It was one in the afternoon when Jongin finally decided to emerge from his bedroom to eat his first meal of the day. Despite coming home so late the night before, the artist had still managed to sleep for nine hours and he was in a noticeably much better mood as he unconsciously hummed while walking down the stairs.

There was already a platter of vegetable omelets and ground beef waiting for him on the kitchen table, so Jongin popped the dish into the microwave to quickly warm up the food before bringing it back to the table and devouring it all in minutes. He sighed with satisfaction as he sat at the table for several moments before standing up with the empty plate in hand. The artist then brought it to the kitchen sink, quickly washed it, and set it in the dish rack to dry.

Now, with nothing to do—as was per usual these days, to his chagrin—Jongin decided to lay on the couch and play a random television drama in the background as white noise. He didn’t want the atmosphere to be completely silent; that would just amplify his thoughts. And if any negative ones suddenly appeared, which was more likely than not, the last thing he wanted was to give those thoughts any space to expand upon themselves.

So he laid down, his head on the right couch arm with a pillow supporting his neck and his ankles resting atop the left couch arm. Luckily, his arms were long enough to reach the remote control that was sitting on the rectangular mahogany wood table in front of the couch. He the television and switched the channels until a historical drama appeared. At the very least, if he got bored of stewing in his thoughts, a loud and dramatic battle would most likely take place and engage his attention for a few minutes.

And with that, time passed freely.

In fact, Jongin was so disengaged with his surroundings that he didn’t hear a person unlock the front door and walk through the entrance of his home. Several steps later, Yixing appeared at the doorway of the living room and his eyes widened upon seeing the artist reclining on the couch cushions. “Oh, hey, you’re awake,” Yixing greeted. “When did you get up?”

Jongin slightly lifted his head to look at the other male before resting his head back on the couch arm and flippantly answering, “Dunno, maybe an hour ago? I didn’t check.”

“Oh, okay. Did you eat yet?”

“Yeah, I ate what you left on the dining table.”

“Okay, that’s good.” Yixing then cautiously added, “Do you have anything planned for today?”

The artist let out a noncommittal grunt in response.

There was a long stretch of silence as his manager internally debated with himself whether or not to continue their noticeably awkward conversation. He had so much to say, but at the same time, he didn’t want to risk further upsetting his emotionally volatile friend.

Minutes passed until Jongin broke the silence by calling out, “Why are you just standing there?”

“Uh, are—are you busy right now?” Yixing timidly asked as he peered at the sprawled out artist.

Jongin groaned as he shifted himself into an upright seated position and turned towards the other male before answering, “I want to say that I am, but then I’d be lying.”

The Chinese male laughed nervously. “Then, um, is it okay if we talk for a couple of minutes? I promise it won’t take long, but if you don’t feel like talking right now, I can always come back later and—”

“Yeah, sure, let’s talk,” the artist swiftly cut in as he stood up, not wanting his manager to ramble any further.

Yixing meekly walked into living room and stood before Jongin. The manager’s head hung down while his hands were hidden behind his back to hide the slight tremors that wracked throughout his limbs. His body was also slightly rocking back and forth, knees somewhat bent and shoulders fairly hunched, and he looked even smaller than usual next to his tall and imposing boss.

“Hurry up and spit it out, Yixing,” Jongin said with an edge of irritation. “You’re starting to waste my time.”

“Sorry,” the manager breathed out. The Chinese male then briefly closed his eyes as he slowly exhaled before looking straight into his friend’s eyes and saying, “Jongin, I want to apologize to you for what happened yesterday.”

The artist stared back at him with one eyebrow raised and his arms folded across his chest. “Go on.”

After taking a deep breath, Yixing continued, “Jongdae and I shouldn’t have tried to pressure you so much into accepting his boss’ commission request. What we did to you was rude and inconsiderate, and I’m very sorry that we ignored how you felt. I’m a terrible friend for cornering you like that and you have every right to be angry at us.”

Hearing the raw vulnerability and sincerity in his friend’s soft voice, Jongin knew that he wouldn’t be able to stay mad at the other male. It took a huge amount of bravery and maturity to verbally admit a mistake. Jongin knew that all too well.

It wouldn’t be fair for him to hold a grudge against Yixing because of something as silly as a commission request. Their friendship ran deeper than work, although it was sometimes easy to forget that, especially after professionally working together for so many years. But, regardless of how they clashed when it came to work, Jongin knew he would regret it if he ended up forsaking his friendship with Yixing because of these differing opinions. Jongdae, he could live without, but definitely not Yixing.

After releasing a long sigh, Jongin sent his friend a lopsided smile and said, “I’m not angry at you. I was just really frustrated by the whole situation. But I had some time to work out my frustration yesterday and I feel a lot better now, so don’t beat yourself up over this. Let’s just forget it ever happened and move on.”

There was a noticeable expression of relief on Yixing’s face after the artist spoke, but it quickly reverted back to one of uneasiness as he let out a small cough.

Jongin furrowed his eyebrows in confusion at the odd response.

Yixing apprehensively coughed again. “Well, um, you see, there’s…something else I want to say…”

“What is it?”

“I’m really glad you’re not upset about everything that happened, but," he gulped loudly, "I also respectfully disagree with your decision on this matter. I still stand by my opinion that you shouldn’t completely reject Mr. Kim’s commission request,” the manager politely said while hastily avoiding eye contact. He didn’t want to see Jongin’s eyes darken at his words, which they did instantly.

“Doesn’t saying ‘but’ defeat the whole purpose of apologizing in the first place?” the artist wryly pointed out, raising an eyebrow again but even higher this time. Perhaps it had been wrong to forgive his friend so readily.

Yixing’s lips flattened into a thin line as he exhaled through his nose. “Well, this is more of a suggestion that I’d like to give. You don’t have to take it, of course, but as your friend, I think this would benefit you a lot.”

“What would?”

“If you’re that opposed to taking on any commissions right now, you don’t have to accept Mr. Kim’s request. But I honestly believe it would be a good idea to stay in contact with him.”

Jongin scowled immediately. “And why would I do that?”

The manager took another deep breath before launching into the spiel that he had practiced all morning while he was doing errands. “I did some research and Kim Minseok is the youngest owner of a multi-billion won conglomerate in South Korea. After running some numbers, Jade Enterprises is projected to be worth several trillions in a few years at the current rate that it’s growing and Kim Minseok is also planning to launch a dedicated fine arts subsidiary within the next five years as well. He’s expressed how much he loves art and entertainment in dozens of interviews, and he’s also sponsored several indie films and web dramas that have garnered huge commercial success. From a business and financial standpoint, Kim Minseok would be a powerful ally to have, especially since we burned most of the bridges with the European sponsors we previously worked with." Yixing winced briefly at the thought before resuming his speech. "He also happens to be a big fan of you, so he’s already emotionally invested in your work. Negotiating with him for a sponsorship probably won’t be that difficult and it would be good to have his support for your next exhibit, whenever you decide you’re ready to hold one and start painting again.” The Chinese male momentarily paused to gather his breath before finally asking, “So what do you think? Are you sure you want to outright reject Kim Minseok’s commission request?”

However, there was no response from the artist.

Yixing waited a few more minutes before deciding to drop the conversation, since he realized that Jongin most likely wouldn’t answer if he hadn’t already by now. Not to mention, there was also no point in pushing his friend to do something that he was clearly averse to. The manager had spoken his piece and given his advice, and there was nothing else he could possibly do to further convince Jongin without crossing any boundaries. And that was the last thing Yixing wanted to do.

Even though it was a bit frustrating that the artist stubbornly refused to budge from his position, Yixing also knew that it wasn’t worth the hassle, especially after yesterday’s fight between the two Kim brothers.

At the end of the day, Jongin was an independent and fully capable adult who could make his own decisions about his career. As his friend, Yixing would respect whatever choice the artist made in the end, regardless if he agreed with it or not.

--

Jongin was once again sprawled on his back, across his bed this time, as he mindlessly stared up at the ceiling. His conversation with Yixing replayed in his head and he hated admitting it to himself, but his manager had made several reasonable points.

Sponsors kept artists afloat. Passion could only take a person so far, especially a no-name artist who was barely scraping by. Jongin had been fortunate enough to have been discovered at a young age, so he had never really worried about maintaining contacts and sponsorships as much as others did. And since he had also never managed his own career—that responsibility had fallen onto his parents’ shoulders while he was a minor and onto Yixing’s shoulders after they had decided to partner together in university—Jongin took these opportunities for granted and always assumed that they’d be available for an artist of his caliber.

But when he thought deeply about how he had suddenly left Paris back in February, Jongin realized how unprofessional he must have come off as to his former sponsors. He had left them hanging for months on end, having produced no work since his muse had disappeared, and then suddenly disappeared altogether from the continent without any warning. It had been an act of physical ghosting to the highest degree. If he were one of them, Jongin imagined he would have written himself off as an overrated, arrogant prat who mistakenly believed that he was too good for anyone—even though that assumption was far from the truth.

And Kim Minseok truly would be a valuable sponsor to work with. It wasn’t often that a chaebol directly showed interest in an artist’s work. For a conglomerate founder, especially one as wealthy as Kim Minseok, to be a normal fan of Jongin was quite an astonishing of good fortune. As famous and successful as Jongin was in the art world, he didn’t hold a candle to the CEO of Jade Enterprises, who probably wielded a fair amount of political power as well because of his financial standing.

Jongin hated politics and how political maneuvering affected the arts, but he also wasn’t naive enough to disregard the influence that powerful businessmen and politicians had within the art world. The situation was a double-edged sword that he wished didn’t exist, but there was also nothing he could do about it—not right now, at least.

In the future, once he had established himself as the greatest artist of the twenty-first century, it was possible that Jongin would have enough authority to make substantial changes to the way politics and art intermingled. He would have a large enough platform—a global one too, hopefully—that could permanently protect the art world from the meddlesome actions of greedy politicians and businessmen. The sanctity of the arts would be able to remain pure, which was how it always should have been.

Jongin wondered if he could truly make such a historical impact on the world.

As the sun dipped lower in the afternoon sky, rays of light began directly beaming through the glass windows of Jongin’s bedroom. The sunlight refracted towards a zaffre glass vase that was standing on the second-highest shelf of a giant bookcase that held several other pieces of art, illuminating the dark blue color in a quasi-spotlight.

It was a round, concave cylindrical vase that slightly tapered outwards at the top and was decorated with several winding vines and leaves that had been pulled into shape. Jongin recalled receiving this particular vase as a gift from a sponsor he had worked with right after he had graduated from university.

At the time, he had been preparing for his first independent art exhibition, since he was no longer backed by his university. Having a solo exhibition had been absolutely thrilling. And Yixing, being the well-connected and business-savvy manager he was, had gathered a small team of competent and creative freelancers who had set up the entire exhibition while Jongin had focused on perfecting the paintings he planned on showcasing that day.

Without Yixing’s expertise and dedication, the event would not have come to fruition, much less been a smashing success. It was because of his manager that Jongin’s exhibition had been a victory for all parties involved, including the sponsors who had taken a chance on a fresh university graduate’s marketability. The zaffre glass vase would not be sitting on the artist’s shelf if it weren’t for Yixing’s staunch persistence, keen eye for detail, and unwavering belief in his friend’s magnificent artwork.

Jongin was essentially nothing without his manager, who was the epitome of loyalty and hard work.

The artist knew that Yixing would never give him any advice that the manager didn’t wholeheartedly believe in himself. Although the way in which this particular piece of advice had been relayed to Jongin hadn’t been the most tactful, there had been good intentions behind it and the artist couldn’t fault his friend for that. Yixing was just trying to look out for him and do what he thought was best for Jongin in his given capacity. The more he thought about it himself, the more Jongin understood Yixing’s own thought process.

Perhaps he would make an exception, just this once, for Kim Minseok. Like Yixing said, Jongin didn’t have to completely reject the CEO’s commission request or completely accept it either. There was no rush to fully commit to a choice. After all, he had met the man just twenty-four hours before. The CEO could handle waiting a bit longer.

Besides, Kim Minseok was a fan. Surely someone who religiously followed the artist’s work would understand his artistic vision and provide Jongin with a challenge that could possibly revive his propensity to create mind-blowing, imaginative artwork.

Yes, perhaps he would keep the CEO’s request in mind…

But right now, Jongin was fully content with lying on his bed and watching the sun gradually set behind the mountains. He would leave the final decision up to his future self to deal with.

♈♈♈