Summary; Everyone’s always muttered things like ‘Kyuhyun’s in love with his art. He lives for his art,’ and it it’s true.
A/N; HAPPY BIRTHDAY, UNNIE! This is for that girl I heart that puts up with me so well, shihan_ai whom I LOVE. Have some KyuHan, bb. I'll warn you that this is another one of my weird ideas. You are a tag, dear. Because I feel you are that special. I hope this turned out alright. Artist!Kyuhyun is plain sexy to me (shut up, art student XD). And of course, Geng is just always sexy. Always. “예술” means “artist” by the way, not “sketch me” jussttttt to clear that up!
Word Count; 2120
예술Just picking up the pencil alone as a simple artist’s gesture brings joy to Kyuhyun’s mind. The tip is already sharpened, although the eraser is worn and tired from use. He whips out his gum eraser and lays it to the side, just in case he needs to give the tiny pink one a break from its periodic use for once.
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But today he isn’t sure what he wants to draw—he just knows he has an itch in his fingers to pick up his tool and scratch it across paper. Once the tip of graphite pokes the page, his artist’s mind starts to take over. He’s drawing, and not one person can distract him, not even his roommate Donghae who comes in to tell him that they’re ordering Chinese food that night because he’s too lazy too cook. Kyuhyun doesn’t mumble anything in response, and Donghae just takes that as a sign to order the usual. He’s used to it by now.
Everyone’s always muttered things like ‘Kyuhyun’s in love with his art. He lives for his art,’ and it it’s true. There’ve been days on end when Donghae tries to get him to come out of his room and have dinner because hey, my parents are visiting, and they’d like to see your face, but the artist would too involved in his own world.
Kyuhyun tends to be a bit scattered in the brain. There are plenty of perfectly good sketches that have been tossed all around his studio floor sometimes with even less than half of something strewn across the page.
He likes to draw people, and Donghae is one of his favorite subjects. Donghae sitting at the kitchen table over his writings. Donghae watching TV with his mouth hanging open slightly. Donghae reading a book, wearing his glasses that made him look like a supreme intellectual. Donghae just standing. Donghae just doing whatever Donghae does.
Kyuhyun sketches him the most, because Donghae is his best friend, and Donghae never thinks much of Kyuhyun’s exasperated sighs when suddenly he ruins the position the artist is sketching him in.
Others would apologize, like the time Kyuhyun was discreetly drawing Ryeowook, and then when his subject stood up, Kyuhyun had let out a loud angry noise and threw his pencil down. Before he knew it, Ryeowook had been letting apologies fly out of his mouth at the speed of light, and Kyuhyun bit his lip and wished he could take back his reaction. Sometimes he lets things slip, and he just can’t help it.
Back to the present. Kyuhyun is drawing. He draws and draws, and this project is starting to take on a shape of a person—a typical end product for Kyuhyun, but inside he feels like something’s different. He nibbles on the inside of his lips and stares intently at his creation in progress.
This person he’s drawing isn’t anyone he knows, but he’s coming straight from Kyuhyun’s brain. That’s a new one, Kyuhyun thinks. This never happens. He always draws from a subject, whether live or in a photo. His brow furrows as he keeps pulling details out of his mind like a rabbit from a magician’s hat.
At least an hour must’ve passed by now, but Kyuhyun is still working, and he smells wonton soup and fried rice. His eyes flash to the doorway for just a second, and he sees his dinner sitting there in the threshold and tells himself to thank Donghae later for remembering to feed him, as usual.
Well, he’ll eat later. He has a masterpiece to finish.
He wants every detail to be in place. As the man continues to take his shape on the paper, Kyuhyun knows that he’s meant to be a dancer from how graceful the penciled limbs appear as he smoothes out graphite and blends his shadows.
Kyuhyun’s face grows into a smile as he gets close to finishing. It’s probably been two or three hours now, but he’s not really keeping track. The details are still being added, and that’s what matters, not the time.
The curves of peaceful emotion in the face of this drawn man are almost perfect. The teeth of his drawing are showing in a way that makes it seem like he’s laughing at something private—that no one else would know about, except perhaps Kyuhyun.
The grin on the artist’s face expands just a bit more as he excitedly scribbles down the date, and his signature.
For minutes on end, he just stares with happy eyes and that long-lasting smile. He’s never done anything this perfect before. He doesn’t want to make any changes. It’s fine the way it is. No—beautiful the way it is.
But his mind struggles and struggles for what to name his drawn dancer. It struggles for another fifteen minutes when suddenly, Kyuhyun’s head touches the desk and his eyes are closing. He’s abandoned his food for sleep, and dreams. And when he dreams, he dreams of a dancer with long legs and smooth skin and soft black hair and arms moving with such nimble fluidity. He pictures himself in the corner of this dimly lit studio and gaping at the dancer who seems to never stop moving so beautifully. Kyuhyun isn’t breathing normally, in fact, he has to remind himself to breathe—but the way this man moves is so breathtaking.
Kyuhyun wakes up at 1AM with a name on his lips.
With an answer filling the room, the artist falls right out of his chair—although the fact that he’s just woken himself after dozing off probably has something to do with it as well. Kyuhyun rubs his butt from the fall and rises to his feet. His eyes grow wide as he looks around the room, trying to figure out where the voice came from.
“Well, it’s probably hard to see when your friend’s turned off all the lights. Oh, he gave you a blanket, too,” says the voice. “Your friend’s a nice guy.”
Kyuhyun glances down at the floor, and sure enough, there’s a blanket from his bed crumpled by his feet. He tells himself to remember to thank Donghae later. For taking care of him. Again.
He switches his desk light on again after pulling the blanket over his shoulders like a cape. He lands back in his chair again as his eyes connect with dark grey, penciled features. Their gazes never falter as a grin breaks across the drawing’s face—Han Geng’s face—on the paper in front of him.
Kyuhyun has never been more confused. His body curves a bit to hover over the desk.
A laugh escapes Han Geng’s throat. “You sure stare a lot.”
Kyuhyun blinks, and ignores the fact that light red is pooling over his cheeks. “Well…it’s not every day that my artwork talks to me, you know?”
Another laugh. It sounds sweet to Kyuhyun. “Yeah, I can tell.”
“So…your name is Han Geng?”
“You’re made out of…graphite.”
“I am. Don’t forget paper, though,” the drawn man puts one hand on his hip.
“And…I drew you,” Kyuhyun’s eyebrows pinch together.
“That you did.”
“And…now we’re talking?”
“That we are,” Han Geng still has that wide smile. Kyuhyun doesn’t want to brag, but Han Geng is nothing short of stunning.
“This is weird.”
Han Geng shrugs. “Maybe so. But, it’s kind of cool, isn’t it?”
Kyuhyun nods, slowly.
“Oh, you should probably eat something. Your friend probably put your dinner in the kitchen when he left the room,” Han Geng sits down on his floor, cross-legged. He notices how Kyuhyun hesitates. “Are you okay?”
“You won’t leave, will you?” Kyuhyun doesn’t think, he just asks.
Han Geng is laughing again. “Where am I supposed to go?”
Another slow nod. “Oh,” the artist stands up and leaves his studio just as slowly as he’d nodded to his work.
Confusion racks his mind as he takes the Chinese food out of the middle shelf of the refrigerator. He puts soup into a bowl and heats it in the microwave for half the time then he’s sure he should, but he wants to rush back. Urgency runs through his bones.
When he comes back, he sits down without the blanket, instead just letting the less-than-lukewarm bowl somewhat warm his hands.
“That was short,” Han Geng muses.
“I guess,” Kyuhyun takes down a gulp of broth. “But I was in a hurry.”
“Is that even hot?”
“Not at all.”
“Don’t you want it to be?” Han Geng laughs, and Kyuhyun wants to count the pretty lines at the corners of his eyes. He doesn’t remember making them this prevalent when he drew him, but Kyuhyun likes their intensified presence now—a lot. Too much?
“I don’t mind,” his answers feel small, and he knows that they are. But he can’t find many of them to say when he’s looking at Han Geng.
“You’re interesting, Kyuhyun,” says the artwork.
“How do you know my name?”
“It’s signed on the corner of my paper,” Han Geng points, with an amused look on his face. “And your friend called you that when he came in here.”
“Oh,” there goes another small answer.
The rest of the time they spend together before Kyuhyun slips into sleep again is filled with more small answers and soft laughs and smiles that warm Kyuhyun’s heart. He’s never had a better sleep in his life, he thinks, and he knows it’s because of Han Geng. Whilst off in dreamland, he sees the dancer again—he sees Han Geng spin and twirl and leap.
He has this same dream for nights on end. Nights, and nights, and more nights, and even in the day when he naps in the daytime. Hours are spent between the two of them. Kyuhyun gives his drawn friend a frame to spend his time in, propped up on the desk so that they can talk easily.
When Kyuhyun sleeps, he spends more hours with Han Geng—in those dreams. They haunt him, but not in a way that forces him to shiver or cringe. He wishes that he could make himself stand and go to him, but his dream self does nothing but sit and watch and marvel in these precious moments.
Kyuhyun wishes he could actually make himself do something. He knows what this is that’s growing inside of his chest every morning when he wakes and goes to his studio. Artists are sensitive to feelings, and he’s no exception, no matter how much he tries to shove them away and pretend he doesn’t feel as strongly as he does about anything. This time, he can’t hide it.
Han Geng must be able to notice the way Kyuhyun looks at him and glances up at him from his current project. He must be. Kyuhyun doesn’t know if he’s ever been more obvious towards anything without even putting forth one meager step of effort.
One day—it’s been so many months now, Kyuhyun thinks—he gently lays his charcoal down and tries not to smudge his skin when he brushes his bangs back a bit, and he looks up at Han Geng. His form is leaning against the edge of the frame, and he’s humming something.
Kyuhyun parts his lips.
“I know,” Han Geng stops him. “You don’t have to say it.”
Kyuhyun loses his words in the depths of his mind. His tongue ties as Han Geng turns and holds his smaller penciled hand as far out as he can possibly go. The palm and slender fingers flatten against what’s almost like glass at a museum, when children crowd around to be in awe of something.
“But if you want to,” a sweet smile, like the one from when they first met, graces Han Geng’s face, “you’ll have to come in here first.”
A lull hangs in the air at first, while Kyuhyun lets the words process through his brain. But then he’s so eager that he’s about to jump out of his chair—a complete shift.
The artist puts his hand on the paper, closes his eyes, and just waits. He can feel the graphite shifting under his hand, just slightly. And then he starts to sink. He sinks through the paper and escapes from his own world. He enters Han Geng’s, with a pencil in his pocket. He enters this world holding a gentle hand that he’s longed to hold for what’s seemed like so long. Too long.
The artist takes out his pencil again, a smile already gracing his new drawn face. Holding Han Geng’s hand, he lifts his instrument and prepares to build wonders for the two of them to share.
With each other.