a little guilty for his own actions, and then pinches his wireframe glasses between his fingers, pulling them off his face and tucking them into the pocket of his blazer.

“I’m willing to give you 10% more than what you already make from these.”

Your gaze snaps to his, a bewildered expression on your face as you process his words.

“What- seriously? Quinton, that’s-”

“His company’s loaded” he says with a shrug. “The guy is so much bigger than I thought he was. People love him.”

And your gaze flickers between the calendar and the big red text, Quinton’s hopeful stare and at the box of new art supplies you’ll be required to work with.

Q doesn’t need to press you for verbal confirmation, knowing that the caress of your fingers over Hyunjin’s name on the envelope serves as answer enough.

*

Your studio is particularly messy on Wednesdays, housing all of the project paraphernalia from the days prior. Today is no exception, canvases that sit on easels lining the walls and cans of paint thinner spread out on the tarps. You make your best attempt at shoving everything against the wall, creating a clear pathway for Hyunjin to stride into the way he always does. And you set up your canvas prior to his arrival, getting all of your necessary supplies in place to avoid the awkward few moments of setting up while he watches you so intently.

He’s a punctual idol if you’ve ever met one, arriving at 5pm on the dot, expensive-looking sunglasses shielding his eyes from the barely visible sunlight outside, and a black beanie pulled over his head. He looks like he could be a security guard of his own, the all-black attire even more unsettling as he makes his way inside.

There’s a reason you never house clients in your own studio- the reason being it’s small. It’s office-sized, large glass windows on one side of the wall that overlook a sea of greenery that’s now overgrown with all the recent rains. The floor is gray concrete, stained just about everywhere with swatches of paint and charcoal pieces. And the two tabled surfaces that are available are covered in art supplies, the color of the furniture now indistinguishable as they house tubes of paint, brushes and cans of thinner.

“You can put your bag on the chair there,” you say as he walks in, his hands still shoved in his pockets.

He does as told, setting a designer crossbody on the folding chair by one of the tables, and then he stands confidently, observing the room as he awaits further instruction.

He takes long strides around the perimeter of the room, leaning closely into the existing canvases to study your techniques. But he says nothing, remaining much quieter than last time, the only sound coming from his heeled boots as he moves elegantly around the studio.

“I’m ready,” you say, and Hyunjin turns around to face you. He cocks his head slightly, and then he brings one hand up to pull the beanie off his head, letting his brown tresses fall loosely around his handsome face, not requiring much adjustment as they seem to fall in disarray so perfectly. He pulls his sunglasses off as well, folding them between his plump lips before tucking them into the pocket of his jeans as he finally stops to look at you.

He looks as handsome as he always does, his unreal features looking as though he was modeled by a painting and not the other way around. You feel small in front of him, and unimportant, as he approaches you and stops just in front of your much smaller figure.

“How do you want me?” Hyunjin asks, cuffing up the sleeves of his black knit sweater.

“It’s up to you,” you reply to him, giving a small shrug as you speak.

“This one’s your call,” Hyunjin retorts. “I want it from the artist’s vision.”

And you can’t help the blush that creeps up on your cheeks, feeling embarrassingly flustered at the idea of someone caring even slightly about your vision. Everything’s from your client’s vision- the outfits, the poses, even the adjustments they request following the painting’s unveiling. It’s very seldom that you’re able to provide any directions to the standard of your vision, and though it’s unexpected, it’s a little endearing.

“My vision?” You echo, tapping your fingers on your chin.

You glance around the room at the supplies you have on hand, nothing special, but definitely materials you can work with.

Without replying to him, you pull forward one of the folding chairs, setting it down in front of your easel and gesturing to it.

“Could you sit on the top part? Like, on the back of the chair?”

Hyunjin nods, climbing up onto the chair and balancing as he takes a seat on the back part. It’s a little unstable looking, but Hyunjin seems to manage just fine, spreading his legs casually and running his hands through his hair.

“Your hands,” you chime in, taking note of the silver watch he flaunts on his left wrist. “Could you rest them on your knees?”

“Like this?” Hyunjin questions, sprawling his palms out over his kneecaps.

“Not quite,” you reply. “A little more like…”

And then without warning, you take both his hands in yours, positioning his elbows to rest atop his kneecaps so that his hands hang loosely in front of him. He cocks his face up to meet your gaze, the same intense expression he always houses, and you take a step back to admire the position.

“Exactly like that,” you say to him. “Tell me if you get uncomfortable and we’ll take a break.”

Hyunjin shoots a small smile, perhaps more of a smirk at you, as he sits still and watches you begin to paint in long strokes along the canvas. Your movements are fluid and impetuous, but every stroke proves itself more robust than the last, painting a clear outline of Hyunjin’s seated figure as he keeps his eyes on you. And maybe it’s because you’ve chosen his pose this time, or because it’s your third time doing this with Hyunjin, but you don’t feel nearly as uncomfortable anymore, keeping your attention on the painting and disregarding any implications that might derive from his cold stare.

“I wasn’t sure which brand of oil paints you preferred,” Hyunjin says suddenly. “So I bought you three kinds.”

“Oh, yeah,” you reply softly. “Thank you for the gifts. You really didn’t have to.”

“You have a talent,” Hyunjin voices. “I hung the last one up in my own studio.”

“You have a studio?” You question, remembering Q had previously mentioned something about him being an artist.

“I do,” Hyunjin answers. “It’s nothing like this one, just some canvases in the shared dorm we have. But I paint in all my free time. If I wasn’t here right now, I’d probably be painting.”

“That’s interesting,” you reply. “I’d love to see your work someday.

And Hyunjin doesn’t hesitate to pull his phone out, navigating to his camera roll to show you some of his pieces. He flashes you a painting of a bouquet of roses, placed in a glass case atop a table. Another showcases a city street, scribbled cars and people that line the pavement. And a whole gallery of them depict people- couples, in particular, in all sorts of romantic poses. Kissing, hugging, embracing with such passion and force, almost consuming each other with their visible desperation for one another.

“They’re beautiful,” you say, in awe at the technique of his art. You weren’t expecting him to be so good, for someone who doesn’t paint as a full-time career.

“Thank you,” Hyunjin replies, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. “I’ve learned so much from you.”

“Me?” You retort with a small chuckle. “I highly doubt that, your stuff is very unique. But I’m flattered that you’d say that. Thank you.”

Hyunjin keeps his gaze on yours for a moment, cocking his head to the side as though he’s observing your features. He doesn’t say anything, his eyes narrowing and widening again as he takes in the sight of you dabbing a little more olive paint into his complexion. And then he straightens his back, steadying himself on the chair with two hands gripping the sides.

“When was the last time you left this studio?” He inquires with a smug expression. He sounds a little more serious now, and his tone of voice makes your heartbeat race.

“I don’t live here,” you reply plainly. “I leave every day.”

“When was the last time you escaped?” He then clarifies. “When was the last time you weren’t confined here for the purposes of work?”

You furrow your brows, trying your best to keep busy with your task and avert his gaze.

“This is my job,” you say sternly. “I don’t want to escape.”

“I’m a dancer,” Hyunjin states matter-of-factly. “I don’t live in the studio at the building. Sure, the bright lights and the walls of mirrors help with the choreography. But sometimes I dance in my dorm. And sometimes I dance in a big grass field when nobody’s watching.”

You pause your brushstrokes for a moment, finally meeting his gaze as he stares down at you. He raises one eyebrow, waiting for an answer, which you fail to provide him with as he leans forward once again and clasps his hands together.

“You feel trapped here, don’t you?”

And suddenly his words infuriate you, the sheer audacity of him to walk into your studio demanding all these rules from you, like your boundaries can be overlooked if they’re bought. And who is he to pry into your life like this, knowing next to nothing about you except that you’re a painter? It’s blasphemous- offensive, even.

“I’m not trapped,” you say, standing from your stool and backing away from him a little. “I love my job. I can quit whenever I want to, and this is my passion.”

“Who are you when you’re not painting these portraits?” Hyunjin inquires, and your eyebrows contort into a much angrier frown.

“Who are you to imply any of this, anyway? You’re an idol. You’re the one who’s trapped in the confines of a million rules- are you even allowed to be here right now? Who are you when you’re not putting on the mask of a completely different persona?”

You exhale frustratedly as you finish, taking a moment to catch your breath, and trying your best to avoid his gaze. But when you meet his piercing eyes again, he’s smiling, a wicked expression on his face like he’s amused at your lashing.

“I’m glad you asked ,” he says simply.

“What?”

“I’d assumed it was part of your vision, to maybe scratch below the surface of the flesh outlines you paint. I know there’s more than meets the eye to your work. You have this passion about you.”

“Passion?” You reply nervously, now fiddling with the brush still in your grasp.

“Mhm,” Hyunjin responds casually. “Like you want to lash out. Go on, get it off your chest. I won’t mind.”

And you say nothing again, shrinking back into the confines of your wooden stool as you swirl the brush around in the same mug of water and dip it back into a dollop of paint.

“I’m sorry,” you voice to him. “I don’t treat my clients like this. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Hyunjin’s shoulders sag a little, as though he was waiting for you to keep the chaos alive in this little studio. He just nods, and then he assumes the same position as earlier, his knees spread in front of him and his hands resting comfortably on his knee caps as he slouches forward.

You resume the task of shading in his skin tone, adding highlights to the elevated portions of his face and glancing over at him in intervals to confirm where the light hits him.

“I’ve learned so much from you,” Hyunjin says for the second time tonight, and you’re still unsure what he means by it. “I think we could learn a lot about each other.”

And the studio falls silent for the remainder of the session, as he allows his eyes to bore into your soul while you translate his being onto the canvas in front of you. Or at least the parts that are able to be translated.

*

Your calendar is blocked off for the remainder of the week for other clients, Hyunjin rescheduling his sessions as he prepares for a performance overseas.

Your heart sinks a little when Q announces the schedule change to you, secretly praying you haven’t completely ruined your artist/client relationship with Hyunjin. He’s definitely a little odd, and he can be pushy when he wants to be. But he’s undeniably more intriguing than the investors you’re used to housing at the studio, telling you stories of his dancing and inquiring about all your favorite techniques every chance he gets.

He’s the first client who’s ever uttered the word “vision” when it came to yours, and not his, and you can’t let go of the value it added to your last session with him. You had yelled at him, ordered him to stop projecting his thoughts onto yours and asking personal questions. But it was the first time you felt alive, somewhat visible to a client as you painted them. His eyes pierce through your soul, every tangible inch of it, and not just the empty shell of who you are when you’re not existing so loudly. And Hyunjin seems like the only catalyst that allows you to exist loudly these days, even Q walking all over you like you’re an extension of his tedious ways.

Although your last conversation didn’t go quite as smoothly as you’d hoped it would, Hyunjin’s words continue to circle your mind relentlessly, your heart trying to make sense of them no matter how hard you try.

“Who are you when you’re not painting these portraits?”

It’s a fair question, and it doesn’t necessarily have to be a discourteous one, either. Maybe he’s genuinely curious about the woman you are when you’re not following Q’s orders. But where has Hyunjin pulled the implication from that you’re anyone except for the person assigned to produce these portraits? You’ve given him no reason to think anything of you besides the well-mannered, focused painter you are. And to imply anything else would also, by extension, imply he knows something about you.

“I’ve learned so much about you,” he had also said to you, twice in the same session. And can one really learn from two, three sessions of watching an artist paint? Sure, if he was more focused on your technique and your mannerisms rather than staring at you so intensely. But he hadn’t seemed to be interested in much else, simply keeping his gaze on yours and asking base-level questions about your artist career.

If anything, you could learn a lot about Hyunjin, who has the whole world at his disposal and walks around this place like he owns it. He speaks of you like he’s trying to study you. He wants to learn from you, despite being the one wielding much more knowledge and wisdom than you could even begin to fathom. True, you don’t escape this studio- and you don’t utilize it without the intention to work. In fact, your work consumes you most days, your personal life just a microscopic dot in the grand scheme of this arrangement.

But Hyunjin seems to think otherwise, his generous gifts and his fascination with returning seeming to imply something else. Like he wants to learn from you, or like he’s convinced he already has.

In apprehension, like he knows you.

*

“Where are we going?” You query when Hyunjin arrives next, quickly ordering you to gather your supplies and ushering you to the door.

“We’re not painting here today,” he says plainly.

“What? No, Hyunjin I don’t paint anywhere except for-”

“The studio or a company,” he finishes. “That’s the issue. I want to take you somewhere more lively.”

“I can’t be around people,” you respond. “I don’t… it’ll just mess up the whole process.”

“Do you trust me?” Hyunjin asks suddenly, his hand extending out to yours for the briefcase you grasp.

What a simplified question- absolutely not. You don’t trust him, that’s the issue with leaving the studio. You’re still not sure of his career as a whole, you’re not sure why he’s so adamant about breaking all sorts of rules and you don’t know anything beyond his name.

“No,” you reply. “I don’t think I trust you at all, actually.”

And Hyunjin just smiles, stepping forward to take the briefcase from you.

“Good,” he replies, the same amused smile plastered on his face. “That means there’s still a lot I can teach you.”

He watches you slip on your coat, undeniably confused, but in a trance-like state obeying his commands, like your heart won’t let you hear your brain’s protests.

Hyunjin doesn’t drive. He doesn’t need to, having his own personal chauffeur at his beck and call, able to go just about anywhere in the evening during his allotted hours of free time. Ones he normally spends in the studio, watching you paint.

You sit quietly on one side of the fancy black car, your hands folded neatly in your lap and staring at the passing blur of city lights out the window. Hyunjin occupies the other, one of his slender hands resting atop the briefcase in an attempt to steady it whilst the driver makes sharp turns and brakes a little too harshly.

You watch as the city roads turn to one long paved road, surrounded by tall grass and trees. And this path goes on for a while, maybe 20 or 30 minutes, as you remain in comfortable silence. The driver seems to be acquainted with the road, turning every way he needs to, no form of navigation telling where to go, simply having memorized the route. And Hyunjin doesn’t seem tense in the slightest, humming softly to himself as he taps his fingers along the leather surface of the briefcase.

The fork at the end of the road signals the stopping point for the driver, who hits the brakes, but doesn’t turn the car off. The keys remain in the ignition as he comes around to open your door, guiding you out with one hand and bowing graciously to the both of you.

“One hour,” Hyunjin says to him, sliding him a generously folded bill.

The driver nods, occupying his spot in the driver’s seat, and you watch him make a U-turn before driving off down the path again.

The environment is quiet, much quieter than any spot back in the city. It’s nothing except for trees and tall grass that sway with the gentle evening breeze, the sky swallowing up a now orange sun as nighttime begins to over both of you. If you squint, you can even see the mountains from here, some of them lined with little yellow lights, probably vacant buildings or farm workers. And the birds sing their last songs of the day, mellow tunes that harmonize with the growing chirps of crickets.

“It’s pretty here,” you remark to Hyunjin, who stands looking out at the view with his hands tucked in his coat pockets.

He doesn’t reply for a moment, his long hair swaying with the breeze. And then he tilts his head in the direction of the briefcase, nodding once.

“Paint what you see,” he orders.

You nod reluctantly, scrambling to open the briefcase and set up your supplies.

“Do you want to stand there? Or… do you prefer something else?”

He smiles, a little amused at your rushed state, and then he shakes his head.

“Not me,” he clarifies. “The view. Paint what you see.”

You swallow a lump in your throat, stopping your movements and pondering the words for a moment. You haven’t painted a view in god knows how long. Your skills are rusty, your techniques are skewed and the whole concept of it makes you shudder.

“The view?” You question back. You take a moment to look at the view again- there are possibilities everywhere. Green grasses that resemble paint strokes themselves, a deepening blue sky with strokes of blues and blacks, stars like paint splatters and trees with sponge-painted bushels. The art is everywhere, the possibilities are vast and endless with a view like this one.

“The view,” Hyunjin echoes. “Don’t take it too seriously. This isn’t some company's order to paint me. I just want to see the world through your eyes.”

And you nod, once, Hyunjin helping you latch your sketch pad to the easel as you mix a myriad of blues and greens together on your wooden palette.

He flips through your sketch pad for a little while before stepping away, nodding at the pages upon pages of art unlike any of your portraits. When you think he’s going to move, he doesn’t, remaining in the same spot and nodding his head at the works. And you feel a little shy, a little confused at why he’s taken so much interest in the work you complete on the side, work completely unrelated to any of your portraits. When he reaches a blank page, he meets your gaze with a small smile, nodding his head once at you as he finally moves out of the way.

And then you finally begin, hesitantly, as Hyunjin finds a spot in an undisturbed part of the grass, sprawling his long legs out in front of him and pulling out a sketch pad from his own bag. He angles it away from you, beginning to make long, generous lines with his charcoal pencil, peering over at the trees every now and then to gauge their shape. And you remain there, a comfortable silence among both of you, as you both capture the view in your respective visions.

The technique comes back to you instantly, like motion memory, quickly sponging leaves into the trees and pulling the dark sky from its draped position over you to plaster it onto the canvas you work on. Blues, greens, glittering whites for the night stars and fantastic shades of chartreuse and viridian find their homes on the canvas, so carefully placed and mirroring the view you overlook. You emulate the shadows, the waning glints of light, even the sounds seem to live on the picturesque view where time stands still in the confines of four walls.

Hyunjin doesn’t disturb your work flow- in fact, for most of the time you remain there, you cease to remember he’s even working on a sketch of his own, his delicate figure disappearing among the trees as your peripherals shut him out and bring nature to the forefront.

It’s only an hour you’re there, like Hyunjin had promised, before he’s returning to your spot and standing behind you to look over your shoulder.

“Beautiful,” Hyunjin states dramatically. “Beautiful, and spectacular, and shining.”

You chuckle lightly, wiping the brush on your smock and tucking it away in one of the front pockets.

“Will you sign it?” Hyunjin asks, cocking his head a little to try to find where your signature currently sits, but finding nothing.

“Oh, yeah,” you respond, bringing a charcoal pencil to the bottom right and scribbling a quick signature.

He scans the painting once more, tracing a finger over the corner where you’ve added your signature, and then he gives a small nod before meeting your gaze.

“This one’s my favorite,” Hyunjin tells you. “Because it’s entirely your vision.”

“The ones I make of you are my vision, too,” you explain, and Hyunjin shakes his head with a small smile.

“I like how you see the world. Not how you see me. Or anybody else, for that matter.”

And you find yourself blushing again, unsure if his intention is to fluster you with his poetic words, but well aware that he’s having the effect on you regardless.

“Thank you,” you echo politely. “I like this one, too.”

Your gazes remain fixed on each other for a brief moment, the grass now standing still as the night falls over you, stars glittering in the black sky and the crickets singing their nocturnal songs.

For the first time since meeting him, Hyunjin looks less cold at this proximity to you, his entire demeanor exuding softness and comfort as he smiles at you. Maybe it’s the black puffer coat he wears, the collar pulled up to his chin to keep warm from the frigid winter night around you. He wears his glasses, too, these ones a thicker black frame, pushed high up on his face and a little dorky, admittedly. But it’s also because he seems kinder, more warm and welcoming. There’s no existing rush to capture him any which way- in fact, there’s no pressure to capture him at all. And maybe when you’re not translating his model-like appearance onto canvas, you’re able to step back and admire that he’s soft under his hard exterior, he’s so gentle and human.

At first, you debate telling him, a sudden urge inside of you to apologize for your presumptions of him and admit that he’s slowly become your favorite client to be around. Maybe he’s right- maybe you do have a lot you can teach each other. He lives a life of lavishness, entertaining varying aspects of his idol career and serving a role of great importance to those who know him. And he is certainly of importance to your career, being your highest-paying customer and the one you’ve painted the most now. But he plays a role in other parts of your life too, allowing you to try new techniques, entertain your vision, circling your mind with his poetic words and his strategic motions. All lessons which allow you to grow outside the confines of your studio, too.

But you settle on silence, not wanting Hyunjin to think too boldly of you. Maybe he’s like this with everybody he crosses paths with. Choreographers, vocal coaches and painters alike. Maybe he’s simply as fascinating as he looks.

As you study him again, the sound of a car engine interrupts you, and you turn around to find Hyunjin’s driver has returned as promised. You bring a hand up to shield your eyes from the bright headlights that illuminate the whole field, as Hyunjin helps you gather your supplies again, securing the canvas in its case and transporting it into the backseat of the car with the driver’s help.

Hyunjin holds the door for you this time, ushering you inside, and then he comes around to slide into the backseat next to you.

“I think it’s going to rain,” the driver says as he puts the car in reverse.

You crane your neck to look at the sky through the tinted windows, dark blue clouds that loom overhead and seem to make the night even colder.

“I have one more place we need to stop at,” Hyunjin says suddenly, sitting forward to make eye contact with the driver through the mirror.

The driver nods in response, as if the last location is a secret kept between them, as he begins down the dirt path again in silence.

*

“Ever been here?” Hyunjin questions, as he holds out a hand to guide you up the stairs. The steep concrete stairs lead to a grand crested marble doorway, a bronze statue out in front and dimly lit lamp posts that illuminate the sign overhead.

Museum of Modern Art.

“Once, a long, long time ago,” you respond. “I think I usually steer clear from galleries since I don’t show my work at them.”

Hyunjin chuckles softly, stopping at the front door and meeting the gaze of a security guard, who promptly strides over and opens the door just an inch.

Hyunjin pulls out an ID, and a folded paper of some sort, and you watch as the security examines it briefly before nodding. It’s only then that you realize the museum is closed for the evening, the only person around behind the night security, but of course that rule doesn’t apply to Hyunjin, who can get in just about anywhere with the flash of a smile.

“It’s the only way to visit with no one else around,” Hyunjin says, confirming your theory. “They let me stay as long as I want. Sometimes I draw here.”

You nod at his words, giving a small smile as the security eyes you intensely, and then he opens the door to guide both of you inside. Hyunjin removes his coat, slinging it over a nearby coat hanger, and he flaunts a white knit sweater with his dark jeans, looking cozy in contrast to the dark winter night outside. He holds your sketch pad tucked under one arm, and then he skips excitedly to a room behind a curtain.

“This one’s my favorite!” He exclaims, giggling softly like a child might. “Do you know they’re all made out of recycled materials?”

And you brush the curtain aside, being met with the sculptures he speaks of, neutral-toned figurines that appear to be made of paper mache, all resembling people. Their forms hold each other, mimic ballroom dancing, and even embrace each other in a tender kiss as they stand tall in the center of the room.

You watch as Hyunjin snaps a few photos with his cellphone, craning his neck to view them at a better angle, and then he turns to face you.

“What do you think?” Hyunjin asks.

“They’re beautiful,” you reply. “They kind of remind me of your drawings.”

He shoots you a flustered smile in response, touched that you’ve even remembered what his drawings look like. And then he graciously bows as he ushers to another room.

“I think you’ll like the next one.”

The next room behind another dark curtain is a gallery of paintings, all of them abstract forms of art that experiment with different colors and mediums. You take a while in this room, sauntering down the row of canvases and observing how each one captures something completely different from the others. Some include only cool-toned shades, their strokes much smaller and overall more somber. Some play with warm tones, long generous strokes that capture passion and heat. And some mix both, two stories dancing in harmony on one canvas, contrasting light with shadow and love with regret.

As you cock your head slightly, observing the way the colors are so evocative from this proximity, Hyunjin comes to stand next to you, cocking his head in a similar fashion and taking in the same details that you do. And if someone were to stand behind you, maybe both of you would mirror the painting, too, two hues of life and recluse working in perfect harmony alongside each other.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Hyunjin asks, and you hum in response.

“Yeah. I love these colors.”

Hyunjin nods, giving the painting a last once-over before nodding in the direction of another curtain.

“Come on, I want to show you this last one.”

The last room houses a little bench, where Hyunjin occupies the left side and pats the spot next to him. You take a seat, your hands folded neatly in your lap, as you observe the colossal painting in front of you.

It’s a watercolor painting, one amorphous shape at a far distance, yet at this proximity, the tangible outline of a figure, sat with legs pulled to the chest and crouched in a position evoking such sadness.

The cold blue hues highlight the shadows which define body parts among the pile of limbs, the curve of a breast, the almost indistinguishable outline of a leg, aspects you have to really squint hard to make out. But the colors complement each other so artistically, and the figure in the painting looks so melancholy, so longing for something more than the confines of the canvas she lives on.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Hyunjin voices, and you nod, swallowing as you remain quiet.

He pauses for a moment, his voice hitching in the back of his throat, before speaking again.

“The artist was a child prodigy,” he begins. “Apparently they painted all their life and then became a sort of recluse into adulthood. No one’s seen a painting from them since. This was their last big project.”

“Interesting,” you remark quietly.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin replies. “And their art is always titled around themes of loneliness and solitude. Every painting kind of feels like a puzzle piece leading up to their disappearance from the art world.”

Hyunjin says nothing as your eyes dart around the room, swallowing nervously as you ponder what to say. And nothing comes to mind, nothing that won’t make you seem crazy, or irate.

And then before you can protest his actions, he flips open your sketch pad he’s kept tucked under his arm all this time, flipping through a few pages until he’s nearly at the end. He stops at one of your paintings, cool aqua hues filling the paper in the same manner as the one hung on the wall.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” Hyunjin finally says, and you realize he’s turned to face you now.

You stand up at this point, smoothing down your blouse and turning away from his gaze.

“Sorry, I have to go-”

You search for an exit, unable to locate one amidst the dark curtains and the dimly lit room. And the only thing you can think to do is walk back the way you entered, beginning back through the abstract painting gallery as Hyunjin follows behind you.

“They’re amazing,” Hyunjin says. “You have a talent. Your paintings were always my favorite-”

“Please, stop,” you interrupt, your heart beating erratically as you make your way past the paper mache sculptures.

“Why did you stop making them?” He asks, now standing still in the entrance, the security guard on high alert as he watches Hyunjin’s stressed demeanor.

“Sorry,” you voice to the security guard, bowing to him. “I have to go, thank you so much.”

And without turning to look at Hyunjin, you push the doors open, making your way out of the museum and onto the concrete steps. It’s raining now, hard, like the driver had predicted, and you march right past his parked car to one of the taxis parked by the curb.

The cab driver takes an address from you, punching it into his navigation system as he begins to drive down the street, and you pray he can’t hear the quiet sniffles coming from you in the backseat.

As he pulls away from the curb, you glance out the window at the museum, where Hyunjin’s now shoving past the door and standing still, his hands dropped at his sides and a hurt expression on his face.

His hair falls damp around his face as he lets the sheets of rain wash over him, his driver exiting the vehicle in a rush to get Hyunjin back into the safety of the car.

But he remains there, unmoving, his hurt gaze fixed on yours, as you turn a corner and fall out of his sight.

*

And just like the sessions were uneventful before Hyunjin, they’re much more uneventful after him, too.

Putting the sessions on hold for Hyunjin is nothing, his life full of vibrancy and color when he’s not spending an hour or two with you in the evening posing for a painting. It’s time he fills with extra dance practice, vocal training, spending time with his members and even doing art of his own.

But for you, it means returning to a life of mediocrity, requesting stock brokers to angle their big heads in a more appealing manner so you can capture every one of their unsightly features. You’re ogled at by salesmen, disrespected by accountants and not a single one of them could give a shit about your vision.

A part of you wants to call Hyunjin and apologize, to explain that he was out of line in his approach to identify you and catch you so off-guard. But you’re mostly angry at him, for having ruined something so beautiful you took pride in every week. Now he’s gone, the sessions put on pause until further notice and your life forever changed by Hyunjin, though he’ll keep living his life of lavishness despite being the source of all your pain.

“Now that we don’t have Hyunjin on the books after this week, I need you to resume the work on Mr. Lee’s painting. Let’s not lose sight of the ones we started prior to his pieces,” Q says, as he flips through a clipboard of printed schedules.

“This week?” You echo in question. “I thought sessions with Hyunjin were put on hold until further notice.”

“They were,” he responds. “After your last session this week. He’ll be here tomorrow evening. He’s your last client of the day.”

“Tomorrow?” You repeat, pausing your brush strokes as you turn to look at him. “He requested to come in tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Q replies with furrowed brows. “Why, is there a problem? I already told him yes.”

“No, that’s fine,” you reply, rotating the brush around in your fingers as you think over his words. “Tomorrow works fine.”

Despite the sessions being put on hold, you’ll still have a moment to explain yourself to Hyunjin and make amends. It might not get you exactly where you were before all of this, but the thought of letting Hyunjin part ways thinking you despise him makes your stomach turn. You’ll still get a moment alone with him to rekindle the state of your friendship.

… Or so you thought. When you arrive at the studio the next day for your last session, Q is still there, organizing papers at one of the tables and still dressed in a fancy blazer and tie like he never left from this morning’s session.

“Quinton?” You call, setting your purse down and toying with the hem of your shirt.

“Yes?” He responds, not looking up at you.

“Are you… don’t you normally sit these sessions out?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” he says casually. “I’ll be sitting in on this last one. I know they were put on hold pretty abruptly, and I wanted to be around for your last one.”

You give him a small nod, protesting his actions mentally. You won’t get a minute alone with Hyunjin after all- not with Q watching you like a hawk. You want to scream at him, to tell him he has to leave and that he’ll be permanently disrupting the client-artist relationship you’ve developed with your highest-paying customer if he stays and taints the room with his overwhelming presence. But he largely determines the success of your career, whether you like it or not. And requesting Q’s absence will most certainly point to something more going on between you and Hyunjin.

“Right,” you reply. “That’s fine.”

You wish Quinton wouldn’t be so… mechanical. You wish he could trust that you’ll get the job done, despite any existing tensions between you and Hyunjin. You wish he wouldn’t pretend to care about being present, when in reality you know he just wants to make sure it wasn’t you who screwed something up. And you wish he would leave you alone with Hyunjin to make amends the way you know you need to before you part ways with him.

When the door opens once again, you both turn your heads to look at Hyunjin, who strolls in with casual strides, his hands stuffed in his pockets. His gaze falls on Q, and he furrows his brows together, finally looking at you, with a confused expression on his face.

“Welcome!” Q says obnoxiously. “I’ll be sitting in for this session, I hope you don’t mind.”

Hyunjin shoots him a thin-lipped smile, giving a subtle nod as he slings his bag off.

“Sure,” he replies. “That’s fine.”

He assumes his spot on the same wooden stool, crossing his legs and folding his hands in his lap, and then he turns to meet your gaze.

“How do you want me?” Hyunjin asks. He sounds more somber than the other times he’d asked the same question, his voice trailing off a little as he waits for a reply.

“This is good,” you say, taking your own seat and beginning to work light strokes across the canvas. You start with his jawline, the same chiseled jawline you’ve gotten so used to painting, working a robust angle where the crook of his neck meets his cheeks. Then his eyes, the piercing intensity of them, narrowing involuntarily as he poses with such skill, the same eyes which have graced the covers of magazines and album covers. His lips, plump and rosy, forming a small pout as he remains silent. And the outline of his luscious brown tresses, which fall beautifully around his face and soften the rest of his features.

He looks so enchanting this evening, like he’s straight out of one of the paintings at the museum. And your anger feels almost completely dissipated once he’s in front of you like this, just a pressing urge to be alone with him so you can communicate properly.

“Looking good,” Q says as he comes up behind you, his hands folded behind his back.

Hyunjin’s eyes dart over at Q’s standing figure, glancing over at you again while you paint. You attempt to shoot him an apologetic expression, wanting to tell him it wasn’t your idea to have Q here watching your every move. But you can’t properly convey your emotions to him with Q practically breathing down your neck.

“Beautiful work”, Q chimes in, nodding as you add the color to Hyunjin’s hair.

You can feel yourself getting frustrated with him, wishing so badly you could at least ask him to wait on the other side of the room like he normally does. But he remains there, crowding around you as you work and filling the room with his awkward presence.

“I’ll drag up a chair,” Q says with a small chuckle. “So I don’t have to stand.”

And both you and Hyunjin watch as he pulls up a folding chair, dragging it along the floor in one painfully slow motion, the sound of the legs screeching against the concrete floor as he places it next to you and takes a seat.

Hyunjin’s eyes meet yours again, cocking his head slightly as though he’s asking why you’ve allowed Q to be so overbearing today. But none of this is according to your plans, either.

“Go on,” Q urges. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

You hadn’t even realized you’ve stopped painting, grasping your brush between your fingers as you watch Q adjust in his seat and gesture to the painting.

“I think we should take a break,” Hyunjin says finally. “My leg is cramping a little.”

“Of course,” Q echoes back. “We can take five. There’s a vending machine out by the front door. And the bathrooms are on the right, by the-”

Q can’t even finish his sentence before Hyunjin’s shoving his way past the door, taking long strides away from the studio and waiting outside. He pinches the bridge of his nose in deep annoyance, letting out a deep sigh as he ponders the evening’s events so far.

“I’m going to use the restroom,” you tell Q, setting your brush down and following Hyunjin. “I’ll be right back.”

And you follow his footsteps, pushing on the door to meet him outside, where he stands with one hand on his hip, the other massaging his temples frustratedly.

He looks angry, as you predict he would be, but you approach him anyway, fiddling with your thumbs as he stays quiet for a moment.

“I organized this last session to speak with you,” Hyunjin says in an annoyed tone. “I should’ve known you’d invite him.”

“I didn’t invite him,” you say quickly. “I didn’t even know he’d be here, I swear. He just stayed, and he was insistent on sitting in.”

Hyunjin finally drops his hand at his side, meeting your gaze, a softening expression on his face.

“I didn’t mean to scare you off,” he finally says. “I overstepped my boundaries. I’m just here to pay you for art. Not prod into your personal life.”

“I know,” you say back. “I wanted to explain to you, but…” your voice trails off, remembering this is technically your last session with him. And judging by the way everyone speaks of him, it’ll be near impossible to contact him again after this.

“It seems like I missed my chance,” you finish, referencing Q’s persistence.

Hyunjin glances around for a moment at the overgrown plants that line the studio windows, still damp from the evening rain. It looks like a jungle out here, the plants providing no clear view through the windows and instilling such a peaceful sense of privacy.

“Could you stay a little longer?” Hyunjin questions. “After he leaves. I just want to talk to you before I go.”

You think over his proposal for a moment- Quinton is punctual at leaving right past the hour mark. He never stays longer for hours than he needs to, but he’s no stranger to you utilizing the studio to finish up some of your work after hours.

“Sure,” you say finally. “Just pretend you’ve left after the session and I’ll tell him I need to stay longer. Don’t wait near the parking lot or he’ll see you.”

A somber smile grows on Hyunjin’s face as he nods in response.

“I’m going to call my driver and tell him I’ll be longer than the original session. Meet you back inside.”

And you make your way back into the studio, where Q is busy shuffling through papers at the table.

“Ready?” He asks, already taking strides back to his stool, positioned far too close to your canvas and Hyunjin’s seat.

“Yeah,” you reply, sighing a little as he occupies the seat next to you and glances around the room for Hyunjin.

“He’s taking a phone call,” you explain to Q. “Just give him a minute.”

And Q pushes his glasses further up his nose, humming in response as he observes your painting again.

“You’ve really mastered his features,” he comments, scanning over Hyunjin’s painted outline. “Even his eye mole is already there.”

And you scan the painting too, at the little mole painted just below Hyunjin’s left eye as he requested.

“Yeah,” you reply. “I guess I have.”

You wouldn’t forget it, because everything about him occupies your mind, much like his figure lives on your canvases.

*

It’s just half an hour more before you’re finished with Hyunjin’s painting. It’s still lacking some detail, like the contours along his face and the buttons of his cardigan. But they’re all details you give yourself time to finish later, before you wrap up your final piece and gift it to Hyunjin.

Q is relentless in his micromanaging for the remainder of the session, making useless comments about your techniques and asking Hyunjin about his own work. Hyunjin’s answers are all short and echo his clear annoyance, desperate to finish the session in order to speak with you privately. But you both remain collected in your manners, graciously conversing with Q and reaching the end of the session.

Q reviews his invoice documents as Hyunjin slings his bag on once more, standing by the door as though he’s ready to leave.

“Payment was finalized today, and your sessions are on hold until your tour is completed.”

“Thank you,” Hyunjin responds, bowing graciously. “It was a pleasure to work with both of you. I’ll be back when we’re done overseas.”

“Don’t hesitate to reach out!” Q calls, as Hyunjin makes his way past the door. He waves Q off with a small smile and then turns the corner until he’s out of sight.

“Well, there goes your best-paying client,” Q remarks with a deep sigh. “We have a lot more to pick back up on. I know Mr. Lee’s paintings are still in progress-”

“Thank you, Quinton,” you voice to him. “We’ll talk scheduling tomorrow. Please just get home safely.”

“You’re not leaving yet?” He queries, already pulling on his canvas bag and hanging his clipboard from a thumbtack on the wall.

“I’m going to finish the details while I still remember them. I’ll only be an hour longer.”

Q shrugs, making his way pivoting on his white canvas sneakers and giving you a small wave.

“Call if you need anything,” he says plainly. “Make sure to lock up.”

“I will,” you echo, craning your neck as you watch him finally exit past the door and jog down the stairs. You can’t see Hyunjin anywhere, but Q doesn’t seem to notice him if he’s still around, starting his car and speeding out of the parking lot.

And not even a full minute passes before Hyunjin makes his way back inside, shaking water off his hands.

“I stood under one of the gutters,” he says in a disgusted tone. His hair is stringy wet with rain water, and he chuckles when you meet his gaze with an amused smile.

“You’ll have to let me paint it like that, someday,” you respond, and he laughs lightly.

You take a seat on the folding chair previously occupied by Q, and Hyunjin assumes his same spot on the wooden stool. For a moment he says nothing, observing your face as you tap your fingers along the metal of the chair below you. There’s not a sound in the room between the two of you, with the exception of a small creak coming from the wooden stool as Hyunjin adjusts his long legs. He runs his hands through his hair nervously, and then he licks his dry lips with his tongue before speaking.

“I have something for you,” Hyunjin says suddenly, his voice echoing around the empty room.

He stands up to pull his bag off the floor, and then he digs around in it for a moment before pulling out his sketchbook. You watch as his slender fingers open the spiral-bound cover, flipping past pages upon pages of sketches and paintings. He flips close to the end, and then he stops, bookmarking the page with his index finger before turning the book to face you.

“I’m sorry if you don’t like it,” he says, keeping the book shut in anticipation. “It’s just something I drew.”

And then with bated breath, he opens the book out to you, adjusting the page in your view to give you a clear sight of its contents. It’s a carefully drawn sketch, of you, standing in front of an easel with a brush in your hand. Painting, like you always do. You recognize the scenery around you as the spot he took you to the other day, the long charcoal streaks perfectly capturing the grass that surrounded you and the tall trees that overlooked the hills. Although it’s a sight familiar to you, it also feels so foreign, seeing yourself through somebody else’s eyes. It feels peculiar to remember people also perceive you while you paint. It makes you feel less unimportant, a little more visible.

“Wow, Hyunjin, this is…”

“Do you like it?” Hyunjin interrupts.

“It’s so lovely. Really. I feel like I don’t deserve this.”

“You do,” he’s quick to respond. “You’ve drawn countless ones of me. And of so many other people. I wanted to gift you one of your own.”

You run your fingers along the thick paper, watching as Hyunjin tears it along its perforation and hands it to you.

“Please, keep it,” he urges.

And you bow once in response, turning to set the drawing along with your bag so you won’t forget it.

“Thank you,” you finally say. “I love it. I’m going to hang it with all my favorite art.”

Hyunjin smiles in response, a breathy chuckle escaping his lips, and then he shoves his hands in his pockets again, leaning against the wooden stool as a silence falls over you both.

For a moment, you ponder what to say to him, wanting to explain the events from the other evening, but unable to verbalize anything amidst your nervousness. Any way you think about it, you fear Hyunjin is going to get mad, especially considering you’d just walked away from him in the face of confrontation. But you also couldn’t help it, his accusation coming so suddenly and so boldly, regardless of it being based on any sliver of truth.

“I’m sorry,” Hyunjin breaks the silence. “I don’t know if I was right or not. But it wasn’t my place to ask you.”

You nod at him, initially planning to divert the topic. But you can’t any further, a growing urge inside of your chest to unveil the truth to him, knowing he’s already pieced this much of it together.

“It is my painting,” you say finally, your voice shaking a little. “I specialized in those ones before portraits. They kind of gained traction when they were first unveiled, and a lot of galleries picked them up. But they drew a lot of criticism, and it became so draining to be the topic of people’s judgment. I think being perceived so heavily just kind of… scared me off. So I shifted to portraits instead, and I no longer do public showings or galleries.”

Hyunjin doesn’t react in a shocked manner, nor does he press you for questions immediately. He just nods, taking in your words, and then he meets your gaze with a concerned expression.

“I learned so much from you,” he explains. “When your paintings were unveiled at the annual art show across the city, I was so mesmerized. They’re why I started painting, too.”

You chuckle lightly, shrugging at him as you slouch back in your seat.

“Yeah, well, I don’t do them anymore.”

You think over your response for a moment, and then you stand up from your seat, too, furrowing your brows together.

“How did you… know it was me?” You question, cocking your head slightly.

“I had a hunch when I first saw your painting techniques. But I also knew it the moment I saw your other paintings in your sketchbook,” he explains. “My favorite painting of the series is printed out and taped to my locker in our dance studio. It just felt like you. I paid attention to your art for years. I was bound to know it when I saw it.”

You nod for the umpteeth time tonight, making sense of his words as you think back to the signature you drew in front of him back in the field.

“I’m sorry I figured it out,” Hyunjin says finally. “I know this was an elaborate plan to remain anonymous and shift your focus to a new form of your work. And your portraits are amazing. But you have a real talent for those older ones. And the whole series just… it changed me.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” you tell Hyunjin, looking up to meet his gaze at last. “If anyone was going to find out, I’m glad it was you.”

“You are?” Hyunjin questions, and you hum in response.

“As a client, you have this really interesting way of making me feel seen. When I’m around you, It feels a lot more comfortable from the businessmen I’m used to. It’s like…” your voice trails off as you struggle to finish your sentence. “I feel like I did when I was painting my old stuff. I can see the world beyond just portraits for a little bit.”

Hyunjin says nothing, his eyes flickering down to your lips and back at your eyes once more, which are wide with curiosity and passion as you speak. It’s such a sight to see you talk about your art with this level of devotion again, color in your face once more as you attest to your life’s work.

“Tell me,” Hyunjin begins. “Why are all your paintings so lonely?”

You chuckle softly, shrugging up at him.

“I am lonely,” you say simply.

“I’m lonely, too,” Hyunjin remarks.

And your expression turns serious again, your eyes not leaving his intense gaze as he flickers over your parted lips and takes one step closer to you. He’s towering over you at this point, a strand of hair falling into his face as he lets himself lean into you a little more, just barely grazing his lips over yours.

“Can I please kiss you?” Hyunjin asks so politely, his voice coming out in a whisper as he stops himself from pressing his lips to yours while he waits for an answer.

“Yeah” you finally reply in a whisper of your own, almost on your tippy toes to match his towering height.

And then without another second to waste, Hyunjin closes the gap between both of you, leaning down to press his plump lips to yours and embrace you in a tender, desperate kiss.

He tastes like mint, his lips working against yours with no particular rush, yet his mind still running rampant with thoughts of having you as close as possible. It feels so wrong kissing him here, in the studio you strictly use for the purposes of completing your work-related tasks and nothing more. But with Hyunjin’s lips on yours and his slender hands snaking around the small of your back to pull you closer, it also feels so thrilling, instilling a sense of desire deep within you that can only be fulfilled through acting upon the emotions rooted in your innate fascination with Hyunjin’s entire being.

And you feel visible right now, so tangible when Hyunjin’s nimble hands are running down the sides of your waist and sprawling his delicate fingers along your flesh. It’s you kissing him here, not some shell of who you are when you’re capturing the essences of millionaires on canvas. You’re not the scribbled outlines in Hyunjin’s sketches of couples consuming each other with such passion, though you mirror them. It’s you, child prodigy artist turned portrait specialist, and Hyunjin, in all his fame and splendor, who chooses to spend his free time with you in this studio teaching you about yourself the way you learn from him, too.

Hyunjin’s hands move to tug off the fabric of your cardigan, slouching it off your shoulders and letting it fall to the floor, where it piles in disarray among the white tarp that houses loose paints. You’re pretty sure there may still be wet paint on its surface, but you don’t care, your body desperately arching into Hyunjin’s tall frame as his hands cup your cheeks to kiss you even deeper.

You can barely reach him while his frame looms over you, only able to reciprocate his kisses on the tips of your toes as he takes full control of you with his mouth. And Hyunjin seems to take notice of this, intertwining his hands in yours and pulling you down with him as he sits among the tarp and sprawls his legs out in front of him. You bestride his lean figure, balancing yourself on his lap as he adjusts himself on the concrete floor, and you both laugh when you take note of the admittedly uncomfortable positioning. It’s not meant for lovers, this dinky studio and its cold, concrete flooring. But it’s nothing that can’t be overlooked when his lips are back on yours, kissing you breathlessly and tucking strands of hair behind your ears. You can feel him smiling into the kiss, an indication by Hyunjin’s definition that he’s wanted this so badly. And he knew it from the moment you walked into the company building the first time, nervously preparing yourself out in the hallway like you weren’t going to be an absolute pro at your craft the way he now knows you are. He also knew it every time he observed your paintings, both your old ones and the newer ones that capture Hyunjin with such ease, every minute detail that builds up his intense stare only to break him down and soften him, translating this multifaceted version of him only you seem to visualize. And he gains confirmation of it when he’s finally acting upon his urges, your hands snaking around the back of his neck and moving in tandem with his hungry kisses against yours, grasping at his flesh like you’re trying to prove to yourself he’s real, too.

His sweater is the second article of clothing to go, your bodies only separating from one another briefly as you guide the knit fabric off over him and discard it beside you in the tarp. Your hands find his torso reluctantly, running your fingers along his flesh as though asking for his permission. And Hyunjin smiles when you do, placing his hands over yours and pressing down a little firmer for you, so that you can feel every inch of his toned body. He wields the body of a dancer, delicate curves that run along his sculpted obliques and highlight the years of intense training he’s done. His body feels strong underneath you, but he still feels soft, his touches exuding the gentle fondness he possesses for you.

And you’re kissing him again, all while his hands find your tank top and he separates to undress you, pulling it off over your head and tossing it aside. His hands are quick to find your breasts, splaying them over the mounds of your chest and massaging gently as his kisses turn hungrier. You can feel him getting hard underneath you, and you can hear his breath hitching in the back of his throat as he struggles to contain his growing bulge while you straddle him. But you indulge him even further, undoing the clasp of your bra with your own hand as you continue kissing him. Hyunjin doesn’t notice until your hand reaches out to toss your bra aside, a gentle rustle emitting from beside you as it joins the pile of discarded articles of clothing. And he separates to take in the sight of you, raised goosebumps along your bare skin and your nipples aroused for him, the cold air grazing over your chest as you wait for him to resume his touches. Hyunjin gasps a little, leaning forward to take one in his mouth, and then he begins to suck harshly as his tongue swirls around your bud generously and trails saliva along your skin. You moan at the sensation, Hyunjin digging his fingernails into the small of your back and leaving little crescent marks as his sucking resumes harshly, soft moans bubbling from the back of his throat, too, as he stays latched to you. And then he pulls away to give attention to the other one, his teeth grazing the tip of your nipple before sucking again, his eyes shutting as he relishes in the taste of your skin in his mouth. Hyunjin’s hips rock gently against you as he does, chasing the friction of your legs around his crotch as he grows even harder beneath you, desperate for some release. And then he pulls away finally, breathing heavily, his eyes wide with lust and a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead. You bring a thumb to his forehead, swiping the bead off his blushed skin, before cupping your hands around his cheeks and bringing him in for a kiss.

“Please let me fuck you,” Hyunjin says sheepishly against your lips, groaning lightly when he feels you squeeze your thighs once against his crotch.

“You want to?” You ask teasingly, massaging your hands up and down the sides of his neck as he nods eagerly.

“I really, really want to,” Hyunjin responds, shutting his eyes as you squeeze your legs again and pepper his face in kisses, trailing from his forehead, to his cheeks and down his neck. Hyunjin leans back on the palms of his hands in a state of pure bliss, taking in the sensation he’s only dreamt of until now. And when you nibble down on his neck, beginning to suck a small bruise into his skin, he sits up suddenly, his hands finding yours and pushing you away gently.

“Wait,” Hyunjin says. “I can’t… do hickeys. Company’s orders,” he admits, a little defeated, and you nod your head quickly.

“I’m sorry,” you remark. “I totally forgot.”

“It’s okay,” Hyunjin almost cuts you off with a kiss, leaning forward and sitting up on his knees. He guides you down onto the tarp, hoisting himself up over you so that his figure is now hovering over yours, and then his hands find your pants.

“You can do hickeys though,” Hyunjin says in an amused tone, trailing kisses down your neck the same way you did him, and latching his teeth onto your flesh to suck a line of purple bruises. You chuckle underneath him, the sensation tickling a little, but still adding to the generous pool already formed between your legs. And as Hyunjin presses into you with his kisses, you can feel his erection graze your upper thigh, once more seeking the friction of your body for some sense of relief as he longs to feel you around his hardened cock.

“Hyunjin,” you voice as he kisses you, and he hums quietly in response.

“You’re hard,” you remark, your eyes flickering to the tent pitched underneath his jeans.

“Sorry,” he replies, pulling away with a worried expression in his eyes, and you shake your head quickly.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you assure. “I just want to take care of it for you.”

And your hands find your own jeans, pulling them off your legs and tossing them aside. Hyunjin’s eyes skim over your lace panties, the trim almost see through with delicate feminine patterns, and he begins to undo the button of his jeans, too.

He kisses you as he snakes off his own pants, not wanting to separate from you any more as his eagerness grows to be as close to you as possible. And when he’s finally letting his hard cock rub against the fabric of your panties, moaning softly at the sensation, he knows he won’t be able to take it much longer if he doesn’t make love to you right here in the studio.

So his hands work to pull off his boxers, finally freeing his erection against his abdomen and gasping with the cool air grazes the tip of his cock. You slide off your own panties as well, tossing them aside and letting his cock rest against your bare flesh now, his precum painting your clit with his preemptive arousal as he ruts against you. Your flesh is slick with his arousal and yours, the existing lube between both of you allowing your skin to glide upon one another so effortlessly, the same way your lips work against each other. And he continues to push his hardened length against you until he’s halfway inside of you, your cunt taking him with no struggle as he thrusts inside of you now. You adjust to his thick girth easily, his length seemingly never ending as he pushes deeper and deeper into you. And then he gives one particularly hard thrust, bottoming out inside of you and coaxing a fervent moan out of you.

“Is it okay?” Hyunjin asks, wincing at the sensation of your walls hugging his erection.

“So good,” you whine, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “Feels so good.”

And he begins to move in and out of you at a slow pace, trying his best to stave off the orgasm he’s already close to reaching as he fucks you, filling your cunt entirely with his long cock and bottoming out every time he thrusts himself back in.

And he tries to kiss you, but he can’t, his mouth simply looming over yours in its parted position as he echoes his moans into you and lets his saliva-coated lips graze over you. He looks like the subject of an erotic painting himself, eyebrows arched up so artistically with every thrust, melting into your touch as you run your hands through his hair. His initial dominance over you is quickly shifted to that of submission to your mind and your body, little whines leaving his lips as he lets you consume him whole and mold him between in your touch, like he’s made of clay and you’re the sculptor. His lanky body seems to extend as he sways his hips into yours, little dips from the pads of your fingers embedding into his pale skin. He folds effortlessly above you, the points of his elbows jutting out as he steadies his body over you, like he’s made of wire and positioned to balance over you so perfectly, not very sturdy, and yet bent and snapped just right so that he can remain glued to you. And if you were to climb out of your body and paint this exact moment, all you would see are an indistinguishable, amorphous set of limbs that seem to dissolve into each other like hues of paint on a palette. Two colors swirling around to make one, the two of you like primary colors that create endless possibilities when mixed together like this, offspring of a hundred different shades, painting the darkened studio around you with your yearning for one another.

And as Hyunjin brings a hand to stroke your cheek gently, a smile grows on his breathless lips as he realizes he’s brushed a thick stroke of wet paint along your skin. The indigo stripe contrasts coldly against your flesh, still glistening in its freshness like he’s just begun on a blank canvas.

“It’s paint,” Hyunjin says as you gasp at the cold sensation, smiling too, when he swipes it again with his thumb and flashes it down at you.

And you chuckle lightly below him, taking note of the bright orange streak that lines his neck, just below his adam’s apple. You’re not sure when it got there, or whether it was from you or him, but you run a finger through it too, bringing it to his cheek to rub your thumb lovingly across his face and paint it there, too. And in one swift motion, Hyunjin swipes the palm of his hand along the tarp, coating it in hues of indigo and deep violet and gray, cupping a hand around your breast to coat it in the same wet substance. And you do the same, your hand dipping generously into the myriad of reds and fuchsia paints that live below you, running a hand down his chest and painting a long stripe along his toned torso.

You both laugh, as he picks up his pace again, pushing himself to the hilt inside of you, the paints melting together with your sweat as he fucks you rhythmically again. And like two blank canvases finally being put to use, new colors blossom between the two of your longing bodies, shades of magenta and blue-gray making themselves known across your breasts and his torso. The colors are vibrant and robust, transferring life from the dull tarp of the studio floor onto blank slates of skin. You wish you could step out of your body and capture the colors forever, mix paints together into little jars and name every shade after every feeling Hyunjin’s ever given you. Longing, lust, fear, fascination, infatuation, obsession.

“I think I’m obsessed with you,” Hyunjin breathes into your mouth so desperately. “It’s indescribable, the things you do to me.”

He lets his hands intertwine with yours again, giving them a small squeeze as he fucks you a little faster now and lets his groans shift into small whimpers that escape his lips.

“Please let me cum inside you,” Hyunjin begs, his cock slipping against your cervix with ease as wettened noises of his arousal pooling against yours fill the room. “Please, please, I promise to take care of you, baby. I feel like I belong here.”

He’s a whimpering mess for you now, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he fucks you and lets his hands explore every inch of your body. You want to cry, too, at the realization again that this all feels so tangible, that he makes you feel so seen when he’s hovering over you, placing open-mouthed kisses onto yours and letting his melodic moans fill your ears. The paint between you serving as proof that he’s touched you so desperately and wholly, creating art together in the confined space of your otherwise dull studio. And you want to feel him cum inside you, too, as a final reminder that you’re visible to him, that you’re no longer a fleeting, anonymous artist when you’re with Hyunjin. That he sees you for exactly you are, he knows your deepest secrets, and yet still he holds you, whispering words of permanence in your ear and letting you mold him like art. He’s an artist on his own, and he’s art at the hands of you, both of which draw you to him in ways you can’t begin to fathom, unlike anything you’ve felt before. And he teaches you that you’re an artist on your own, and art at the hands of a lover, both of which you hadn’t considered before Hyunjin, deeming yourself invisible in your comfortable solitude to the vast world around you. But the two coincide to echo the same sentiment that he teaches you exactly the way he also learns from you.

“Cum inside me,” you breathe desperately, grasping his hands a little tighter as he fucks you at a faster pace now.

“Yeah?” Hyunjin confirms, still staving off his orgasm until your verbal consent is heard.

“Yes,” you respond, wrapping your legs around his waist and making your best attempt to kiss him through his release. And you do, your lips moving against his in labored breaths, as he finally twitches inside of you and paints the inside of your listless body, hues of glazed white arousal filling your aching cunt as he whimpers through his orgasm.

“Fuck,” Hyunjin, breathes, giving a few more thrusts as he slows, his arousal dripping onto the tarp below you as he pulls out. And he rolls over to lie beside you, a mess of paint streaks sprawled out along his skin as his chest rises and falls with slowing breaths. The two of you say nothing for a moment, your eyes glued to a blank canvas housed on an easel in front of you.

It’s an almost blinding shade of white, begging for an ounce of color like the shades that now live on your skin. And through your heavy breaths, you picture the endless possibilities that can fill in the empty spaces above you. Grasslands, trees, oceans, clear waters and a vast, endless blue sky…

*

There is no overseas schedule Hyunjin has to tend to. You’re already aware of this, Hyunjin explaining to you that he made it up to put the sessions on hold and to keep Q from pressing him with questions.

But he resumes the sessions after a few weeks of putting them on pause, because he can’t seem to stay away from you any longer.

Hyunjin reckons he has a couple dozen of your paintings in his room now, all similar portraits of his face, portraits you capture in your signature formal essence, his face staring straight ahead or off in the distance, complete with the fine details of his long dark hair and the mole under his eye.

Only now that Hyunjin is back, Q is present at nearly every appointment. You’re not sure why things changed, and Q maintains a new stance to Hyunjin that the guidelines are based on adjusted company policies. But Hyunjin will do just about anything to be close to you- even if it means putting up with your obnoxious boss breathing down your neck every minute while you paint him.

The sessions are somehow even more unnerving than they used to be, Hyunjin still making every valiant effort to convey his obsession with you through intense stares and little gestures only the two of you can read. Q is obstinate in his ways, his gaze constantly flickering between you and your paintings to ensure everything is going swimmingly. But Hyunjin wishes so badly he could spend the entirety of these sessions alone with you, getting to break down your walls and see you for the person he knows you are when you’re not doing portraits under Q’s all-seeing eye.

With every passing day, and every passing session, Hyunjin grows a deep hatred for Q, despising the way he watches you work and chimes in to converse with the two of you. And he knows he shouldn’t, aware that Q is just your boss and nothing more. Something you’ve reiterated to him time and time again, but he can’t help it, desperate to have you all to himself every second of the day, a deep-seated longing to protect you from the hurt you’ve been dealt and wanting so badly for you to break free from the monotonous cycle you’ve confined yourself to of painting for anyone except yourself.

You can tell Hyunjin hates Q, judging by the way he doesn’t so much look in his direction when he arrives for his sessions. But you can’t convey the slightest bit of reaction in front of either of them, too scared of the prospect of what would happen to your career if anyone were to find out you’re fucking a client.

You maintain a professional composure around Hyunjin, despite the knowing stares he gives you and the sketches you catch him slipping into your purse when Q isn’t looking. At times he’s not around, you complete your daily tasks, well-mannered and organized to the clients who hire you, shooting them kind smiles and complimenting their black business attire when they show up for the evening. When the days draw to a close, Q is punctual as always, leaving just minutes past your last appointment and taking his work home with him.

And when his sleek black car turns out of the corner of the parking lot, Hyunjin slips inside like a mere shadow on the wall, quick to seduce you all over again and gift you with all of his recent sketches. Some of them are portraits of you, smiling or focused on your work. Some of them are erotic nude shots of you, lying on the tarp of the studio or touching yourself the way he pictures you do when you’re all alone. And some of them include both of you, your bodies tangled desperately into each other and drowning in your yearning and love. Sometimes nude, his hands on yours and fucking you mercilessly. Sometimes fully clothed, his lips on yours and bundled up in winter clothes. But always together, always desperate in your touches and always so tangible. You reckon he’s persuaded you into being fucked you on every surface of the dingy studio by now- against the canvases, on the tarp- several times, on the table Q typically occupies and just about every stool available to the two of you. And while Q is oblivious about why you stay a little longer every night, Hyunjin is both calculated and persuasive in returning so you two can get some time alone, time that always ends with his seed dripping out of your still-aching cunt, bodies entangled somewhere within the studio and covered in fresh swatches of paint.

He may have somewhat of an obsession with you, but life is teeming around the studio when Hyunjin is near, the colors and shapes of your work much more robust and vibrant when he’s striding around the space commenting on all his favorite pieces of yours. And you relish in stories of his days, typically spent at fan events or at dance practices. Having him return feels like having your physical figure return home to you, the world in complete equilibrium when he’s near, much less lonely than the one you’re used to.

“I could watch you do this forever,” Hyunjin remarks, watching you glide a brush along your canvas, filling in the shadows of a figure on the canvas in front of you.

And this one’s not a portrait- it’s a watercolor figure, much like the ones you used to paint back then, the technique coming back to you with ease as you highlight the convexes of a body mirroring yours and add varying hues as highlights.

Per Hyunjin’s request, you paint the figures occasionally, only because he’s repeatedly expressed his fascination at watching you complete the process in a live session. The paintings reminiscent of your old work aren’t for sale, nor are they critiqued by anyone except for yourself. And they’re certainly not done with the knowledge of Q, who would turn irate at you utilizing the studio’s supplies for anything but portraits.

They’re just for his viewing pleasure, a little exchange you indulge him in as he continues to gift you with sketches of his own.

Hyunjin’s arms snake around your waist as you paint, his head resting on your shoulder as he watches you dip your brush into a mug of water and dilute the caramel shade that taints the bristles.

“Will you add a second one?” Hyunjin asks in a curious whisper, his lips grazing your ear as you paint.

“A second one?” You echo.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin says, working a trail of kisses down the shell of your ear. “This one’s you. Will you add me?”

You chuckle lightly, dipping your brush into a warmer shade of brown and swirling it around to gather the color on the fine hairs.

“So they can resemble us,” Hyunjin says, his kisses traveling even lower. “Paint me fucking you the way you like it.”

You chuckle softly again, not missing the way Hyunjin’s hands travel to your skirt, flipping it up to graze his hands along the mound of your upper thigh.

“Hyunjin, I-” you begin to say. But you can’t answer him, shutting your eyes in pleasure as you hear him unzip his jeans behind you and position himself.

“Keep painting,” he says in a sultry whisper, pumping himself lightly behind you as he pulls your panties down.

And you try, bringing your brush to the canvas to add a second figure like he’s requested. But you can hardly make it past the first few strokes before Hyunjin’s sliding into your dripping cunt, letting his hands grip your waist to steady himself as he begins to move.

“Go on,” Hyunjin encourages, as his hips thrust in and away from your trembling figure, your hands trying their very best to keep hold of the little wooden paint brush and fill in his form.

You manage to add a subtle few streaks, beginning the amorphous outline of Hyunjin’s hair, his tall lanky figure towering over yours and taking you with such desperation.

But you don’t get very far before Hyunjin is angling your face to kiss your drooly lips, his hands now finding purchase on your breasts as he continues to fuck you. And all of this is wrong, you know very well. You’re not supposed to be sleeping with a client like this, much less one this powerful, this rich and who wields so much he can hold against you. One slip up and Hyunjin can go tell the world about how you’re the artist who disappeared to sell yourself out to rich men for all their selfish needs. And any option you have to defend yourself would never hold up against his wealthy corporation and all its investors.

But you also can’t help but give into his urges when he’s around, his lips so tantalizing on yours and his cock filling you so fully and completely when he has his way with you.

Maybe it’s not even just about the sex for you- maybe it also has something to do with his stories you live through vicariously, listening to tales of the outside world while you’re trapped in this studio or at the businesses of wealthy men. It’s also the drawings he makes for you, ones you find yourself staring at for hours after he leaves, like proof that he was here and he touched you. The drawings are you in your most tangible form, his hands on yours and his lips on the curves of your neck. It’s like a glimpse into a version of yourself that ceases to exist when he’s absent. And it’s the late hours of the night he spends asking so politely to watch you paint your older work, always so fascinated with the way your mind conjures up varying lonely figures crafted from watercolors and a nylon bristle brush. Older work you hadn’t realized you missed so dearly until you began producing it for Hyunjin again.

But you know that to Hyunjin this is just a exhilarating idea for him, to view your art the same way he carves out a couple hours each week for a museum tour or to sketch in one of his books. He probably finds it more convenient to fuck you here where nobody’s around than to stroke himself in a dorm he shares with three other men. And you can feel it in the way he so desperately pleads you to paint for him or cum for him- that his obsession with you is less about you, and more about the thought of you.

Maybe this is just the result of Hyunjin uncovering a secret nobody else paid close enough attention to connect you to. Or the thrill of you being his favorite artist for years, and realizing you’re finally tangible in front of him, real, and not disappeared like he previously took you for. You reckon it must be the same phenomenon other girls feel toward him, getting intimate with somebody they idolize, desperately cupping his face like it might dissipate if they don’t grasp hard enough. But just the thought of somebody doesn’t imply love. It doesn’t imply a mutual understanding, and it certainly doesn’t imply permanence for either party involved. When he’s gone again, you’ll cease to be real like you already are when he’s not around. And then every vision you have will be rooted in unfaltering solitude once more, your anonymous life resuming again.

“Will you cum for me?” Hyunjin asks, and you snap back to the feeling of his cock twitching in your dripping cunt as he grips your waist. “God, you don’t understand what you do to me.”

You can’t give him an answer before you feel him reaching his release inside of you, shooting thick white ropes of his cum into you and slowing his pace again as he moves your hair away from your face.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it,” Hyunjin says sheepishly as he pulls out. “Sit down for me,” he orders between kisses to your neck, trailing down to your shoulder, grazing his hands along your waist and groaning against you.

And he’s already guiding you back to one of the stools, kneeling between your legs and spreading you for him, your glistening cunt on full display for him to taste.

“Want you to cum for me,” Hyunjin whispers, before positioning one of your legs on the wooden dowels of the stool. You can’t verbalize anything to him before his tongue is darting into your entrance, lapping his own release out of you and trailing up to give attention to your swollen clit. He works you in such desperate motions, tongue working your core like a starved animal and eagerly trying to coax an orgasm out of your trembling body. When his arousal is effectively brought out of your tight cunt and painting the tip of his tongue white, he coats your clit in it, giving kitten licks to your bundle of nerves as he hums against your flesh and whispers little pleas for you to let go.

And between your pussy still clenching down around the sheer memory of his cock inside of you mere minutes ago, and his plump lips kissing all over your wettened core, you do let go for him, dribbling cum down the edge of the wooden stool and threading your fingers through his hair as he trails kisses down to your thighs in encouragement.

“So good,” Hyunjin murmurs as he comes up for air, intertwining his fingers in yours as you get cleaned up. You shoot him a little “thank you”, and Hyunjin presses a chaste kiss to the back of your hand as he nods, getting dressed once more and tucking his softened cock back into his boxers.

“Come here,” he states. “I want to ask you something.”

“Should I be concerned?”

“It’s exciting,” Hyunjin retorts.

He guides you to his same wooden stool, where he climbs upon the seat and then takes your hands in his again as you stand in front of him, pressing a small kiss to your palm before speaking.

“You know I care about you, right?” He begins, his eyebrows raised curiously.

“You’ve mentioned it,” you reply.

“And you know I love your art.”

“So you’ve told me,” you say, and Hyunjin brings your hand up to press another kiss to your palm.

“I have a proposal for you,” he then says. “And I just want you to hear me out.”

Your heart sinks at his words, already fearing the worst as you wait for him to elaborate. You pray he hasn’t done anything to reveal your identity, or to make these secret erotic sessions public, knowing you’d both never live a normal life again at either of the instances occurring.

“What is it?” You ask Hyunjin, heart racing in your chest.

He rubs his thumb along the back of your hand soothingly, trying to calm you down before he speaks.

“I privately sponsor the art gallery every year,” he begins. “I put some funding toward a painting of my choice and it allows those artists to have their pieces displayed for the winter show and make connections,” he continues.

“Okay…”

“And I want to sponsor you this year,” Hyunjin finishes, giving your hands a little squeeze.

“Hyunjin, there can't be an installment of your face at the art museum. People will get suspicious.”

“Not my face,” he says reassuringly. “Your art. Like the ones you used to do.”

And you feel your throat dry up at his words, the exact thing you’d feared coming to fruition.

“I can’t,” you’re quick to say.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t do those paintings anymore. I can paint you, or another person or whoever. But I can’t do one of my old ones.”

“But your old ones are beautiful,” Hyunjin says. “It doesn’t have to be your old series. You can start a new one. Do something entirely different.”

“I don’t want to do something entirely different, Hyunjin. It’s a chapter of my life that’s been closed already. You know I don’t do those anymore.”

Hyunjin maintains his collected composure, his eyes softening as he speaks to you.

“You’re not happy doing portraits. I know you. You have a spark in you when you’re painting for yourself, and people love them. You deserve to be doing what you love.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, letting go of Hyunjin’s grasp and shaking your head. “I’m so grateful for the offer, but I can’t put myself back out there again.”

“You can still be anonymous,” Hyunjin offers. “Some artists I’ve sponsored choose to remain anonymous and only reveal to serious patrons of their art. I can make sure they don’t find out who you are.”

“It’s me and my art I don’t want to be seen,” you emphasize.

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything now, rising from the wooden stool and reaching for the iced coffee he’s placed on the table beside you.

“Okay. I won’t press it any further.”

He swirls the cup of ice around in his hand, and then he hangs his head in defeat.

“Hyunjin, seriously. Thank you for the offer. It’s sweet of you to consider it. But I’m not ready yet.”

He shoves a hand in his pocket and cocks his head slightly.

“Is this because of Quinton?”

“What? Hyunjin, I already told you our relationship is strictly professional-”

“Not romantically,” Hyunjin continues. “You’re like a slave to him. You do everything he tells you to do. He probably doesn’t let you leave this studio.

You’re quiet again, not answering him immediately. No, you don’t stay here at Q’s behest. But it just feels safer to follow his advice. He was just a client when you met him, but he took you under his wing to get you where you are now. He runs all your schedules, he books your appointments for you, he even gives his say on most of your work. He’s the only part of your old life that’s remained the same, despite your transition to portraits, and cutting him off would be stepping into a world completely unbeknownst to you.

“No,” you say finally, but you don’t expand further upon your stance.

“You’re so lonely here,” Hyunjin responds frustratedly. “And yet you follow orders from the same person whose job it is to keep you invisible.”

“Why should I follow your orders?” You retort.

“Because I love you.”

“You don’t love me, Hyunjin,” you reply frustratedly, finally feeling the anger overtake you as you continue your angered speech. “You love the idea of me. You love the idea of escaping your crazy rich life to try and resolve the tortured artist you’re so infatuated with. You love the idea of fulfilling somebody’s life with your presence because it’s all you do for a career. I’m not the person I was when I was doing those paintings- I do portraits now, and I work under somebody who knows what’s best for me. And you’re just a client I’m sleeping with.”

Hyunjin purses his lips, amused you would stoop that low for the purposes of declining his offer. And then he shakes his head as he speaks again.

“You’re right,” he finally says. “I’m just some client you’re sleeping with. I never tried to push you out of this line of work you hate so much, or drew you on every page of my sketch book or made love to you in every square inch of this goddamn studio. I’m not proposing this because I care about you and I want you to do what you love, it’s because I’m just a client you’re sleeping with.”

And he pivots on his heel to exit the studio, taking rushed steps toward the door as tears brim the corners of your eyes.

“Hyunjin, wait,” you call desperately.

“I see you,” Hyunjin says suddenly, turning around to face you. “I see all of you. Your work didn’t just materialize by some anonymous form. You’re a painter, a really talented one, and I don’t want you to feel this all-consuming solitude anymore. I say that because I love you, not just because I’m sleeping with you. If you want to remain invisible to everybody except Quinton, then be my guest. Just know that I tried.”

And without another word, the studio is empty again, the tip of your brush still dripping with the remnants of the warm brown color and every intention to add a second figure to your painting.

*

You don’t speak with Hyunjin any more that evening. Or the next day. Or perhaps for a whole week following the conversation, for that matter. The reality is that you want to partake in his offer, the thought of it candidly piquing your interest to paint something other than another rich man. And it would be nice to watch your art be displayed for people to see just once, rather than to live on the walls of a company where only people within a certain tax bracket will ever grace your work. But what you reiterated to Hyunjin still stands- you’re scared to venture out into the competitive world of art galleries again. Your old series was a hit, sure, but it was also torn down relentlessly by those who didn’t understand it and those who simplified it down to its medium. And it was a much harder endeavor to make people understand your watercolor forms, unlike the portraits Q advises you continue producing.

But you can’t seem to stop thinking of Hyunjin’s proposal as a whole, understanding very well that his offer is one of the kindest things he could propose to you at this place in your life. He sees you- all of you, and subsequently he knows that you’re unhappy in this monotonous abyss of adding new features to the same faces every day. The way a change for you is determined only by a shift in a client’s pose or even just an addition of their pet- it’s all so repetitive, exactly what art isn’t supposed to be.

Maybe you’re just scared of getting rejected again, or perhaps it’s that you’re scared of finally being seen again, anonymous or not, putting yourself on the map again and being perceived.

*

“I want a painting,” Hyunjin says as he saunters into the studio one evening, throwing off his bag and dragging a stool to the middle of the room.

“Oh- Hyunjin, pleased to see you again,” Q remarks, bowing and giving you a nervous look.

Hyunjin doesn’t even acknowledge him, keeping a stern gaze locked on yours as if he’s challenging you.

“We have the evening booked today,” Q begins. “But I’m sure we can accommodate something for next week-”

“I need it now,” Hyunjin replies. “I’m willing to pay five times your asking price.”

And you narrow your eyes at Hyunjin, knowing he’s making his best attempt to provoke you and disrupt the work you’re completing per Q’s orders.

“How do you want it?” Q then asks, not hesitating to put aside your entire evening for Hyunjin’s offer.

“I want to be in a suit. And I want to be holding a wad of cash. I want to look like an investor.”

“Interesting,” Q says, his gaze flickering to yours. “She can do it though.”

Q turns to face you, giving you a knowing look as he raises his eyebrows. “I’ll clear your calendar for today and we can stay and work on this piece.”

And Hyunjin looks to you, too, waiting for you to protest, to say something along the lines of a refusal to partake in the outlandish task. But you avert both of their gazes, readying your paint palette and gesturing to one of the stools in front of you.

“Have a seat,” you say plainly, void of any emotion or desire to fulfill the task. And by the way Q hovers over you, void of autonomy, too, Hyunjin concludes.

“How are things at the company?” Q asks Hyunjin, leaning in a little too close to you as you begin painting long strokes on the canvas.

“Fine,” Hyunjin says, not taking his gaze off yours. His eyes are narrowed like he’s challenging you, yet you don’t give him the reaction he searches for.

“You must be busy,” Q remarks, his hands folded behind his back. “It’s been a while since we’ve seen you here.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure you’re running her schedule like the fucking military,” Hyunjin retorts, cocking an eyebrow at him. Q takes a sharp breath, but he doesn’t argue, doing his best to keep in line at your highest-paying client.

“She’s pretty busy,” Q replies reluctantly. “But it’s nothing she can’t handle.”

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything, again waiting for you to chime in, but you still don’t, working on adding details to Hyunjin’s tresses on the canvas.

“This will be my final session,” Hyunjin then says, and your head snaps to meet his gaze.

“Is that so?” Q questions. “Going overseas again?”

“Indefinitely,” Hyunjin replies. “Not overseas, I’ve just no need for the paintings anymore.”

Your lips part as though to ask if he’s serious, but you can’t, not with Q here alongside you.

“I have so many of them now,” Hyunjin remarks, not taking his eyes off you. “It’s been a lovely time with the two of you, but I won’t be returning after this evening. I hope you understand.”

“Please don’t hesitate to reach out if there’s anything we can provide you with,” Q voices. “I hope we’ll remain connected with the peers at your company.”

“Oh, you will,” Hyunjin replies. “I’m sure the investors and the senior managers will love portraits of their own. She’ll have a lifetime of portraits to complete when I’m gone.”

You can feel a pit forming in your stomach, queasy at the thought of carrying on this task of capturing rich businessmen and ceasing your sessions with Hyunjin. He’s unmoving in his attempts to make you revisit your old art. But his begging has also been eye-opening, making you realize just how much you hate this line of work and having Q breathe down your neck.

Hyunjin has a point, you’re unhappy doing portraits. You love the watercolor figures you paint, you love your time with Hyunjin and the feeling of unending curiosity he instills in you. There’s no solitude when he’s around, filling every aspect of your life with such color and vibrancy like the figures you paint. And you learn from him just as much as he learns from you.

But the fear remains, the feeling of hopelessness remains, the perception that Hyunjin is only obsessed with an idea of you and that your career is far gone from the watercolor figures you painted so long ago.

And of course, that you require Q’s uncompromising presence in your life to be even close to successful. He’s the one who transitioned you to a successful career of portraits after your previous line of work fell through. And you’re not sure you can shift to a new focus without him to guide you.

“Hyunjin,” you say suddenly, garnering the attention of both he and Q.

“What is it?” Q replies, as though you’re referring to him. And you wish he wouldn’t be so… disruptive, making you lose your train of thought as Hyunjin waits for your words with bated breath.

“I’ve completed the initial outline,” you settle on saying. “It should be sent over to you in a couple days.”

And he nods, a somber, thin-lipped expression on his face as he understands you’re never going to divert from this path of fear you walk, one you’re forcing yourself to stick to.

“Thank you,” Hyunjin responds, getting up to leave again. “I’ll see you around.”

*

Private events are seldom actually private for Hyunjin. The interior of the gallery is organized accordingly so that patrons can mingle with their respective artists and all of the prestigious guests invited.

But the exterior is only private up the crowd control stanchions, where beyond it live hordes of people wielding all sorts of fancy cameras and cell phones, snapping photo after photo and analyzing every one of Hyunjin’s movements.

Hyunjin’s attending an art gallery today, the crowds murmur amongst each other, the message echoing all over the city and overshadowing the art itself, which hasn’t even been unveiled yet.

His departure from the black limousine he arrives in is met instantly with deafening screams, the repetitive click of camera shutters and commands for him to angle his face every which way. The people stop to stare at his fitted black suit, the long black hair he sports styled slick out of his face and expensive jewelry he flaunts as a clear indicator that he’s a sponsor of the evening’s show, alongside a long list of other wealthy individuals.

His hands remain tucked in the pockets of his black slacks, giving a gracious bow to the fans before making his way inside to the main event.

And the gallery is significantly more packed than he’s used to, people crowding every square inch of the marbled floors and admiring the intricate pieces of art. The curtains are pulled back neatly so that guests can roam freely among the halls, easels set up in neat rows and canvases mounted on walls to display all the sponsored works of art.

Hyunjin is quick to gravitate to the long white table pushed against the wall by the entrance, set up with generous servings of hors d’oeuvres. And in a bout of nervousness, he’s sampling the cheese platters and the varying flavors of wine, sighing as he swirls a glass of cherry merlot between his slender fingers.

He was supposed to be here sponsoring you tonight, unveiling your paintings for the world to appreciate once again, and so that he’d finally put forth the notion that you’re more than the halls of law offices your portraits exist in.

But that was three weeks ago now- three weeks in which Hyunjin failed to visit you like he’d warned he would. And three weeks in which neither of you reconnected, letting the temporary affair between you dissipate like the sketches he stopped producing of you, like the portraits he finished collecting from you. And like the hope he held onto that maybe you’d come around and entertain a life in which you aren’t so comfortable being invisible and inhibited at the hands of your Q. But that never came around, and although Hyunjin is frustrated with you, he misses you just as much, knowing very well he could spend a lifetime learning from you if only you let him. Now in the gallery he once dragged you to, where he admitted to having learned the secret you hid, he can only pray you know that he sees you for who you are, and not some invisible producer of your static portraits. That a life lived in complete solitude doesn’t have to be the answer to succumbing to your fears, even if it feels more comfortable than the perception and the critiques of others. And that although the idea of you was a lovely one indeed, he loves every part of you, not just the concept of you- and pushing you to grow was his way of making it known.

The gallery hosts are quick to introduce the paintings and their respective sponsors, a variety of them being under anonymous titles and names as they choose to remain hidden, too. But Hyunjin doesn’t wait around to listen to much of it, examining the paintings on his own in between nervous trips to the snack table, where he gets tipsy off a little too much cherry wine. It’s his first time not being a sponsor to a specific painting, instead having opted to donate a large sum to the gallery in his company’s name. But after you declined his invitation to be sponsored, Hyunjin didn’t see it fit to highlight the work of any other painting. It’s you he wants to see up there, proudly showing off your work and making a name for yourself in the industry again the way he knows you secretly want to. And he so badly wishes he could stop by your studio one last time to tell you that he’s not sure he can ever sponsor another painting again if it’s not one of yours. Your art circles his mind relentlessly, as do your words, your heart, your body and your real, tangible presence.

“Nice, isn’t it?” A voice says from beside Hyunjin. He almost jumps, the wine making him a little tired at this point in the evening, not having socialized with many people while he stands in the corner of the room and takes in the sight.

“Quinton?” Hyunjin voices plainly, scowling at his uptight demeanor as he leans against the table beside Hyunjin and crosses his legs.

“So nice to see our former highest-painting client,” Q responds. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’ve never seen you at one of these,” Hyunjin chimes in. He then looks around the room frantically, thinking maybe you’d accompanied him to the event tonight.

“Don’t bother,” Q says, as he takes a sip of wine. “I’m alone. Just scoping out the competition.”

He’s quiet for a moment, swirling his glass of wine around in his hand before speaking again.

“She never had a portrait at one of these gallery shows. Said they felt too commercial. Of course her old stuff was shown just about everywhere. I think she was just scared.”

“You mean- you knew?” Hyunjin questions.

“Of course I knew. I led her career’s entire rebranding. Of course she didn’t love the portraits, but the money came to us like you wouldn’t believe. And coupled with her fear of these gallery walks and important figures, we had no choice but to compromise. I got her the opportunity to paint people like you. And she did all the work.”

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything for a moment, simply shaking his head and crossing his legs, too.

“She had a lot of people who believed in her art.”

Q shrugs. “She was free to walk whenever she wanted. Her fear kept her controlled, not me. I’m just another businessman for all she cares.”

And Hyunjin gives a small nod, finishing the last of his wine.

“Look, I can’t help but feel like I owe you an apology,” Hyunjin says finally. “I was just a little jealous whenever you were around. Not that there was anything going on, I just mean-”

“You think you’re the first client to have taken a liking to her?” Q interrupts. “I’ve seen it a million times. People want to take advantage and they get obsessed, and they start pulling crazy shit like offering five times the pay for a simple portrait.”

Q looks down to examine his leather shoes, adjusting the glasses that rest on the bridge of his nose. And then he sighs frustratedly before speaking again.

“I would know,” Q then says, doing his best to avert Hyunjin’s gaze. “She’s a tough one to crack. She loves her paintings, and being alone and I don’t think she’d ever give the time of day to a good man. Not even if he followed her to her next endeavor.”

Hyunjin nods at the marbled floor, and then his head snaps in the direction of Q’s somber gaze.

The way he speaks of you, the way he gets a little too close to you for Hyunjin’s liking- Hyunjin finally thinks he understands. It’s not just the fear of being perceived that keeps you from picking up your old life again. It’s the fear of abandoning Q, who so arrogantly feels like he’s owed something for helping get you back on your feet after you shifted your work’s focus.

He’s the only other person who knows your secret, and he holds it over you like it makes him more important than anyone else in your life. He reduces you to a lifetime of following his orders, likely because he’s bitter that he was never the solution to your loneliness. A wealthy businessman himself, it was Q who kept returning for paintings once not long ago, accumulating piles of your work and making every last effort to pursue you. But when he wasn’t successful, he convinced you that you were right about your fears, that it was your best move to take his advice and he’d keep you turning a generous profit as long as you stuck by him. Q was so hopelessly devoted to an idea of you, and when he couldn’t help you overcome your fears, he became the catalyst for your fears, instead.

“You and I are a lot of the same,” Q voices. “Two rich men with dreams just out of our reach. It seems money can’t buy you everything, after all.”

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything, swallowing nervously and looking at Q. And then Q shakes his head as he sets his glass of wine down on the table.

“Only I’ve never seen her willingly paint the same client so many times the way she does with you,” he finishes. “I guess she really liked being seen, after all.”

Q adjusts his glasses once more, and Hyunjin feels his heart sink at Q’s words, suddenly feeling overwhelmingly guilty for not having contacted you again.

“Could you tell her I stopped by?” Hyunjin inquires.

“Me? Oh no,” Q begins. “I can’t get in contact with her. No one can.”

“You- what? What do you mean?”

“Exactly that,” Q responds. “She told me she was done, and she walked out on me with a single watercolor palette and a notepad. She didn’t say anything else.”

“Did she say where she was going?” Hyunjin interrupts to ask, and Q shakes his head.

“She just left, and it’s been almost a month and she’s still MIA. Maybe she’ll come crawling back when she needs another rebranding.”

Hyunjin can feel his heart sinking deeper and deeper with every passing word that leaves Q’s lips.

He’s tried your cell phone- twice since leaving, and you never answered. But he assumed it to be a fleeting argument that would eventually make amends in due time when he could stomach visiting the studio again- not you running away from all of this for good.

“I have to go,” Hyunjin says frantically, chugging the rest of his wine and slamming his glass on the table.

“It was me who found her the first time,” Q says, not taking his eyes off the art across the room.

“What?”

“It was me who chased after her. After she disappeared. Don’t be surprised if she shuts you out when you finally do find her- I think I’ve already scarred her enough with my relentless attempts at persuasion.”

Hyunjin nods nervously, watching as Q cocks his head at the art, still averting Hyunjin’s gaze. And when he finally does turn to look at him, his eyes are glossy with tears, guilt painting every feature on his face.

“Could you just tell her I’m sorry?”

Hyunjin nods, though he makes no verbal promise to relay the message to you.

“Don’t do what I did,” Q emphasizes. “I think you’re the one person who makes her feel like art, herself. Don’t ruin this.”

*

“I forgot my ID today,” Hyunjin remarks to the security guard in the late hours of the evening. He’s met with a gracious bow, the same security guard opening the door and ushering him inside anyway.

“Don’t worry about it. Take as long as you need.”

The security guards all know Hyunjin very well now, taking note of the way his visits increased tenfold following your departure from the city.

At first he felt as though maybe he was searching for you when he’d come out here, any ounce of proof that you had indeed existed the way he remembered, and hopeful for the confirmation that you moved on to something new.

But as paintings cycled through their respective artists, and exhibits cycled through varying themes, it was a confirmation he never received, never finding a hint of you among the gallery. Thus, Hyunjin drew the hopeful conclusion that you’d escaped to a nicer city, worked on your old paintings again and made a new life for yourself, independently instead of under the overbearing presence of any other man. It’s what he wishes, at least, feeling disheartened every time he remembers you’ve very seldom lived any part of your professional career for yourself only.

The gallery is quiet at this hour, akin to the silent gray evening beyond its walls, and Hyunjin’s shoes squeak along the floors as he makes his way over to the curtains that veil the artwork.

New sculptures, by the same artist who had formed the paper mache ones. These ones are formed from wire and clay, the figures once again embracing each other in tender touches and dances. Hyunjin studies every careful bend and arch, making a mental note to sketch some of them when he gets a chance.

Another room houses a similar spread of modern art from before, these ones all coinciding with the warm lighting that hangs overhead, strokes along the canvases all housing similar warm-toned hues. He knows you’d love this installment and its careful attention to making use of color.

And the last room, the same little room behind a curtain, a small bench in front of a colossal canvas and just barely lit for his eyes to make out the scene.

Hyunjin’s seated before he can even examine the artwork, squinting carefully at the painting to get a better look. He even makes a conscious decision to put on his black frame glasses, making every attempt to get a proper look at the artwork in front of him.

Diluted hues of paint and water dance along the canvas, figured outlines he’s very familiar with, and the essence of solitude radiating from every brush stroke. Only this one isn’t one figure- it’s two, a warm-toned figure and a cool-toned outline holding each other in a tender embrace, their faces indistinguishable, true to the mystery of your work.

And between them, bright hues of paint, yellows, blues, magentas, fantastic mixtures of chartreuse and vermillion, all painted like brush strokes along their yearning bodies and illustrating a profound sense of togetherness, much more robust than the ever-present solitude.

“Visions of you in solitude,” reads the small bronze beneath the canvas.

As he cocks his head to make sense of the painting, he feels the leather of the bench dip beside him, indicating the presence of another patron. And at this hour, he doesn’t need to turn his head to understand who it is.

“There’s two,” Hyunjin says with a small smile, not averting his gaze from the painting.

“It felt incomplete without one.”

“Is that…”

“You?” You question quietly.

He nods in response, eyes scanning the swatches of paint between their bodies. It has to be me, he thinks. It has to be us.

“Maybe it is,” you reply. “I don’t disclose my processes to just about anyone. But you’re welcome to make your assumptions how you see fit.”

Hyunjin gives a breathy chuckle, finally turning to meet your gaze.

You look lighter- happier, as though you have the weight of your fears and reservations off your shoulders for once. Hyunjin can’t help but lean a little closer into you before stopping himself, knowing he can’t come in here to mirror the same thing Q once did long ago.

“You’re doing galleries,” he settles on saying.

“And they scare the hell out of me,” you respond, huffing a little at the end of your sentence. “But, it is nice to be seen again.”

He gives a little nod, and then his mind goes back to Q, who had asked to relay his version of an apology to you. But Hyunjin hesitates to speak of him, not wanting to taint your new art with the mentions of the old businessmen who took advantage of you.

“I’d have kept my distance if I knew how this went down the first time,” Hyunjin explains, hoping you’ll get what he implies. “It wasn’t fair of me to ask you to shift your focus. I just wanted you to be happy.”

You sigh for a moment, scanning the painting across from you, too, before turning to speak to him once more.

“Of all the clients I’ve painted, you were the first to ask about my vision. I think you do see me. And I think it was easier to say you loved an idea of me, because I couldn’t understand why you’d love any other part.”

Hyunjin nods, not taking his eyes off of yours.

“I learn from you the same way you learned from me,” you continue. “And you make me feel so seen. But I’m learning how to do that without needing you, too. Getting comfortable with my loneliness, I don’t think it’s something I was able to practice very much. At least not with…”

Hyunjin nods, not needing to hear Q’s name to know who you speak of.

“I understand,” Hyunjin voices. “And I want you to take all the time that you need. What matters is that you feel fulfilled, and that you’re not being pushed at the hands of somebody else. That’s more than enough for me to love you at a distance.”

And you nod at him, your heart swelling at his words as he turns to look back at the painting once more. The two of you stay there like that for several minutes, observing the way you’ve so carefully captured the togetherness you feel when you’re beside him. Swatches of paints that echo the color he brings into your life, and yet rooted in the solitude you’re still learning to be comfortable with. Visions of him in your own solitude, also creating a version of yourself that will continue to learn from him as much as he learns from you. And still art at the hands of him, both when you’re loving him wholly, and at this comfortable distance from each other.

And by the summer months, he’ll love you at a close proximity when you’re ready again, exchanging passionate embraces behind the curtains at galleries and making love to you in your shared apartment. He’ll continue to draw for you, and remain the biggest fan of the two-piece figures you illustrate with watercolors, capturing the same sense of togetherness and yet unwavering solitude that comes with breaking yourself down to the world around you. And the love will be reciprocated unconditionally by you, who finally feels seen at the hands of somebody who perceives you beyond just a concept.

But for now, he’ll remain right here, at this comfortable distance, allowing himself to learn from you as much as you learn from him. And the love will be undemanding, but it will be real, tangible.

[ ᴛᴀɢs: @drhsthl , @straykeedz-recs , @caitlyn98s , @moonlinos , @cottonsthings , @jaykyo , @write143 , @pinkcinnamon444 , @maximumkillshot , @auraleeknow , @skzms @coastalmaine , @venomracha , @lmhcats , @felinows , @maexc , @kang-min-joo , @liinoracha , @sealovesbts , @hanniessleepyeyes , @hyunjinsamdl , @chans1aptop , @yomomma104 , @sheraall , @kbbok , @silentreadersthings , @beomkgyu , @diorrxluvskz , @dancerachaslut , @jeannie-beannie , @heeseungshim , @weareapackofstrays , @bethanysnow , @inlovewithmusician , @kite-lee , @heartheartisa , @katsukis1wife , @minhosbitterriver , @y-ur--i , @seung-mine , @sskzlover , @bomi-ja , @crisle19 , @binniesbang , @leritzreyw , @lixiesundrop , @chopchopslide-juggalo , @vsereniasstuff , @morethancupcake , @fun-fanfics , @awillowbent , @unstiqn , @lixiesfairygf ]

add yourself to the tag list here.

[jeonginsleftcheek]

In the bus with bf!Skz

pairing: ot8 x gn!reader

description: how the members act while traveling with their s/o by bus. who are you gonna sit next to?

genre: fluff

a/n: i know this is specific lol but i had to travel sick(🫠) & i slept in the bus & this is what i thought of, reblog if you liked it🫶🏻 (also these pics of minho aaaa)

~check out my: Masterlist

Chan:

The type of person to point everything out excitedly.

"Look, y/n! Look! Cows!"- your boyfriend exclaims.

"Where, where?"- you look up from texting your friend.

"There, on that hill! They look so tiny from here."- he smiles.

"They do."- you chuckle.

"Hi cows!"- he waves at them before you pass them by.

Whenever he sees something interesting he points it out to you. Somehow doesn't get sleepy at all (he's too excited, bless his heart) but you do.

And you fall asleep on his shoulder. He doesn't even notice at first because he's talking about something you just drove by, but when he does he smiles fondly at you and stops talking. He leans his head on yours and continues looking through the window, a smile on his face the whole time.

Lee Know:

I feel like he gets restless at first. Talks about random things, drops random facts on you and sings under his breath because there are people around you.

You talk to him for some time, before he leans back and just looks out the window. You pull out your phone to play a game and Minho is interested once again.

"What are you playing?"- he leans in.

"Just candy crush, nothing exciting."

"Can I watch?"- he asks.

"Knock yourself out."- you chuckle.

And he does - falls asleep 2 minutes into watching you matching candies and sleeps until you arrive.

Changbin:

Talks the whole bus ride. Like about anything that comes to his mind. Really talks your ear off and you find it funny.

Will suggest a stupid little game like 20 questions or two truths, one lie. You're having fun, not caring that some people are turning around and looking at the both of you making a ruckus in the back (yes, you're one of those people).

It's just that you tend to forget the world around you whenever you share laughs with Binnie.

When you exhaust all the silly questions you can, you lean on his arm and listen to him talk until you drift off to sleep.

He plays with your hand, burying his face in your hair. He thinks you're adorable when you sleep on him like that.

He might fall asleep too but only for a short while, waking up before you arrive and also making sure you're awake and hydrated before you leave the bus.

Hyunjin:

Another one who points at stuff excitedly.

"That cloud looks like a cat!"- your boyfriend says.

"Really? It looks like a toaster to me."- you look through the window.

"What? Where did you get that?"- he laughs. "It's literally a- oh wait, now it does look like a toaster!"- he exclaims, as the bus moved forward, making all the clouds become different shapes than they were before.

"The sunset is so beautiful. I wanna paint it."- Hyunjin holds your hand (probably the whole ride).

Sneaks in quiet kisses the whole time.

You lean your head on his shoulder and he's so comfy so you fall asleep.

Hyunjin caresses your head while you're sleeping, leaving little kisses in your hair.

Jisung:

Sharing headphones. For about the first 20 minutes into the drive and then you're both out cold. Y'all better have those neck pillow things or your necks will hurt when you arrive at your destination. Both of you sleep through the whole ride, heads thrown back, mouth open, even snoring a little.

You probably wake up first, before you're about to arrive and you're confused and thirsty. After drinking some water and coming to your senses, you check on your boyfriend and he's still sound asleep. You gently shake him to wake him up and he whines, "five more minutes!".

"We're almost there, bub."- you say.

"Oh."- Jisung frowns, sitting up and you chuckle at his cute face. His hair is messy, one eye is still closed, and he looks at you like you've woken him up from the best sleep he ever had (you didn't).

You can't help giving him a few smooches while he's still trying to remember his existence.

Felix:

Decides that he definitely wont fall asleep this time. You're sharing headphones too, listening to music and talking occasionally.

And then Felix falls asleep ofcourse, and you can see that he looks uncomfortable so you lean his head on your shoulder. He finds your hand and holds it while he sleeps.

Ends up nuzzling into you more and more as the ride goes on, effectively cuddling you like a koala while you're chilling and listening to music.

You giggle quietly and hold your sweet boyfriend while he sleeps.

"I didn't sleep that long, right?"- he asks hopefully when you arrive.

"Oh no, not at all. Only almost the whole ride."- you chuckle at his pouty face.

Seungmin:

Such a chill ride with Seungmin. He's probably listening to music and looking out the window, you have your legs on his thighs, your head on his shoulder and you're reading a book.

It's like you're enjoying a quiet moment with your lover, both of you unaware of other people in the bus. He looks down at your book after some time and starts quietly reading with you.

You look up at him after some time, so he turns off his music and asks you about the characters in your book.

You talk quietly, playing with his hands as you look out the window and he listens to you carefully, enjoying the sound of your voice.

Jeongin:

Excited. So excited. He can't wait to get to the destination. Plans everything you'll do when you get there and then goes over the plan twenty more times.

Does not let you have a moment of peace. You wanna listen to music or sleep? Say goodbye to that, you have to go over the list of things your darling boyfriend wants to see.

He actually looks up the history of some buildings and sculptures and starts talking about them.

"Okay, tour guide, save some for when we actually get there."- you chuckle and he pouts.

"I'll have you know, I'm full of fun trivia."- he smirks and you laugh, smacking his arm.

"I'm sure you are."

✨Taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght

[astraystayastayastray]

The Middle

Pairing: fem!reader + boyfriend!idol!hyunjin

Genre: angst, breakup, hope+comfort

Song by: Zedd, Maren Morris, and Grey

Plot: When love eventually comes to an end, you find yourself constantly wanting to go back in time.. to the middle.

A/N: the song cover for this song looked just like the hyunjin arts he likes to paint

Description: Time goes by too fast. It is a foe that takes away youth, memory, and childhood. It brings regret and pain.

"Why don't you just meet me in the middle?"

DO NOT COPY WORK.

Take a seat, right over there, sat on the stairs

Stay or leave

You crumble to the floor, clutching onto your chest. The note that was once placed neatly in your room is now struggling to breathe inside of your tight fist.

I know we meant all good intentions...

But I feel like we are both continuing to drown in so much pressure and worry right now. We try to help each other, I know, but neither of us are feeling any better.

I'm sorry. You dont deserve someone like me.

You deserve to be happy and meet a person who will spend time with you every single day without leaving you in the middle of a movie because of dance practice or abandoning you at a park for a musicvideo filming.

I hope this letter will mark the end of our relationship but also a new beginning for you.

- 현진이♡

◇

Ever since you broke up with your boyfriend, you've never felt so lost, cold, and empty.

◇

You first met Hyunjin at an art museum. The two of you started talking as you both walked through the galleries and exhibits together.

He was wearing a mask and a hoodie so you had not the slightest idea it couldve been an idol - and it had to be Hyunjin too.

Sooner or later Hyunjin revealed himself and you were shocked.

But then things cooled down and you started dating.

Once or twice, you would see a camera go click or a phone tracking your every move through a video.

But you didn't mind. You had Hyunjin.

Everything you ever needed was Hyunjin.

All except that he left you.

I can't just let you go

And so here you are, in the same museum you first met the love of your life.

At the beginning everything was so clear, so beautifully intact.

Now all you can see is fog, mist, and terror crouching by every corner you turn.

You were stuck. With no way out.

You were scared.

Every single day, you would find yourself circling around the museum.

Day by day,

Week by week,

Month by month,

Hoping to pass by a person who might as well will never set foot in this country again.

Why was life so cruel?! Did it have to take every single happiness away from you?

Hyunjin, not even a text, left for another fucking tour and will not be coming back.

When someone says that their heart is broken, you have never really felt the true meaning of this phrase.

But now you do.

Your heart beats, aches, and hurts every single second for whom you loved most, the only person who has ever loved you back.

And now this story was coming to an end as well.

Now, you just want to go back to the middle of everything.

The period of time when you didn't know who Hyunjin exactly was but knew that he was the one for you.

When love wasnt a thing between you two but your heart pounded and hammered in your chest at the sight of him.

When the unfamiliar emotions of love started to blossom in your heart but you were both too shy to admit.

When the innocent confession of liking was revealed and love was introduced as a possible route forward.

The middle.

Oh, baby, why don't you just meet me in the middle?

Nothing more. Nothing less.

I'm losing my mind just a little

When you didn't know anything but knew everything.

Why don't you just meet me in the middle?

The middle of a moment in time when you and Hyunjin, hand in hand, would smile without a trace of worry or doubt.

A pause in time.. a picture film in the sunset.

In the middle.

◇

The spring leaves of your breakup smithers away and autumn fall emerges.

You take your daily evening stroll through the same museum once again.

It was still beautiful, no matter how many times you step in and out of the building. It always felt so different every time.

But this time.. you see a new painting has arrived and was hung on the wall during the weekend.

You quickly walk over to take a glance when you recognize your face is mirrored against the wall.

On the description, it read,

To my first and last love - I am coming soon.

It was definitely you in that painting..

And that art style.. could be of no one but Hyunjin's.

How could you not recognize it?

The face expressions, the quality, the paint brush techniques, the strokes - they were all so familiar to you.

Hope and panic starts to rise in your chest.

You should not be hopeful, you should not be expecting.

But here you are, twirling around and around to see if Hyunjin was anywhere.

But no, you do not see anyone.

You are alone...

Until you feel a warm body wrapping behind you into a hug so big it traps you and flushes all of your sadness and pain from your soul.

You recognize the hoodie surrounding you.. the scent.

It was the one he wrapped around your shoulders when you were cold...

It was the one he pulled over your head in your once-shared bedroom in intimate silence...

He made everything seem possible even through your darkest days.

Hyunjin

So baby

You wish you can just forget about all the things that have hurt you for the past few years..

Why don't you just meet me in the middle?

But humans cannot do that. They plan, calculate, hesitate, look back into the past, and retreat their footsteps.

I'm losing my mind just a little

Can't we go back in time?

You spin around.

Can't we go back in time?

To the middle?

When everything was fine..

When everything was beautiful...

But the face in front of you says otherwise. Through his eyes, you can see the brightest constellations tracing his every thought and every gesture.

And in those thoughts and gestures, you can see the promising image of the two of you, eventually together in a warm, loving, and eternal embrace.

Him smiling in comfort and in final peace, stroking your hair and rubbing your back.

You gazing up at him in admiration and more love than you can ever imagine someone can depict through just a glance.

The images flicker in front of your eyes and now you see an older form of you and Hyunjin who stands facing the exact same painting in front of you even after many many years.

His hand momentarily leaves yours and gently reaches for your chin. Tilting your head up a slight bit to meet his eyes with yours, the man of your life stares at you with so much kindness, care, beauty, and love.

Then, just like the painting that stands permanently engraved into your memory, Hyunjin leans forward and connects his lips with yours.

Dating an idol might be challenging..

It breaks your heart, mends it, and will shatter it back into pieces numerously again and again and again...

But you decide that you don't want anything more right now than the man in front of you.

You didn't need to go back in time to the middle in order to reach your happiness,

Happiness is inside of you, inside of Hyunjin, inside of all of us,

And it will keep continuing to grow and spread

continuously, contagiously, and endlessly.

Love is eternal.

One other is all it takes to open up the barrier and let the light shine through

To know love,

To feel loved,

And share love.

◇

Check out masterlist for more.

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED! THANKS FOR READING!

[lixiepeach]

Red Moon Drabble Series - Part 11

Summary: Hyunjin figures out he really likes it when Hana is pregnant. 

Warnings: Fertility rituals, pregnancy, semi-detailed description of labor, Hyunjin has a pregnancy kink.

These all relate back to the original story. It helps to have read the story before reading through the drabbles. The story can be found on the Masterlist.

MASTERLIST

Hana startles awake as someone shakes her. Hyunjin is standing over her in the dark room, dressed and holding her robe. She had been dead asleep, getting much needed rest in Seungmin’s room. Regardless of her annoyance at Hyunjin for waking her, she lets him pull her up, wrapping her robe around her before thumping down the stairs behind him. 

The moon is high in the sky, full and shining down on them. Hyunjin leads her into the yard, towards a blanket set out. She’s still sleepy, letting Hyunjin strip her out of her pajamas. She stands there naked in the moonlight, watching Hyunjin as he grabs the bowl sitting next to the blanket. She watches him as he begins to paint her skin with a red substance, covering her with lines and sigils. She can’t tell in the moonlight what the liquid is, it could have been blood for all she knew. 

He focuses on her stomach, painting sigils over her pelvis. 

“What are you doing?” She asks as he pushes her back onto the blanket, parting her knees. “My heat is still a week away.” 

“Fertility ritual.” He states simply, mixing something in a jar. “Nothing is guaranteed with this kind of magic. But anything that might make it easier.” 

He leans over her, holding the jar to her lips. She drinks the foul tasting liquid, some of it spilling out of the corners of her mouth. He dribbles a line of the liquid down her body, letting it slide between her legs. Her body begins to buzz, like she’s about to start floating. 

Hyunjin splays a hand over her pelvis whispering quietly. She begins to feel warm, the heat blooming outward from her abdomen. Hyunjin presses a kiss to her stomach, trailing the kisses up her body to her mouth. 

***********

Hana lays on the bed in the heat room, candles and various statues placed around the room. Hyunjin was determined to get it in one go, having spent the last week trying every fertility ritual he could find on the two of them. He was lighting the last of the candles, Hana rubbing her thighs together as slick begins to leak out of her. 

“You’re sure about this?” Hyunjin asks once more, kneeling on the end of the bed. “I can’t give you what you really need. You’re going to be uncomfortable for two weeks.” He slides his hands up her thighs. “If it gets to be too much, I’ll send one of the alphas in. We can just...give up.” 

Hana grips his chin, fighting the lust starting to take over. “No. We’re going to do this. No matter how many tries it takes. Besides, you shouldn’t complain. You get to fuck me non-stop for two weeks.” 

Hyunjin gives her a wicked grin, parting her legs finally, leaning down to kiss her. 

**********

Hana wakes sticky and starving. She’s laying against Hyunjin’s chest, his arm wrapped loosely around her. There’s a half empty water bottle next to him, and several more empty ones on the floor. She vaguely remembers Seungmin coming in halfway through to clean up the mess of wrappers, bottles, and containers. She remembers more this time. There had been less of a haze with the lack of an alpha’s knot. 

It had been a horribly painful two weeks, but she would never admit that. 

“Do you think it worked?” She asks, tracing patterns on Hyunjin’s chest. 

“We’ll find out in a couple weeks.” 

“If it doesn’t, we’ll try again.” She says, pushing herself up slightly. “We’ll try until it does work.” 

Hyunjin stares up at her, hand tracing her back. “It’s times like this I wish I was still an alpha.” 

“Hey.” She grips his chin, staring into his eyes. “I said it from the start. No matter what it takes. I want your baby, Hyunjin. No matter how many heats we have to try. I want to give you a baby.” 

Hyunjin reaches over, grabbing one of the statues. “If we’re lucky, the magic worked.” 

“Even if it didn’t,” Hana lays her head back on his chest. “We’ll try again in six months.” 

***********

“Anything?” Hyunjin asks, pacing across the living room. 

“It hasn’t been ten minutes yet.” Changbin says, looking up from where he’s trying to get Cho-Hee to say “dada.” 

Chan is laying on the floor, being used as a human racetrack for the twins’ trucks. It was their new favorite game and Chan was always down to lay on the floor and let the boys play. Fatherhood had really softened him, just as much as it had Changbin, but she knew the alphas would kill to protect their kids if it ever came to it, probably more than they’d be willing to kill to protect their pack. She feels just as anxious as Hyunjin looks. She loves her three babies, but she also wants more. 

It’s partly the instincts as a female omega and luna to want a big pack with lots of pups. Omegas never could quite get rid of the instinct to provide the pack with offspring, even after generations of evolution. It stemmed from the harsh lives wolves used to live, the chances of pups making it to puberty was low, so more pups meant more chances for offspring to make it. The need for pups never went away, the desire to have as many as possible never leaving the omega instincts. 

That, and she knew how much Hyunjin wanted his own. He had been less vocal about it than Changbin, and even a couple others, but she knew. She knew from the glances he’d give the pups when he thought no one was looking. How he’d volunteer to hold them or play with them whenever he could. How much work he had put into making sure every fertility ritual was done correctly, all the research he did to try and find out just how likely it was for him to get her pregnant, all the tricks he could try to make it happen the first time. She knew the others were taking notes as well. It would be a struggle from here on. 

The timer on her phone goes off, the room going still as she picks up the pregnancy test. Even the twins have stopped playing, sensing the tension in the four adults. She looks at the test, closing her eyes for a moment as she takes a breath. 

She can’t hide the grin anymore, showing Hyunjin the test. He stares at it in shock, taking it from her hands. She laughs as he scoops her up in excitement, kissing her. Even Cho-Hee claps in excitement, even though she doesn’t understand why they’re excited. 

“It worked.” She breathes, cupping Hyunjin’s face. “It worked.” 

“I told you there’s some alpha in there still!” Changbin says.

*********

Hana lays still, listening to the heartbeat in her stomach. There’s only one again this time, the single heartbeat loud and strong. Hyunjin rubs his hands over her stomach, rubbing the cream into her skin. He was completely enamoured anyways, hands constantly on her stomach, wrapping around her from behind, always sleeping with at least one hand over her stomach. She hums as he moves his hands to her hips, massaging the sore joints. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He says, hands moving to her thighs. 

Hana cracks her eyes open, looking down at Hyunjin over her stomach. “I feel like a whale.” 

He smirks, pressing kisses to her stomach. “But you look so sexy pregnant.” 

Hana had discovered Hyunjin’s desire to have a pup went deeper than she thought it had. He had been touchy with the other pregnancies, but now, he couldn’t help himself. He kept talking about how sexy she was, how much he loved seeing her pregnant. She knows part of it is his excitement for his pup. But apparently, he also found her more attractive while pregnant. 

Hana wraps her arms around him as he hovers over her. “Be easy tonight. My back hurts.” 

Hyunjin rolls her to her side, pressing himself close behind her. He wraps his arms around her, one hand on her stomach, the other under her head. He cradles her as he ruts into her, moaning quietly into her ear. They weren’t as wild as they used to be, now that there were pups in the house. It was a natural thing in packs, but Hana didn’t want to subject her pups and their developing senses to that. Not that they would understand yet. 

Hyunjin makes her cum first, cleaning up after spilling into her. He lays back down behind her, holding her stomach. 

“Soon.” She whispers, placing her hands over his. 

***************

Hyunjin’s hands are shaking as he kneels between her legs. He was determined to be the one to bring his child into this world. He had helped with the twins and with Cho-Hee, so it only felt right to deliver his as well. 

“I can do this if you need me to.” Minho says, looking at Hyunjin’s shaking hands. 

“No. I can do it.” 

“We’re getting close.” Chan says, wincing as Hana squeezes his hands, another contraction ripping through her. 

He was seated behind her, supporting her body as she squatted between his legs. It was the position she stuck to, birthing the other three the same way. She had asked Chan to be with her, wanting her alpha’s support. 

Hyunjin presses on her stomach as she contracts again, almost no time between them now. “Okay, you can start pushing.” 

Chan whispers into her ear as she bears down, pushing with each contraction. Hyunjin watches the head begin to crown, Minho ready with towels. His son comes into the world screaming, right into Hyunjin’s hands. He tries to blink back the tears, staring down at the small living, breathing being in his hands. He had taken part in making him. This was his son. His own son. 

He lets Minho take his son as he tries to focus on finishing his job. He was in love already, and suddenly understood how something so small had taken down both of the most powerful alphas in the pack. Even Minho with his uncaring front was putty in their hands and he got it now. He understood. 

“Go on.” Minho pushes him aside. “I’ll finish cleaning up.” 

Chan moves from behind Hana, letting Hyunjin take his place. Hana is holding their son now, wrapped in his blanket. Hyunjin wraps his arms around both of them, looking down at him over her shoulder. He presses a kiss to Hana’s head, still damp with sweat. 

“He’s so beautiful. You did so good.” 

“You had a hand in him too.” Hana says, looking back at him. 

She’s practically glowing. She always had a glow about her post-birth. Hyunjin loves it, seeing her like that. He leans his chin on her shoulder, staring down at his son. He can’t help the tears now, tracing a finger over his soft little cheek. 

[dreamescapeswriting]

Unfinished Business ~ Part Six

WORD COUNT: 6K

WARNINGS: Mentions of mafia, strong language, murder, blood

PAIRING: Bang Chan X Reader

DESCRIPTION: Part six of nine of my new Bang Chan series. 

You’re taken hostage but one of Seoul’s leading mafia families Bang Chan but he doesn’t take you because he wants to fake a marriage or make you fall for him in 365 days no…He wants to use you for his own personal gain. To take over another family but when you try to escape things take a turn for the worst and you learn Chan isn’t one to be messed with.(Please I suck at describing stuff)

THEMES: TW || Chapter includes mentioned of being touched inappropriately by a stranger, Smut will be included in a later chapter so this is a fic for a mature audience, Chan x Fem!Reader, Self insert

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

"Wake up sleepyhead," You groaned, shoving whoever was waking you up away from you, hitting them in the face.

"Five more minutes." A rough tug sat you up and you came face to face with Changbin, who was holding a plate in one hand and you in the other.

"Chan isn't here. Eat and then do whatever it is that you do when he isn't here." You looked down at the food on the plate and decided within seconds that you weren't hungry for whatever that was. It didn't look appetising and you didn't trust Changbin as far as you could throw him.

"Where's Jisung? I thought it was his shift this morning." You mumbled taking the plate and leaving it on the bedside table. Changbin didn't care if you ate it or not, he didn't really care for you at all, so he watched you walk around the bedroom trying to figure out what your plan was.

"Are you planning your escape today?" You stared at him and raised your eyebrow, as if he could think you'd run after what Chan did.

"No, I was thinking of cleaning. You guys are pigs." He lunged at you and you smirked at him, you weren't afraid of him or anyone else in this place. They wouldn't kill you because of how Chan acted around you, they held nothing over you which meant you had some kind of leverage.

"I'm going for a shower and then I'm cleaning the house." You rolled your eyes at him and walked into the ensuite bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind you. It's not as though you could escape through the tiny window and it wasn't like you had anywhere to go. Your ankle was doing better though which was great, one less thing to have to worry about when you did inevitably escape from Chan.

The front door had banged open, you looked up from the floor you were cleaning to see who it was that had made such a loud entrance,

"You have a date tonight." You stared at Felix as he spoke to you, as though you had some kind of idea as to what he was talking about.

"To whom are you referring?" He held up two tickets to a charity ball and you stared at them, black tie and ball gown were expected. There was going to be auctions held to donate money to charity. It was a charity ball that donated to the nursing home you used to work at, they held the party once or twice a year for benefactors to make generous donations.

"Chan's going to that?" You questioned. You'd served there a couple of years ago when you wanted to volunteer and the place was beautiful, it was right in Seoul centre in one of the biggest, most expensive hotels ever. Felix nodded his head,

"Like he does every year. Donates a large sum to them every year as well as auction things off. He donates throughout the year though through anonymous donations." You stared at Felix as he told you what Chan did for them, it surprised you you'd only ever heard of the bad things that Chan did for his money, not with it.

"Stealing from the rich to give to the poor? Sounds too much like Robin hood for me." Felix chuckled and shook his head at you, he could see something was going on inside your head. Like a battle with yourself that you weren't going to admit to losing just yet, he was brilliant at reading people and to him, you were an open book.

"I can't go. I have nothing to wear." You went back to cleaning the dishes you'd collected from all over the house and that's when Felix pulled out a wallet.

"That's why I have money, Jisung and Changbin will be following along with us to make sure you don't try anything." You glanced over at your shoulder, Changbin wasn't looking too happy about going with you on the field trip.

"Why not someone else?" You took the washing up gloves off your hands and walked over to the towels. They all knew about your dislike for Changbin since neither of you was trying to hide it, drying your hands and turning back to Felix.

"No one else is free...It'll be fun. I'll help you find something and then I'll get us all a tie to match your dress." Your version of fun seemed different from Felix's. You'd rather stay at home in your bed all day rather than shopping for the perfect dress and shoes.

"Let's go-"

"Don't I have to change first?" You remembered Chan's surprise when you wanted to go out in the jeans you'd been painting in. But Felix was fine with you coming in the leggings and oversized shirt they'd gotten you, it wasn't like he was trying to show you off to everyone.

"Not that's fine. Let's go, we don't want to be late tonight."

The shopping trip hadn't been a total drag like you'd thought it would be, Changbin managed to pretend to be happy to be there. Jisung and Felix were like the brothers you always wanted except way better than you had imagined them to be. It was so nice to be out of the house and joking around with them so much you'd almost forgotten who they were.

"I feel stupid," You said, as you stared yourself in the mirror. Felix was in your bedroom wearing an all-black suit, along with a red tie to match your dress. Chan wanted you all to match so people would know you were all together at the party, that way no one would mess with you. Chan had only gotten back an hour ago and had spent his entire time back locking his office complaining about something to Minho. You'd heard him shouting from inside of the bathroom when you were getting ready but you couldn't understand a word of it, it was all too muffled through the walls to understand anything. He'd been shouting at Minho about how Namjoon was going to be at the party, he never made appearances at things like that which was both good and bad news.

"Chan's downstairs now, the car is here." You sighed and came out of the bathroom nervously playing with your fingers as you waited for them to see you again. The red silk gown was floor length with a split at the front left side coming up to your mid-thigh.

"Whoa." You stared at Felix and shook your head at him, he was the one that had picked the dress out and saw you try it on.

"You saw it before."

"That was before the hair and makeup, you look...whoa." Your makeup had been done by someone in the mall along with your hair. You shook your head at him again and went over to the mirror to look at yourself. It felt like you were playing dress up as a kid all over again, the dress cost more than anything you would ever be able to afford in this lifetime or the next and it had an A-line flow with a backless detail. It was something you never would have worn before, but were wearing now because you had to look your best for the evening.

"Chan's gonna-"

"Chan's gonna what - oh my god," Seungmin gasped as he walked into the room, he'd come to see what was taking so long but he was shocked by how you looked as well.

"Boys," You scoffed, playfully rolling your eyes and heading down the staircase. You could hear Chan ranting about something to the rest of the boys, doubling their security and watching him all night. He didn't care if they were tired or not, they weren't to have their eyes off the ball for even a moment there was too much at risk.

"Are you even listening? This is more important than all the other times we've been to these things. We have someone important to protect now- Are you even listening to me?" Jisung pointed over his shoulder at you, and Chan turned around to see you standing there with a small shy smile on your face. Chan’s jaw dropped as he stared at you, you looked incredible and he couldn't believe you were standing there so awkwardly. Someone that looked like you should have been walking tall and high with their head held high, and he was going to make sure he could help you do that. He was going to make you confident and feel like the beautiful girl you were. All thoughts about what he was talking to his men about were gone as you came closer to him. He took your hand in his and kissed the top of it, placing it back down at your hip and you felt a flutter in your heart as he stared at you. No one had ever looked at you like that before, it was nerve-wracking but at the same time, it made you feel warm inside, safe and that you weren't alone.

"The car," Changbin said, having no time to waste on this stupid moment Chan seemed to be having with you. They were all on edge for the night and were now protecting you and Chan while you were at the event together.

"Is everything okay?" You asked, as you sat in the back of Chan's car together Jeongin was driving with Seungmin by his side. The car in front of you had Felix and Minho inside and the last car behind you carried Hyunjin, Jisung and Changbin, you were being watched from angles. The same thing, matching cars and number plates in case any of you were followed it would be easy enough to confuse them. He was going to make sure nothing happened to you.

"Everything is fine." He lied, looking out of the window. He didn't feel like he could lie while looking you in the eyes. Right now he was having a hard time keeping his hands to himself, because you weren't his to touch he didn't want to make you uncomfortable by putting his hands on you,

"At the party, I'm going to introduce you as my fiancé...go along with it." You nodded and he slipped off a ring from his pinky finger. Turning to look at you as he slid it onto your ring finger, it was the perfect fit.

"Is there a reason we're faking that I'm your fiancé?" Chan nodded and turned to you trying to make it seem like he wasn't lying through his teeth right now.

"Namjoon."

"The man from the store?" Chan nodded again,

"I realise that I'm not in your eyes but what I do I do for the good of people and Namjoon...Let's just say he has his own selfish reasons for what he and his crew do. Killing for fun, killing for the sake of killing-" You felt fear ripple through your body and Chan could see that so he stopped talking about it. Namjoon was well known everywhere, everyone had heard of Namjoon and if they hadn't they were either stupid or didn't live in Seoul.

"So I have a target on my back because he saw us together the other day?" This was Chan's idea in the first place, he shouldn't be feeling guilty about this but he was. The plan was to lure Namjoon out, but since the day you spent alone together he'd been having second thoughts about the entire thing. He figured being seen by Namjoon would bring him out of hiding and have him admit that he killed Chan's wife. The bonus would be having him scare you so much you would be too terrified to leave Chan's side, so now why was he feeling so guilty for doing it? All he wanted to do was make you stay with him forever, he would be the one to protect you.

"I promise to look after you, he won't ever hurt you." You could tell by the way he was holding your hands, squeezing them and staring into your eyes that he was sincere. Which was what scared you. He was closer to believing that you actually liked him, while you were now stuck with staying with him forever or being on the run from two big mafia leaders who would both want you dead.

"Why do you come to these events?" You asked, trying to change the subject to anything else.  You could avoid the feeling of being scared if you just put it off long enough.

"I have my reasons," He linked your hands together as he sat in the back of the car. He didn't know how to act around you, you were being so nice to him lately and he didn't want to do anything to change that.

"Do I have to be scared about being out with you?" You questioned, your mind wandering back to Namjoon who was going to be at the event.

"No. I promised I would never let anything happen to you and I meant it." He squeezed your hand. You felt somewhat comforted by it, knowing that he was starting to fall for you hard enough to want to protect you. But then your mind went back to Changbin's threat and your conflicting heart. You could already feel yourself feeling sorry for him, clearly whatever had happened with his wife was affecting him badly. Maybe he was just that good guy that got pushed too far. One half of you was wanting to stay with him, but your brain was still on fire battling the thought about him doing what he did to Mrs Lu and the story your ditzy barmaid had told you. That chan had been the one to kill her, anyone with more than three brain cells could tell he hadn't though, that the story of him killing his wife was complete bullshit.

"Thank you." You whispered, looking out of the window nervously as you thought about the event. It was highly publicised meaning someone was going to get your photograph of you sitting there.

"Did you mean it?" You questioned quickly, he hummed at you and turned to stare at your face wondering what you were talking about.

"Did I mean what?"

"About taking me to see my grandfather?" He could tell by the look on your face that you were excited about the thought of it. But you were doing your best to stay calm about it and so he nodded at you. It could be a reward for you if you were good tonight while you were out with him.

"I'll take you if you behave tonight." You smiled shyly at him and nodded, promising you would be good. You'd promised not to try and get away and you meant it.

"Then let's get to it. Maybe get a nice photo to give to him?" Chan asked you, as he looked at the photographers outside the hotel. You nodded and the door opened, flashing lights started to blind you and you held onto Chan as he helped you out of the car.

"How do you deal with this?" You giggled, looking at him as he walked with you side by side. He linked his arm around your waist and smiled down at you trying to look good for the cameras. He paused at the bottom of the steps, a red carpet had been laid out and people were screaming questions at everyone who was walking there. It was like Chan was some kind of famous celebrity and people wanted to interview him.

"I smile and get on with it, I never liked this side of my life. They glorify the things I do and it's wrong, even if I do this all for the right reasons it makes it look good when it's not." You stared up at him as you walked towards the doors, lost in your own world as if the rest of the world melted away as you stared into his eyes. But he kept his head forward trying to focus on not falling over.

The evening was going admirably. You were in the middle of a huge event hall in the hotel, the walls were all white with marble columns to keep up the extremely high ceilings. The boys and you were all at the second-floor bar that looked down over at the rest of the party,

"Y/n?" You turned, to see a man around 6'0 smiling at you and coming over to you. You were standing at the bar while Chan went to stand beside someone and talk. The man was wearing a black suit with a blue tie on, you'd never seen him before so you had no idea how he knew your name. Jisung was supposed to be watching you but he was on his phone, you didn't blame him though it must have been boring watching someone all night.

"Hello." You greeted coldly, looking to try and get Jisung's attention but it wasn't going to work. Changbin was nowhere to be seen and Hyunjin was in the bathroom. You were starting to panic when the man reached for your hand, lifting it to his lips and kissing it gently, looking at the ring on your finger but he didn't care about it.

"May I have a dance? I'm Clarke."

"No, I don't think my fiancé would like that." You were trying to come up with some excuse to get away from him, but Chan's back was to you as he spoke to someone about a donation he was making to them. You didn't know how to get him to turn around without screaming his name, and causing a scene not something you wanted to do in such a nice place.

"I'm sure he won't mind one dance." He pulled you over towards the staircase that led down to the bottom floor. Your heart began to pound, if the boys looked up to see you missing it would be bad news for you, but if Chan looked and saw you with another man it would be bad news for him.

"My fiancé really wouldn't like this, he's-"

"He's an idiot by letting you stand alone and giving you such a cheap-looking metal ring." His hand landed on your waist. Your eyes locked onto the back of Chan's head, hoping that somehow he would feel the stare and turn around.

"Please let me go." You begged him, but his hand slipped down to your waist while his other grabbed onto your ass squeezing it softly. He trailed his hand to your thigh so you slapped him across the face, the room was so packed no one noticed. So you began rushing over to Jisung, he was the closest one to you and the nicest one out of them all. Your hand gripped onto his bicep as you pleaded for him to help you,

"Help." You whispered, he looked at your panicked face and then saw a man coming over to you holding his face with a red mark across his cheek.

"You slapped him?" You nodded, explaining that he started touching you and you had to get away.

"You little whore, dressing like this and expecting not to be touched?!" You whimpered, as the man began storming towards you. Jisung took control of the situation quickly,

"Chan!" Chan turned around and saw the worried look on your face and then the man. He was livid, he stormed to your sight and took your face in his hands turning it side to side to look at you. The man stopped as he realised it was Chan that you were with and not someone else, he began begging for them not to hurt him but Changbin grabbed onto his arms.

"You okay? Did he hurt you?" You shook your head and Chan turned around to punch the man who'd grabbed you the way he did,

"Changbin, take him back to the house and put him up in the basement I'm not through with him." He ran his hands through his black hair. You noticed curls starting to form as he pulled it from the styling gel, you never knew he had curly hair. It was something you were trying to focus on to keep you calm.

"You sure you're okay? Did he hurt you at all?"

"No, I'm fine. He just grabbed my ass and my-" He went to follow Changbin out of the hotel, wanting to kill him for even thinking about touching you. You grabbed onto his hand,

"Don't leave me please." You urged him and he stared down at your hand on his wrist. He felt his heart begin to pick up and he nodded at you, even if he did feel like it was his fault for leaving you alone when he promised he wouldn't.

"Fine. Let's go and have a drink." You followed him towards the bar and ordered a scotch, he did the same and looked at you. He could tell that the fact that the man touching you was bothering you. You were scared, having someone touch you like that in such a public place, you had no idea what could have happened if he'd gotten you down the stairs.

"You promised to watch me, you promised. What if that was Namjoon that got hold of me?" He shook his head at you. He cupped your cheek in his hands running his thumb over your skin trying to calm you down.

"I took my eyes away for two seconds, it's not my fault you're so beautiful that everyone wants you. I promise he'll get what's coming to him. No one will hurt you or touch you." You realised what he meant by that and you stared at him,

"You're going to kill him..." It was a statement rather than a question, about what he was or wasn't going to do. But he heard your voice crack and he stared at you wanting to search for any signs that you didn't want him to, but all he could see was the sign of you being okay with it.

"Yes." He answered blandly, but he didn't care, no scumbag should get away with touching people that clearly asked him to stop.

"Good. Make him pay for it." He liked this side of you, you had no idea where it was coming from but you wanted the man to pay for what he'd done to you. It always happened in the bar you used to work in, sleazy men would touch whoever they wanted and get away with it and you were sick of it. It was about time that somebody took care of it.

"I'll make sure he does." He promised, kissing your cheek and then looking around for the time,

"We have time for a dance before the auctioning starts." He took your hand, you downed the drink of scotch, following him to the staircase to head down for a dance together.

Both of you lost in your world as Namjoon watched from across the room, he asked his right-hand man for the information they had gathered on you. It was strange how you'd seemingly come from nowhere and were now being announced as Chan's fiancé. They told him about your family history, your grandmother using his money and dying leaving bills unpaid. He smirked watching you being waltzed around by Chan, he had a plan now. Chan's hand was placed on your waist, while his other hand held onto yours, slowly leading you along the floor swaying back and forth with you.

"You look great tonight, by the way, I don't know if I mentioned that." You laughed at Chan and nodded at him, even though you didn't believe what he was saying.

"You didn't have to, the boys did it for you. Apparently, I'm 'whoa'." He chuckled and nodded in agreement with them.

"They're right. You look gorgeous." You could feel your cheeks heating up as he complimented you,

"Dip." He said, you stared up at him as he dipped you down and smiled at you. A camera flash went off capturing the happy moment making you both momentarily blind.

"Look at the happy couple." You both stood up to see Namjoon staring at you,

"Y/n Y/l/n, and Bang Chan...surprising couple." You cleared your throat and Chan wrapped his arm around your waist, he knew Namjoon would have gotten to know everything about you by now.

"Can I see the ring?" You didn't have a chance to decline, Namjoon just took your hand in his and stared down at the small silver band around your finger.

"Huh. Seems simple for someone like Chan to give you." Chan didn't have time to say anything,

"I asked for something simple, inexpensive to prove how much I wanted Chan for Chan and not who he was and his money." Namjoon nodded along and looked at Chan.

"May I dance with her?" Chan stepped aside willingly, not wanting to disobey Namjoon and cause a scene. He watched as Namjoon began to dance with you in the same way Chan had been doing before.

"I know he took you against your will, do you want to get out of here?" You stared up at Namjoon as he stared off behind you, trying not to make it look obvious about what he was talking about.

"He didn't take me against my will, I went with him. I love him." You seemed so convincing you almost believed yourself, Namjoon stared down at you shocked that the words had even left your mouth.

"Love him? My dear, that almost sounded convincing to me. You barely know the man, you've been with him less than a week." He kissed your forehead and brought you into a hug,

"You better watch out my love, as soon as he turns his back, you're mine just like his ex. I'll assume he told you the horror story but be warned, I will kill you just like I did to her...Paint his living room a nice shade of red again." He left you alone and you stood staring at the back of his head, Chan frowned coming over to you.

"What's wrong? Did he hurt you? Say something?" You turned to look up at Chan and he stared down at you, you looked terrified, more terrified than the night he'd killed Mrs Lu.

"H-He said I have to watch out before you turn your back and I end up just like your ex." Chan's hand on your hip tightened and you whimpered moving away from his grasp.

"What does that mean? What happened?" He looked around and shouted Seungmin and Jeongin over. It gave him the confirmation he'd been using you for, but now his blood ran cold at the thought of Namjoon threatening you. It wasn't just Chan using you for information anymore, he liked you a lot and now you were in real danger

"Give them the money, bid on the weekend away, I need to take her home. Namjoon threatened her." His hands were on your arm and he was rushing you out of the hall and towards the exit of the building,

"Smile and look happy, if Namjoon knows he's scared you he wins." You nodded and started smiling up at him, he took your hand in his and sighed.

"Come here," He bent down to pick you up bridal style and you squealed, wrapping your arms around his neck and staring into his eyes.

"What are you doing?" You asked, looking into his eyes and nowhere else as the cameras flashed at you both running to the car.

"You move too slowly in those heels. I have to get you home where I can keep you safe." He sat you in the car and told Felix to drive fast and not stop for anything.

"What happened with your ex...Is he going to get me?" You panicked and he linked your hand in his.

"I'll tell you everything, I promise, but right now you need to get home and get you safe. I'm not going to let you die okay." He kissed your cheek and you laid your head on his shoulder, staring at the back of Felix's head as you drove to the house.

"You'll be fine here, no one can get in here, it's all secure," Chan said as he stood in your door, you were laid in the bed dressed in an oversized shirt and some shorts. You hadn't stopped shaking since the moment you left the hotel and he still hadn't told you what happened with his ex. Just that she was dead and it was Namjoon's fault. You were more scared of Namjoon than you ever had been of Chan,

"Get some sleep, we'll talk in the morning. Seungmin is right outside if you need him." You nodded at him and he turned to leave the room without another word.

"Goodnight." You called out and he nodded at you, saying it back before leaving the room quietly, shutting the door behind him.

You laid there for an hour while you listened to the wind and rain outside, the thunder started and you wanted to cry. Thunderstorms used to make you calm but tonight it seemed to make everything scarier, like in a horror movie. Every sound made you think it was someone trying to break into the mansion, specifically your bedroom. You got out of the bed and snuck out of the door, Seungmin was asleep so you could sneak out of the door without being heard. You tapped on the bedroom door belonging to Chan but there was no response, you were about to turn back when thunder clapped so loudly you jumped. Rushing into the room the door banged, he jumped up and pointed a gun at you thinking you were an intruder,

"Chan!" You held up your hands to make him see that you were free of any weapon, and that you weren't going to hurt him, but you let out a whimper as he kept it tracked on you,

"I'm sorry." You whispered, turning to stare at him. He was wearing a black t-shirt and some shorts, he shook his head and stared at you, panicked that something was wrong.

"I'm sorry! Did you hear something?" He questioned you, he got up from the bed to get closer to you.

"No, no." You whispered, shaking your head and looking around his room, it was the one room you hadn't been in yet.

"Do you want me to put the gun away?" You nodded frantically, slowly lowering your hands down now that he knew who it was in his bedroom this late at night.

"Yes please." He took the gun and put it away in the drawer beside his bed and cleared his throat, rubbing the back of your head as you got closer to him.

"What's wrong?" He sat down on the bed and you walked into the room sitting down beside him.

"I'm scared, he said he'd kill me, Chan." You admitted and he sighed, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and drawing you closer to him,

"What if he gets me?"

"I won't let it happen. I won't let him anywhere near you, you're mine and I'm going to protect you." He repeated, pulling you to lay down on the bed with him. He spooned you and began tracing patterns into your skin as a way of trying to calm you down. You let the 'you're mine' comment pass, it felt nice for him to say that to you right now, it was something you needed to hear.

"I promise." He kissed your shoulder blade and you closed your eyes, feeling safe and protected around him enough to fall asleep for the first time all night.

"Get some sleep. I promise to protect you." He kissed your shoulder again and you hummed, shuffling back towards him wanting him to hold you closer. But you turned around to face him instead, deciding now would be a good time to question him since you weren't tired.

"Aren't you scared of him?" He shook his head and ran his hand over your cheek, tracing his thumb along your skin as he stared into your eyes. He had to be strong to you even if it meant telling you he wasn't scared when he was.

"He holds no power over me, I don't care about him but if he comes anywhere near you-" Your hand on his cheek calmed him down, you could see him growing more and more agitated, but he was shocked that you'd touched him like this. All the other times you seemed to move away but you were willing, getting close to him and touching him willingly.

"Thank you for protecting me, not just with Namjoon but with that guy at the party." He nodded, the guy had been locked in the basement the moment the boys got him home and Chan was planning on dealing with him in the morning.

"Anything for you." You looked at him, your eyes glancing from his to his lips trying to fight back the feeling of wanting to kiss him but it was hard. You close your eyes and leant in and he leant down pressing his lips against yours. As soon as he kissed you the world fell away, it was all slow and soft something you'd never thought would happen to you, it felt like it was something from the books you'd read as a teenager. It was comforting and his hand fell away from your face and to your hip, dragging your body closer to him so there was no space between you any more. You could feel his heart beating against your chest as he brought you closer, pulling away and running his thumb along your bottom lip.

"Do it again," You begged him to kiss you one more time, your mind blank as your heart took over your actions. He pressed his lips against yours, the world falling away in an instant, but this time the kiss was hot and full of passion. His tongue ran along the seam of your lips and you parted them for him wanting nothing more than to make out with him all night. The kiss was sloppy and you could taste the scotch you'd both been drinking that night. You wrapped your arm around his neck and he chuckled, pulling away from you not wanting to take things too far too soon.

"Enough for one night," He placed a gentle kiss on your lips again to satisfy you and you shifted on the bed, laying your head on his chest to fall asleep while listening to his heartbeat. He laid on his back looking at the ceiling while he listened to your breathing trying to make it the focus of his thoughts. As long as you were still breathing he had something to fight for, something to stop him going after Namjoon right away and coming up with some kind of plan. For you it felt safe right next to him, it was strange and didn't make sense in your head but your heart was telling you it felt right to be there with him no matter what he'd done. The kiss had been too good for you to ignore the chemistry between you both. He kissed the top of your head as your eyes got too heavy to keep them open any longer, and you stopped fighting to keep them open, drifting away into the best night's sleep you or Chan had ever had in the longest time.

Tagline: My fantastic and wonderful editor I would be nowhere without! @moonprincessdiviniation​ @taestannie​ @kneel-begyourpardon​ @calling-dips-on-j-hope​ @hugs4chan​ @ncitythoughts​ @inseonqt​ @cloudsgathering​ @atletino​ @mischiefmakerliesmith5​ @freckledquokka @happygirl327​

[wingsofkpop]

Stray Kids Reaction to Falling in Love with their Best Friend

Chan

You would be in Chan’s studio, listening to a track he recently finished. Chan would become lost in the sight of you; eyes closed, lips pulled into a soft smile and palms laid against the headphones encasing your ears. As one of his best friends, he’s had you listen to nearly all of his music before. But this time, something about your peaceful expression made his heart race and insides flutter. You were so, so beautiful to him. A kind of beauty he never noticed before. That’s when the realization would hit him that he was completely and utterly in love with you.

“How have I never noticed how beautiful she is? I wish we could stay like this together.”

Minho

You had asked Minho to come over and help you decorate your new home. For the past four hours, the two of you painted, hung decorations, moved furniture and basically made the space more ‘you.’ Once everything was finished, you commented on how beautiful it looked. Minho, being the tease he is, would throw back the cheesy comment that nothing was as beautiful as you were. Although it backfired on him, because the crimson blush, which always painted itself across your cheeks when he teased you, filled his stomach with butterflies. He left out telling you the part that he actually meant it.

“Why does she always look so cute when she blushes? Maybe I should tell her that to see her blush again.”

Changbin

The both of you would be sitting on a park bench, just catching up and passing comments back and forth. A violent gust of wind would come out of nowhere and effectively mess up Changbin’s hair. You would giggle, reach out and attempt to fix his windblown strands. Changbin would freeze at your touch, staring at your face as you go about your task. He couldn’t help but notice the smoothness of your fingertips across his forehead along with the sparkle of concentration in your eyes. A strange warmth spread through his chest, something that has never arisen before at your touch. And strangely, when you pull away, he would find himself wanting more.

“Why do I feel like this? Has she always… been this pretty?”

Hyunjin

You and Hyunjin had just left the mall and concluded your shopping spree for the day. You would be driving with Hyunjin beside you in the passenger seat, when one of your favorite songs emerges through the radio. An amused Hyunjin watches as you start to dance in your seat, hands tapping against the steering wheel. The boy would become transfixed in the way your body moves to the beat, in how your face seemed to glow with joy. And when you begin to sing along, Hyunjin feels the realization roll straight into his heart. He can no longer see you as just his best friend.

“I love it when she’s this happy. I wish I could keep this smile on her face forever.”

Jisung

Jisung and you would be eating dinner at one of your favorite restaurants. He was able to steal some time away from the studio to come see you, which you are immensely grateful for seeing as you haven’t had the easiest day. Jisung would patiently listen as you recount about the worst parts of today. Just hearing the sound of your voice was enough to expel his own frustrations out of his system. He would find himself asking unnecessary questions, simply to prolong the length of your speech. By the end of the night, Jisung would be able to recite a one by one description of your day, but still long for more.

“If I could spend the day listening to her voice, I would. Maybe I should call her when she gets home.”

Felix

The two of you would be at the dorms, goofing off as usual. Felix would be trying out some new jokes on you, most of which were barely funny. Even so, Felix somehow gets you to laugh at each one of them. After a while, Felix would realize he’s not even telling you jokes anymore, just things he knows will make you laugh. He craved the sound of your joy; wanted to feel it ringing inside his ears. He loved the way your face would flush and eyes would shimmer. He would pause and simply stare at you. One word bouncing throughout his head… Love.

“I could listen to her laugh all day. Wow, I really do love her, don’t I?”

Seungmin

You and Seungmin had visited the beach for an evening stroll. When Seungmin realized the sun was slipping through the horizon, he couldn’t help but need to take a picture of the sight. After lifting his camera eye level, he would pause, discovering your face in the frame. He’s taken so many pictures of you before, but for some reason, the light of the setting sun cast this alluring glow over your body. Forgetting completely about the sunset, he would position his camera and snap a photo of you, knowing it’s going to be one of his all time favorites.

“I know the perfect place to put this. I really should take more photos of her.”

Jeongin

Jeongin and you had gathered at your home for a night full of movies and snacks. You both would be beside each other on the couch, under a single blanket, and watching a favorite of Jeongin’s. Jeongin would be completely invested in the story when he felt something fall against his shoulder. He looks down to find your head leaning against him; the expression upon your face indicating you were asleep. Warmth and affection would spread through his veins, a small grin invading his face. He found his new favorite sight.

“She looks so cute when she’s sleeping. I wonder if she ever thinks that about me.”

[onewaigu]

Colours in His Eyes

Genre : bestfriend!au

Theme : fluff

Pairing : Seungmin(Stray Kids) X Reader

Description : you were bestfriends with a cute dork named Kim Seungmin. day by day, you tried so hard to deny the flutters you got whenever you saw him. you learned to accept these unexplored feelings however after seeing him bouncing up and down adorably at his favourite band's concert.

Seungmin had been your next-door neighbour since birth. Naturally, the both of you became the best of friends all throughout kindergarten till high school. People would always see you guys as a package. Whenever people saw one of you, they could bet the other was probably chasing the former down.

Little did Seungmin know, you were kind of harbouring a teeny weeny crush on him that you tried so hard to deny.

What was there not to like about him? His pure randomness clearly put a smile on your face everytime. You never knew when he'd go 'GAAAH' right in your ear while looking at you with crazy eyes. He was the definition of goofy dork.

Things like this were what made your heart fluttered. He didn't care what people think of him. He just lived his life however way he wanted. You admired that part of him. He also had the voice of an angel coated with sweet honey. He'd be belting out high notes of a random Day6 song and you still wouldn't have minded at all. You were merely lost in his presence at times.

Despite that, you didn't dare to act on your feelings for him. You were scared even. Pursuing something more than a friendship might end up ruining it so you promised yourself to not step over the friendzone.

So far, it'd been working. You were just two bestfriends messing around.

“Y/N-ah, guess what?”, he was running up to you with his puppy eyes, “Day6 is gonna have a concert a few days before my birthday!”

He was jumping enthusiastically in the middle of the school hallway. You chuckled softly, gently gripping his shoulders to calm him down.

“Really?”, you asked, as if you hadn't been checking the band's twitter for concert dates the other night.

“Yeah..but I don't know if I can go”, he sulked.

“My mum's been pestering me to set aside money for college so I'll feel kinda bad if I use the money to buy concert tickets instead”, he slumped his shoulders in defeat.

Your heart crumbled at the sight of him. You wanted to see him happy. Hence why, you had been saving up for his advanced birthday present since ages ago. Tickets to his favourite band, Day6's concert. He would be absolutely thrilled.

“Seungmin-ah, you never know when someone's listening to your wish”, you gave him a reassuring smile as you ruffled his hair.

He pouted his lips and sighed, “You're right”.

“Of course, I'm always right”

He laughed adorably at you bumping hips with him. You lifted your head to his level only to gaze upon his twinkling eyes. Warmth enveloped your beating heart. You had it bad but you tried to ignore it.

A few days later, you got an email. You hoped it was what you were expecting. And it was. You tried to suppress your excitement but you couldn't help but let out a high-pitched squeal.

Ding!

You peered at your phone. Seungmin, who was literally next door, had texted you. He was probably thinking you were going insane for squealing at 11pm.

You opened the notification.

“Have you gone insane? Please don't tell me it was just a cockroach”, his message read.

“Hey, did you just leave me on seen???”, you giggled uncontrollably at his obvious disbelief. You could almost picture his offended face staring at his phone.

He continued spamming your phone but you chose to ignore him.

Your eyes left your phone to look back at the screen in front of you. You were re-reading the email you got from Mnet which said that you'd just won the giveaway for Day6's signed album. You weren't sure if you had any luck in the giveaway but maybe there really was someone out there who wanted to make your bestfriend smile just as much as you did.

Now it was just ticketing that you'd have to go through. You stretched your arms and cracked your knuckles. This was going to take a long time but you had all night to score those concert tickets. You could almost imagine Seungmin's reaction seeing the tickets and album. You blushed at the thought.

It was exactly two weeks before Seungmin's birthday. You felt your heart racing non-stop. Calming yourself down with deep breaths, you clutched the concert tickets and signed album against your chest protectively. You stared at the door separating you and Seungmin. It was now or never.

Just as you raised your fist to knock on Seungmin's door, you were faced with his beautiful face. Your breath hitched at his beauty. Even though he had his ridiculously big glasses on and looked half-asleep, you couldn't help but get lost in his eyes.

“Uhh-”

“..were you going to hit my face?”, he nonchalantly leaned against the doorframe.

“I can if you want me to”, you joked as you folded your arms.

He let out a hearty laugh, “But really though, what brings you here at-”, he glanced at the clock in his living room, “9 in the morning?”

“Here”

He glanced down at the nicely-wrapped items in your arms. “You do know my birthday isn't until next two weeks?”, he smirked as his fingers fiddled to unwrap the presents.

Gasp.

Before you knew it, you were dragged into a bone-crushing hug. You felt vibrations against you as Seungmin broke out into uncontrollable sobs. Your cheek gently rested on his chest as you let this moment sink in. His happiness was your happiness after all.

He eventually let go of you, not before placing a faint peck on your forehead. That caught you off guard. Yeah, you guys were bestfriends but Seungmin had never done that before. You froze for quite some time, trying to process his endearing gesture.

“So..is that a yes?”, you teased him, still half-frozen in a daze.

“Y/N, I could fall in love with you”, he said while looking lovingly at the presents you got him.

You knew he was joking but why did you have butterflies in your stomach? You shook your thoughts away though. You didn't want to harm such a friendship. So you just smiled silently at his remark, your heart crushing a little bit on the inside.

Concert day finally came. Seungmin was especially pumped. He'd been blasting Day6's songs all day long. It was surprising your other neighbours didn't file a noise complaint.

The music suddenly stopped and not long after you heard a knock on your door.

You opened your door and saw Seungmin dressed in MyDay colours grinning widely at you. You didn't even get to say anything, he'd already dragged you outside the apartment building.

The two of you arrived at the concert venue and immediately you were loving the vibe the fans were giving off even before they all entered the venue. You had heard a lot about the reputation MyDays had as Day6's very own fanchoir. Like Seungmin was, you were also excited.

You had a bit of trouble finding your seats but eventually found them. You peered to your left to see Seungmin taking a bunch of selfies and pictures with his white camera. You giggled under your breath.

“Y/N, LOOK THEY'RE HERE!”, Seungmin was bouncing up and down, waving his lightband around.

Your focus turned to the big stage in front. There stood all the Day6 members with their instruments, ready to start the concert. Excitement filled your whole body.

“EVERYBODY! LETZGEDDIT!”, the tallest guitarist, Jae, raised his hands in the air before killing it on stage with the other members.

The whole venue shook as everybody was getting hyped by the minute.

“Okay everyone we're going to have to end the concert soon”, Sungjin, the leader, said with a sad expression on his face.

Everyone groaned loudly especially Seungmin who'd been enjoying the heck out of the concert.

“The last song of the day is something that I'm sure everyone is familiar with”, you could practically hear the smirk in Young K's words.

And he was right, even you could recognise the song. Sing Me. Groans became cheers. But your mind was elsewhere.

All throughout the concert, you'd been stealing glances at Seungmin. He looked the same as usual but for some reason, you kept getting nervous while being beside him that evening.

You knew it all started when Colors was playing. The lyrics had struck a chord in you that left you thinking. Would you ever be able to live a life without Seungmin in it? Would you be happy?

Looking at him, you saw only colours in his eyes. Colours that painted your skies.

Eventually after much thought, you solemnly accepted the fact that maybe just maybe- you might actually be in love with him. He wasn't just your crush anymore.

With that sudden realisation, you became tense merely being beside him.

You stood there listening silently to Sing Me. When it was nearing the chorus however, you felt Seungmin's warm hand grabbing ahold of yours, intertwining them together. You glanced up at him questioningly and only saw his eyes softening with an unreadable expression on his features. Blush on his ears.

Sing with me. He had mouthed.

So you did.

[a/n]

tumblr and i, we have a love-hate relationship with each other..anyways kim seungmin is a certified cutie ^ ^

(gif credits to hyunjins)