Chapter Text
“A photo?” Hyunjin takes a single glance at the phone and immediately tosses it aside. Nose scrunched up, he looks at Seungmin who’s slumped backwards on the chair. He feels bad rejecting another of his ideas—especially when he already looks so exhausted—but work is work. And Hyunjin has a good enough idea of his caliber to know that he'll fuck this up if he can't see the original. This one is far more detailed and much more ornate than anything he's ever done. “Seungmin, no. this won’t work.”
“I give up.” Seungmin takes a moment and then groans into his hands. Sweeping his hair back, he sits up with what seems like considerable effort. “We’ve been over this. You are not allowed inside that museum. Borrowing it wasn’t the plan. You’re not going to put us in danger just because you want details.”
“Fine by me.” Hyunjin rolls his eyes. “See if you can find someone else who does your work for you and doesn’t get outed as a forge within twenty-four hours.” He sighs and leans forward. Seungmin’s eyes fix to him. “Look, you hired me. I want to give you the results. You are not going to get them if you keep on nitpicking every single demand I make.”
“I’m not nitpicking. I’m trying to be careful.” Seungmin’s clearly had enough. He’s rummaging through his pockets. Cigarette between his fingers, he holds his other hand out. Hyunjin hands him the lighter. “Okay. Clearly, today isn’t the day we sit down to make this plan.” he glares at him over the smoke. Hyunjin doesn’t dare blink, in case he misses the real art in front of him.
“I am willing to think about it. Which is saying a lot since I could just, fire you and get someone else. But I like your work and I think you’re phenomenally talented so I will think about it.'' Hyunjin preens, tries to be as subtle as possible. Seungmin’s praise didn’t fall often. Or unconditionally, for that matter. “If you get me—or anyone else under me in trouble—”
“I know.” Hyunjin interrupts, perhaps unwisely. Any other day, Seungmin would’ve glared at him. Today, he just rolls his eyes and takes a deeper drag of the cigarette. It’s a testament to how tired he is, and Hyunjin, from the bottom of his heart, wants to get this job done as cleanly as possible. Seungmin told him he’d kill him if he as much as fucked up in the forgery or, god forbid, snitched, but both of them know that the real punishment here would be disappointing Seungmin.
“That aside—” Hyunjin says, chewing on his bottom lip. Seungmin narrows his eyes at him, and it makes him smile sheepishly. It’s been a little over three months that Hyunjin has been rooming in his apartment, unprompted. Ever since Seungmin hired him for this little job, he’s been taking advantage of it by almost permanently staying over and taking Seungmin’s money to buy himself his art supplies.
In his defence, Seungmin encourages him. And he’s only a man, completely enamoured by his employer at that. He’ll come back at night, tie loose and hair falling over his eyes. He’ll sit in front of his canvas and watch him paint, and Hyunjin will have to pretend that he’s not getting extremely turned on just from feeling the heat of his gaze on his skin. And then he’ll ask what he needs, if there’s anything else he wants and Hyunjin will shyly pitch in a new product that he’s been eyeing for the past month but never had the courage to ask for.
“Yes?” he has Seungmin’s full attention now. He pretends that his expectant poise doesn’t affect him. The idea that someone like him would direct every bit of his thoughts towards Hyunjin is unfathomable and quite frankly, feels forbidden. “What do you need?”
Hyunjin’s teeth catch against the hollow of his cheek. He casts his eyes down, feels his unmoving gaze on him. “I—well. It’s not something you can buy.” he watches Seungmin’s face change just the slightest bit, eyebrows furrowing and hands clasping together. He’s not usually this expressive, that he knows. It’s undoubtedly the influence of the smoke and the fact that his every move is not being scrutinized anymore. He’s fully aware that Seungmin trusts him. Maybe not completely, but every single ounce of trust he receives is treated carefully, delicately.
He’s encouraged to go on. So he does. “I was hoping to have you as a reference for something I'm working on.” When Seungmin doesn’t say anything, he continues. “You remember that painting from last month? It’s—well. It’s kind of complicated to do. You’ve seen the subject matter. The photo doesn’t bring out the lighting and ridges very well. I could easily copy the lighting, but I just think having someone with real skin in front of me would help.”
Clinical, detached, uninterested. Like his whole face isn’t burning up and there aren’t goosebumps all over his neck. He’s practised this speech so many times. He really hopes he doesn’t come off as too eager. He doesn’t want Seungmin to think he’s being creepy. He watches his face intently, and their eyes keep meeting and, and—for a moment he thinks something flickers through his eyes. But the next moment he breaks eye contact.
“Show me the photo.” Seungmin says, orders. He leaves his stool and heads over to the desk he’s made his own. Pulling out the polaroid from his files, he hands it to Seungmin. He doesn’t know if his shaky hands are obvious. The photo is of a painting he’s been practising forging on, taken by one of Seungmin’s men. It’s of a naked man splayed out on the bed, face hidden, miles and miles of skin painted delicately by the original artist, which is what makes his request more complicated.
It’s clearly one of a muse, or even a lover. He can see the care that went into the painting even through a developed photo. The light hugs the man, almost wraps him in a soft layer. It’s awe-inspiring, that love so clear, and so profound can be transferred to canvas. Seungmin’s eyes take in every inch of the painting, gaze never wavering. Hyunjin’s eyes are fixed to his concentrated face, taking in the soft curl of his eyelashes and the curve of his lips, as he always does.
“Fine.” it’s a reply Hyunjin had hoped to hear but hadn’t expected. Part of asking him is his desperate, overwhelming need to see him. To really see him, stripped of the hard exterior and tense shoulder lines curving under his fingers. To be with him without feeling the need to fill the silence, Hyunjin’s adoration slowly oozing out of him through his pores.
The other part of him is the perfectionist side of him, that stubborn streak that refuses to create anything that isn’t flawless down to the last detail. He could create something that would be so close to the original that he wouldn’t be found out ever, but then it wouldn’t have any ardour behind it. A perfect copy will have been created only when it evokes the same feeling its original counterpart does. Hyunjin will be damned if he doesn’t achieve the highest level of that sentiment.
“Really? You’re going to do it?” Hyunjin has to ask, excitement buzzing under his skin in waves. He tries not to be too eager, but sometimes Seungmin’s eyes linger a bit too long on him and it will make him think that he knows. He’s never commented on it, though. “You’re sure? You don’t have to, you know. I could ask for—I don’t know, Minho, or even Changbin.” Seungmin’s ‘men’. They’re more like friends, but he never uses that word.
“You asked me first,” Seungmin replies drily. Hyunjin fights back the giddy smile. “I don’t really care. As long as you’re doing your work.”
Hyunjin pauses. “Seungmin. This isn’t—you didn’t ask me for that one. I’ve finished the ones you asked for. I’m pretty sure Changbin has already replaced those. This one caught my eye and I wanted to do it as well. It’s not work.” Hesitant that he’s going to tell him off for not mentioning that sooner, he barrels on, “you don’t have to do it. Sorry for wasting your time.”
Seungmin looks up at him, handing the photograph back to him. Coolly, “I want to. Is that not enough for you?”
Hyunjin trips over his yesyesyes pushing the almost desperate thank you to the farthest back of his throat. He doesn’t know how even the smallest things will have his head reeling now, but a satisfied, smug Seungmin leaning back against his chair, eyes fixed on him while he takes another drag—it’s all enough to make his knees go weak.
“Hyunjin, come on.” His voice is gentle in the way he reserves for this time of the night. It still startles Hyunjin out of his daze and he unthinkingly flinches. Seungmin stands against the door of his room turned studio, hands crossed over his chest. Like a disappointed parent. “It’s 3 am. Go to sleep.”
“Can’t.” he resumes his strokes. The painting he’s working on is simple enough, but he’s been struggling to finish the details for a week. He has two unfinished paintings, all waiting to be finished off with details. He hates doing them; it’s repetitive work of squinting at a photograph and trying to blend in his strokes while also enhancing the painting in the way the original does while simultaneously not making it stand out too much. It shouldn’t catch the eye so much to the point it strikes people as off-beat, but it should be distinct enough. In short, it’s not a job he loves.
“Well, what’s stopping you?” Seungmin doesn’t take a single step into the room. Hyunjin hasn’t yet glanced at him in fear of the tenderness that is sure to rise to his chest. He’s so used to seeing Seungmin in formal clothes that seeing him in pyjamas makes his brain go haywire. It’s happened once or twice and since then he’s swore to himself to never seek him out at night. It helps that Seungmin usually retreats to his own room.
“Come in.” Hyunjin blurts out. “Why don’t you ever enter?”
It seems to confuse Seungmin for a moment. He blinks, looking at him, and then at the painting. He realizes what Hyunjin is talking about. Sighing, “Hyunjin, this is my apartment. You’re living in my apartment. I didn’t want to intrude on your space. It’s the least I could do.”
“Come in.” Hyunjin repeats, firmer this time. He looks around for a moment, and then steps in. Hyunjin swallows and lets himself spare a glance at him—and has to look away almost immediately. Shit. S hit. With slipper clad feet, Seungmin heads over to his bed and sits on the edge. He can feel his eyes on him. His hands work on autopilot, painting out the ochre and blending it with the brown in long strokes. He realizes that he’s been painting and repainting the same area even though it’s already done.
In polka dotted pyjamas, hair messy and clearly towelled dry, Seungmin leans back on the bed against his palms. It makes Hyunjin want to do something utterly stupid like getting up and kissing the corner of his mouth, pushing him back on the bed. He’s snapped out of his thoughts by Seungmin’s voice, “how long will it take you?”
Hyunjin glances at the half-done painting. “Another hour—” it’s definitely going to take him till morning, if he stays motivated throughout the whole time. He lies. “—at most. Seungmin, go to sleep. Please. I’m not disturbing you, am I?”
“No.” Seungmin replies. “I just want to know why you’re pulling another all nighter. Is something wrong?”
He can handle his quipped comments about work ethic. He can handle the snarky digs he gets for never cleaning his room up and never eating healthy and avoiding the shower like it’s the plague and not Hyunjin himself. He knows Seungmin well enough by now—or at least, the parts he’s allowed to see—and knowing that he’s going to nag at him out of annoyance instead of love is something that oddly comforts him. But when Seungmin’s stripped off his formal clothes and indifferent exterior, when his voice drops to tired levels only heard in the silence of the night—that’s when Hyunjin misses his footing and falls.
Hyunjin closes his eyes, replaying his soft voice in his head. Unknowingly, his grip on his brush tightens, as does his chest. With some kind of longing, he supposes. He never brings it to his own attention because everything under that carpet is what he’s been trying to hide away for years. So, he sweeps over it, never under. The day he finds blood is the day he peels it back.
When he doesn’t answer, Seungmin tries again. “Can’t you sleep? Insomnia? Is there anything I can do to help?” Hyunjin shakes his head, throat tightening. Is he leeching off him? That’s what it feels like, sometimes. Whenever he brings the topic up, Seungmin tells him that he just wants the best for his work, all fierce. Hyunjin wonders how many times he’s going to use the same excuse before the facade crumbles.
“I’ll finish this off and head to sleep, promise.” Seungmin doesn’t seem convinced. He can probably tell that Hyunjin lied about taking an hour at most. He’s not dumb to the ways of art, that he knows.
“You’ve been saying that for the last four days.” he says, unimpressed. “I’m going to fire you if you don’t go to sleep.” Hyunjin smiles cheekily. “What will it take to get you into bed, huh?”
“You, for one thing.” Hyunjin replies, almost reflexively. Realising what he said, he feels his face flame. Seungmin’s looking at him, uncharacteristically wide-eyed. “Um. Sorry. I don’t know why I said that.” No reply. It’s a game, trying to get Seungmin to reply when he’s apologizing. He tends to let people trip over their own feet. Likes to watch people stumble over their apologies, likes to watch them beg. And he, at this very moment, has no choice but to do just that.
Seungmin’s reply is dry, like always. “Very funny.” Hyunjin tumbles out another apology. “Stop that.” Then he stares, gaze fixed on him till it forces Hyunjin to look. Seungmin waits till he holds his gaze, unknowing of the way his heart hammers in his chest. “If you want me to sit here, I will.”
“I don’t.” Hyunjin says. “Go sleep.”
The air between them hangs still for another few seconds. Hyunjin almost breaks eye contact before he does, but he’s spared by Seungmin sighing and getting to his feet. “Fine, then.” he makes sure to peek at the painting. Hyunjin feels oddly self-conscious. Over his shoulder, “you’re insufferable, you know that?”
Hyunjin smiles. With the slight lilt in his voice and the way he closes the door a little too loud, it almost feels like a confession. Seungmin could say anything and he’d worship him, probably. He turns back to his painting, stretching his arms out. It was going to be another long night.
“Right.” Seungmin begins as he tumbles into the sofa. It’s ten pm. Hyunjin’s back is sore from sitting on a stool for the entirety of the day and he feels numb waist down. That only happens when he’s been so sucked in by his work that he forgets to do the occasional stretches for posture shifts. The ache in his muscles is rewarding though: it stands as a physical reminder that he’s doing his work. “Right, so, I thought about it.”
“Oh?” Hyunjin sets down his brush automatically. Maybe it’s the changing seasons, maybe it’s the autumn air, but Seungmin looks a little more striking today. Or maybe it’s the fact that he’s manspreading on a rarely used sofa, black of his shirt a stark contrast to the pristine white.
“You’re not leaving me with a choice.” he creases his forehead out. “The plan was this: you create the copy, Minho breaks into the museum and replaces the paintings in seconds, we get the original. But since you need the original now, we could borrow it. Changbin managed to get in contact with some… people. As long as they don’t snitch, tracing us back will be close to impossible.” Seungmin closes his eyes. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
Hyunjin has to calm his erratic breathing down. Seungmin is not a person that takes risks like this often. He knows this to be true through all the times he’s rejected offers because they triggered even the slightest bit of suspicion in him. He has no idea what the exact proceedings are because that’s strictly confidential information, but he knows that Seungmin is cautious, circumspect. So, the fact that he’s willing to go ahead with the exact thing Hyunjin wanted, fully aware of the possible complications that might arise…
“Why?” It’s all he can say at the moment.
Seungmin looks at him weirdly. “What why? Is this not what you wanted? You said you needed the original. I’ve arranged for it. You make the copy and swap it out. It’s not too famous to get investigated that thoroughly, but it’ll fetch you enough money.” He pauses. “Us. Us enough money. You can keep it though, if you want.”
“Seungmin, I—” he swallows around the dryness of his throat. “I’m honoured you listened to what I wanted, but—won’t this harm you? What if something does go wrong? I did promise to find an alternative way if you gave me some time. Doesn’t this have too many things that could go wrong?”
“Tell me. “ He smiles, a smug thing. Leaning back, his gaze fixes on him. “Tell me all the things that could go wrong.”
Hyunjin suddenly feels like there’s raw electricity being drawn through his skin. Oh how he hates him and his smirks and his dismissive gaze and his self-important language. How he hates the way he lets his hands linger while passing him a file, how he likes to hear Hyunjin’s thoughts before his own, and how he’s always playing the doormat while making it seem like he’s in charge. Both of them know how much unwarranted attention he gives Hyunjin.
“Okay.” Hyunjin sucks in a sharp breath. Looking away—because Seungmin’s stare is unyielding, a strange intensity in his eyes that he only ever gets when discussing something of utmost importance. “For one thing, there’s the issue of being traced back. The people you’re trusting this with could slip. Even a small mistake will be fatal to you. Also, there’s the issue of snitching.” he breaches the sensitive topic carefully, not wanting to imply that Changbin might double cross him.
Seungmin raises an eyebrow. He’s not convinced yet, so Hyunjin goes on. “Won’t the fact that the painting has been borrowed be too suspicious? I can’t guarantee that the forge won’t be found out. You know that. Borrowing the painting would immediately bring it under spotlight. ‘ Why that painting? Why the need to borrow?’ Unless the museum people are idiots, it would be investigated. It’s not exactly cheap, you know.”
“Among all the work you’ve done,” Seungmin begins, “how many were found out?”
Hyunjin stares. Swallows. They both know the answer to that. What he doesn’t know is what he’s thinking. Seungmin shrugs. “Zero. Right? I said I was willing to take a risk. All the reasons you listed will be taken care of. Do you really think I hadn't thought that out yet? What do you take me for, an amateur? Please.” he laughs. “You do your work, Hyunjin. Don’t worry so much about me. Makes me honoured to know you care so much.”
Hyunjin bites his snark back. He doesn’t really know how he’s still sitting there talking to Seungmin when he’s going lightheaded from it all—Seungmin’s posture, the self-assured voice, the apparent confidence he has in Hyunjin, the trust he seems to harbor for him—everything. It’s a miracle he’s still able to form thoughts other than something along the lines of fuckmefuckmefuckme.
For a moment, he fears his private thoughts showing on his face. Seungmin doesn’t seem to have any idea of it, moving along to business again. “Right. Glad we have that settled. Now, I need to know when you’re going to be able to work on it. I would prefer if we didn’t keep the painting for more than a week. In pretence, of course—have a look at this.”
He hands him a file that has papers slipping out from not being binded properly. Seungmin picks his phone up, and Hyunjin’s receives a message. “These should give you all the details you need. I’ll just go through the plan with Changbin and his men. Excuse me.”
Seungmin makes to get up, keypad on his second phone already open. Nervous anticipation runs through his body in a clean shiver. He feels a little shot, stricken really, at how they’re really doing this. In all their operations before this, Hyunjin was kept in the dark. All his work was to simply forge the paintings Seungmin brought him, all on his orders.
But this one, this one feels like a big step forward for him—for both of them. Disregarding the fact that they changed the whole process they carry these little thefts out by, Hyunjin now also (apparently) has a say in timings and people. His head reels.
Driven with the sudden adrenaline rush that’s making him think of things he really shouldn’t—especially with Seungmin sitting right in front of him—he blurts out, all too eager. “Why don’t you steal the paintings yourself? You know, instead of making Minho do it. You’d probably be good at that too.”
Seungmin, who had been heading to his own room to make the call, slows down in his step. He turns around, and Hyunjin can see the beginnings of a smile on his lips. “Sweetheart,” Hyunjin's breath hitches, a shiver running through him all of its own accord. “How do you think I got people like Minho and Changbin to work under me? Not my face, I hope.”
“You could.” Hyunjin tries to joke. It falls flat, because Seungmin is already turning away. To himself he mutters I would’ve, a little disgruntled at how quickly he was dismissed. The hot and cold routine Seungmin adopts is really effective, Hyunjin finds. It makes him want to try and get under his skin even more, to try and win the rare praise he’s offered sometimes. It should make him feel at least a little disgusted with himself—how pathetic he’s being—but he finds himself enjoying it even more.
At least now he knows he has a thing for being humiliated.
This is evolving into an actual fucking problem, Hyunjin thinks, after waking up at six in the morning with plaguing images of Seungmin sitting above him on the edge of the bed, signature bored expression playing on his face while his hands card through Hyunjin’s hair, applying enough pressure to make it sting.
Now he sits on the edge, forehead matted with sweat and a very prominent hard on. God, he groans out. He really didn’t think it would evolve into… this. He knows he’s obsessed with his (very handsome) employer. So what. It’s not like he’s in love with him, or anything like that—because that would be the start of an actual fucking disaster. He doesn’t deal with feelings very well. He knows that. Hell, Seungmin might know that. The guy has a read on people more accurate than any personality test out there—it’s borderline scary.
He needs to take a cold shower. But it's too early in the morning and he’s all warm from his blanket—and from the dream. He feels like he’s going to overheat out of his skin if he keeps thinking about it, but the more he forces himself to not think about it, the more he does. He and his imagination are at complete war with each other, and the ache slowly travelling throughout his body and tightening the coil in his stomach definitely isn’t helping.
He’s straining against his pyjamas, desperately trying to think of something other than Seungmin’s hands or his messy hair and lopsided smile or the way his voice would become all rough and low as he orders him about. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He laughs, lets it morph into a frustrated groan. He doesn’t care how gone for Seungmin he is. He can’t just—jerk off to his employer. It’s wrong. He knows it’s wrong.
But the pressure against his crotch when he squirms against the blanket makes him lose all rational thought. His vice grip on the sheets tightens. The crescent of his thumbnail digs into his palm, and he shuts his eyes tightly, trying to drill some common sense into himself. He doesn’t think he’s ever woken up this aroused before.
Should he? It’s the only question in his mind among other… things. He doesn’t have to know about it. It shouldn’t be that embarrassing since he’s already admitted his attraction to himself. It’s not a question of dignity anymore, it’s just plain wrong. It’s ethics to not fall head over heels for his employer and well—he’s already broken a lot of rules since meeting Seungmin. His entire job is illegal, his feelings for Seungmin are wrong and the way he chooses to proceed with his art is wrong. How much more wrong would this be, really?
And that’s the only comfort he can provide himself as he slips out of his pyjamas and underwear hastily. Wrapping a hand around himself, he fucks into his fist, already too far gone to bother with a buildup. The drag is far from smooth and his fingers are rough and calloused, but he’s already moaning out into his other hand, body strung taut.
Seungmin’s name on his lips, he takes care to whimper it into his palm. He doesn't know what kind of sleeper he is, but better safe than sorry. His muscles tense up before the final stretch, and then he’s spilling into his own hand, eyes rolling back. His breathing falls hard and heavy, and he pauses before sitting up.
A little disgusted, a lot disappointed, he lays on the bed. Staring at the ceiling till his breathing evens out and all lewd images of Seungmin—over him, against him, under him—have disappeared, he finally sits up. He stares at his hands for a short moment. Then he rolls over, muffling his groan into the sheets. It wasn’t going to be an easy day if he was about to be reminded of this moment every time his eyes landed on Seungmin.
—And that’s what he finds himself thinking again, when he’s sitting in front of the stool in his bedroom. Seungmin has taken it upon himself to absorb himself into his personal space. He’s not complaining. It’s more an observation of sorts—a comment on the fact that he’s actively seeking him out. That he’s not making Hyunjin feel like a waste of space. Sometimes he finds himself marvelling at the sheer irony of his employer being the one to pull him out of his own spiral.
It’s a free day for Seungmin, it seems. He’s still receiving calls and he’s writing stuff down, but he’s not all tense and irritated. He’s come to find that that means he doesn’t have any major work for the day if he’s not snapping at him every other second. And he’s also not wearing formal wear—a surprise—which means he’ll be home for the rest of the day.
It’s the perfect opportunity. His mood usually mellows out towards the night, but Hyunjin does not want him near himself after the sun sets. Seungmin somehow gets even more ethereal in that blue hour window, a little less untouchable. It makes Hyunjin think he could kiss him and get away with it.
“Seungmin, hey.” he speaks up slowly, not wanting to pull him out of any headspace he’s in. He looks up, pausing his typing. “Are you free right now?”
“Just tell me what you need.” he cuts him short. Hyunjin smiles wryly, of course. He’s never truly free, just less busy. He’s already standing up in case it’s something he needs him to fetch. Fuck him and his chivalry. Stupid, stupid Seungmin, making him fall for him and his too polite manners while always shutting the door right in his face.
“It’s about the reference thing.” it rushes out in a whirl. He feels a little nervous. Seungmin had said yes then, but that didn’t mean he would still be willing to follow through. Telling his pounding heart to calm down, he continues. “I don’t know if you remember. I asked you if you wanted to be the reference to this piece I was doing. I just—you looked like you were free today, and I'm bound to shut myself up after that painting gets borrowed, so today would be a nice time.”
Seungmin chuckles. “Of course I remember.” he gets up, setting his phone and laptop down. He’s dressed in a simple white shirt and sweatpants. Hyunjin very, very badly wants to get his hands on the band of that thing. “You’re right. I don’t have much work today. What do you want me to do?”
Hyunjin closes his eyes for a brief moment. “Thank you. Not much, you just have to sit there—” he waves his hand in the general direction of the bed, getting up from his stool after setting his brush down. Awkwardly stumbling towards his supply's cupboard, he extracts a brand new 20 x 24 canvas. after a while of fidgeting with the easel, he sets the canvas in place. Seungmin sits on the edge of the bed, legs crossed. He might be watching him, but he can’t tell.
“Right. Right.” Hyunjin stares at the blank canvas, and then back up at Seungmin. He feels a little out of his element, which is weird because this is him. The canvas in front of him is an extension of his own soul, to be filled. So the fact that he feels off—even more so when he meets Seungmin’s inquisitive gaze—puts him even more on edge.
He coughs. “Right, okay. I just need to—” he then spends the next five minutes searching his phone for a painting he meant to look up before making Seungmin sit, who’s just watching him silently, a small grin on his face. Hyunjin doesn’t see him smile often, so the fact that he’s amused at his misery is not helping at all. “Okay! Seungmin, will you—actually you know what, I need to get the base done. You can use your phone or read or whatever. Stop looking at me like that.”
Seungmin smiles now, teasing. His eyes stay fixed. “Like what?” he’s not going to get out of this alive. He swears his osmoregulation is tipping over as he speaks. “How am I looking at you, Hyunjin?”
Shutupshutupshutup, Hyunjin is screaming mentally and hopes Seungmin can read minds. He was fine a few moments ago. How is he going to concentrate with real, actual art in front of him? Fuck those museums, fuck those overpriced paintings with a single line running down the middle of a white canvas under the pretense of being abstract art. Fuck his own copies, his forgeries, his originals. However much he paints and practices, he will never, ever come close to pinning Seungmin’s beauty down on paper.
And maybe that’s a good thing. Hyunjin gets to see him like this, unguarded and soft in his home clothes and his fluffy slippers. Gets to hear his voice without harsh authority lacing it, soft and unadultered only for Hyunjin to hear. Possessive streak a mile wide, he suddenly feels extremely aware of all the times he’s seen Seungmin fresh out of the shower, hair mused and skin heat kissed. Yeah, that’s not something to be shown to the whole world, and he, frankly, doesn’t want to.
“Calm down, Hyunjin.” Seungmin murmurs. It’s cruel, the way his name sounds passing his lips. “Slow down. We’re fine, yeah? Take your time.”
Hyunjin sees the paintbrush in his hand tremble. Calming his shaking hand down, he takes a deep breath. As he sets out to cover the bases, he instructs, “Yeah. give me ten minutes or so, and I’ll tell you what to do,” a little awed at the fact that his voice is still stable.
The ten minutes or so stretches into thirty because Hyunjin slips in a stern pep talk to himself. Wasting Seungmin’s time is the last thing he wants to do, so he better be serious with this. Every time he glances at the bored expression on Seungmin’s face, it somehow makes him even more frustrated that he’s not in the zone today. Seungmin deserves nothing but the best, and he desperately wants to be the one to give that to him.
Outline done, he moves to the actual painting part. Then, very belatedly realizes that he has to tell Seungmin to take his clothes off. Fuck, okay, that’s awkward. He ignores the mortifying ordeal of that by working on the facial features—even though it’s a blank face, he takes care to not include any details of Seungmin. Finally, when he can’t trace and retrace the same strokes anymore, he speaks up. “Um. Seungmin. You kind of—you have to take your clothes off. Is that okay?”
Seungmin slowly raises his head from the book he had picked up. He can’t read the expression on his face when he shrugs and puts down the book in favour of carefully, meticulously peeling his shirt off. Folding it neatly, he places them on the pillow. He turns to Hyunjin, eyes questioning. His fingers tug at his sweatpants. “This too?”
Hyunjin swallows, nodding. “Yes, please. If that’s okay.” Throat dry, he watches him pull the item off—as dignified as possible someone can look while undressing—leaving his lean body completely on display. He’s not on the buff side, but his broad shoulders speak quiet strength in them.
At this point, though, Hyunjin thinks he couldn’t care what his body looks like. These rose coloured glasses he wears don’t hide imperfections, but those are the very things he’s grown to love so much. Seungmin sometimes apologizes for being irritable; Hyunjin has long learned to adore that part of him as well. Seungmin wouldn’t be him without that, and so he’s learned to look at those big flaws square in the face and say, fuck you for making me love him more.
The morning is still golden and sunlight filters through his window, bathing him in soft, ethereal light. He thinks of every single curve under his skin, and every single breath into the crook of his neck. He thinks of pressing kisses to his spine, his ribcage, his clavicle—and he thinks of it all through bated breath and slowed time.
Seungmin sits back down on the bed. He doesn’t have the strength in his throat to point out that he meant his underwear as well. So he directs him on the posture, asks him to lie down and support himself with a pillow against the headboard. Seungmin is being surprisingly compliant, not commenting even once. Legs spread, he tells him, certain that the flush on his own face was visible even over the distance.
It doesn’t annoy him that Seungmin seems so unaffected by everything. Quite the opposite. It scratches that part of him that wants to perform—to please, that wants to bring about that change in his expression. By doing anything and everything that he tells him to so that he’s pleased with Hyunjin and he tells him: good, good boy, eyes soft and fond. He thinks the way he craves validation from his favourite person should be unhealthy, but the delicate film of desperation that covers it is elastic in more ways than one.
His hands make quick work of the rest of the painting. He slips back into his usual headspace, the one where Seungmin becomes his muse for his work and work only. With all private thoughts pushed out of his head, he looks at Seungmin through tunnel vision. The way he usually does. Unattainable, only to take inspiration from but never to add anything to. Standing beside Seungmin makes him feel so, so small sometimes.
There comes a lull in the flow. Seungmin isn’t reading anymore. He’s found his new form of entertainment in staring right at him, and to say that it’s distracting would be an understatement. He’s proud of himself for not breaking yet. But he lets Seungmin know that he can catch a break and stretch his surely stiff limbs by now. Hyunjin used to sit in for a lot of nude models in his previous workshop. He would always be tempted to change his posture just so slightly to mess with them.
Seungmin doesn’t sit up. Instead, he stretches, the arch of his back accompanied with a sound between a sigh and a groan. Hyunjin feels his face flame, and he quickly looks up. Reminding himself of what’s important, he touches over the work he’s done. He’ll get the basics down, and then he’ll let Seungmin go. If he’s lucky, he’ll be done within the same day—finishing included.
This was a sort of… exercise. It’s been a while since he’s practised with a model. Sure, he’s honed his skills enough to be able to get it down to a tee but caught up in all the work for Seungmin in the past year and the nature studies for his own collection, he’s hardly gotten the time to practise. Working for Seungmin means he can’t exactly go out there and hire a model for himself. Seungmin was his best option, since he also understands his situation.
He’d rather paint Seungmin a hundred times over than strangers, anyway.
Seungmin asks him if he should assume his previous position again. He tells him yes, adding a quick note about how he’s going to paint his lower body now and how it’ll help if he removes his underwear, and how it’s completely fine if he doesn’t feel comfortable with that. About how he can conjure something up with his superior imagination.
This time, the smirk on Seungmin’s face is a lot more pronounced and a lot more worse for Hyunjin’s health. He’s been suspecting his enjoyment of seeing Hyunjin get flustered around him, and this just confirms his theory. Flatly, like he’s commenting on the weather, “So. Is this all an elaborate ploy to get me naked?”
Hyunjin chokes on air, a very undignified thing. He’ll never be able to look him in the eyes ever again. “No. No! I swear, I really just needed someone to refer to. If you don’t want to do it, you can back out, I promise. This isn’t for work, so it’s not that important. It’s just practise on anatomy and lighting, I promise. You can refuse, I don't mind.”
“But I'm not, am I?” Seungmin’s hands are travelling towards his waistband and Hyunjin promptly finds utmost interest in the material of his canvas. There’s rustling and there’s soft sighs, and the next time he looks up, Seungmin is naked. His dick is unfairly pretty for a dick, as is the rest of him. Brief attention to detail over, he ignores the fact that he’s so attracted to this man that he physically feels his knees go weak every time he walks into his room.
He treats this as a normal, usual situation, doing an amazing job of it. Seungmin is a stranger, the nude model he’s working with. Not his muse, not the reason he’s been jerking off at four in the morning, not the main character of his wet dreams. To stave off any and all unwanted thoughts, he immediately picks up his paintbrush and gets to work.
There’s an active part of his brain that’s this jumbled, scrambled mess of memories and decisions. It’s the part that holds the projector hostage, occasionally flicking the switch to land on a random video kindly directed by his imagination. It’s also the part that has some of the more annoying intrusive thoughts swimming around, and the part that’s in charge of critiquing himself till he breaks down into himself.
There’s another part that actively rebels against everything the other part says. They have a very mother-daughter relationship. They mirror parts of each other, both trying to make the other better. And presently, Hyunjin is struggling to silence both of them.
He works on autopilot, hands working on canvas and switching brushes and testing colours against the wrist of his other hand. Keeping all brainpower to a minimum, refocusing himself back into his previous headspace. Seungmin has not looked away, not even once. The pressure to return eye contact simultaneously suffocates and arouses him.
Just occasionally glancing up at Seungmin, he works. At some point, he gets too caught up in corrections and shading and tone. He can’t tell how long it’s been since he’s looked up, but when he does, his breath is knocked out of him. Whatever air had been in his lungs has long been drained and now he’s living off the sheer need Seungmin brings out of him. Hands shaking, he looks away.
Seungmin is not fully hard, but he’s definitely sporting a semi. Then he realizes Seungmin sees him look, sees him startle, sees him flush bright red from his face down to his neck. It completely tosses him out of his work. He almost forgets that he's supposed to be painting his dick, not staring at it. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to face Seungmin after this. He’s going to lock himself in his room and burrow himself into the floor. After jerking off, of course.
With a vague kind of dawning horror, he realizes that he himself is turned on beyond belief. He doesn’t know how good a job he’s doing of hiding it and he doesn’t have the courage to check Seungmin’s expression. At least he’s dressed. At least Seungmin can’t see his hard-on. Alongside a kind of twisted satisfaction, something in him keens at the fact that he’s drawn some sort of reaction from him.
The tension in the room hangs so heavy that Hyunjin thinks he’s going to choke. A passing glance under the pretense of referring tells him that Seungmin has his eyes closed, neck slightly tilted back. Not enough to hinder his painting, but definitely a hindrance to his thoughts. The cream of the bedsheets has never suited anyone the way it does Seungmin right now.
And then, a kind of awe swells in his chest. He knows his heart holds some sort of admiration for him, but now that it bubbles up so crystal clear, the sheer depth it reaches scares him. Seungmin is beautiful—that he’s always known. He’s an artist. He recognizes art when he sees it, and he’s found that the kind of beauty Seungmin has can only be really seen when you stop searching for it.
He doesn’t shine all the time, but when he does, it’s blinding. It’s a beauty that glazes over every pore and blemish. It’s the kind he can’t transpose to paper, and even if he does, it would merely be a caricature of what should’ve been him. No matter how hard he tries, he knows he’ll fail because the painting that would be made after him isn’t alive like Seungmin is, isn’t him at all.
Once he’s done with the painting, he realizes that he can’t overlook it anymore. Seungmin is far from passive in situations, but he likes waiting to see what the other person will do. He knows Seungmin won’t address it. So Hyunjin does, perhaps unwisely. “I’m done with most of it. You can—you know, um, take care of it. Not a big deal.”
Inwardly cringing at how weak his voice sounds, he watches his eyes flutter open. He stretches again, then yawns. Hyunjin hates to admit how adorable he finds him when he blinks rapidly to clear his vision. Seemingly registering Hyunjin's words, he scrunches his face up. Smiles. “Here?”
“Um.” someday Hyunjin is going to get back at him. Someday. “Uh, no. I mean, I'll leave if you want me to?”
“This is your room.” Seungmin kindly points out. Not a single ripple passes through his face. He remains his unfazed, nonchalant self, even though he can clearly see what seems to be a manifestation of his thoughts. In a moment of boldness—even though he feels the way he burns with jittery nervousness—he blurts it out: what were you thinking about?
Hyunjin, that he knows, would’ve been embarrassed beyond belief had he been in Seungmin’s present position. Logically, he knows it’s not that big of a deal. He’s had his fair share of unannounced boners when working as the nude model. But for someone like Seungmin, who wouldn’t bat an eye at anything, for him to get visibly turned on during this is a big deal. Especially since Hyunjin is the one painting him, and since he’s lost the better part of his rationale since he met Seungmin.
Seungmin answers it like he’s a weather news reporter. Sweetly, “you.”
Hyunjin glitches just slightly. Is he flirting? Come to think of it, has he been flirting all this while? While he’s busy trying to delusion himself that he heard it wrong, Seungmin continues. “The way you were looking at me.” a laugh. “Like you wanted to eat me right up.”
“Oh.” he hadn’t… realized he was doing that. “Must’ve gotten too focused. Sorry.”
This time when Seungmin smiles, it’s sharp. There’s something in his eyes that make Hyunjin want to curl in on himself, even though he’s the one who’s naked. Pulling his shirt loosely around himself, he stands up. “Don’t apologize.”
It’s twelve-thirty in the night when the knock comes on his door. Normally he wouldn’t be up painting at that time. He’d be having a dinner of hastily made pasta and a glass of stolen wine from the stash Seungmin keeps in the kitchen cupboard. He can’t remember the last time he’s eaten since being handed the borrowed painting.
In hindsight, he should’ve known that it would be a bad idea to meet Seungmin at that time. He just didn’t realize how badly he’d fuck up by opening his door. Drowsy, he drags himself to the door and opens it. Seungmin stands there, dressed in full black. Not in formal clothes, not in his usual grey sweatpants, but in a black shirt and pants. Hyunjin thinks he’s going to pass out.
“Get dressed.” Seungmin says. He racks his brain for any context, trying to remember if they agreed to go out at this time on this day. Seungmin invites himself in and heads straight for the bed. Deja vu slices through him. He raises an eyebrow when he doesn’t budge from his hunched, slack jawed position at the door. “I said, get dressed.”
“What in the—Seungmin, you can’t just come in here and tell me to get dressed without any context.” He slowly makes his way to the bed, standing in front of him. Hands on his hips like he’s scolding him. A brief flash of guilt passes through Seungmin’s eyes, but he can’t tell if he imagined it. “I’m working. It’s past twelve! Why in the world are you still awake?”
“None of your—” Hyunjin narrows his eyes at him. He backtracks. “Okay, well. We’re going shopping. It’d be great if you had a black shirt. Makes it easier to not stand out.” sighing when he doesn’t remove his unrelenting gaze, he finally gives in. “You asked me to take something for myself instead of making Minho do it. That’s what we’re doing. It’s a perfect distraction from the borrowed painting. It’s perfect.”
Hyunjin feels utterly confused, but he’s not going to question it. He’s always been a go with the flow type of person, so if Seungmin—someone who’s so meticulous down to every fibre of his being—wants to go stealing in the middle of the night, the least he can do is not question it. So he obeys, like he always does. When he’s done, he makes quick work of washing out his brushes and putting away his colours. Something tells him it’s going to be a long night.
They head out of the apartment with quiet steps. Seungmin carries a backpack and a resolute expression, face hardened back into set lines. Hyunjin both hates and loves him like this.
They walk five blocks before Seungmin makes a turn. He follows behind, carefully letting himself take in the night. Of course, there’s no one around. It’s the better part of the neighbourhood, but he has the sneaking suspicion that there might be a few people around. Without the chatter of the cars and murmur of the people, the silence around them borders on intimate.
Hyunjin breathes in, out. Eyes fixed on Seungmin’s back as he confidently trudges through the sidewalk, shadows on the asphalt infinitely changing. The golden streetlamps make his hair look almost brown, a certain softness to it that it takes on in his dreams, begging to be stroked and mused. He’s thankful Seungmin doesn’t wait for him to catch up—that way he can stare at his back and sigh over and over, ignoring the desperation overtaking his gaze.
He turns another sharp corner. He doesn’t know how long they’ve been walking but he senses it in the way his steps turn resolute, less heel and more slide. It’s not a street they’ve turned into, rather a small alleyway. Mute fear grips his heart, but he waves it off immediately. Seungmin knows what he’s doing. If he thinks they’re okay walking around in street alleys at one in the night, then he’ll be damned if he doesn’t follow.
The alleyway is narrow enough that they have to walk in a single file. When they emerge out of the other end, there’s a motorcycle waiting on the other side. Seungmin heads straight for it. He watches him rummage his pocket, fetch the keys and plug in into it. Then he’s slipping of his backpack and handing it to Hyunjin, taking the smallest glance at him. Hyunjin receives it and looks up and meets his eyes.
“I’ll explain when we get there.” Unlike Hyunjin, Seungmin plans each step of his way. Rarely does he let other people see the outline of it, he’s always presenting the final paper, edited and corrected ruthlessly. Sometimes he wishes he could have the privilege of seeing the framework, but he’s going to wait till he earns it. “What are you standing there for? C’mon.”
Seungmin swings one leg over the seat and revs up the motorcycle. Hyunjin tightens his grip on the backpack, hesitating a beat too long. Questioning eyes turn to him, and in the soft light of a distant streetlamp, he swears he sees his face soften. His voice is definitely gentler than before when he says, “Don’t get cold feet on me, Hyunjin. I’ll explain. Just—come on.”
“I’m not scared.” Hyunjin clarifies, because he hears the question in his voice.
Seungmin shakes his head. “I didn’t say you were. Trust me this time, please? It’s going to be fun. You’re going to have fun. I won’t let anything happen to you, promise.”
Hyunjin rolls his eyes, tamping down the several skips his heart does. There is no way to tell him that he’d trust him with his life without it sounding like a confession far too heavy for the current moment. So he chokes it back and follows his lead.
Slipping his arms through the backpack, he grounds himself behind Seungmin. In the silence of the night save for the occasional car or rustling of a tree or two, the motorcycle comes to life. Hyunjin automatically wraps his arms around Seungmin’s waist as they go around the corner. One alley, another street and a few minutes travel along a bigger street—and then they’re on the main road.
The cool night air caresses his face and he keeps having to move his hair out of the way. Seungmin’s body is warm against him where his chest is pressed to his back. It’s the closest he’s ever been to him and, under the ink night sky and the wind in their hair, he let himself have this one moment for himself without contemplating the depth of his feelings, without worrying what Seungmin might think—desperate and something like yearning simmering under his skin.
Heart to chest, light as the zephyr, he steals this piece of himself back.
In hindsight, he should’ve realized that the occasional glint in Seungmin’s eyes was by no means coincidental. He completely misinterpreted them, mistook them for appearing only when he can get Hyunjin flustered and right in his open palm. Now, with a better understanding of his devious smiles, he discovers that Seungmin is a straight up menace when he feels like it.
The motorcycle is parked in another dark alleyway. Seungmin takes the bag and deftly slings it over his own shoulder. Then he leads the way through ripped fences and broken backdoors, till they reach a suspiciously familiar looking place. Hyunjin squints in the dark, trying to discern where in heaven’s fuck they were.
“Seung—” he’s immediately silenced by an aggressive palm over his mouth. He has half a mind to bite it. Seungmin walks in front of him with more toe than heel, not a single squeak from his shoes. He’s bent at the waist, and he can almost see the way his ears strain if he looks hard enough. They move like that till they’re met with a high wall. Seungmin pauses, pulls out his phone.
Hyunjin waits while he fidgets with his phone. Then, Seungmin’s moving forward again. Slow and steady he hauls himself up on a crate placed at an intersection of two walls. A small chamber stands tall on the other side of the wall with electric wires twisting and coiling around straight rails.
A beat passes. Hyunjin is about to speak up, when darkness envelopes them. Seungmin calls his name from the height, and he has to squint to adjust his vision in the dark. After a few seconds of shuffling and the steady trickle of powdered plaster dropping down the spot Seungmin leans against, there’s a loud thump. And then, Seungmin is nowhere to be seen. With a hint of panic, he assesses that he’s on the other side of the wall.
“Get up on the crate.” Seungmin’s voice sounds through the drilled holes in the walls. They're big enough for a small cat to pass through. “Up on the crate. Use the railing as a foothold and jump over. It’s not that high. Quick!”
Hyunjin hurries to get it done. When he bends sideways to haul himself up on the crate, the backpack slips over. He hastily pulls it off and throws it over. Judging by the noise it makes, Seungmin fails to catch it. Supporting himself against the railing, he swings a leg over. The wire cuts into his shirt and he fears it tearing for a moment. But it’s not barbed, so it doesn’t. With the agility of an artist who hasn’t ran since they were eighteen, he jumps over.
The lights come on the moment he lands. Seungmin kneels in front of the door of the chamber, gloves over his fingers and what seems like a wrench between his teeth. Hyunjin makes his way over to him, after picking up the bag. Barely a minute passes before the door swings open. Hyunjin stares at him, a little amused. Who knew someone so seemingly refined would have all the tricks of a thief up his sleeve?
Seungmin goes inside the chamber. He doesn’t tell him to, so he waits outside. He can hear him tweaking up the box inside. Blinking red and green lights catch his attention. He has zero idea of what Seungmin is up to, but the number of switches and wires are enough to let him know that it’s not something he can question and get an answer.
So he watches, Seungmin’s focused face drifting in and out of the very minimal light offered by the in-boundary lamp. Sometime after, he asks for the flashlight in the backpack, which Hyunjin hands to him. When Hyunjin asks if he needs him to hold it—since he’s working with both his hands—he just shakes his head and promptly takes it from him. Holding it in his mouth, he resumes.
Just when he’s starting to get bored, he hears the box slam shut. A moment later, Seungmin emerges from the chamber, dirt streaks on his face. Hyunjin stares at them for a moment, and then makes the very tough decision to ignore it.
“Right, so—” Seungmin begins, already making his way towards the building now that his work is done. Whatever that was. Hyunjin hurries to follow. “Here’s the plan: we go up to the second floor through the fire exit, break that door down and break in. Most paintings here don’t have extensive security, save the few really expensive ones. We take a shortcut into the control room and switch off all security alarms from there. There’s going to be two people there, max.” seeing Hyunjin’s eyes widen, he quickly adds, “you don’t have to do anything. You’re just here for the ride. Just trust me.”
“I do trust you.” Hyunjin feels the need to clarify. “I just didn’t take you to be so spontaneous about this shit. Don’t you need to plan this stuff weeks in advance?”
Seungmin shrugs, seemingly relaxed even though they’re walking around the circular wall, footing careful on the slightly raised ledge. The garden (he assumes) is shaded with tall trees, branches so wide that it blocks out whatever moonlight they had before they entered the premises. The wind is slight and makes them cast shadows all over the wall. Hyunjin has no idea where they’re going, and he thinks he wouldn’t know even if he frequented the place during the day. In any case, Seungmin seems confident in his steps.
Under the small and large shadows, Seungmin finally stops when they come across the door. He tells him that it’s the back door in passing. He watches, fascinated, as Seungmin kneels down in front of the door and picks it with deft fingers. He assumes that he’s already been here and looked up whether it was electric or not. Even if it was, he has no doubt Seungmin would find a loophole around that as well.
It’s an old, crumbling building, one that was probably built ages before and was preserved to make it a cultural icon. The door hinges are rusted around the edges which they easily get across. Behind it, a new door has replaced its older counterpart and it takes a longer time to pick it open. By the end of it, Seungmin has grown noticeably more irritated and sweatier.
The door swings open on its hinges. It’s completely dark inside, and when they set foot into the corridor, he can’t see his own hand placed in front. Seungmin feels around the walls for a while and then switches the flashlight on. Then, he explains how the power circuit inside the museum is bound to send at least one person down here to investigate, so they’d better head to the room.
Hyunjin wants to ask what room, but it would probably be a bad idea to break Seungmin out of his thoughts. He progresses steadily, luminous circle of the flashlight bouncing steadily against the corridor walls. He walks like he knows it as well as the back of his hand, which, knowing Seungmin, he probably does. At first their path moves along straight lines. Then they’re abruptly thrown into a wide hallway (again, he assumes by the reflection of the light) with wide, circular walls.
Something tells him they’re not in the main hallway yet. He didn’t catch any paintings along the way. The otherwise loud tapping of their shoes makes him a little nervous, but Seungmin doesn’t say anything about it.
His previous assumption is proved correct when they move out through another door. He can see doors swung open on their hinges. Given the circular structure and the probable age of the building, they were probably not a part of the original and must have been installed later. It must be a pain to have to close all those doors though, and if they have night security then it’s probably the better decision to leave them open.
After a short interval of walking, Seungmin pulls him into a room by the wrist. He has no idea how he knows the place so well, so he listens in awe when he explains that this is the room he had been talking about. From there on, he explains what he has to do. Which is—well. Sit quiet. That’s all he has to do, he tells him.
Feeling a little brave, he tugs at his arm. In the dark, his vision adjusted such that he can catch his outline while he rummages through the backpack, he sees Seungmin turn to face him. Soft eyes distorted, land on him with such intensity that it nearly forces him off his feet. He swallows. “I want to help though. I’ll feel pathetic if I just sit here.”
“I mean, that’s what I brought you here to do.” Seungmin says, eyes back to focus on the bag. “You’ve never seen how this stuff actually takes place, and you’re making all these copies for me. I thought it’d be cool. Also, you needed to get out of that room. I haven’t seen you properly in like, a week.”
“I was working.” Hyunjin huffs, a little warm in the chest. True, that they haven’t seen each other in a few days. He takes it upon himself to do as good a job on the paintings as he can, because it is in a way repaying Seungmin by not giving him any trouble. So he stays holed up, perfecting and picking it apart. Seungmin doesn’t stay home half the time and its always night when he comes back; a time Hyunjin has often pushed him away.
“I know you were.” Seungmin replies, voice uncharacteristically warm. The next moment he’s tensing up into focus, voice steeling itself. “Alright. I’m going into the next room. The power cut should have sent one of the guys down to check, but we can’t be too sure. I can handle two of them, I'm sure. Hyunjin, can you fight?”
“Can I—” Hyunjin splutters. “Can I what?” he lowers his voice when Seungmin looks at him. “Seungmin, what the fuck. Of course I don't know how to fight! I’m a fucking artist!”
Seungmin laughs under his breath, relaxing slightly. “Figures. Stay here then, okay? If someone comes in, yell as loud as you can, and I'll be here. I guess.”
“What do you mean, you guess? ” Hyunjin asks, almost giving him a playful shove before stopping himself, remembering his place. Seungmin just shrugs to that, hoisting the backpack up again. He has a tangled mess of rope in his hands, fingers stretching out a few knots. Hyunjin has no idea what they’re supposed to be for, but they don’t look too good.
He doesn’t miss the flash of silver against the dark outline of Seungmin’s body, shy against his waist, tucked under his belt. He looks at it for a moment, and then turns away.