;;;

jeongguk was a quiet kid.

he preferred the comfort
of being left alone;
though one would struggle to
describe him as a 'loner'
because that would definitely
be inaccurate.

he had himself as company,
and that was that.
he liked not having
to put
on a mask for the sake
of others. he liked not having
to communicate and try to be
somewhat relatable.

he felt uncomfortable
having to socialise.
he preferred the comfort of
his headphones on the rainy bus ride
home from school, any day to
the struggle he went through,
talking to his classmates,
in attempt to be polite.

but he decided that being polite
was very important, despite
how much effort it was,
seeming pretty
mandatory in modern society.
he wished he could have been
like old, cold, miserly
ebenezer scrooge;

not caring for a damn thing in
this tiny, solemn world;
not worrying about how people
saw him, what they thought,
how he looked.

but jeongguk wasn't selfish
like that.
he was a content,
remotely happy kid.
if being polite made him a
good, admired person,
then he'd be willing to go
to whatever
extent to please
people.

of course,
that didn't mean he paid
attention
in class, though.

it was art, he assumed that
mrs. light would
walk in and just tell them
to carry on with their
portfolios and coursework,
like every other lesson
of hers that year.
so about mid to late
September, he stopped
paying attention to the
woman's irrelevant
words.

after all, she wasn't
exactly teaching anyone
anything- jeongguk thought
that she was rather
incompetent for
a highschool teacher.

she saw everything and
everyone in black and
white;
jeongguk begged to differ.
hypothetically, the world
was a canvas.

and every single being
had a colour. some warm.
some cold. some bright,
some bland,
some dull some extremely
pigmented. but we were all
human. the paint what we bore
made us different, unique.

special.

jeongguk didn't know
what colour mrs. light was
yet,
he figured that she was dull,
monotonous, lifeless in a way.
anyone may have thought
that he was being extremely
pretentious, judging
people like that.

but there was nothing
wrong with judging someone
if you kept it to yourself.

so he'd stuck his earphones
in his ears, oblivious
to his surroundings,
and pulled out his work
from his massive art folder,
neatly arranging his
pretty watercolours,
his oil paints, his pencils,
his markers,
his paintbrushes and
charcoal pieces.

oh, and a rubber.

though, deep down,
jeongguk knew that erasing
his art would do him
no good, he wouldn't
learn properly from his
mistakes... but he kept
it there for safe measure.

and finally, he
pulled out his painting.

contrary to popular
belief; jeongguk
wasn't proud of it.
it was dull, it was formless,
it had no shape, no tone,
no voice, no charisma,
no colour, despite the bright,
blaring, sickening yellow
hues that were splattered
haphazardly onto the blank
canvas, blended messily
with fiery reds and oranges
and shiny, silvery copper.

he wasn't proud.
in fact, he was more so...
disappointed with himself.

jeongguk had painted a
sunset.

to a non artist, the small,
glistening canvas would
have looked highly professional,
breathtaking, evocative, splendid,
enchanting, almost.

but to jeongguk,
it was just a reminder of how
awful his work had been lately.

he stared at the painting for
a while, wondering how on
earth he was going to fix
such a mess. the course
work was worth eighty
percent of his total grade,
though he wasn't worried
because the rest of his
work had been good enough
to somewhat satisfy his
obsessive mind,
he still wanted this to be
beautiful.
there was no doubt
in anyone's mind,
that the scrawny boy
who sat at the back of
class with his earphones
in, always staring out of
the window into space
was the most
talented kid in art.

jeongguk rarely needed
to try when it came to
art. he rarely needed to
pay much heed to
to let his mind take over
and bring his work
to life, and no matter the
outcome, it would always
be impressive.
the ideas just spilled,
spread from his head to
his paper like wildfire.

it was incredible, mrs.
light always complimented
him for his creativeness,
but jeongguk never took it.

he liked to stay... humble.

but lately, his art had
been lacking.
he needed inspiration,
and fast.
or the rest of his portfolio
would end up
like the tumultuous
mess of a painting
before him.

what a waste of a perfectly
fresh canvas.

he hadn't been to the art gallery
last week, they had probably
put up some new paintings,
jeongguk was excited to go,
but his mother had dragged
him to
one of her little family get-
togethers.
that he hated.

perhaps that's what it
is jeongguk, just go to the
gallery and you'll be fine.

he brought out a hand to
dip
his paintbrush into his array
of ruby
red oil paints.

he was ready to correct
his mistake.

he was ready to delve
into the depths of his
brain to better, to amend,
to conquer.

but then he stopped.

then he dropped his
paintbrush, gasping
in shock.

a large, veiny, tanned hand
had wrapped itself around
jeongguk's thin, porcelain
wrist.

a shadow loomed over
jeongguk's desk, towering
like a giant, dark and
dangerous and...

jeongguk had never felt
so... small.

and his breath
had halted when
he had lifted his
gaze up to look up.

at the stranger.

-
whoop whoop chapter onee

pls vote and comment

Ily guys

-varsha 💙