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ebonyfont · 5 years

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magenta | yeosang

⇢ genre: fluff ; college au

⇢ member: Kang Yeosang

⇢ word count: 2.3k

⇢ summary: After being asked to be used as a muse for an upcoming project, you didn’t expect a discovery from the art piece Yeosang’s about ready to forfeit.

⇢ warnings: some language

⇢ author’s note: for my sunshine @wooyeops.

Across from you, Yeosang perches on the edge of an ivory stool, indigo paint smudged below one of his eyes and a thin paint brush gripped between his teeth. You’re holding back from letting a whine disrupt his moments of concentration, as your back is pleading for help from not having any sense of support for the last hour.

You too have been sat atop a stool, only having the top half of Yeosang’s face as company while he continues to create on the canvas in front of him. Proper posture would be helpful to alleviate this pressure, but even that got tiring after a while.

“Aren’t you hungry?” You attempt to make some sort of suggestion. “It’s already past lunch.”

The breath that leaves him is audible when it escapes his nostrils. He pulls the paintbrush out of his mouth and sticks the pencil that he was using behind the shell of his ear. “Fine, but it’s actually going somewhere now.”

Yeosang’s back straightens while he pushes back his dark fringe. By now you’re able to get a full view of his head. “You really wanna interrupt that?”

You’ve already slid off the stool. “Just a snack, we have all afternoon.” Your hand grabs at the short sleeve of his white t-shirt before he practically yelps.

Both his arms fasten themselves around you, huddling over your figure as if he’s the shell of a tortoise. “What’d I say about peeking?! I didn’t just spend two hours for you to be spoiled!”

“This isn’t even for me!” You squirm, but part of you is trying to calm the sudden rise of your heartbeat. It doesn’t help that his scent lingers of aftershave from this morning. Chemicals of acrylics don’t even bother to distract you from the fact that it’s a smell that always had you ready to melt for your friend (emphasis on friend).

“Still, you can’t deny an opportunity for wow factors if the moment’s available,” he explains. Yeosang begins to waddle while you’re still in front of him, hugging your face to his chest. The metal of his dog tag necklace grazes of your ear that often has you tempted to pull him in by it for a kiss, but you don’t ever dare to make the move first.

Yeosang is absolutely ate up in the art of painting. Being his medium of focus, it isn’t odd to have you dragged into the studio at campus to join him when exploring his creativity. After all, you too are working for the Bachelor’s in Art, but you preferred the chalky blend of pastels on a black background.

It began when the two of you utilized the art studio only a week into classes. Ideas and concepts were shared over countless cans of energy drinks, and the two of you didn’t pass out until four in the morning while covered in the supplies splayed across the old flooring.

You fell for the boy and his passion, but you know by now that his only love is for the sceneries brought to life with the nimbleness of his hands and the only date nights he’d schedule was with a paintbrush dipped in liquid hues.

Today, Yeosang had asked for you to be a subject for his recent assignment. The two of you had been confined in the tiny art room of the small university as usual, but he was vague when describing the purpose of you acting as a muse for his painting.

Once the two of you are out into the corridor, he brushes the palms of his hands on the fabric of his jeans while you tumble out of his embrace.

“That acted as a hug of gratitude, by the way,” Yeosang half-smiles down at you. The smirk falls while he points a fingertip at you that looks like it had just been used for finger-painting. “But that was enough to last the week.”

“Your abundance of empathy is showing. Careful there, or people will think you’re an open book,” you tease. Your footsteps begin to resonate off the stark walls of the art building, the tall ceilings making them echo far more dramatically and making it seem the two of you were apart from being alone. The snack machines are located at the end just next to the flight of stairs, their glow illuminating where the end of the hall where no one ever bothered flicking on the lights.

Yeosang purchases the both of you a grape lemonade each, considering there’s already a giant tub of cheese puffs in the corner of the studio that’s always been his favorite to snack on. You didn’t mind, the cheese balls always paired well with the drink.

“Wait a minute,” he says while the two of you begin to take your time back to the art room. “I share my stories through art, isn’t that an open book?”

The lip of the bottle lowers itself from where you’re taking a sip, looking over and up and Yeosang to see him focusing on the ground as if it’s another one of his paintings. “I was kidding.” The chuckle that escapes your lips has him looking back at you while pausing in his trace.

Both of you are already at the door feeding into the studio, and Yeosang still seems expressionless and dwelling on his question. “. . . Right. Apologies, I guess.”

You don’t say anything back. His response isn’t a retort, it sounded more melancholy as if he’s struggling to release a grudge.

“Wait, almost forgot,” the door to swings shut and almost in your face as Yeosang makes his way around you before bringing his hands up to slide over your eyes. “Alright, let’s go.”

“You and this freakin’ painting,” you mumble, but a smile eats away at your cheeks and makes it undeniable to hear it in your voice. You let Yeosang guide you back to your appointed to seat before dropping his make-shift mask.

“Listen, I’m sharing my snacks. You share your time,” he pops open the tub of cheese puffs and hands them rightfully over to you. His hand dips inside and grabs a handful of the balls before lazily walking back over to get on his stool.

Thirty minutes later and you’re craning your neck, trying to see over the canvas that Yeosang is practically hiding behind. You haven’t heard the clanging of a paint brush against the edge of a jar as telltale signs of his work for nearly twenty minutes.

It isn’t the first time it’s happened. Since those twenty minutes, he barely said a peep and the playlist that was playing over the Bluetooth speaker had went ended. You know that Yeosang can get grumpy if you tried talking to him when concentrating, but it’s not a risk worth taking to make sure he’s okay.

Finally, you step off your stool, head tilted up to see if you can catch what he’s doing.

Yeosang sits hunched on his stool, one hand on his knee that’s exposed by a hole in his jeans and the other one wrapped around his chin and mouth, staring straight ahead at his painting.

He’s still.

You can tell his neck’s tense, making you leave your stance on the stool to take a few steps forward before asking, “Mind if I take a peek, bubs?”

Yeosang breaks his state to flicker his dark eyes up at you. He just nods, his hand not leaving from where it’s placed. It seems that he’s almost too careless for you take a look at the project in progress, but maybe it’s just him silently asking for input on what to do.

You wander to face the canvas, Yeosang sitting back a bit and once again sighing through his nose.

Coming to life on the parchment, there’s a sketching of flowers that you don’t identify. Their shapes are warped and appear to have been erased one too many times. At the top, right corner of the soon-to-be painting, there’s already a humming bird in the corner. It’s feathers are laced with tones of periwinkle and the same paint of indigo that had marked Yeosang’s cheek, it’s wings spreading out into a striking shade of purple.

The art’s background is decorated with with that of a bush, in front of a lake that doesn’t hold too much detail. It isn’t just the small bird, but the sky captures your heart in an array of baby pink and coral, cyan lacing and marrying the pastel rainbow together.

Overall, it’s typical of Yeosang’s art style that you’ve picked up on, but why he chose to paint the landscape and bird first puzzles you.

“This isn’t a self portrait! Why am I even here?” Is your first response, but the words flow from your laughter. It isn’t the kind that’s a mockery, but merely amused.

The painting is beauty and screaming with nature.

“What’s wrong?” You ask after not hearing an excuse out of Yeosang, looking down at him to see that he’s playing with the threaded bracelets hugging his wrists. “It’s exceptional like the others. It might even be one of your best.”

“These dumbass flowers,” he murmurs, hand reaching for the paintbrush that’s dipped into a baby food size jar of a color that screams magenta. “I can’t find one that’s. . . I don’t know. There’s not a color that I can find to match.”

Yeosang stands up from his stool to pace over to the window streaming afternoon sunlight into the studio. While he’s up, you take a seat onto the chair.

While the boy tends to take a lot of pride and concentration on any piece he works on, he usually doesn’t let it get him too pissed.

After studying the painting, you look over to see Yeosang continually rake hand after hand through his hair, fluffing it up in the process and massaging the back of his neck.

“Yeosang?”

He stops, head turning to the left.

Your teeth find home on your lower lip, still tasting of the lemonade. “. . . Well, what’s that emotion you can’t interpret? Is it something that makes you happy? Somber? Angry?”

Yeosang folds his hands behind his neck and lets his head fall back. You catch an undeniable smile gracing his features. “Now, Y/N, why would I put something angry on a piece like that?”

At this point, you feel like the dumbass, not the innocent flowers.

“I mean, it could have a dark twist - “

“I’m kidding,” he cuts you off, now standing behind you.

There’s silence once again, not one that’s comforting, but one that’s longing. It’s one that’s begging for relief, and you debate on whether you should catalyze it.

“I mean, why do you think I asked you to be my muse?” He questions. You continue to watch the painting, and he continues to speak from the words that both his heart and soul were weeping. “Because let’s face it, you are. I didn’t have a lick of intention on being friends, Y/N. But then we just decided to keep it up, you surprised me. I thought you just wanted someone to distract you from self-doubt of your work, just like you did with me. I never really expected to. . . fall. It’s like I discovered art all over again.”

The last sentence comes out like a scarlet leaf in the wind. You wonder if your heart’s even beating anymore, or if its rhythm’s so fast you can’t track each thump it racks against your chest.

Surely you’re only dreaming, you have to be.

“It’s perfectly fine for an assignment, but that’s not really what it’s for.”

At this point, your breathing grew shallow, life’s essence is being stolen by Yeosang himself and quite possibly you could fall off the stool right in this moment.

There’s a gentle touch on your waist, and his voice raises above its usual tone that’s reminiscent of a late night drive under the still glow of street lamps.

“Y/N?”

You bring your entire figure around in a 180. Yeosang steps back, his hand drawing away like the snap of a rubber band. Before he can get away too far, you reach out to grab the dog tag hanging outside of his t-shirt splotched with various colors of paint, pulling him in to place your lips firmly on his.

It took a moment for Yeosang to relax and let his emotions dance with yours. Your other hand rests at the nape of his neck to pull him as close as possible, his coming up to cradle under your skull.

Your kisses molded into one, and while the essence of passion and longing kept the two of you stuck together like plaster, your butt bumps into the table of paint behind you and making Yeosang pull away with a small gasp.

“Yeosang, what the hell,” you emphasize, pulling him in by the belt loops of his jeans. He lets out a laugh, rubbing his forehead against yours and looking down at you like the truest form of art you are.

“Listen, isn’t this romantic, though?” He muses. “Think about it.”

You lean up and press a kiss to the corner of his lips, then pulling him in and resting your head on his chest. He sways you a bit side to side before you lift back up. “But one question. . .”

“Shit, I knew there’d be a catch,” Yeosang cowers away, but your hands find themselves cradled in his while he takes a couple steps back.

“Why the little bird?”

Yeosang peers over your shoulder since you’re standing in front of the canvas. “Oh, that? You always look. . . Tiny? You know, when you’re working with pastels? You always crouch when you do it on the floor and you like working with the color blue.”

“You have some wild interpretations, Yeosang.”

“Still romantic though, right?”

You press your forehead to his again, the sunshine igniting and bringing the warmth of Yeosang to life.

“It’s perfect.”

#ateez #yeosang #kang yeosang #ateez fluff #ateez one shot #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios

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