Sungjong took a step back, admiring his work. Perfect. He was perfect.

The canvas that, merely a few hours ago, was desperately white, was now displaying the figure of a young, shirtless man in the middle of a dark forest. Sungjong couldn’t really understand it himself. Sure, he was a good painter, but he couldn’t usually draw a person without a model, someone, anyone. But this one, this man, he had been haunting his dreams for weeks, so much that he had decided to let him out of his brush. And he was perfect.

And after a few hours of frantic painting, mixing the colors to match exactly the image that had been appearing in his unconscious mind for so long, there it was: his masterpiece. He took a deep, shaky breath at the realization, before getting out of the room to make some tea. He deserved a break.

But when he came back into the room, the cup of hot liquid slipped out of his hand and ended up spilled on the floor. His breath got caught in his throat as he looked in front of him.

There, in the middle of his room, was standing a young man. He probably should have panicked, but how could he? How could he when the man in front of him was the one he had painted not long ago?

Said man took a step forward, a smile forming on his pink lips. Sungjong’s eyes quickly went to the canvas behind him. The forest was still there, but in the center, where the man should have been, only the white canvas could be seen, as if someone had scratched on his painting to completely erase the silhouette.

His eyes went back to the man in front of him. “Who… who are you?”

“Well, I guess only you have the answer to that.” The other’s voice was deep and soothing, just like Sungjong had imagined it would be.

The latter took a step forward. “Then, what’s your name?”

The man shrugged. “I don’t know, what do you want to call me?”

“Myungsoo.”

The name had left his own lips without his consent. He hadn’t chosen the name, no. It was his name, he just knew it. And apparently, the man liked it, because he smiled and Sungjong’s heart quickened. He took another step towards his creation and slowly raised his right hand to gently place it on his cheek.

It was warm, smooth. It was skin.

Then, without thinking, he did what he had done some many times before in his dreams. He dropped a small kiss on those lips, his hand never leaving the warm cheek. But when he pulled back, his heart skipped a beat. Where his lips had touched, Myungsoo’s ones where white, strangely resembling a canvas. He brought his free hand to his own lips then looked at his finger. They were covered in pink paint.

He shook his head as realization slowly sank in and looked back at Myungsoo, who was looking at him with a sad look he couldn’t bear to see.

He slowly retracted his hand from the other’s cheek and looked at it. Paint. Paint was smudged all over his palm and the cheek was back to white.

He was panicking inside. Tears were starting to form in his eyes when Myungsoo’s voice echoed in the silent room again, immediately putting his confused heart to peace.

“I’m sorry…”

Sungjong looked at him in the eye and took a deep, calming breath. “It’s okay.” He went to grab his brushes and colors and shot the man a comforting smile.

“I’ll just paint you again.”