“Tickets for how many?” The man sitting behind the desk didn’t even bother to look up when Minho and Jinwoo walked to the counter. 

  “Oh surely you’re not going to make the artist pay for his own gallery.” Minho said with amusement flooding his voice. Jinwoo opened his mouth to protest, but the man’s eyes flew up to look at them and immediately he stood and held out his hand. His face turned bright red, and Jinwoo reached for his hand not used to the common American custom of greeting. 

  “I’m so sorry Mr. Kim sir. Please forgive my foolishness. You too Mr. Song. I should have recognized you sooner.” His voice came out shaking and nervous, but Jinwoo smiled warmly at him, partially because he barely knew half of the things that he was saying. 

  “Please don’t worry about it. I’m not exactly dressed like a prestigious artist anyone would have made the same mistake.” He said the last part in Korean, and the man looked lost. His eyebrows furrowing together like if he concentrated he would be able to understand the language. 

  “He said that he isn’t exactly dressed like a world renowned artist, and the same thing could have happened to anyone.” Minho translated, in perfect unaccented English. The startled man smiled nervously before sitting back down and placing his head in his hands. 

  Minho faked a cough to stifle his laughter and placed a hand on Jinwoo’s back guiding him in the direction of the gallery. Jinwoo looked over at him with a nervous smile, not caring anymore about how the public reacted to his art but how his boyfriend would react instead. He had spent days if not months perfecting this gallery in secret, skipping meals, and exhausting himself to the point where he could hardly kiss Minho goodnight when he stumbled through the door at ungodly hours of the morning. All in the efforts that Minho’s first birthday in America would make him forget about all the others he had had in Korea that would only succeed in bringing back painful memories for him. 

  “Listen I need to.. tell you something before you see anything.” Jinwoo stuttered nervously pushing himself in front of Minho looking around nervously. Minho could tell whenever Jinwoo was nervous because he would bite his lip and bounce on the balls of his feet and never make direct eye contact with anyone. Minho placed his hands on either side of his little artists face and looked him in the eyes and gave him a reassuring smile that never ceased to make the smaller man feel weak in the knees. 

  “This exhibition is titled, ‘Melody of the Seoul.’ This was the closest I could get without having the title be Song outright. I-I wanted you’re first birthday here to be one that you would never forget. So my topic was.. well you. The song of my soul. Whom I met in Seoul. It’s cliche on the highest level but I…” Before Jinwoo could finish stammering Minho silenced him pressing his lips lightly yet deeply against his. 

  “Show me.” Minho replied the simplicity of his statement still holding silent emotions running underneath it. Jinwoo nodded and silently took his partners hand in his, their fingers still intertwining perfectly at if they had been made for each other. 

   They had barely rounded the corner when Minho brought a hand to his mouth with a gasp. He had brought Jinwoo here to surprise him but in turn he was the one who ended up surprised. The first painting he saw was a side profile of himself smiling down into a cup of coffee. The steam rising so realistically he reached out his hand to see if he could touch it. His round glasses lay slightly askew on the end of his nose, and his hair sticking out in all angles perfectly resembling what he would have looked like waking up in the morning. Despite his relaxed face there was sort of a playful smile in his eyes, light radiating more from them then from the window that lie directly behind him even from the side. Jinwoo had wanted to capture the man he loved in all that he was, scars and all. The sleeveless shirt exposed his arms, the red lines ran across his skin but they didn’t seem to be screaming angrily, but instead showed a silent strength, a battle that had been won. 

  Painting after painting Minho saw himself in angles and perspectives that made him feel like he was seeing himself for the first time. Surely the beautiful person depicted in these paintings wasn’t the person that stared back at him in the mirror everyday? But turning to look at the way Jinwoo’s eyes smiled back at him he realized that this was exactly how Jinwoo saw him. Perfectly imperfect, scars and all. One in particular stopped him in his tracks, it was excessively intimate without having the feeling that it was invading anyones privacy.He saw himself lying flat on his stomach. His back was completely exposed the sheets of the bed wrapping around his lower waist, and it was as though Minho was seeing his scars for the first time. He felt silent tears slip down his cheeks but he made no motion to wipe them away. 

  In all of his 22 years of living Jinwoo was the only person who ever succeeded in making him feel remotely worth something. But now he made him feel like even his scars were beautiful. Like the lines that were scattered across his back were nothing more than abstract art, with a deeper meaning that was so much more than was it appeared to be on the outside. Like Jinwoo had painted him as art within art. He felt hands wiping the tears away that weren’t his own and looked down to see the very artist whose hands had made him beautiful. 

  “We’re not done yet.” He whispered reaching his head up and kissing him lightly on the cheek before walking in the direction of a large painting that was covered with cloth. 

  “I wanted you to be the first person to see this. I even set it up myself so no one else would.” With the flick of his wrist Jinwoo removed the cloth and Minho felt himself stagger backwards, as he drew a deep breath inward. The painting was nothing like the other ones, the only similarity was the topic. The medium, and the mood, was completely different. It spoke volumes of loneliness and longing, like whoever Jinwoo had been at the time he was painting this was a time when he wanted to capture a moment in time and freeze it forever. 

  It was the same watercolor painting Jinwoo had done a couple years prior on their first, and what he thought would be their last night together. The sparse apartment room. The bed that was nothing more than a mattress on the floor. Clothes scattered on the floor. But the main focus was the man Minho found to be himself holding tightly onto Jinwoo like he was trying to get a lifetime worth of contact in the course of a night. In its time it had been painful to look at, beautiful to the point where it caused you nothing more than pain. But now Jinwoo looked at it and saw everything they had overcome. No longer did the brightly colored piece depict pain in all of its screaming volumes, but now shown brightly, depicting all of the emotions that went with anyones first time. 

 Jinwoo heard someone exclaim behind him and he turned to see a small crowd of people staring in awe at what they saw before them. Having no idea the artist  whose pain had created it was standing in front of them holding the hand of the very person who he believed he was going to lose. 

  “Why didn’t the artist do any other watercolors? He shows a complete mastery of not just one medium but two. Why not show it off?” To this Jinwoo turned and smiled towards the voice. 

  “You see, sometimes things were only ever meant to be mastered for a specific time in your life. The blind impulse of emotion the only thing guiding your hand as it glides across the canvas. Only when you open your eyes do you realize what your heart has done. But since you weren’t conscious of your actions, you are left unable to replicate them.” Jinwoo’s voice came out steady and unaccented, like something inside of him had come alive simply to deliver this message, or maybe this was the motivation he had needed to be able to do what he could have done all along. 

  The people stared at him with wide-eyes and open mouths like they deer in the headlights. Before crowding around him and asking him in depth questions about his art that he answered honestly and poignantly. 

 “Where is the man now?” One of them asked before Jinwoo laughed and motioned for Minho to come over from where he had been standing by the watercolor where the people had been oblivious to his presence. 

  “This is Song Minho. The melody of my soul.” Jinwoo knew that Minho had thought the paintings made him beautiful, but it was really him who made them beautiful. No amount of technique could be used to perfectly replicate all of the beauty he saw displayed in front of his eyes. No amount of detail could capture the feeling of what it was like for the first thing he saw in the morning was the warm brown of his boyfriends eyes. The kind of brown that made you question how anyone could ever think there was anything boring about the color. 

  Jinwoo looked over at Minho and despite the onlookers felt a kinetic magnetism pulling him nearer to his small giant. His arms wrapped around his neck and he looked deeply into his eyes before Minho dipped and pressed his lips against his before Jinwoo could do it himself. Despite the claps of the people Jinwoo felt like nothing existed except for him and the man he loved, and that nothing else needed to. Finally when Jinwoo became aware of the people watching he felt himself blush deeply, but yet felt no embarrassment in the heat of his cheeks. But more that he couldn’t believe that he could so openly be in love with the man he loved and not have to worry about anything happening to them for it. 

  “You’re a beautiful couple,” A elderly women approached them, her eyes sparkling and wet as if she had been crying, “I was just going to ask your permission if I could share this photo with my daughter she’s been an admirer of your work since you were still based in Korea and she was the one who told me to come here today, even though she is in Korea now on an international study program.” Minho and Jinwoo smiled first at each other and then back at the elderly women, and Jinwoo stuck out his hand to greet her which she shook gently. A smile spreading across her face. 

  “Yes of course you can! But can I see the picture first?” Jinwoo asked, realizing the women already had it up on her phone outstretched to him. Jinwoo saw himself standing slightly on his tiptoes his arms wrapped tightly around Minho’s neck, where Minho’s hands were wrapped tightly around his waist. Their eyes were tightly closed and just by looking at the picture if he hadn’t been in it he would have felt like those 2 people felt like the only people in the room. Enamored in their embrace to the point where despite being in the same plane existed in a different reality entirely. 

  Author note: Wow I am so sorry about that guys I just recently got a job and things have been super hectic lately but I have been writing more of this story. There is more I have written but I thought this was a good length for a chapter and so I could update sooner. ALSO I was inspired by a gif I saw of Minwoo's kiss on stage, HAVE YOU SEEN IT?? anyways thank you all so much for your continued support and patience, much love <3 

        - Cai >.<