Pygmalion: Chapter 2/2
PYGMALION
Pairing: Minho & Taemin
Rating: R-17
Genre: Drama/Romance
CHAPTER 2: Life isn’t sweet; that’s why people want sweet things
Minho had those dreams more and more often as the days passed by. Snow had fallen and blanketed the tree tops and ground. Taemin visited almost every day now, but the two of them never brought up that conversation again. From pencil sketches, Minho moved into oil paintings. Taemin had learned to sit still and could amazingly sit for hours on end, his eyes looking straight at Minho. Minho hung up each of the paintings after they were done in the living room and before long, the entire wall was covered with Taemin's face.
At night, he could still feel Taemin's gaze on him. He was disgusted himself, every time he came thinking about the younger boy, but he couldn't stop. He could picture Taemin's face, glistening with sweat under him eyes shut, mouth slightly open. Everyday it was getting more and more unbearable to have to sit there, mere feet away from the boy and not touch him. Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if he had made himself scarce, but Taemin incorporated himself into every aspect of Minho's life.
He learned to cut tomatoes to make decent pasta sauce, sometimes he would bring food his mother sent over to the apartment and would make food. Other times, he would bring records and lie down, listening to them as he slept or would hum along, as out of tune as ever. The boy even took to bringing his homework in hopes of getting Minho to help him with it.
Each time Taemin came, Minho could feel his control slipping. He would adjust Taemin's pose and then let his hands linger on the boy's skin a little too long before quickly withdrawing. He was craving Taemin and he had to put a stop to it. But then, the feeling of wanting to paint the boy would overwhelm his self-control and he would continue.
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Taemin sat at his desk, hands hovering over the keyboard of his new phone. He had bought it last week with the money he had gotten from his "part-time job." He really didn't think that the little he did- sitting still for long periods of time- merited as big paychecks as those he received, but he wasn't one to complain. His parents were happy that he had enough money to cover his own personal expenses and Minho always had food enough for him. The older boy didn't eat much. But he would always make food and then sit in the sofa, smoking his Marlboros as Taemin ate.
Taemin's fingers ghosted over the keyboard again before he quickly keyed out "I want ramen today" and sent it to Minho. There was no response, there usually never was, but Taemin knew that when he would walk into the apartment, there would be ramen ready for him. He didn't know what to do about Minho. He could sense the older boy watching him even when he wasn't painting and the intensity of it scared Taemin sometimes. He knew that Minho was harboring some feelings for Taemin, he was so sure about it but then again he wasn't. And he was confused about what he felt either, why he didn't run after first noticing Minho's gaze.
He couldn't explain any of his own actions, why he would tell Minho things that he hadn't told any of his closest friends, or why he would always look at Minho as he smoked or why he felt so relaxed in his company. He thought about the night when he talked about his family often. If he closed his eyes, he could hear the wind blowing against the window pane and his face. His face, eyes closed as he washed the pencil marks off his hands. He was so serene, so peaceful that it made Taemin's heart twist a little and he couldn't stop looking at him. Then all of a sudden, he was spilling his guts.
He couldn't explain why he was permitting himself to continue modeling. It's for the money, Taemin told himself every time he found himself wondering. Every paycheck was an affirmation of their platonic relationship.
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He sat at the dining table waiting. On the kitchen counter were ingredients for ramen- Taemin's favorite- and Minho already had a canvas and his paints set up in another room. He looked at the several paintings of Taemin on the living room wall. He was late. Minho checked his phone again; there were no new calls or messages. Minho leaned back and put his knees against the dining table like how Taemin always did. He let his head tip back, his hair falling behind him. Outside, snow was falling again. His knees started to hurt after a while and he returned to how he normally sat and picked up his phone again. Still no calls.
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Taemin didn't have time to think about where he was anymore. He already had three cans of beer and smoked a joint of something or the other- at that point he was too hammered to ask what it was. He was flying and so was the girl next to him. She was pressed tightly against him and giggling at something or another. She was dressed in a tight dress that was extremely short and showed off a lot of cleavage. They pressed on through the bustling city street, flashing lights around them and snow falling in flurries. In the distance, they could hear police car sirens and the two of them looked at each other and laughed for no reason at all. He couldn't even remember her name and he doubted that she could remember his.
"Let's eat here!" she said, dragging him over to a ramen shop. "Didn't you say that you wanted ramen?"
"Yeah," Taemin lied; he couldn't remember anything he had done in the last hour or so. The ramen reminded him of Minho- he wondered what the quiet boy was doing. He realized dimly that he had never told him that he wasn't going to be there today. He searched his pockets for his phone but it was nowhere to be found.
"Come on!" the girl whined and Taemin complied, making a mental note to check his pockets again later (which he then promptly forgot about).
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It was getting dark out and Taemin still hadn't showed up. The ingredients were still on the counter, but the ashtray on the dining table was almost overflowing with ashes and cigarette butts. Minho started sketching Taemin's face from memory. There was nothing unusual about Taemin wanting to hang out with his friends, if indeed that was what he was doing. However, what if he had been kidnapped? After all, there was no response to the four times he had called the boy and no explanatory text messages. His hands were shaking; what if something bad had happened? He looked outside. The snow wasn't letting up. He could hear the wind howling and snow pattering on his window. Something inside of him snapped. He got up abruptly, knocking over the chair, and grabbed his jacket before heading out the door.
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It was colder than Minho had expected it to be outside and his jacket didn't do a good job keeping him warm. The running, however, helped massively. He had already checked the school and the dorms but Taemin was nowhere to be found. Every few minutes or so, he would call again. His cellphone was running low on charge and his breath was ragged- a consequence of too many cigarettes. He ducked into an alleyway and called Taemin again. His breath formed clouds in the night sky. Sweat was dripping down from his hair and down his temples. He cursed having long hair as he shook drops of sweat out of it as the phone rang. Someone picked up.
“Taemin?” Minho rushed, his hair forgotten. He could hear laughter in the background and he stopped himself from continuing. People were talking, their voices slurred- obviously drunk.
“Noope,” a voice on the other line said. There was more laughter and Minho stiffened. “Guys, Taemin left his phone here!” the voice called out, presumably to the others there.
“Where did he go?” Minho demanded, “Let me speak to him.” His heart was pounding from being unaccustomed to exercise, but he could have cared less.
“Uhh hold on, big guy,” the voice said. Minho could recognize it now- it was one of Taemin’s friends from school. He had seen them walk together a lot, they seemed close. “Uh he left a few hours ago with- hey what’s her name?!”
Minho hung up. He stood extremely still and let the news wash over him. Of course, of course. He was a normal college student with a normal sex drive. This is what they did: party, have sex, forget about it in the morning. But it hurt anyway. It hurt because somehow, Minho had deluded himself into thinking that there was something different about Taemin. And the truth hurt more than he could have ever imagined. He permitted a few silent tears to run down his face and into the snow, but only a few since what was the point of crying over what never was. However, pain doesn't distinguish between reality and fantasy and Minho sank down, squatting in the snow with his hands over his eyes as he sobbed quietly. The snow fell around him and melted into his hair, and he knew people would stop and wonder what he was doing but he couldn't bring himself to care.
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Taemin dreamt of Minho that night; he couldn't remember the details but he knew that the older boy was there. He was lying next to a girl on a bed he didn't recognize. His head was buzzing as he got out of the bed. The girl stirred but didn't wake up. He could vaguely remember the details from the night before but chose not to dwell on them. He remembered thinking of Minho though, right in the middle of it. He pulled on his jeans from where he found them (hanging over the tv set) and started looking for his shirt.
He thought of Minho again, sitting at the dining table with his sketchpad. His hair falling out of the small ponytail he had tied and him scribbling something into that pad. He thought of Minho smoking, his back to Taemin as the younger boy ate. He thought of Minho smiling when Taemin missed a note on the guitar or when Taemin told him a story from his childhood.
He walked over to the writing desk in the room and sat down, putting his head in his hands. This was bad, really bad. He looked out the window- the snow had stopped falling momentarily. He tried distracting himself by making coffee but he couldn't shake the guilt. He wasn't even sure why he felt guilty- or rather, he did, but he still refused to accept it. In the end, he ended up finding his shirt and leaving, not bothering with a note.
When he got outside, he was stunned momentarily by all the noise. The cheap hotel coffee hadn't done a thing to get rid of his hangover so Taemin ducked into a coffee shop and had another.
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Minho readied the canvas. It was the largest yet; bigger than anything he had ever worked with. It seemed right for the occasion. Next to it were the paints, his worn brushes and a palette stained with colors from previous use. Outside, it started snowing again. He put on a smock, one with pockets for his brushes, and instinctively reached behind him to tie his hair back before remembering that he had gotten it cut. It was a relief to have it out of his way, but Minho found himself unaccustomed to the change. He had just sat himself down on the stool he positioned near the canvas when the doorbell rang. He was early. Minho readied his nerves, taking a deep breath before getting up to answer it.
Before Minho even got to the door, the bell rang again and then once more right as he was just about to open the door. Taemin was standing there, phone in hand.
"I have to talk to-" Taemin cut himself off, looking at Minho's hair. He stepped inside mutely, phone still clutched in his hands. By the time Minho closed and locked the door again, he seemed to have regained his senses.
"Minho I seriously need to talk to you about yesterday." he said, slipping out of his shoes. Minho noted that he was wearing the same clothes he had worn to college yesterday but didn't comment on it. Instead, he waved his hand and said cheerfully,
"Oh that? It's no problem. One of your friends explained to me that you were busy." Taemin froze again, obviously shocked by Minho's tone of voice. He opened his mouth to say something but Minho walked past him and into the makeshift studio he had made out if a spare bedroom. He saw Taemin walk into the living room to put down his things. It was a while before he came into a room and by then, Minho was standing in front of the canvas, waiting.
"Minho, what's wrong?" Minho looked up from where he was adjusting the tie on his smock and smiled again. The smile stretched a little too wide.
"Oh you mean about the paintings? Yeah, the wall was getting kind of cluttered so I just got rid of them." he shrugged his shoulders, "You don't mind, right? You were always complaining about them watching you." Taemin walked closer to Minho who skirted away from him and moved to where a chair was set up.
"What's with all these changes? Are you pissed off because I didn't show up yesterday?!" Taemin's voice was getting louder. Minho flinched but didn't say anything. "Look, it won't happen again, alright? So stop smiling like that and acting so nice!" A silence fell over both of them after he had finished.
"No, it won't." Minho said softly. Taemin's eyebrows furrowed. Minho looked at Taemin in the eyes for the first time since he had arrived. "This is the last painting; I don't need your services again." He reached into his smock and pulled out a white envelope. "Thanks for everything."
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Taemin could feel his heart plummet into his stomach when Minho pulled out the envelope. Half formed words made their way to his lips but never left. So that was it. Life didn't have happy endings like movies. He was the one in the wrong, he thought that he was special in Minho's eyes. Instead, he was just a subject, and now Minho was done with him. One mistake overwrote all the months they had been working together.
Taemin made his way to Minho, but he felt like he was walking underwater. He grasped the envelope in his hands and an ache sprung up that wouldn't leave. He wouldn't ever see this apartment again, he wouldn't get to eat Minho's cooking, he wouldn't get to play Minho's guitar anymore. He took a seat on the chair Minho had set up for him and dumbly listened to the instructions the older boy gave out for his pose. Soon, there would be another person in this chair, another person that would be on the receiving end of that concentrated gaze. It was enough to make Taemin want to puke but he steeled his face and sat with his back ramrod straight.
Minho mixed the paints started as he always had, with large brush and long, smooth strokes. He would peer above the canvas every now and then but then disappear back behind the canvas. He wouldn't let his gaze linger on Taemin's face anymore.
Taemin couldn't remember ever feeling so alone before, and focused all of his attention into listening to the symphony of the brush strokes and the gentle rhythm of the falling snow hitting the window pane.
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It was dark out by the time Minho finished, Taemin was guessing it to be around midnight. His stomach was growling loudly since all he had eaten since the morning was a muffin he grabbed at the coffee shop. Right when Minho started packing up his paints, Taemin jumped out of the chair and stretched.
“I’m hungry,” he proclaimed. Minho said nothing for a while, still gathering the paints.
“There’s food on the counter,” he said finally, and then took off his smock and began rolling it up. Taemin took off without so much as glancing at the painting. On the counter, there were ingredients for ramen. Taemin faltered and picked up the noodles. Minho walked into the room, the smock folded over the crook of his elbow. Taemin dropped the noodles and instead, pulled an apple out of a nearby bowl of fruit.
“I’m actually not that hungry,” he said, sitting down at the dining table. He noticed that one of the chairs was knocked over but didn’t say anything. Minho walked into the kitchen and switched on the stove. Pulling out the cutting board, he started cutting up an onion that was sitting on the counter top. Taemin took his time eating the apple. In the meantime, Minho made ramen. Taemin found himself thinking up of excuses for Minho’s actions. Why was he letting Taemin sit in his house and making food for him if he was done painting him?
Minho placed the bowl in front of Taemin and went to sit in the sofa with his cigarettes. Taemin saw that the ash tray on the dining table was already overflowing. Smoke began to rise up from where Minho was sitting. It was just like before, except completely different. Taemin looked at Minho’s back as he ate. How could he be so indifferent?
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Minho almost burned his hand with ashes. He couldn’t concentrate on the book he picked up, he had probably read the same page over at least ten times. He had wanted so badly to end this relationship, but his hands had been shaking as he painted. Taemin's eyes bored into him and be couldn't help but feel guilty. He was distancing the boy away for completely selfish reasons and he knew it. To keep himself from getting hurt again, and to keep himself from being tricked again. He didn't even know how the painting had turned out, he was sure it wasn't good. He shifted in the sofa, underneath which were the paintings if Taemin. He had tried to burn them as a tribute to breaking ties with Taemin but he couldn't bring himself to do it.
The chair scraped behind him and Minho turned around. Taemin was standing up, empty bowl in hand. He put the dish in the sink and gathered up his bag. Outside, Minho could hear the wind howling and the snow falling heavily.
"Do you have a way of getting home?" he asked, putting out his cigarette into the ashtray in front of him.
"I'll walk." was the reply. Minho looked at the window and then back to Taemin. The wind was audible clearly through the silence. Minho waited, but Taemin didn't say anything.
"I'll drive you home." he said, getting up slowly. Mentally he cursed himself again for showing so much interest. He was sure he was sending the most mixed feelings ever.
"It's okay," Taemin said, his voice deadpan. "I'll walk." In the distance, Minho could hear sirens blaring. It was a blizzard alert. He knew that Taemin heard it too, but the younger boy didn't say anything.
"I'll drive-"
"I said I'll walk!" Taemin interrupted. Minho looked at him. His hands were clenched into fists by his sides. Minho took a step forward towards Taemin who, in return, took one backwards. "Can you make up your mind already?!" Minho blinked.
“Do you like me or not?” A slight waver had come into Taemin’s voice Minho was sure he was seeing things. Sure, he was supposed to be worried about how his cover that he had been working so hard to save, had been blown, but he was looking at Taemin’s face. He thought he had seen it the night the younger boy had talked about his family, but this time it was there for real. His eyes were screaming “hold me.” Minho took a step forward. His heart was hammering. Taemin didn’t move. All he could hear was the snow crashing on the window and his own pulse pounding in his ears. He took another step, closing the gap between them. From his vantage, he could hear Taemin breathing quickly, and he thought he could even smell traces of perfume. Minho leaned in and Taemin slowly closed his eyes. All of a sudden, Minho was struck with a fear.
“Aren’t you going to stop me?” he muttered into Taemin’s ear. The younger boy’s eyes flew open and he grabbed Minho’s chin, forcing their faces together. Their lips collided and Minho’s head went blank. He quickly regained his senses and took charge of the kiss, clutching Taemin’s jaw as his other hand circled the younger boy’s waist to pull them even closer together. They kissed feverishly, Taemin winding his hands into Minho’s newly cut hair and twisting the locks in search of something to hang onto. When they surfaced, Minho had Taemin pressed against a wall and they were both breathing in shallow breaths, close enough that Minho could see the boy’s lips tremble and drops of sweat on his forehead. He leaned in again and Taemin flinched as Minho kissed his forehead. He drew Taemin into his arms again and kissed the top of his head. He ran his fingers through Taemin’s hair as if trying to memorize the texture of every strand before letting his hands settle back around the boy’s back, holding him tightly.
“I can’t believe this, I-” he cut himself off, burying his face in Taemin’s hair. His heart was beating so loudly, he was sure that the younger boy could hear it. “I like you” he mumbled. His grip tightened. “I like you so much.” Just saying it made him feel like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
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Taemin was melting in Minho’s arms, and his face was burning where Minho had touched him. He pushed the older boy away so he could kiss him again. He was dimly aware of his erection pushing against something hard. Lust was surging through him as he gripped Minho’s hair harder. When they broke the kiss, Taemin looked at Minho again.
“The weather,” he paused before he continued “I-I don’t think I can go home tonight.” He stared straight at Minho even though his hands were shaking. The snow was still falling outside but he didn’t even look.
“Do you really think I would let you leave?” Minho looked down and laughed. “I can’t believe this I really can’t. But yesterday, I know..” his voice trailed off. Minho slammed his hands on either side of Taemin before continuing.
“You bastard! How could you just show up in the same clothes you were wearing yesterday and just act like everything is okay?” he dropped his head so it was resting on Taemin’s shoulder. “I looked for you everywhere. I thought I was going to go crazy looking for you.” Taemin’s heart plummeted to his stomach and the guilt had returned.Taemin patted Minho’s head, stroking his short hair.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and it was true. “You know, I was thinking of you though. Yeah, right in the middle of it.” He had always been terrible at comforting people and this was no exception. Despite him knowing he was blabbering, Taemin continued. “Yeah right when I was about to-” Before Taemin could say anything else, Minho had lifted his head from Taemin’s shoulder and kissed him roughly. This time, Minho hadn’t bothered with trying to be gentle to the younger boy.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” he hissed but Taemin didn’t have time to respond. Hell, he barely had time to breathe before Minho pulled him over to the sofa and threw him down. His mouth opened and closed but no words came out because in front of him, Minho started pulling off his shirt.
“I’m going to fuck you so hard, you’re not even going to remember that slut’s name by the time I’m done.”
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Minho had no idea he was such a possessive person. He ran his lips over Taemin’s thigh, leaving another hickey. The younger boy whimpered, but Minho didn’t stop. He wanted to make his mark so everyone would know that Taemin belonged to him and him only. He didn’t want to ever smell that perfume on the boy again, he didn’t want to hear about him talking to girls either. Taemin was tracing his hands over Minho’s scarred back. He hadn’t asked any questions about it though. The snow was coming down harder than ever and they could hear sirens from ambulances and wails of weather warnings. Minho thought of how he had to search for the younger boy and nipped his inner thigh as punishment, eliciting a squeak from the unsuspecting Taemin. His mind was still in shock, however, at the boy being so compliant. He pushed another finger in and leaned up to cover Taemin’s mouth with a kiss. Taemin broke the kiss and put his hands around Minho’s face.
“I love you,” he said and Minho closed his eyes and rested his face in the crook between Taemin’s head and his collar bone. “I love you,” the boy repeated before moaning and bucking into Minho’s hands. He repeated it over and over like a mantra and Minho could feel himself falling further. He knew he was going to get hurt again and he knew that he was probably making a mistake but he couldn’t help himself anymore. Outside, the wind was picking up and Taemin gripped him harder still. He looked at the younger boy’s face, red and sweat glistening on his temples, mouth open and breathing heavily. He was beautiful and Minho would never let him go.
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When Taemin woke up the next morning, Minho was already awake, his back to him. Sunlight was streaming through the window and outside, the city was blanketed in snow. They were on Minho’s bed but Taemin couldn’t remember how he had gotten there. He remembered just about everything else though. He lifted himself up and draped himself over Minho’s shoulders, surprising the older boy.
“Good morning,” he said, kissing Minho’s neck. He turned to face Taemin and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips before picking up his pencil again. Taemin looked over his shoulder at what he was sketching.
“I thought you weren’t going to draw me again,” he said, smirking. Minho laughed. The faint noise of morning traffic could be heard through the window.
“I’m not. I think it’s time to try something different- maybe a self-portrait?” Taemin traced circles over Minho’s back, over his scars. He was curious, but he knew that the older boy would tell him when the time was right. Minho put down the pencil and pad again and turned to look at Taemin. “Are you alright? I heard that it usually... well.. I thought it hurt..?” Taemin had been feeling a dull ache around his hips but he chose not to say anything. He instead, flopped back onto the bed and wrapped himself in the comforter so that only his head was sticking out. Minho laughed again and his eyes were twinkling. His hair looked almost brown in the sunlight and a shadow was cast over his face. He got off the bed first.
“Breakfast?” He asked, walking over to his closet and picking out a button down. Sure, he sounded suave, but Taemin noticed that he was buttoning his shirt incorrectly. He laughed to himself and motioned for Minho to come closer. He unbuttoned the shirt, humming to himself.
"I want eggs," he said sunnily before buttoning it up again. Minho nodded and put his arms around Taemin, rocking the two of them back and forth. He touched their foreheads together.
"Anything else?" he asked, smiling. Taemin felt his heart skip a beat from the sheer proximity between their faces.
"Piggy back ride?" Taemin ventured. One of Minho's eyebrows rose in skepticism. Suddenly Taemin broke away from him and rubbed his butt. "Ouch! This hurts so much!" he cried theatrically and Minho rolled his eyes. He turned around and knelt over and Taemin hopped on his back, comforter and all. Minho walked slowly to the dining table as Taemin pressed his face against the older boy's back. He inhaled the scent of Minho. He smelled like some type of laundry detergent but there was the lingering scent of oil paints mixed in.
"For your self portrait," Taemin started and Minho grunted in response. Taemin could see the perspiration forming on his face from having to carry the younger boy and held him tighter, trying to express his thanks. "For your self portrait, you should paint yourself smoking." He thought for a second before adding "You look really sexy when you smoke." Minho almost dropped Taemin from surprise and the younger boy laughed, wrapping his legs around him tighter. Minho composed himself and started walking again, but the tips of his ears were red. Taemin leaned forward and nipped the tip of his right ear, getting a strangled sort of noise in return from the older boy.
"Is there.. Anything else you want to tell me?" he muttered, lifting a hand to touch his ear, which was flushing even more red than before. Taemin smiled and hugged him even tighter.
"Yeah! There's so much to talk about!" he placed his head on Minho's shoulder "but let's talk about it over breakfast, alright?"
END