Work Text:
Painting strangers at the park has to be Hyunjin’s favorite activity.
There’s something deeply special and bone-chillingly about the rasp of his paintbrush against the white canvas while birds chirp around him and a sweet old lady sits before him, trying earnestly to keep still but failing to conceal her elderly tremors. It’s okay, though. Hyunjin appreciates the effort and is able to capture her aging beauty regardless.
Eyes bored into his work and movements, exhilaration runs through his veins at the thought of being watched so carefully, of people caring for his craft. Nothing quite compares to it—to everything that painting strangers at the park entails.
Of course, the money plays part too, but what excites him the most is the endless stories he mindlessly conjures up of those behind the portrait—or the stories he gets to hear from them.
See, while getting painted, people tend to talk. Kids usually babble enthusiastically and Hyunjin tries his best to keep up with them, doing his best to reciprocate their eagerness. Families sometimes bicker, or share embarrassing stories with him. Couples ramble about their shared history, how they met, how much they love each other—they flaunt, basically. Eat in front of the poor, really. Hyunjin dislikes them the most. He’s lonely.
But it’s these conversations he holds dear. They add themselves to Hyunjin’s creations without him even meaning to, and suddenly the pieces hold a deeper, much more personal meaning—and he’s sure the buyers can notice.
Yet they also add themselves to Hyunjin. Stick to his skin like glue, paint his body from head to toe. Rebrand him every time, hang onto him like the very stars in the sky.
Once shared with him, these small pieces of people, of history, become a part of him. For good or bad.
That’s why, after he finishes painting the shaking old lady and watches her expression contort to happiness, ironically akin to that of a young kid, and he’s left with a pleasant feeling coursing through him, his short-lived delight vanishes the moment he sits back on his wooden stool only to see a man forcefully sit another down, eyeing Hyunjin sorrily.
“Ah, I apologize for him,” he says, trying to steady the other man with two hands on his shoulders. “He’s had one too many glasses of wine during our lunch.”
Great.
Hyunjin smiles at him and even throws in a short fake laugh, dismissing the man with his hand. Suddenly, his joyous day at the park ceases to be as good. This situation smells like trouble.
He feels powerless as he watches the men bicker, one of them laughing loudly and slurring his words, and the other frantically trying to dissipate the unexpected attention on them from bystanders. His paintbrush flips comfortably in between his fingers, calming Hyunjin’s nerves down.
Once soothed enough, the drunken man wobbles on the stool on his own while the other finally sits down and offers Hyunjin yet another apologetic look.
“I’m sorry, again,” he mumbles, hand awkwardly massaging the back of his neck. “He can be a lot sometimes.”
“I can see that,” replies Hyunjin amicably, trying to comfort the man. These are customers, after all. Using his paintbrush, he moves it in front of him and closes one eye, trying to picture the couple on the canvas and measuring on his mind. “What are your names?”
“I’m Seungmin and this is my husband, Minho,” he gestures at Minho , who seems like he’s about to say something he thinks is very witty but is shunned by a single look from Seungmin . “Today is our anniversary, and he promised me we’d get a portrait painted by you. I always see your work on my afternoon Saturday walks and I’ve wanted a painting done by you since forever.”
Now Hyunjin feels terrible. Awful. Someone deemed his pieces good enough to hope for one for a long time, to watch and admire from afar, and he had the audacity of judging him from a mere first sight. Despicable.
“Seriously? I feel so flattered!” Replies Hyunjin thankfully, making sure to look at Seungmin in the eyes and portray his genuine gratitude. The eyes looking back at him gleam eagerly.
He dips the tip of his paintbrush in paint and feels his body simmer. The familiarity of the situation makes his heartbeat slow down and pulls him into a state of serenity. Then, he makes the first contact with the canvas and starts moving his brush, dancing a dance he’s way too intimate with.
“Of course! I’m so happy to finally be getting a portrait done by you. Someone had to ruin the perfection of this moment by not knowing any limits when it comes to red wine, though.” He pointedly looks at his husband.
“Darling,” Minho slurs, and Hyunjin feels an amused smile make its way to his face despite his many tries to keep it back. “No one knows any limits when it comes to a Bodegas Catena Zapata ,” Hyunjin can’t conceal his reaction. His eyes widen slightly and his paintbrush almost falters. That’s expensive wine.
“I clearly do.”
“You’re a rare specimen.”
Seungmin rolls his eyes, and Minho giggles. Hyunjin can’t deny he’s amused–maybe even endeared.
For a few moments, they fall silent, and Hyunjin focuses on his work. Either way, there’s always noise at the park: nature and its soothing sounds, kids playing in the distance, cars passing by. Hyunjin thanks them diligently every day for filling awkward silences.
The piece is coming along nicely. Despite moving a bit too much, Hyunjin admits Minho is shaped perfectly to be painted—he’s a walking portrait. Therefore, he’s easy to paint. His sharp features are incredibly alluring and his nose seems to have been sculpted by Michelangelo himself. Even the drunken glint in his eyes and the almost shiny pale of his skin suit him, somehow. He’s a man Hyunjin would most likely be after between bodies under the dimmed lights of some suburban club, taste of cheap whiskey buzzing down his throat.
And Seungmin—Seungmin isn’t too far off, either. There’s something square about him, as if he was made up of multiple defined shapes put together. He’s nice to look at, easy for the eyes. A pleasant feeling is left behind after staring at him for too long, after analyzing his every feature for one minute too many—that’s his job, after all. Maybe Seungmin isn’t someone Hyunjin would want to share a nightly drink with at a club, like with Minho, but he’d rather long for him from afar, sipping warm coffee as he watches him stride down the sidewalk.
Thoughts of yearning cloud his mind and seep into his painting, in ways he can’t control. Ways he doesn’t wish to control, perhaps.
“Dude,” suddenly says Minho, and Hyunjin hears a shooing sound from Seungmin’s side.
“Dude,” repeats Minho, and only now does he realize that Minho is addressing him .
Being caught off guard, his paintbrush halts. “Yes?”
With a thumb, Minho points at Seungmin, expression serious as he says his next words, “I met this guy in a bathroom.”
“ Minho !” hisses Seungmin, much like a mother reprimanding her kid. “No you did not ,” he then turns to look at Hyunjin, who’s honestly speechless, completely still. “He met me in a bathroom fifteen years ago.”
Hyunjin blinks at the couple before him, astonished.
Dozens of people have sat in front of him on those old wooden stools. People who carry a story, a path of their own. People who kindly - by choice - shared them with Hyunjin. Hyunjin, who inevitably saved these deep within himself. Himself, who’s built off of endless pieces of other people.
People who can never be compared to Minho and Seungmin.
In fact, Hyunjin might have to go as far as saying no one he’s ever met is comparable to the couple.
There’s something unique about them, something that calls Hyunjin and wraps around him like thorny vines that rip his skin open only to merge with him, to implant carnal want for something he can’t have. Delusional pictures of him and two other figures sitting down at one of the park’s benches play in his mind before he can stop it.
It’s never happened before.
Dozens of people have sat in front of him on those old wooden stools, yet none of them were Minho and Seungmin. As if the place they’re sitting on has been made for them only.
Are they sitting in front of him, or are they sitting under his skin?
“Sir?” Seungmin’s melodic voice breaks him out of his trance and pulls him down onto Earth forcefully. In the hidden nook behind Hyunjin’s right ear emanates a pang of pain.
Hyunjin blinks once again, eyes refocusing on Seungmin. “God, please forgive my husband. I promise he’s not this dumb when he’s sober.”
A moment, and then Hyunjin laughs. He laughs loud and bubbly, throws his head back in a way that almost makes his messy ponytail come undone. Tears prickle at the corner of his eyes but he keeps laughing, hoping the outburst settles the turmoil inside him.
Jubilation bursts within him when he hears the sound of laughter joining his. His heart jumps excitedly, longing to hear it infinitely.
If there’s something Hyunjin is, it is a hopeless romantic. If there’s something he does, it is fall fast.
Which is why he hates it when couples occupy those damned stools, and why he feels so lonely every time they do.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” he settles on saying, instead of would you like some coffee? His hand resumes its traces. “You’re the most entertaining couple I’ve painted so far.”
As he focuses on the painting again, working on the last details, the sun is slowly starting to set and a few stars make themselves visible, scattered across the purple-pink sky. Hyunjin knows if he were to look at them, he’d unconsciously compare their ominous light to the glint in Minho’s eyes, or to the pearly white of Seungmin’s teeth as he smiles kindly towards Hyunjin’s way.
So, he doesn’t look. Instead, he busies himself with finishing their painting once and for all.
“Still, some other day I’ll make him come and personally apologize,” he hears Seungmin say. “When he’s sober, of course.”
Hyunjin should say there’s no need, but the idea of maybe seeing Minho and Seungmin again moves him. As if they won’t live inside him starting today.
“Alright then, I’ll look forward to it.” He says instead.
The work finishes itself more than Hyunjin finishes it. His mind stopped playing part at some point—probably too busy with daydreams surrounded by cloudy desire and pity-laced streams of emotions. No one will notice, but Hyunjin can see all of it in his painting.
The irresponsible yearning, the stench of alcohol in Minho’s breath, the apologetic glances Seungmin threw Hyunjin’s way, the playful banter between them, the palpable love underneath layers of bickering, the wooden stools, the idea of something more. All of it is easily visible in Hyunjin’s painting. Easily decipherable, easily taken apart.
This painting is as much a portrait of Hyunjin’s soul as it is of the couple sitting before him.
“There we go, I’ve finished.” Hyunjin says before taking the canvas off of the easel and walking towards Minho and Seungmin.
Seungmin scrambles to stand up, evidently excited. It almost makes Hyunjin coo.
Once at reach, he hands Seungmin the painting, making sure to take in his reaction in deep detail. Wanting to savour it as much as he can, and to elongate the scene that he gets to be a side character of.
As expected, Seungmin’s reaction is one to keep for long. A pretty gasp falls from his mouth, eyes raking over Hyunjin’s soul leisurely, taking in every trace, shape, spot, color.
Hyunjin has half the mind to feel exposed and momentarily terrified, both dying to know what Seungmin thinks but also hoping to not hear another word come from his mouth.
He watches as Seungmin’s eyes sparkle in a way he’s never seen a pair of eyes do before, and, without saying anything, he tilts the canvas so Minho can look at it.
“Babe, look.”
Minho hoists his head up drunkenly, in a way that Hyunjin finds utterly adorable. Then, his pretty lips open to form an ‘o’ and Hyunjin is even more endeared. Much like Seungmin’s, Minho’s eyes shine brightly, playfully, even. It’s a sight Hyunjin can’t look away from.
“It’s perfect,” Hyunjin whips his head to look at Seungmin, whose eyes are on him already, a feeling Hyunjin can’t quite place displayed on them. “Thank you so much…”
“Hyunjin.”
Seungmin smiles. Something is happening—Hyunjin can tell. This is a moment. A moment .
“Hyunjin.” He repeats.
♡
In the end, Seungmin tipped him one hundred and forty two dollars. No matter how many times Hyunjin fussed about it, Seungmin was awfully persistent, and Minho gifted Hyunjin another piece of them: he let Hyunjin know that Seungmin is the most stubborn man I know. Did you know he almost kicked out one of the men of honour at our wedding because his bowtie wasn’t the same shade of white as the others’?
And of course, Seungmin had punched his shoulder with a now overused Minho! before once again apologizing to Hyunjin.
It wasn’t until Hyunjin had arrived home that he looked down at the dollars Seungmin had tipped him, holding onto the only physical proof he had of them.
And it wasn’t until then that he saw the numbers and words scribbled on the two dollars bill.
call us
-the most entertaining couple