IMB 2012: Dementia
Title: Dementia
Piring/Focus: Hoya/Dongwoo
Rating: R
Current word count: 8566w
Summary: In which Hoya and Dongwoo go on a search to find the perfect sunrise, and find love instead.
Through the skies you’re en route at the speed of light
So realize there’s chaos in the air tonight
This is love, this is war, this is pure insanity
Dementia, you’re driving me crazy
Owl City - Dementia
It wasn't often that Hoya spaced out during class, but this was one of those days where the topic’s too boring, and the weather’s too stifling hot. It made him -- well, everyone -- sleepy. Hoya doodled on the back of his notes with his eyes half open, infinity signs and little stick figures chasing after a balloon. He vaguely thought that his younger brother could draw better as he drew a stick figure dog behind the stick figure man.
The professor rambled on about the US-Libya confrontation and Hoya blew at his bangs, pushing his glasses further up his nose and rested his head in his arms, ready for a nap. It was okay, he figured, since he could just catch up later in the library.
In the short twenty minutes of sleep he got, Hoya dreamed of blinding stage lights and performance clothes with golden thread, dancing till his body hurt and smiling till his jaw ached.
Lee Howon studied International at one of the country’s top universities. He’s the middle son of three, always a little outshone by his hyung but was his dongsaeng’s favorite. Nevertheless, he never failed to get perfect scores for every report card. His father’s a businessman, and his hyung will be the one to continue the family company, So Howon, you’ll be the politician, his father said.
But just because he always got perfect grades didn't mean he enjoyed what he did. It’s a little sad to think that when Hoya stepped into campus everyday, it wasn't the heavy textbooks on political science and international relations that weighed him down, it was the conscience in his chest and self-pity and the knowledge that he would never be truly happy.
Once, during his first year of college when studying politics felt too much, he went to his father’s study to finally confess that his heart was just not in it. The door was slightly ajar and Hoya was about to push it open and walk in, when he saw what his father was doing.
The middle aged man had his back to Hoya, holding a photo frame in his hands. Hoya knew that photo, it was a photo of him and his two brothers when they went on a vacation to Japan last year. His father turned around, still not noticing his presence, and set the frame on his desk. There was an affectionate smile on his face, a mixture of love and pride for his boys. The smile tore at Hoya’s very being, and he didn’t have the heart to take it away.
So instead he closed the door quietly and headed back to his room, heart even heavier than before but determination set in place. He passed his mother in the hallway, and the small smile on her face as she patted his arm was sad.
It was one of those days when Hoya felt like skipping class. So he grabbed a coffee and pastry form a nearby café and headed to his favorite spot - the roof of the library building, quiet and hidden from the rest of the world. Hoya could almost feel like himself when he was up there.
But there was something wrong when Hoya reached the door at the top of the staircase. The heavy, rusty chain that kept the door closed was on the floor, and only Hoya knew the padlock wasn’t working. Could it be that someone found his secret spot? He thought with a disapproving frown. A little angry, he pushed the door open.
The wind hit him full on the face, whipping his hair back and the weak sunlight momentarily blinded him. Hoya blinked a few times to adjust his vision, pulling the hood of his jacket up. There was a boy sitting on a stool ahead of him, facing the slowly rising sun, brush in hand, easel and empty canvas in front of him. Maybe an Art student.
“Hey,” Hoya called out. The boy turned around, squinting. He was about as old as Hoya, maybe a little older, with strong jaw, straight nose, and sharp eyes. His mouth fell open in surprise, thick lips forming an ‘o’. He blinked rapidly a couple of times before standing up and bowing hurriedly.
“Hello,” he greeted, face splitting into a wide grin, all teeth and crinkly eyes, contagious. Hoya fought to keep his own smile off his face. “What are you doing here? How did you find this place?”
I should be the one asking you, Hoya thought, but he answered anyway. “I go here all the time, actually. This is kinda my hideout.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “Oh, this is your - oh. Oh, sorry,” he finished with a sheepish smile, face flushed. Somehow Hoya found his fumbling and blush endearing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I’ll pack up now -“
“No, it’s okay,” Hoya stopped him as he bent down to pick up his painting supplies, even surprising himself. “You can stay here, I don’t mind.”
The boy sighed in relief, lips stretching into an easy smile. He fumbled with his sleeves before stretching an arm out. “I’m Dongwoo. Jang Dongwoo.”
Hoya walked forward and took Dongwoo's hand, shaking it twice. “Hoya,” he said simply. Dongwoo raised his eyebrows but Hoya didn’t say anything else. Instead he asked, “What are you doing here?”
“I’m, uh,” he began, scratching the back of his head and blushing. “I’m trying to paint the sunrise.”
“Sunrise?” he repeated, and Dongwoo nodded and looked away. Hoya glanced over his shoulder at the empty canvas, but Dongwoo understood his unspoken question.
“It was cloudy today, and really gray, so…” he trailed off, and an awkward silence fell upon them. Dongwoo shifted his weight from one foot to another, clearly not wanting to pursue the subject any longer. Hoya nodded and gestured to the edge of the roof.
“Have you had breakfast? We can share, if you like,” he offered. Dongwoo looked up and nodded gratefully, grinning from ear to ear.
Over the course of two hours, Hoya learned a lot about Jang Dongwoo, a little too much for a first meeting, actually. The older boy wouldn’t stop talking and smiling and laughing, his positive energy infectious.
Dongwoo was a third year Art student by day, and restaurant waiter by night. His family had wanted him to study Medicine or Dentistry, but Dongwoo’s passion had always been in art. Always is and always will be, he'd explained with a grin. But his family didn’t approve of it, of course, they were the conservative people who thought that nobody would be able to make a living by drawing. So at the age of eighteen, Jang Dongwoo ran way from home to pursue his dreams.
“It’s good I won the scholarship for the art program,” he said, munching on his half of the pastry Hoya bought. “So I don’t have to worry about tuition fees. I work only to pay rent and living expenses.”
All through his story Hoya stayed silent. His and Dongwoo’s conditions were exactly the same. He kind of felt jealous towards the older boy, for having enough strength and faith to go after what he really wanted, instead of being stuck doing something he hated. Hoya wondered if he'd be able to do such a thing, start everything from zero like Dongwoo. Maybe he could, he thought, but it was more like he didn’t want to. More than anything, he didn’t want to disappoint his parents.
“Hoya?” Dongwoo called worriedly, peering into his face with a crease between his brows when Hoya’s eyes went out of focus. “Are you alright?”
Hoya stared at Dongwoo, momentarily forgetting where they were before nodding quickly in response. Pitying himself isn’t going to make anything better, so he changed the topic.
“So, um. Sunrise,” he began, fiddling with his hands. “Why did you want to paint that?”
Dongwoo took a sip of coffee from the paper cup between them and handed it to Hoya who also drank a few gulps from the other side. “My scholarship only covers one academic year, so at the end of the year I have to compete again and present the Dean with something that could persuade them to give me another scholarship. And this year’s ending in five months,” he explained, and Hoya nodded. Dongwoo hesitated, watching the campus start to fill with people below, before continuing.
“I don’t know, but… I think I’ve lost my touch,” he said, fingers playing with the edge of the paper cup. “My grades have been dropping, and it gets harder to produce inspiration. And you know how fast word goes around. The Dean said that if I can’t give them something groundbreaking, they’ll terminate the scholarship.”
Hoya let out a long whistle, and Dongwoo smiled bitterly.
“If I dropped out of college, I - I don’t know what I’d do,” he said quietly. “I want to prove to my family that I can make a living out of art. I have to.”
Hoya felt like he understood what Dongwoo was going through more than anybody else. But at the moment, he couldn’t offer more than a pat on the back and a few words of encouragement, which seemed to do the trick. Dongwoo brightened instantly, that goofy grin back on his face. Hoya thought he didn’t mind if he skipped the rest of the class for today just so he could hear Dongwoo’s laugh.
“Do you know how to paint, Hoya?” he asked with a grin, getting up and dusting his pants before pulling Hoya up as well. He sat on the stool before the canvas and told Hoya to stand behind him and watch.
“Painting is a bit like photography,” he said, picking up a charcoal stick. “You try to capture a moment and transfer it to a two dimensional field. The difference is, a painting doesn’t have to be realistic. You can distort the colors and shapes as you like, but as long as you managed to capture the very essence of the moment, then you’ve succeeded. For example,” he looked around, trying to find a subject. “Do you see that girl over there, the one with the blue blouse sitting under the tree?”
Hoya nodded, recognizing the girl as Oh Hayoung from his International Conflicts and Peace-keeping lectures.
“I’m going to try and capture her concentration, her focus on the book she’s reading instead of her herself, you understand?” he asked. Hoya nodded slowly, processing the information. Dongwoo grinned and got to work, brushing his charcoal stick on the canvas in wide arcs, outlining shapes and filling the blank space with rough sketches.
“This is my favorite part,” Dongwoo informed him with an almost childish grin when he put down the charcoal stick. He picked up the palette and a couple of tubes of paint, squirting aquamarine and white and a bit of green onto the wooden palette. “Mixing colors is kinda easy but a little tricky. Sometimes the paint becomes too thick, or the color’s too strong, or you run out of color altogether. And that’s bad, because you can never make the same color twice and you have to start again.”
Dongwoo mixed the three colors together, twirling his brush until the colors blended together and added thinner until he got the right kind of consistency. The resulting color was a pretty bluish-green that reminded him of the northern lights. He took a deep breath before letting the paint touch the surface of the canvas, and when it did, his hands began working tirelessly, painting and mixing colors and smudging lines with his fingers.
Hoya watched in awe, mouth open as Dongwoo worked, the once blank canvas coming to life as blues and greens and even red and purples filled it bit by bit. He couldn’t quite keep up with what Dongwoo was doing and the rapid movements of his fingers, so he opted for watching his face instead.
He’s never seen an artist at work before, and seeing one right before him rendered him speechless. There was a look of utter concentration on his face, and Hoya, at least, understood that look. He was producing a work of art that even narrow-minded people like him would still find beautiful. There was red paint on his left cheek just under his eye and blue on his golden hair and Hoya kind of wanted to wipe away the paint but he held back, not wanting to disturb him.
“Ta-dah!” Dongwoo cried, snapping out of his artist mode, bright smile back. “What do you think?”
Hoya tore his gaze away from Dongwoo’s face, surprised to find that the sun was right above their heads now. His eyes landed on the brightly decorated canvas, just making out the figure of a woman under a lot of green which he assumed was the tree, long brown hair blowing in the breeze. It was almost abstract, but not really, and it was indeed beautiful, without having to fully understand it.
“It’s gorgeous,” he complimented. “It is beautiful and I don’t really understand these things, but -“
“No,” Dongwoo interrupted. Hoya looked up to find that Dongwoo’s grin had dropped, mouth in a thin line, eyes hard and glazed over.
“Excuse me?”
“No, this painting’s wrong,” he said, expression now distressed. “This painting is just wrong, there’s no feeling in it at all, I -“
Hoya, who could not see what was wrong with the picture, frowned. “But it’s not? It’s -“
Dongwoo smiled sadly, fingers dragging down the canvas with the still-wet paint, destroying the whole thing while Hoya could only watch with horrified eyes.
“Wrong,” he whispered brokenly.
When Hoya got home in the evening, his father was waiting in the hall with a scowl on his face. Apparently the Dean had called him to let him know that he he’s missed all his classes and lectures for the day. Hoya lied through his teeth and told him he’d been finishing up a paper with a friend in the library. His father sighed exasperatedly and sent him to his room, without dinner, telling him to stay up late and catch up on everything, but Hoya doesn’t mind, he’s not hungry anyway.
Hoya opened his textbooks and studied what he missed in class but half his mind wasn’t in it. The other half of his brain was occupied by Jang Dongwoo and his bright personality and the pained look in his eyes when he threw away the canvas with the ruined painting of Oh Hayoung. Dongwoo was definitely intelligent, otherwise how could he have won the scholarship? But Hoya still doesn’t see what was lacking in his picture. Then again, artists always have a complex mind and odd way of thinking and art wasn’t his forte, so he really couldn’t say anything against it.
At ten his little brother smuggled some rice and chicken to Hoya’s room, face flushed with embarrassment as he made shushing gestures. Hoya grinned and ruffled his hair gratefully though his appetite hasn’t returned.
“Hyung,” his brother said as he ate, sitting cross legged on Hoya’s bed and playing with his toes. “You’re not happy, are you?”
Hoya froze, body tensing. His brother could be so observant for a child it was a little scary sometimes. He wondered he got it from, maybe from their mother. “What makes you think that?”
He shrugged and didn’t say anything else. Hoya finished his dinner quickly and sent him out with the empty bowls and punched his arm playfully before shutting the door, sighing.
Is it that obvious? Hoya thought distractedly as he packed up his books and called it a night anyway. He laid in bed with the lights off for a long time, thinking about the future and the past and chances that he missed.
At twelve thirty he unlocked his phone and sent a text to Dongwoo.
If you need anything call me. I wanna help you find your muse again or whatever happened to you anyway.
Hoya tapped the send button before he could change his mind. Ten minutes later, Dongwoo replied.
Thanks man :D
Hoya fell asleep straight away with a smile. He dreamed of a monochrome world but then Dongwoo came and painted colors in the sky.
Hoya received a phone call two days later on a Saturday, when it was still dark outside and the LED light on his digital clock read 4:32 am. He groaned as an obnoxiously loud hip hop song pierced the silence of the room, rolling over to grab his cell phone from the bedside table. While muffling the speaker with his fingers, he fumbled as he tapped the green button without checking the caller ID first, the light momentarily blinding him.
“Hello,” he muttered sleepily.
“Hoya!” the overly bright voice for four thirty in the morning answered at the end of the line. “Hey it’s me! Are you awake?”
With a slightly disgruntled voice, Hoya answered, “ ’Am now.”
“Oh, good! I was wondering if you’d like to come with me?” Dongwoo cried, ever oblivious with the situation.
“…come with you?”
“Mm hm! You did say you wanted to help me, right?” his voice became quiet and doubtful. Hoya nodded, but remembered that Dongwoo couldn’t see him.
“Sure. But Dongwoo, it’s four thirty five in the morning,” he reminded him.
“Oh that’s okay!” his bubbly voice said, and Hoya could almost imagine him bouncing on the balls of his feet excitedly. “Otherwise how would we be able to look for the perfect sunrise?”
It was a while before Hoya’s mind clicked. “Ah, okay sure,” he replied while rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. He wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep anyway. “Where do we meet up?”
Half an hour later when Hoya pulled up the driveway of Yongin Station, the sky was still dark and there was nobody on the streets. But Dongwoo was there, waiting for him just as he promised, slightly shivering under his too big sweatshirt.
His face split into a typical Dongwoo grin when he saw Hoya get out of the car before waving to him wildly, causing the painting equipments he carried under his arm to clatter to the pavement. Hoya couldn’t hold back his laughter at the ridiculously adorable expression on Dongwoo’s flustered face, and he hurried over to help him pick them up and load them to the back seat of the car.
“Where are we going?” Hoya asked, revving up the car.
“No idea!” Dongwoo answered brightly as he strapped himself down. Hoya stared at him as if he just grew a pair of horns but the elder continued to grin like no tomorrow.
“What about the Han River? Or the Namsan Tower?” he suggested, resisting the urge to facepalm.
“Perfect!” Dongwoo beamed. “Let’s go then!”
The decided to try Han River today and Namsan Tower tomorrow, and Dongwoo couldn’t stop chattering about one of the customers he served last night and the pretty new waitress who started working last week. Hoya listened to him with an amused smile, only laughing and nodding when appropriate. He loved the sound of Dongwoo’s voice, crazy as it may sound since they'd just met. His voice always bought a smile to Hoya’s lips, bright and bubbly and wonderful just like the person himself.
When they arrived, Dongwoo set up his easel near the water’s edge, excitement and anticipation oozing from him, and Hoya dropped to the grass close by. They talked about anything and everything as they waited for the sun to rise (well, Hoya mostly listened).
“So how did you come to study Politics?” Dongwoo asked, twirling a brush in his hand. Hoya sipped on his can of coffee they bought from a vending machine earlier, not really wanting to answer. But Dongwoo had already told him his story so he guessed it was only fair if he told him his.
“My dad wanted me to,” he confessed. “He’s a businessman himself, and my hyung will be the one to continue the company, so I’m the politician,” he laughed humorlessly. Dongwoo had fallen uncharacteristically silent, hands folded in his lap.
“But you’re not happy, are you?” he asked quietly.
Hoya shook his head. “I never wanted to study Politics. But my father, he’s… I’d do anything for him.”
“By throwing away your own happiness.”
Hoya frowned at him, but Dongwoo merely shrugged his shoulders in a nonchalant way. In the end, Hoya sighed dejectedly and blew at his bangs in annoyance.
“I guess so,” he muttered. “But I don’t have a choice, do I?”
“Only you know whether you have a choice or not. I know I did,” he said, uncapping a tube of orange paint and squirting some into his palette. “What do you want to really do then?”
“I want to dance,” he replied without thinking, and Dongwoo raised his eyebrows bemusedly. “I joined a dance club in middle school. It was great. Amazing. I felt really alive when I danced. But I had to quit in second year of high school. Dad said I should focus on my studies. I can’t make a living out of dancing, he said.”
Dongwoo was silent for a few minutes. “He sounds like a pretty crappy dad to me,” he muttered. Hoya was about to open his mouth and retort angrily when Dongwoo continued. “If your dad really loved you, he’d let you do whatever made you happy.”
There was bitterness in his voice, like he was tasting something unpleasant, and Hoya realized he was talking about himself as well. The silence that fell upon them was thick and suffocating, almost tangible, and it felt like there was a noose around his neck cutting off his airway, so Hoya quietly said, “Look, sunrise.”
Around them people began appearing, walking with dogs or jogging with headphones in their ears. It was all very mundane and routine, and Hoya wondered if he could break all this by himself. The first rays of sunlight began to touch the city of Seoul as Dongwoo readied himself, charcoal stick in hand. Hoya waited for him to work his magic, but even after the sun rose fully and the area around them filled with people, Dongwoo continued to sit there like a stone, facing the river with hopeless eyes. It’s almost like he was saying take me under to the calm waters.
“I can’t do this,” Dongwoo sighed, putting down his charcoal stick and smiling sadly at Hoya. “I’m sorry.”
That night Hoya went to bed earlier, knowing that Dongwoo would wake him up early the next day. He’s spent the whole morning and afternoon trying to cheer him up, dragging him from one place to another and buying him food and overpriced lattes from quaint little cafes, but nothing seemed to work. Dongwoo was distracted the whole time, gaze distant and eyes dim.
“This never happened before,” he had said to Hoya with a hint of desperation in his voice. “Even though it gets harder all the time, usually I could paint something. But today was just… blank.”
Every weekend over the course of the next two and a half months, Hoya accompanied Dongwoo to wherever he happened to want to paint, mostly in the forgotten corners of the city, old playgrounds or hidden clearings.
“I like quiet places,” Dongwoo had said with a smile tugging at his lips.
Each time though, Hoya went home just a little bit more disappointed, and Dongwoo just a little bit more broken.
Even though Dongwoo never managed to paint anything, Hoya liked to just sit next to him and watch him as he talked, learning the expressions on his face and hear his stories, it’s all so very fascinating to him. It’s unfair though, Hoya thinks, how someone as bright and brilliant as Dongwoo had to have the light in his eyes dimmed. So one Saturday he reached out from the rusty swing he was sitting on to Dongwoo’s, pulled, and kissed him in between dawn and day, puffy breaths, and unspoken questions of why are you being like this.
Dongwoo snaked his arms around Hoya’s neck and tugged at the hair on the back of his neck like he’d been waiting for this since forever. And when they pulled away, the sparks in his eyes were back, just a little.
“It’s Lee Howon, by the way,” Hoya whispered against Dongwoo’s lips. “Not Hoya.”
Dongwoo grinned. “Howon,” he whispered.
Hoya felt like his lungs were about to burst, his heart suddenly swelled ten times its size and was threatening to explode out of his chest and it hurt to breathe but he smiled and kissed him again.
“I’m going to Busan the day after tomorrow, to visit my grandparents and calm down,” Hoya said into the phone, amusedly listening to the sound of Dongwoo frying eggs and pouring milk on the other end of the line. “Dad thinks my grades are dropping because I’m stressed and need a little vacation.”
“Did he really,” Dongwoo mumbled distractedly amongst the clattering of bowl and spoon, and Hoya heard the sound of an egg being flipped.
He grinned. “Frankly, I think it’s because of you.”
There’s a little pause. “M-me?”
“I think I’ve been spending too much time with you instead of studying,” Hoya said, chewing his lip and holding back a smile as he waited for Dongwoo’s reaction. There’s silence before Dongwoo whispered a quiet I’m sorry.
Hoya laughed, dropping to his bed. He could almost see Dongwoo’s guilty face in his mind’s eye. “Just kidding, I like teasing you. I just needed some time off.”
Hoya heard a sigh of relief and Dongwoo also chuckled, and when he spoke again his mouth was full of food. “I honestly don’t know why I’m dating you.”
“Oh, sure you do. I’m a great kisser. And I drive you around.”
Dongwoo laughed again, that adorable laughter of his a little crackly from the distance but it brought a smile to Hoya’s face, nevertheless. The line went silent again and Hoya laid in bed with his eyes closed, listening to the sound of Dongwoo having breakfast, his breath, and felt calmness seep into his bones. It’s strange how Hoya could always find peace in everything Dongwoo did or said and he’s never felt like this about another person before, even with an ex-girlfriend he’d dated for years, but he’d have been lying if he said he didn’t love it.
“How long will you be gone?” Dongwoo asked along with the sound of a tap turning on in the background.
“Two weeks,” he answered. “I’m going to miss you.”
Dongwoo chuckled quietly and sighed. “I’m gonna miss you more - wait, Hoya, do you think…? Oh, never mind.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Dongwoo said, and Hoya could picture the blush in his cheeks. He whined and after a bit of persuading and pleading, Dongwoo laughed.
“Well… I was wondering if I could come with you,” he said quickly.
“…come. With me?”
“To Busan.”
Silence.
“Oh.”
Hoya insisted to his parents he’d be okay driving by himself all the way to his grandparents’, and he had Dongwoo anyway so they could switch if he got too tired. His parents had eyed Dongwoo doubtfully, while he continued to smile his thousand watt smile at them, and Hoya had wanted to laugh and capture the moment with a camera. They said yes eventually, and his younger brother helped him pack all his clothes and necessities for two weeks, before happily sending him off out the door and dancing gleefully around the house about having the Wii all to himself.
“Your family is very nice,” Dongwoo commented, as they waved goodbye to Hoya’s parents and his brothers when they drove out the driveway. “I wish my family was as warm as yours.”
Hoya’s heart ached at the sadness in his voice, and he resisted the urge to lean over to the passenger seat and kiss him senseless. “Well, at least you’re not stuck doing something you didn’t want to.”
Dongwoo grinned, brightening up a little. “Still, your parents are very nice. And your brother is adorable.”
“Please, he’s anything but adorable,” Hoya scoffed, and Dongwoo laughed, lighting up the whole car.
They arrived at Hoya’s grandparents’ in the late afternoon, and when he got out of the car they engulfed him in tight hugs and smothered him with kisses, cooing to him like he was a little boy. Dongwoo watched amusedly from the sidelines, grinning broadly at Hoya’s flushed embarrassed face. They greeted Dongwoo warmly as well, patting his cheek affectionately as they lead the two boys into the guest room.
“I’m afraid you have to share the room,” his grandma said. “There’s only one spare bedroom.”
The two boys looked at each other and grinned, dropping their luggage and tackled each other into the double bed and started a tickle fight. Hoya’s grandmother laughed and shook her head at their foolishness, and closed the door quietly behind her.
The house was a small cottage beside the sea, with the constant crash of the waves in the background. There were neat gardens in the front and back of the house, and the place was surrounded by lavender. It was a really peaceful place, one where you can actually hear yourself think even with the sound of the waves. Dongwoo was in love with this place immediately. He imagined spending the rest of his life in a place like this with Hoya, and the thought made him smile.
“What?” Hoya inquired quietly, nuzzling the back of his neck, arms wound tightly around him as they calmed their breaths after the energy-consuming tickle fight that was won by Hoya.
“Nothing. I just,” Dongwoo hesitated, drawing circles on the back of Hoya’s hands with his fingers. “This is a really nice place, don’t you think? So peaceful and serene and just… ah, I’d like to live in a place like this one day.”
“With me?” Hoya asked, grinning cheekily. Dongwoo groaned and covered his reddening face, though he couldn’t deny the happiness that Hoya actually thought the same thing. “Come on, I know you want to spend the rest of your life with me. You love me that much.”
“God, you are so greasy,” Dongwoo muttered, and turned around in Hoya’s arms to pull him into a kiss which he returned happily. “If it makes you feel better, yes, with you.”
The next morning Dongwoo set up his easel on the front garden, placed a blank canvas on it, and waited for the sun to rise. Hoya grabbed a stool from the kitchen and sat next to him, and started sorting Dongwoo’s paints according to color, from darkest to lightest because the tubes of oil paint were everywhere, scattered all over the case Dongwoo kept his painting equipments in. Dongwoo shot him a grateful look as Hoya passed him yellow paint.
“Do you think you’ll be able to paint now? I mean, with the change of scenery, and all,” Hoya asked, grinning after he caught Dongwoo staring at him affectionately, to which the latter turned his head away in embarrassment.
“I don’t know,” he sighed, twisting a charcoal stick in his hands nervously. Hoya watched as his hands slowly blackened from the graphite. “There is no… excitement. Usually before I paint I’d get all hyper and happy and right now, there’s none of that.”
Hoya pouted, disappointment seeping to his bones. He really wanted to see Dongwoo in all his glory, painting like his life depended on it just like that first day Hoya met him. Dongwoo’s face was full of guilt, shoulders slumping and Hoya couldn’t not put his arm around him, trying to assure him that it was okay.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he whispered to his ear, and took the charcoal stick from Dongwoo’s hand. “You’ll be able to paint again, I believe in you.”
“And you’ll stay with me, until then?” he asked back. Dongwoo’s voice is small, insecurity laced in every letter he spoke, and Hoya can hear his heart break around the edges.
Hoya smiled and kissed his temple affectionately. “Always. Now let’s not try today. Let’s go to the beach!”
Dongwoo’s face lit up at the idea. He nodded and got up enthusiastically, pulling Hoya along as well. Hoya had barely enough time to shout a goodbye to his grandparents before he was dragged out the gates and into the small pathway that led to the beach. They walked side by side, arms brushing, wind in their hair, and Hoya wished that time would stop, just like this. He realized that what he just wished for was absolutely girly and cliché, but then he glanced sideways at Dongwoo’s serene expression, and he didn’t really care anymore.
The beach at dawn was stunning, and the two sat in the sand and watched the sunrise together. Bars of light shot through the sky towards them, flecks of gold and yellow and orange dancing on the white sand, and Hoya’s fingers found their way to Dongwoo’s between them and tangled them together, almost giggling at the way they fit perfectly, like a part of him he never knew was lost. Dongwoo smiled and rested his head on Hoya’s shoulders.
At that moment Dongwoo looked breathtakingly beautiful, perfectly imperfect, golden hair falling to his eyes and Hoya can’t help but press the most tender kiss he’s ever given anyone on his lips. Dongwoo let a small, contented sigh slip past his lips and raked his fingers through Hoya’s hair, pulling him closer until he couldn’t breathe. His chest ached from the overflowing feelings; it was so good, like his heart was expanding, pushing against his lungs and ribcage and filling up with all that is Dongwoo.
They spent the whole day at the beach, playing in the water and sand and kissing till their lungs were burning. In the late afternoon though, Dongwoo made a startling request.
“Dance for me,” he said.
Hoya, who had been sitting on a fence licking his popsicle stick, nearly fell off his seat. “What?”
Dongwoo frowned. “Oh come on, you said your passion was in dancing right? You must be good at it!”
“I - I’m not,” he mumbled, looking away. Dongwoo grinned and poked at his red cheeks.
“Please? For me?”
And how could Hoya ever resist?
They found a secluded place far away from the dock, surrounded by cliffs and seeming so far away from the rest of the world. The truth is, even though Hoya had officially stopped dancing seven years ago, he still danced when he had some time alone, when there was nobody in the house. He'd put hip hop music on the stereo and dance to his heart’s content, or until he passed out from bliss and exhaustion, or until somebody gets home.
Strange as it may sound, Hoya loved the way the muscles strained as he stretched his body, the ache in his limbs and the soreness in his bones. It made him feel alive.
Dongwoo took a seat on top of a large rock, crossed his legs, and waited. Hoya tried to relax, but this was the first time he'd danced in front of somebody else other than his own reflection for a long time, and he couldn’t help but feel nervous. The older man smiled encouragingly though, and Hoya sighed as he pressed play on his music player.
“Okay, I warned you, this might be a little rusty since I haven’t danced properly in a long time, let alone in front of somebody, and the last time I had an instructor was seven years ago, so… yeah. I should start,” he trailed off at the bored look in Dongwoo’s face, and scratched the back of his head sheepishly.
The music started at a slow pace, and Hoya started swaying his body in time with the beat, moving his arms and legs in basic movements. As the song progressed though, Hoya began adding some more complex moves, even throwing in some of his own freestyle dancing. His heart pounded in excitement as he let himself be swept away by the music, forgetting the world and everything in it. He danced like it was his last day on earth, like his life depended on it. By the time the music stopped, he was sweating profusely, his shirt soaked, but the grin on his face is so wide it hurts.
He realized with a dull ache to his chest just how much he missed dancing.
Dongwoo brought him back to reality, clapping his hands hard Hoya can see the skin of his palms turning red. There’s wetness clinging to his eyelashes and the smile on his face was heartbreakingly sad, in a twisted, beautiful way.
“I’ve never seen you look so happy,” he said, laughing as his tears finally burst.
They stumbled back home, wet and exhausted and happy, leaning on each other for support and meandering through the sand dunes towards the house. Hoya was high on happiness and Dongwoo’s laughter, smile never slipping from his face as he unlocked the door and pulled Dongwoo in with him.
But suddenly Dongwoo pulled away from Hoya’s arms, pushing him to the kitchen and heading out the door.
“Dongwoo?” he called, frowning.
“Go on! I’ll be there in a minute!” he shouted as he slammed the front door shut. “And don’t you dare peek outside!”
Hoya bit his lip uncertainly, but shrugged and turned to the fridge to find some food. He found a note on the counter from his grandparents, telling him they’ve gone out to the city for the night, to be a good boy, and cook his own dinner. Hoya shrugged again and began searching through the refrigerator to look for ingredients.
Dongwoo didn’t come back in even when Hoya was half-finished making their dinner of bulgogi and ramyun. He glanced at the front door worriedly but he could only hear the sound of somebody shifting around in the garden, so he huffed and continued cooking. He’d only just started to lay out the table for two when the door creaked open and Dongwoo peeked in, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and sniffing the air hopefully.
“Come on, dinner’s ready,” he called and Dongwoo walked in, smiling. His hands were blackened and Hoya wondered why, but he didn’t ask.
“God, what I would give to be coming home to this sight for the rest of my life,” Dongwoo said with a grin, and Hoya looked down at himself. He’s wearing his grandmother’s frilly yellow apron, laying out dinner on the table, and realizing what Dongwoo meant, blushed and whacked him on the head as he passed.
They ate dinner in comfortable silence, the TV broadcasting sitcoms they don’t even watch, buzzing softly in the background. Hoya kind of wanted to ask Dongwoo what he was doing but decided against it. Dongwoo will tell him, sooner or later. After dinner, Dongwoo ran back outside, and Hoya sighed, left to do the dishes and watch TV all on his own.
At around eleven pm, Hoya’s grandparents came home, smiling and giggling and, oh god, giving each other moony eyes. He refrained himself from rolling his own.
“Gran, what’s Dongwoo doing outside?” he asked, not being able to contain his curiosity.
His grandmother laughed. “Oh Dongwoo said not to tell you!” she giggled.
Hoya groaned as his grandfather giggled back in return and practically waltzed her into their room, shouting a ‘goodnight, Howon!’ just before the door closed. He ruffled his hair in frustration and dropped back to the couch with a childish pout, smashing the buttons on the remote control savagely.
It was one thirty and Hoya's head was lolling sideways as the eerie light from the television washed over his slumped form. Dongwoo tiptoed in, and shook him awake gently. Hoya awoke with a jolt, looking around in confusion and the older man couldn’t help but giggle at his sleepy expression.
“Dongwoo,” he breathed in relief, smile easily slipping to place. “You’re still awake?”
Dongwoo nodded, smile wide. Hoya could see that he’s exhausted, face a little pale but there’s a strange twinkle in his eyes Hoya’s never seen before, and paint on his face and his shirt and his hands and oh my god paint. He’s honestly scared to get his hopes up, though.
“I want to show you something,” Dongwoo said quietly, offering his hand. There was paint there too, orange and pink. He took it and stood up, and lets himself be led out of the house.
They were walking towards the easel, where a canvas was propped up facing away from them, and Dongwoo slowly lead him to the other side. Hoya wasn't sure what to expect, really. His heart was thumping and he was sure Dongwoo could hear it, because he had this stupid grin on his face that wouldn’t go away.
The canvas wasn’t white and empty. It has something; or rather - someone - painted on it against a solid black background. The person’s body was twisted gracefully, back arching and knees bent in a position that’s almost beautiful. There are ribbons of light twisting around his arms and legs, yellow and pale blues and the most magical shade of purple, but mostly gold. Streams of gold bursting from the palms of his hands and twisting around his ankles and Hoya felt his breath caught in his throat. He was rendered speechless.
“What’s this?” he asked, voice suddenly hoarse. Dongwoo was fidgeting anxiously, and Hoya gripped his hand to stop him from moving around so much.
“This is you,” he said, grinning and blushing fifty different kinds of beautiful red. “I painted you, dancing.”
Hoya slowly turned his head in Dongwoo’s direction, still unable to fully digest the fact that Dongwoo’s painted, and not just anything, Dongwoo actually painted him. His mouth opened and closed but no sound came out, so he stared at the painting again instead. This painting was on a whole other level from that painting of Oh Hayoung from so long ago, much more beautiful in a way it never was.
“Do you like it?” the man beside him asked in a timid voice.
Hoya turned around and pulled him to his arms, pressing their lips together in a sudden kiss. Dongwoo gasped in surprise and Hoya used the opportunity to slip his tongue inside Dongwoo’s mouth.
“Like it? I fucking love it,” he whispered ferociously to Dongwoo’s lips, and Dongwoo’s eyes open dazedly. “And I fucking love you.”
They made love that night on the bed that was just a little too small, their limbs hanging of of the edges and Dongwoo couldn’t stop laughing but he was so beautiful so Hoya didn’t mind. It wasn’t his first time, but it sure felt like it, with the way his lungs threatened to implode with every soft moan and gentle sighs that escaped Dongwoo’s lips. They locked eyes when Hoya pushed in, and the feeling of drowning in his pools of chocolate brown and Dongwoo tight around him has him gasping for breath by the time he’s all the way in.
This must be what paradise feels like, Hoya thought as they rocked together on the pristine sheets, Dongwoo clutching at his shoulder like he was holding on for dear life and mouthing Hoya’s name soundlessly like it was a prayer. Hoya’s heart ached in a good way when Dongwoo pulled him down for a kiss to muffle a groan, and the coil in his stomach was so tight it almost hurt.
They fell off the edge together, screams muffled by each other’s lips, and Hoya had never felt so good in all his life. The way their bodies fit together, even when they were sticky with sweat and come, was so perfect in a way Hoya would never be able to wrap his mind around. Dongwoo’s smile was tired when Hoya rolled off him to his side and pulled him to his chest, but there’ll never be anything as beautiful.
As he drifted off to sleep, he let an amused chuckle slip past his lips as he imagined the ribbons of light in Dongwoo’s painting escaping from his chest to tangle around their forms, interweaving them even closer together, cocooning them in light and warmth and all else that was beautiful.
Dongwoo doesn’t try painting the sunrise again after that. Inspiration will come, sooner or later, he had said with a grin.
“And maybe,” he said. “I’ll just submit this painting of you. I’ll give up on the sunrise; nobody could paint something that grand and do it justice, anyway.”
Hoya frowned. “Nothing’s impossible,” he piped up. Dongwoo shrugged nonchalantly as he continued packing his clothes. They’d be going back to Seoul tomorrow, and Hoya couldn’t exactly say he was looking forward to it. He missed his family, yes, but this beautiful cottage by the sea and the constant sound of the waves had grown on him. He hadn’t appreciated it when he was younger, but now, all he wanted was to stay here with Dongwoo for the rest of his life, secluded from the rest of the world, where he could dance forever and Dongwoo could paint without pressure. It seemed like a wonderful idea.
The next day Hoya’s grandmother loaded their already full bags with cookies and souvenirs, tears seeping to Hoya’s shirt as he hugged her one last time. He felt guilty for not visiting her more often. His grandfather thumped him and Dongwoo on the back, smile wide.
“Take care of him,” his grandfather told Dongwoo and pointed at Hoya, and the older man laughed before nodding. His grandparents had come to love Dongwoo too over two weeks. But then again, who wouldn’t?
“Let’s go home,” Dongwoo said, grinning, and together, they left.
Hoya found Dongwoo on the rooftop of the library building one day, sitting cross legged with his painting beside him. The sky was still dark and it was rather chilly, and Dongwoo jumped when Hoya tossed a can of coffee to his lap. He grinned and sat beside him, and Dongwoo immediately laid his head on Hoya’s shoulder after giving him a quick kiss, eyes drifting shut sleepily. There were tired, black rings around his eyes and Hoya wondered why.
“Why are you here?” he murmured to Dongwoo’s hair, inhaling the scent of his shampoo and paint and something that was entirely Dongwoo.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he mumbled, shifting so his face was against the skin of Hoya’s neck. “The due date’s tomorrow, and I’m submitting the painting now. I’m so nervous.”
Hoya chuckled and intertwined their fingers together, trying to comfort him. He was a man of few words and he wasn't very good at them either, but Dongwoo understood in a way only he could, and Hoya could feel his lips stretch into a smile against his Adam’s apple.
They stayed in that position for a long time in silence and Hoya loved the way Dongwoo’s warmth emanated from his body and into his own as he rubbed circles to his wrist with his thumb. But suddenly Dongwoo jerked up, startling Hoya as well. There’s a confused, frenzied look in his eyes that Hoya’d never seen before, and Hoya was a little worried.
“Dongwoo? Are you okay?” he asked. Dongwoo shook his head and got up, running out and shouting ‘Ill be back!’ over his shoulder. Hoya was confused but he didn’t follow him, so he sat back down and drank his coffee and ate his breakfast, wondering what that was all about.
The door to the roof slammed open ten minutes later, and Dongwoo reappeared, carrying his easel and a canvas and his case of painting equipments, huffing and panting as he hauled them up the stairs. Hoya scrambled up and helped him set them up, confused though he was.
“What’s this for Dongwoo?” he asked as Dongwoo set up his stool and sat down in front of the canvas, hands shaking.
“Shut up, wait, okay,” he said, breathless as he took out orange and gold and brown paint and squirted them to his palette. Hoya had never seen him like this, practically shaking from anticipation and excitement and a whole lot of other feelings he couldn’t understand.
When the first tendrils of sunlight crawled over the horizon, Dongwoo held his breath, as if waiting. A little more of the sun appeared, and Dongwoo smothered his brush to a pretty shade of orange paint, and without even outlining anything, began to work.
Hoya’s not sure how he could go so long without breathing, but not a breath passed his lips as he watched Dongwoo work, painting and splattering the white canvas with the colors of the sunrise. He’d never seen this side of Dongwoo before, the almost maniacal glint in his eyes as he mixed colors together, and in his eyes Dongwoo seemed to glow, bright and effusive and dangerous. He finally understood how Dongwoo must’ve felt when he danced in front of him.
The canvas slowly filled bit by bit, as Dongwoo worked against time before the sun rose fully. His body moved with him as he painted, face so close to the canvas and tongue stuck out between his teeth. It's like dancing in his own way, Hoya mused.
Hoya waited and waited, and finally, Dongwoo moved away from the canvas. It felt like his heart was beating right through his chest, the way it was drumming so hard it drowned out all noise. He knew what it was like to have your breath knocked out of you and caught in your throat, completely until your lungs hurt like there’s a hook pulling it out of your chest cavity through the esophagus. And it was happening to him, right now.
Hoya knew Dongwoo was a genius, but he’d never actually seen any of Dongwoo’s painting save for the painting of Oh Hayoung and him. Those were exceptionally beautiful, but this, he couldn’t even to put it into words. In the middle of the canvas was a golden circle, surrounded by waves of oranges and yellow and red, then around the edges subtly turning to blues and purples, and eventually, black. It was eerily beautiful, and Hoya couldn’t help the chill that passed through his backbone. Not a word passed his lips, but he knew Dongwoo understood just by the expression on his face.
“There is no such thing as a perfect sunrise,” Dongwoo said, smiling. His face was calm and serene, like he was finally at peace with himself. “Every sunrise is perfect, grand and majestic just like everything else nature created. No matter if it was cloudy or bright, it’s your point of view that’s changing it.”
Hoya turned to Dongwoo, who was laughing but crying, and Hoya really wanted to kiss him senseless, so he did just that.
“I just,” Dongwoo murmured with his lips still against his. “I just felt so stupid for only realizing it. Every sunrise is perfect, as long as you’re here.”
Piring/Focus: Hoya/Dongwoo
Rating: R
Current word count: 8566w
Summary: In which Hoya and Dongwoo go on a search to find the perfect sunrise, and find love instead.
Through the skies you’re en route at the speed of light
So realize there’s chaos in the air tonight
This is love, this is war, this is pure insanity
Dementia, you’re driving me crazy
Owl City - Dementia
It wasn't often that Hoya spaced out during class, but this was one of those days where the topic’s too boring, and the weather’s too stifling hot. It made him -- well, everyone -- sleepy. Hoya doodled on the back of his notes with his eyes half open, infinity signs and little stick figures chasing after a balloon. He vaguely thought that his younger brother could draw better as he drew a stick figure dog behind the stick figure man.
The professor rambled on about the US-Libya confrontation and Hoya blew at his bangs, pushing his glasses further up his nose and rested his head in his arms, ready for a nap. It was okay, he figured, since he could just catch up later in the library.
In the short twenty minutes of sleep he got, Hoya dreamed of blinding stage lights and performance clothes with golden thread, dancing till his body hurt and smiling till his jaw ached.
Lee Howon studied International at one of the country’s top universities. He’s the middle son of three, always a little outshone by his hyung but was his dongsaeng’s favorite. Nevertheless, he never failed to get perfect scores for every report card. His father’s a businessman, and his hyung will be the one to continue the family company, So Howon, you’ll be the politician, his father said.
But just because he always got perfect grades didn't mean he enjoyed what he did. It’s a little sad to think that when Hoya stepped into campus everyday, it wasn't the heavy textbooks on political science and international relations that weighed him down, it was the conscience in his chest and self-pity and the knowledge that he would never be truly happy.
Once, during his first year of college when studying politics felt too much, he went to his father’s study to finally confess that his heart was just not in it. The door was slightly ajar and Hoya was about to push it open and walk in, when he saw what his father was doing.
The middle aged man had his back to Hoya, holding a photo frame in his hands. Hoya knew that photo, it was a photo of him and his two brothers when they went on a vacation to Japan last year. His father turned around, still not noticing his presence, and set the frame on his desk. There was an affectionate smile on his face, a mixture of love and pride for his boys. The smile tore at Hoya’s very being, and he didn’t have the heart to take it away.
So instead he closed the door quietly and headed back to his room, heart even heavier than before but determination set in place. He passed his mother in the hallway, and the small smile on her face as she patted his arm was sad.
It was one of those days when Hoya felt like skipping class. So he grabbed a coffee and pastry form a nearby café and headed to his favorite spot - the roof of the library building, quiet and hidden from the rest of the world. Hoya could almost feel like himself when he was up there.
But there was something wrong when Hoya reached the door at the top of the staircase. The heavy, rusty chain that kept the door closed was on the floor, and only Hoya knew the padlock wasn’t working. Could it be that someone found his secret spot? He thought with a disapproving frown. A little angry, he pushed the door open.
The wind hit him full on the face, whipping his hair back and the weak sunlight momentarily blinded him. Hoya blinked a few times to adjust his vision, pulling the hood of his jacket up. There was a boy sitting on a stool ahead of him, facing the slowly rising sun, brush in hand, easel and empty canvas in front of him. Maybe an Art student.
“Hey,” Hoya called out. The boy turned around, squinting. He was about as old as Hoya, maybe a little older, with strong jaw, straight nose, and sharp eyes. His mouth fell open in surprise, thick lips forming an ‘o’. He blinked rapidly a couple of times before standing up and bowing hurriedly.
“Hello,” he greeted, face splitting into a wide grin, all teeth and crinkly eyes, contagious. Hoya fought to keep his own smile off his face. “What are you doing here? How did you find this place?”
I should be the one asking you, Hoya thought, but he answered anyway. “I go here all the time, actually. This is kinda my hideout.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “Oh, this is your - oh. Oh, sorry,” he finished with a sheepish smile, face flushed. Somehow Hoya found his fumbling and blush endearing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I’ll pack up now -“
“No, it’s okay,” Hoya stopped him as he bent down to pick up his painting supplies, even surprising himself. “You can stay here, I don’t mind.”
The boy sighed in relief, lips stretching into an easy smile. He fumbled with his sleeves before stretching an arm out. “I’m Dongwoo. Jang Dongwoo.”
Hoya walked forward and took Dongwoo's hand, shaking it twice. “Hoya,” he said simply. Dongwoo raised his eyebrows but Hoya didn’t say anything else. Instead he asked, “What are you doing here?”
“I’m, uh,” he began, scratching the back of his head and blushing. “I’m trying to paint the sunrise.”
“Sunrise?” he repeated, and Dongwoo nodded and looked away. Hoya glanced over his shoulder at the empty canvas, but Dongwoo understood his unspoken question.
“It was cloudy today, and really gray, so…” he trailed off, and an awkward silence fell upon them. Dongwoo shifted his weight from one foot to another, clearly not wanting to pursue the subject any longer. Hoya nodded and gestured to the edge of the roof.
“Have you had breakfast? We can share, if you like,” he offered. Dongwoo looked up and nodded gratefully, grinning from ear to ear.
Over the course of two hours, Hoya learned a lot about Jang Dongwoo, a little too much for a first meeting, actually. The older boy wouldn’t stop talking and smiling and laughing, his positive energy infectious.
Dongwoo was a third year Art student by day, and restaurant waiter by night. His family had wanted him to study Medicine or Dentistry, but Dongwoo’s passion had always been in art. Always is and always will be, he'd explained with a grin. But his family didn’t approve of it, of course, they were the conservative people who thought that nobody would be able to make a living by drawing. So at the age of eighteen, Jang Dongwoo ran way from home to pursue his dreams.
“It’s good I won the scholarship for the art program,” he said, munching on his half of the pastry Hoya bought. “So I don’t have to worry about tuition fees. I work only to pay rent and living expenses.”
All through his story Hoya stayed silent. His and Dongwoo’s conditions were exactly the same. He kind of felt jealous towards the older boy, for having enough strength and faith to go after what he really wanted, instead of being stuck doing something he hated. Hoya wondered if he'd be able to do such a thing, start everything from zero like Dongwoo. Maybe he could, he thought, but it was more like he didn’t want to. More than anything, he didn’t want to disappoint his parents.
“Hoya?” Dongwoo called worriedly, peering into his face with a crease between his brows when Hoya’s eyes went out of focus. “Are you alright?”
Hoya stared at Dongwoo, momentarily forgetting where they were before nodding quickly in response. Pitying himself isn’t going to make anything better, so he changed the topic.
“So, um. Sunrise,” he began, fiddling with his hands. “Why did you want to paint that?”
Dongwoo took a sip of coffee from the paper cup between them and handed it to Hoya who also drank a few gulps from the other side. “My scholarship only covers one academic year, so at the end of the year I have to compete again and present the Dean with something that could persuade them to give me another scholarship. And this year’s ending in five months,” he explained, and Hoya nodded. Dongwoo hesitated, watching the campus start to fill with people below, before continuing.
“I don’t know, but… I think I’ve lost my touch,” he said, fingers playing with the edge of the paper cup. “My grades have been dropping, and it gets harder to produce inspiration. And you know how fast word goes around. The Dean said that if I can’t give them something groundbreaking, they’ll terminate the scholarship.”
Hoya let out a long whistle, and Dongwoo smiled bitterly.
“If I dropped out of college, I - I don’t know what I’d do,” he said quietly. “I want to prove to my family that I can make a living out of art. I have to.”
Hoya felt like he understood what Dongwoo was going through more than anybody else. But at the moment, he couldn’t offer more than a pat on the back and a few words of encouragement, which seemed to do the trick. Dongwoo brightened instantly, that goofy grin back on his face. Hoya thought he didn’t mind if he skipped the rest of the class for today just so he could hear Dongwoo’s laugh.
“Do you know how to paint, Hoya?” he asked with a grin, getting up and dusting his pants before pulling Hoya up as well. He sat on the stool before the canvas and told Hoya to stand behind him and watch.
“Painting is a bit like photography,” he said, picking up a charcoal stick. “You try to capture a moment and transfer it to a two dimensional field. The difference is, a painting doesn’t have to be realistic. You can distort the colors and shapes as you like, but as long as you managed to capture the very essence of the moment, then you’ve succeeded. For example,” he looked around, trying to find a subject. “Do you see that girl over there, the one with the blue blouse sitting under the tree?”
Hoya nodded, recognizing the girl as Oh Hayoung from his International Conflicts and Peace-keeping lectures.
“I’m going to try and capture her concentration, her focus on the book she’s reading instead of her herself, you understand?” he asked. Hoya nodded slowly, processing the information. Dongwoo grinned and got to work, brushing his charcoal stick on the canvas in wide arcs, outlining shapes and filling the blank space with rough sketches.
“This is my favorite part,” Dongwoo informed him with an almost childish grin when he put down the charcoal stick. He picked up the palette and a couple of tubes of paint, squirting aquamarine and white and a bit of green onto the wooden palette. “Mixing colors is kinda easy but a little tricky. Sometimes the paint becomes too thick, or the color’s too strong, or you run out of color altogether. And that’s bad, because you can never make the same color twice and you have to start again.”
Dongwoo mixed the three colors together, twirling his brush until the colors blended together and added thinner until he got the right kind of consistency. The resulting color was a pretty bluish-green that reminded him of the northern lights. He took a deep breath before letting the paint touch the surface of the canvas, and when it did, his hands began working tirelessly, painting and mixing colors and smudging lines with his fingers.
Hoya watched in awe, mouth open as Dongwoo worked, the once blank canvas coming to life as blues and greens and even red and purples filled it bit by bit. He couldn’t quite keep up with what Dongwoo was doing and the rapid movements of his fingers, so he opted for watching his face instead.
He’s never seen an artist at work before, and seeing one right before him rendered him speechless. There was a look of utter concentration on his face, and Hoya, at least, understood that look. He was producing a work of art that even narrow-minded people like him would still find beautiful. There was red paint on his left cheek just under his eye and blue on his golden hair and Hoya kind of wanted to wipe away the paint but he held back, not wanting to disturb him.
“Ta-dah!” Dongwoo cried, snapping out of his artist mode, bright smile back. “What do you think?”
Hoya tore his gaze away from Dongwoo’s face, surprised to find that the sun was right above their heads now. His eyes landed on the brightly decorated canvas, just making out the figure of a woman under a lot of green which he assumed was the tree, long brown hair blowing in the breeze. It was almost abstract, but not really, and it was indeed beautiful, without having to fully understand it.
“It’s gorgeous,” he complimented. “It is beautiful and I don’t really understand these things, but -“
“No,” Dongwoo interrupted. Hoya looked up to find that Dongwoo’s grin had dropped, mouth in a thin line, eyes hard and glazed over.
“Excuse me?”
“No, this painting’s wrong,” he said, expression now distressed. “This painting is just wrong, there’s no feeling in it at all, I -“
Hoya, who could not see what was wrong with the picture, frowned. “But it’s not? It’s -“
Dongwoo smiled sadly, fingers dragging down the canvas with the still-wet paint, destroying the whole thing while Hoya could only watch with horrified eyes.
“Wrong,” he whispered brokenly.
When Hoya got home in the evening, his father was waiting in the hall with a scowl on his face. Apparently the Dean had called him to let him know that he he’s missed all his classes and lectures for the day. Hoya lied through his teeth and told him he’d been finishing up a paper with a friend in the library. His father sighed exasperatedly and sent him to his room, without dinner, telling him to stay up late and catch up on everything, but Hoya doesn’t mind, he’s not hungry anyway.
Hoya opened his textbooks and studied what he missed in class but half his mind wasn’t in it. The other half of his brain was occupied by Jang Dongwoo and his bright personality and the pained look in his eyes when he threw away the canvas with the ruined painting of Oh Hayoung. Dongwoo was definitely intelligent, otherwise how could he have won the scholarship? But Hoya still doesn’t see what was lacking in his picture. Then again, artists always have a complex mind and odd way of thinking and art wasn’t his forte, so he really couldn’t say anything against it.
At ten his little brother smuggled some rice and chicken to Hoya’s room, face flushed with embarrassment as he made shushing gestures. Hoya grinned and ruffled his hair gratefully though his appetite hasn’t returned.
“Hyung,” his brother said as he ate, sitting cross legged on Hoya’s bed and playing with his toes. “You’re not happy, are you?”
Hoya froze, body tensing. His brother could be so observant for a child it was a little scary sometimes. He wondered he got it from, maybe from their mother. “What makes you think that?”
He shrugged and didn’t say anything else. Hoya finished his dinner quickly and sent him out with the empty bowls and punched his arm playfully before shutting the door, sighing.
Is it that obvious? Hoya thought distractedly as he packed up his books and called it a night anyway. He laid in bed with the lights off for a long time, thinking about the future and the past and chances that he missed.
At twelve thirty he unlocked his phone and sent a text to Dongwoo.
If you need anything call me. I wanna help you find your muse again or whatever happened to you anyway.
Hoya tapped the send button before he could change his mind. Ten minutes later, Dongwoo replied.
Thanks man :D
Hoya fell asleep straight away with a smile. He dreamed of a monochrome world but then Dongwoo came and painted colors in the sky.
Hoya received a phone call two days later on a Saturday, when it was still dark outside and the LED light on his digital clock read 4:32 am. He groaned as an obnoxiously loud hip hop song pierced the silence of the room, rolling over to grab his cell phone from the bedside table. While muffling the speaker with his fingers, he fumbled as he tapped the green button without checking the caller ID first, the light momentarily blinding him.
“Hello,” he muttered sleepily.
“Hoya!” the overly bright voice for four thirty in the morning answered at the end of the line. “Hey it’s me! Are you awake?”
With a slightly disgruntled voice, Hoya answered, “ ’Am now.”
“Oh, good! I was wondering if you’d like to come with me?” Dongwoo cried, ever oblivious with the situation.
“…come with you?”
“Mm hm! You did say you wanted to help me, right?” his voice became quiet and doubtful. Hoya nodded, but remembered that Dongwoo couldn’t see him.
“Sure. But Dongwoo, it’s four thirty five in the morning,” he reminded him.
“Oh that’s okay!” his bubbly voice said, and Hoya could almost imagine him bouncing on the balls of his feet excitedly. “Otherwise how would we be able to look for the perfect sunrise?”
It was a while before Hoya’s mind clicked. “Ah, okay sure,” he replied while rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. He wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep anyway. “Where do we meet up?”
Half an hour later when Hoya pulled up the driveway of Yongin Station, the sky was still dark and there was nobody on the streets. But Dongwoo was there, waiting for him just as he promised, slightly shivering under his too big sweatshirt.
His face split into a typical Dongwoo grin when he saw Hoya get out of the car before waving to him wildly, causing the painting equipments he carried under his arm to clatter to the pavement. Hoya couldn’t hold back his laughter at the ridiculously adorable expression on Dongwoo’s flustered face, and he hurried over to help him pick them up and load them to the back seat of the car.
“Where are we going?” Hoya asked, revving up the car.
“No idea!” Dongwoo answered brightly as he strapped himself down. Hoya stared at him as if he just grew a pair of horns but the elder continued to grin like no tomorrow.
“What about the Han River? Or the Namsan Tower?” he suggested, resisting the urge to facepalm.
“Perfect!” Dongwoo beamed. “Let’s go then!”
The decided to try Han River today and Namsan Tower tomorrow, and Dongwoo couldn’t stop chattering about one of the customers he served last night and the pretty new waitress who started working last week. Hoya listened to him with an amused smile, only laughing and nodding when appropriate. He loved the sound of Dongwoo’s voice, crazy as it may sound since they'd just met. His voice always bought a smile to Hoya’s lips, bright and bubbly and wonderful just like the person himself.
When they arrived, Dongwoo set up his easel near the water’s edge, excitement and anticipation oozing from him, and Hoya dropped to the grass close by. They talked about anything and everything as they waited for the sun to rise (well, Hoya mostly listened).
“So how did you come to study Politics?” Dongwoo asked, twirling a brush in his hand. Hoya sipped on his can of coffee they bought from a vending machine earlier, not really wanting to answer. But Dongwoo had already told him his story so he guessed it was only fair if he told him his.
“My dad wanted me to,” he confessed. “He’s a businessman himself, and my hyung will be the one to continue the company, so I’m the politician,” he laughed humorlessly. Dongwoo had fallen uncharacteristically silent, hands folded in his lap.
“But you’re not happy, are you?” he asked quietly.
Hoya shook his head. “I never wanted to study Politics. But my father, he’s… I’d do anything for him.”
“By throwing away your own happiness.”
Hoya frowned at him, but Dongwoo merely shrugged his shoulders in a nonchalant way. In the end, Hoya sighed dejectedly and blew at his bangs in annoyance.
“I guess so,” he muttered. “But I don’t have a choice, do I?”
“Only you know whether you have a choice or not. I know I did,” he said, uncapping a tube of orange paint and squirting some into his palette. “What do you want to really do then?”
“I want to dance,” he replied without thinking, and Dongwoo raised his eyebrows bemusedly. “I joined a dance club in middle school. It was great. Amazing. I felt really alive when I danced. But I had to quit in second year of high school. Dad said I should focus on my studies. I can’t make a living out of dancing, he said.”
Dongwoo was silent for a few minutes. “He sounds like a pretty crappy dad to me,” he muttered. Hoya was about to open his mouth and retort angrily when Dongwoo continued. “If your dad really loved you, he’d let you do whatever made you happy.”
There was bitterness in his voice, like he was tasting something unpleasant, and Hoya realized he was talking about himself as well. The silence that fell upon them was thick and suffocating, almost tangible, and it felt like there was a noose around his neck cutting off his airway, so Hoya quietly said, “Look, sunrise.”
Around them people began appearing, walking with dogs or jogging with headphones in their ears. It was all very mundane and routine, and Hoya wondered if he could break all this by himself. The first rays of sunlight began to touch the city of Seoul as Dongwoo readied himself, charcoal stick in hand. Hoya waited for him to work his magic, but even after the sun rose fully and the area around them filled with people, Dongwoo continued to sit there like a stone, facing the river with hopeless eyes. It’s almost like he was saying take me under to the calm waters.
“I can’t do this,” Dongwoo sighed, putting down his charcoal stick and smiling sadly at Hoya. “I’m sorry.”
That night Hoya went to bed earlier, knowing that Dongwoo would wake him up early the next day. He’s spent the whole morning and afternoon trying to cheer him up, dragging him from one place to another and buying him food and overpriced lattes from quaint little cafes, but nothing seemed to work. Dongwoo was distracted the whole time, gaze distant and eyes dim.
“This never happened before,” he had said to Hoya with a hint of desperation in his voice. “Even though it gets harder all the time, usually I could paint something. But today was just… blank.”
Every weekend over the course of the next two and a half months, Hoya accompanied Dongwoo to wherever he happened to want to paint, mostly in the forgotten corners of the city, old playgrounds or hidden clearings.
“I like quiet places,” Dongwoo had said with a smile tugging at his lips.
Each time though, Hoya went home just a little bit more disappointed, and Dongwoo just a little bit more broken.
Even though Dongwoo never managed to paint anything, Hoya liked to just sit next to him and watch him as he talked, learning the expressions on his face and hear his stories, it’s all so very fascinating to him. It’s unfair though, Hoya thinks, how someone as bright and brilliant as Dongwoo had to have the light in his eyes dimmed. So one Saturday he reached out from the rusty swing he was sitting on to Dongwoo’s, pulled, and kissed him in between dawn and day, puffy breaths, and unspoken questions of why are you being like this.
Dongwoo snaked his arms around Hoya’s neck and tugged at the hair on the back of his neck like he’d been waiting for this since forever. And when they pulled away, the sparks in his eyes were back, just a little.
“It’s Lee Howon, by the way,” Hoya whispered against Dongwoo’s lips. “Not Hoya.”
Dongwoo grinned. “Howon,” he whispered.
Hoya felt like his lungs were about to burst, his heart suddenly swelled ten times its size and was threatening to explode out of his chest and it hurt to breathe but he smiled and kissed him again.
“I’m going to Busan the day after tomorrow, to visit my grandparents and calm down,” Hoya said into the phone, amusedly listening to the sound of Dongwoo frying eggs and pouring milk on the other end of the line. “Dad thinks my grades are dropping because I’m stressed and need a little vacation.”
“Did he really,” Dongwoo mumbled distractedly amongst the clattering of bowl and spoon, and Hoya heard the sound of an egg being flipped.
He grinned. “Frankly, I think it’s because of you.”
There’s a little pause. “M-me?”
“I think I’ve been spending too much time with you instead of studying,” Hoya said, chewing his lip and holding back a smile as he waited for Dongwoo’s reaction. There’s silence before Dongwoo whispered a quiet I’m sorry.
Hoya laughed, dropping to his bed. He could almost see Dongwoo’s guilty face in his mind’s eye. “Just kidding, I like teasing you. I just needed some time off.”
Hoya heard a sigh of relief and Dongwoo also chuckled, and when he spoke again his mouth was full of food. “I honestly don’t know why I’m dating you.”
“Oh, sure you do. I’m a great kisser. And I drive you around.”
Dongwoo laughed again, that adorable laughter of his a little crackly from the distance but it brought a smile to Hoya’s face, nevertheless. The line went silent again and Hoya laid in bed with his eyes closed, listening to the sound of Dongwoo having breakfast, his breath, and felt calmness seep into his bones. It’s strange how Hoya could always find peace in everything Dongwoo did or said and he’s never felt like this about another person before, even with an ex-girlfriend he’d dated for years, but he’d have been lying if he said he didn’t love it.
“How long will you be gone?” Dongwoo asked along with the sound of a tap turning on in the background.
“Two weeks,” he answered. “I’m going to miss you.”
Dongwoo chuckled quietly and sighed. “I’m gonna miss you more - wait, Hoya, do you think…? Oh, never mind.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Dongwoo said, and Hoya could picture the blush in his cheeks. He whined and after a bit of persuading and pleading, Dongwoo laughed.
“Well… I was wondering if I could come with you,” he said quickly.
“…come. With me?”
“To Busan.”
Silence.
“Oh.”
Hoya insisted to his parents he’d be okay driving by himself all the way to his grandparents’, and he had Dongwoo anyway so they could switch if he got too tired. His parents had eyed Dongwoo doubtfully, while he continued to smile his thousand watt smile at them, and Hoya had wanted to laugh and capture the moment with a camera. They said yes eventually, and his younger brother helped him pack all his clothes and necessities for two weeks, before happily sending him off out the door and dancing gleefully around the house about having the Wii all to himself.
“Your family is very nice,” Dongwoo commented, as they waved goodbye to Hoya’s parents and his brothers when they drove out the driveway. “I wish my family was as warm as yours.”
Hoya’s heart ached at the sadness in his voice, and he resisted the urge to lean over to the passenger seat and kiss him senseless. “Well, at least you’re not stuck doing something you didn’t want to.”
Dongwoo grinned, brightening up a little. “Still, your parents are very nice. And your brother is adorable.”
“Please, he’s anything but adorable,” Hoya scoffed, and Dongwoo laughed, lighting up the whole car.
They arrived at Hoya’s grandparents’ in the late afternoon, and when he got out of the car they engulfed him in tight hugs and smothered him with kisses, cooing to him like he was a little boy. Dongwoo watched amusedly from the sidelines, grinning broadly at Hoya’s flushed embarrassed face. They greeted Dongwoo warmly as well, patting his cheek affectionately as they lead the two boys into the guest room.
“I’m afraid you have to share the room,” his grandma said. “There’s only one spare bedroom.”
The two boys looked at each other and grinned, dropping their luggage and tackled each other into the double bed and started a tickle fight. Hoya’s grandmother laughed and shook her head at their foolishness, and closed the door quietly behind her.
The house was a small cottage beside the sea, with the constant crash of the waves in the background. There were neat gardens in the front and back of the house, and the place was surrounded by lavender. It was a really peaceful place, one where you can actually hear yourself think even with the sound of the waves. Dongwoo was in love with this place immediately. He imagined spending the rest of his life in a place like this with Hoya, and the thought made him smile.
“What?” Hoya inquired quietly, nuzzling the back of his neck, arms wound tightly around him as they calmed their breaths after the energy-consuming tickle fight that was won by Hoya.
“Nothing. I just,” Dongwoo hesitated, drawing circles on the back of Hoya’s hands with his fingers. “This is a really nice place, don’t you think? So peaceful and serene and just… ah, I’d like to live in a place like this one day.”
“With me?” Hoya asked, grinning cheekily. Dongwoo groaned and covered his reddening face, though he couldn’t deny the happiness that Hoya actually thought the same thing. “Come on, I know you want to spend the rest of your life with me. You love me that much.”
“God, you are so greasy,” Dongwoo muttered, and turned around in Hoya’s arms to pull him into a kiss which he returned happily. “If it makes you feel better, yes, with you.”
The next morning Dongwoo set up his easel on the front garden, placed a blank canvas on it, and waited for the sun to rise. Hoya grabbed a stool from the kitchen and sat next to him, and started sorting Dongwoo’s paints according to color, from darkest to lightest because the tubes of oil paint were everywhere, scattered all over the case Dongwoo kept his painting equipments in. Dongwoo shot him a grateful look as Hoya passed him yellow paint.
“Do you think you’ll be able to paint now? I mean, with the change of scenery, and all,” Hoya asked, grinning after he caught Dongwoo staring at him affectionately, to which the latter turned his head away in embarrassment.
“I don’t know,” he sighed, twisting a charcoal stick in his hands nervously. Hoya watched as his hands slowly blackened from the graphite. “There is no… excitement. Usually before I paint I’d get all hyper and happy and right now, there’s none of that.”
Hoya pouted, disappointment seeping to his bones. He really wanted to see Dongwoo in all his glory, painting like his life depended on it just like that first day Hoya met him. Dongwoo’s face was full of guilt, shoulders slumping and Hoya couldn’t not put his arm around him, trying to assure him that it was okay.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he whispered to his ear, and took the charcoal stick from Dongwoo’s hand. “You’ll be able to paint again, I believe in you.”
“And you’ll stay with me, until then?” he asked back. Dongwoo’s voice is small, insecurity laced in every letter he spoke, and Hoya can hear his heart break around the edges.
Hoya smiled and kissed his temple affectionately. “Always. Now let’s not try today. Let’s go to the beach!”
Dongwoo’s face lit up at the idea. He nodded and got up enthusiastically, pulling Hoya along as well. Hoya had barely enough time to shout a goodbye to his grandparents before he was dragged out the gates and into the small pathway that led to the beach. They walked side by side, arms brushing, wind in their hair, and Hoya wished that time would stop, just like this. He realized that what he just wished for was absolutely girly and cliché, but then he glanced sideways at Dongwoo’s serene expression, and he didn’t really care anymore.
The beach at dawn was stunning, and the two sat in the sand and watched the sunrise together. Bars of light shot through the sky towards them, flecks of gold and yellow and orange dancing on the white sand, and Hoya’s fingers found their way to Dongwoo’s between them and tangled them together, almost giggling at the way they fit perfectly, like a part of him he never knew was lost. Dongwoo smiled and rested his head on Hoya’s shoulders.
At that moment Dongwoo looked breathtakingly beautiful, perfectly imperfect, golden hair falling to his eyes and Hoya can’t help but press the most tender kiss he’s ever given anyone on his lips. Dongwoo let a small, contented sigh slip past his lips and raked his fingers through Hoya’s hair, pulling him closer until he couldn’t breathe. His chest ached from the overflowing feelings; it was so good, like his heart was expanding, pushing against his lungs and ribcage and filling up with all that is Dongwoo.
They spent the whole day at the beach, playing in the water and sand and kissing till their lungs were burning. In the late afternoon though, Dongwoo made a startling request.
“Dance for me,” he said.
Hoya, who had been sitting on a fence licking his popsicle stick, nearly fell off his seat. “What?”
Dongwoo frowned. “Oh come on, you said your passion was in dancing right? You must be good at it!”
“I - I’m not,” he mumbled, looking away. Dongwoo grinned and poked at his red cheeks.
“Please? For me?”
And how could Hoya ever resist?
They found a secluded place far away from the dock, surrounded by cliffs and seeming so far away from the rest of the world. The truth is, even though Hoya had officially stopped dancing seven years ago, he still danced when he had some time alone, when there was nobody in the house. He'd put hip hop music on the stereo and dance to his heart’s content, or until he passed out from bliss and exhaustion, or until somebody gets home.
Strange as it may sound, Hoya loved the way the muscles strained as he stretched his body, the ache in his limbs and the soreness in his bones. It made him feel alive.
Dongwoo took a seat on top of a large rock, crossed his legs, and waited. Hoya tried to relax, but this was the first time he'd danced in front of somebody else other than his own reflection for a long time, and he couldn’t help but feel nervous. The older man smiled encouragingly though, and Hoya sighed as he pressed play on his music player.
“Okay, I warned you, this might be a little rusty since I haven’t danced properly in a long time, let alone in front of somebody, and the last time I had an instructor was seven years ago, so… yeah. I should start,” he trailed off at the bored look in Dongwoo’s face, and scratched the back of his head sheepishly.
The music started at a slow pace, and Hoya started swaying his body in time with the beat, moving his arms and legs in basic movements. As the song progressed though, Hoya began adding some more complex moves, even throwing in some of his own freestyle dancing. His heart pounded in excitement as he let himself be swept away by the music, forgetting the world and everything in it. He danced like it was his last day on earth, like his life depended on it. By the time the music stopped, he was sweating profusely, his shirt soaked, but the grin on his face is so wide it hurts.
He realized with a dull ache to his chest just how much he missed dancing.
Dongwoo brought him back to reality, clapping his hands hard Hoya can see the skin of his palms turning red. There’s wetness clinging to his eyelashes and the smile on his face was heartbreakingly sad, in a twisted, beautiful way.
“I’ve never seen you look so happy,” he said, laughing as his tears finally burst.
They stumbled back home, wet and exhausted and happy, leaning on each other for support and meandering through the sand dunes towards the house. Hoya was high on happiness and Dongwoo’s laughter, smile never slipping from his face as he unlocked the door and pulled Dongwoo in with him.
But suddenly Dongwoo pulled away from Hoya’s arms, pushing him to the kitchen and heading out the door.
“Dongwoo?” he called, frowning.
“Go on! I’ll be there in a minute!” he shouted as he slammed the front door shut. “And don’t you dare peek outside!”
Hoya bit his lip uncertainly, but shrugged and turned to the fridge to find some food. He found a note on the counter from his grandparents, telling him they’ve gone out to the city for the night, to be a good boy, and cook his own dinner. Hoya shrugged again and began searching through the refrigerator to look for ingredients.
Dongwoo didn’t come back in even when Hoya was half-finished making their dinner of bulgogi and ramyun. He glanced at the front door worriedly but he could only hear the sound of somebody shifting around in the garden, so he huffed and continued cooking. He’d only just started to lay out the table for two when the door creaked open and Dongwoo peeked in, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and sniffing the air hopefully.
“Come on, dinner’s ready,” he called and Dongwoo walked in, smiling. His hands were blackened and Hoya wondered why, but he didn’t ask.
“God, what I would give to be coming home to this sight for the rest of my life,” Dongwoo said with a grin, and Hoya looked down at himself. He’s wearing his grandmother’s frilly yellow apron, laying out dinner on the table, and realizing what Dongwoo meant, blushed and whacked him on the head as he passed.
They ate dinner in comfortable silence, the TV broadcasting sitcoms they don’t even watch, buzzing softly in the background. Hoya kind of wanted to ask Dongwoo what he was doing but decided against it. Dongwoo will tell him, sooner or later. After dinner, Dongwoo ran back outside, and Hoya sighed, left to do the dishes and watch TV all on his own.
At around eleven pm, Hoya’s grandparents came home, smiling and giggling and, oh god, giving each other moony eyes. He refrained himself from rolling his own.
“Gran, what’s Dongwoo doing outside?” he asked, not being able to contain his curiosity.
His grandmother laughed. “Oh Dongwoo said not to tell you!” she giggled.
Hoya groaned as his grandfather giggled back in return and practically waltzed her into their room, shouting a ‘goodnight, Howon!’ just before the door closed. He ruffled his hair in frustration and dropped back to the couch with a childish pout, smashing the buttons on the remote control savagely.
It was one thirty and Hoya's head was lolling sideways as the eerie light from the television washed over his slumped form. Dongwoo tiptoed in, and shook him awake gently. Hoya awoke with a jolt, looking around in confusion and the older man couldn’t help but giggle at his sleepy expression.
“Dongwoo,” he breathed in relief, smile easily slipping to place. “You’re still awake?”
Dongwoo nodded, smile wide. Hoya could see that he’s exhausted, face a little pale but there’s a strange twinkle in his eyes Hoya’s never seen before, and paint on his face and his shirt and his hands and oh my god paint. He’s honestly scared to get his hopes up, though.
“I want to show you something,” Dongwoo said quietly, offering his hand. There was paint there too, orange and pink. He took it and stood up, and lets himself be led out of the house.
They were walking towards the easel, where a canvas was propped up facing away from them, and Dongwoo slowly lead him to the other side. Hoya wasn't sure what to expect, really. His heart was thumping and he was sure Dongwoo could hear it, because he had this stupid grin on his face that wouldn’t go away.
The canvas wasn’t white and empty. It has something; or rather - someone - painted on it against a solid black background. The person’s body was twisted gracefully, back arching and knees bent in a position that’s almost beautiful. There are ribbons of light twisting around his arms and legs, yellow and pale blues and the most magical shade of purple, but mostly gold. Streams of gold bursting from the palms of his hands and twisting around his ankles and Hoya felt his breath caught in his throat. He was rendered speechless.
“What’s this?” he asked, voice suddenly hoarse. Dongwoo was fidgeting anxiously, and Hoya gripped his hand to stop him from moving around so much.
“This is you,” he said, grinning and blushing fifty different kinds of beautiful red. “I painted you, dancing.”
Hoya slowly turned his head in Dongwoo’s direction, still unable to fully digest the fact that Dongwoo’s painted, and not just anything, Dongwoo actually painted him. His mouth opened and closed but no sound came out, so he stared at the painting again instead. This painting was on a whole other level from that painting of Oh Hayoung from so long ago, much more beautiful in a way it never was.
“Do you like it?” the man beside him asked in a timid voice.
Hoya turned around and pulled him to his arms, pressing their lips together in a sudden kiss. Dongwoo gasped in surprise and Hoya used the opportunity to slip his tongue inside Dongwoo’s mouth.
“Like it? I fucking love it,” he whispered ferociously to Dongwoo’s lips, and Dongwoo’s eyes open dazedly. “And I fucking love you.”
They made love that night on the bed that was just a little too small, their limbs hanging of of the edges and Dongwoo couldn’t stop laughing but he was so beautiful so Hoya didn’t mind. It wasn’t his first time, but it sure felt like it, with the way his lungs threatened to implode with every soft moan and gentle sighs that escaped Dongwoo’s lips. They locked eyes when Hoya pushed in, and the feeling of drowning in his pools of chocolate brown and Dongwoo tight around him has him gasping for breath by the time he’s all the way in.
This must be what paradise feels like, Hoya thought as they rocked together on the pristine sheets, Dongwoo clutching at his shoulder like he was holding on for dear life and mouthing Hoya’s name soundlessly like it was a prayer. Hoya’s heart ached in a good way when Dongwoo pulled him down for a kiss to muffle a groan, and the coil in his stomach was so tight it almost hurt.
They fell off the edge together, screams muffled by each other’s lips, and Hoya had never felt so good in all his life. The way their bodies fit together, even when they were sticky with sweat and come, was so perfect in a way Hoya would never be able to wrap his mind around. Dongwoo’s smile was tired when Hoya rolled off him to his side and pulled him to his chest, but there’ll never be anything as beautiful.
As he drifted off to sleep, he let an amused chuckle slip past his lips as he imagined the ribbons of light in Dongwoo’s painting escaping from his chest to tangle around their forms, interweaving them even closer together, cocooning them in light and warmth and all else that was beautiful.
Dongwoo doesn’t try painting the sunrise again after that. Inspiration will come, sooner or later, he had said with a grin.
“And maybe,” he said. “I’ll just submit this painting of you. I’ll give up on the sunrise; nobody could paint something that grand and do it justice, anyway.”
Hoya frowned. “Nothing’s impossible,” he piped up. Dongwoo shrugged nonchalantly as he continued packing his clothes. They’d be going back to Seoul tomorrow, and Hoya couldn’t exactly say he was looking forward to it. He missed his family, yes, but this beautiful cottage by the sea and the constant sound of the waves had grown on him. He hadn’t appreciated it when he was younger, but now, all he wanted was to stay here with Dongwoo for the rest of his life, secluded from the rest of the world, where he could dance forever and Dongwoo could paint without pressure. It seemed like a wonderful idea.
The next day Hoya’s grandmother loaded their already full bags with cookies and souvenirs, tears seeping to Hoya’s shirt as he hugged her one last time. He felt guilty for not visiting her more often. His grandfather thumped him and Dongwoo on the back, smile wide.
“Take care of him,” his grandfather told Dongwoo and pointed at Hoya, and the older man laughed before nodding. His grandparents had come to love Dongwoo too over two weeks. But then again, who wouldn’t?
“Let’s go home,” Dongwoo said, grinning, and together, they left.
Hoya found Dongwoo on the rooftop of the library building one day, sitting cross legged with his painting beside him. The sky was still dark and it was rather chilly, and Dongwoo jumped when Hoya tossed a can of coffee to his lap. He grinned and sat beside him, and Dongwoo immediately laid his head on Hoya’s shoulder after giving him a quick kiss, eyes drifting shut sleepily. There were tired, black rings around his eyes and Hoya wondered why.
“Why are you here?” he murmured to Dongwoo’s hair, inhaling the scent of his shampoo and paint and something that was entirely Dongwoo.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he mumbled, shifting so his face was against the skin of Hoya’s neck. “The due date’s tomorrow, and I’m submitting the painting now. I’m so nervous.”
Hoya chuckled and intertwined their fingers together, trying to comfort him. He was a man of few words and he wasn't very good at them either, but Dongwoo understood in a way only he could, and Hoya could feel his lips stretch into a smile against his Adam’s apple.
They stayed in that position for a long time in silence and Hoya loved the way Dongwoo’s warmth emanated from his body and into his own as he rubbed circles to his wrist with his thumb. But suddenly Dongwoo jerked up, startling Hoya as well. There’s a confused, frenzied look in his eyes that Hoya’d never seen before, and Hoya was a little worried.
“Dongwoo? Are you okay?” he asked. Dongwoo shook his head and got up, running out and shouting ‘Ill be back!’ over his shoulder. Hoya was confused but he didn’t follow him, so he sat back down and drank his coffee and ate his breakfast, wondering what that was all about.
The door to the roof slammed open ten minutes later, and Dongwoo reappeared, carrying his easel and a canvas and his case of painting equipments, huffing and panting as he hauled them up the stairs. Hoya scrambled up and helped him set them up, confused though he was.
“What’s this for Dongwoo?” he asked as Dongwoo set up his stool and sat down in front of the canvas, hands shaking.
“Shut up, wait, okay,” he said, breathless as he took out orange and gold and brown paint and squirted them to his palette. Hoya had never seen him like this, practically shaking from anticipation and excitement and a whole lot of other feelings he couldn’t understand.
When the first tendrils of sunlight crawled over the horizon, Dongwoo held his breath, as if waiting. A little more of the sun appeared, and Dongwoo smothered his brush to a pretty shade of orange paint, and without even outlining anything, began to work.
Hoya’s not sure how he could go so long without breathing, but not a breath passed his lips as he watched Dongwoo work, painting and splattering the white canvas with the colors of the sunrise. He’d never seen this side of Dongwoo before, the almost maniacal glint in his eyes as he mixed colors together, and in his eyes Dongwoo seemed to glow, bright and effusive and dangerous. He finally understood how Dongwoo must’ve felt when he danced in front of him.
The canvas slowly filled bit by bit, as Dongwoo worked against time before the sun rose fully. His body moved with him as he painted, face so close to the canvas and tongue stuck out between his teeth. It's like dancing in his own way, Hoya mused.
Hoya waited and waited, and finally, Dongwoo moved away from the canvas. It felt like his heart was beating right through his chest, the way it was drumming so hard it drowned out all noise. He knew what it was like to have your breath knocked out of you and caught in your throat, completely until your lungs hurt like there’s a hook pulling it out of your chest cavity through the esophagus. And it was happening to him, right now.
Hoya knew Dongwoo was a genius, but he’d never actually seen any of Dongwoo’s painting save for the painting of Oh Hayoung and him. Those were exceptionally beautiful, but this, he couldn’t even to put it into words. In the middle of the canvas was a golden circle, surrounded by waves of oranges and yellow and red, then around the edges subtly turning to blues and purples, and eventually, black. It was eerily beautiful, and Hoya couldn’t help the chill that passed through his backbone. Not a word passed his lips, but he knew Dongwoo understood just by the expression on his face.
“There is no such thing as a perfect sunrise,” Dongwoo said, smiling. His face was calm and serene, like he was finally at peace with himself. “Every sunrise is perfect, grand and majestic just like everything else nature created. No matter if it was cloudy or bright, it’s your point of view that’s changing it.”
Hoya turned to Dongwoo, who was laughing but crying, and Hoya really wanted to kiss him senseless, so he did just that.
“I just,” Dongwoo murmured with his lips still against his. “I just felt so stupid for only realizing it. Every sunrise is perfect, as long as you’re here.”