The bus journey was long, but Yoseob didn’t mind, he had his headphones in and he was busy sketching the passing morning traffic. When the bus slowed down at his stop, he quickly stood up, getting off after shouting a thank you to the driver and helping the old woman behind him get off safely. Grinning kindly and nodding, he said his goodbyes to her after telling her to be careful before walking towards the high street, already getting swallowed up into the sea of people in business suits and high heels. Dodging suitcases and Starbucks cups, Yoseob walked to his favourite place in the middle of the high street where the plants in the large stone pots laid. Sitting down on one of the stone pots, he set his messenger bag down next to him and pulled out his sketchpad and pack of pencils, picking a normal HB to start the sketching of his favourite place.

Yong Gallery.

The white exterior of the place made his eyes shine brightly and his heartbeat pick up.  It was beautifully simple, white exterior, the font a beautiful Times New Roman, clear and in a bold black that just looked so... well, beautiful. All glass, even the door, everything so sleek and shiny and so professional that it made Yoseob burst at the seams in just, joy.

It was his place, his eyes landed on it when it was first being built, back when he was 14, and he never could look away since then. He used to come to that same spot where he sat every single day since, at lunch breaks, after school, even sometimes missing a class, just to watch how people would walk around with a glass of champagne and look at the tasteful art inside.

It made goose bumps appear on his flesh, spreading across every single piece of it. And that was only the sight of it.

He had never been able to step inside of it, though. His sister, Hyorin, had tried to go inside with him when she visited from America along with her boyfriend, now husband, Josh, but, it was no use, as soon as she stepped in, she and her boyfriend were let inside, but Yoseob was pushed back out—his appearance didn’t suit the place, apparently.

That was two years ago.

He didn’t mind, though, in fact, that just made Yoseob want to try and make it in there even more—it drove him to living in his paint and splattering different shades across a canvas, making everything creative and beautiful and letting his mind wander over everything, eyes sometimes closing as he let his brush do the speaking on the canvas. It helped him also, in a way, he became kinder and nicer through this, you see.  All those other feelings, feelings of hatred, shame, anger and everything else that was negative and made Yoseob just another grumpy teenager, he put it on the canvas, but... in a somewhat, different way.

And those feelings seemed to always go away when Yoseob took the canvas off the weasel and put it in the corner of the room, hidden away from everyone.

Yoseob’s eyes were set on his sketchpad, fingers already dirty and black from smudging and blending and making everything so, so perfect on that piece of paper, eyebrows itched together and bottom lip between his teeth. He was gone, his mind was gone somewhere else, into a place of black and white and design and and everything he loved. His little place where he escapes to all the time when coming here.

He was so lost in his thoughts and in the lines of his sketch that he didn’t even notice that someone was now sitting next to him and that that someone was watching over his shoulder, a little, interested. It was only when that that someone nudged his shoulder, roughly, for Yoseob was really out of reality that he took notice.

And in that moment, his pencil had a mind of its own and went across the page, ruining his sketch. A growl escaped Yoseob’s lips and he closed his eyes, silently counting in his head to calm himself down before opening them again to be met with a pair of chocolate brown ones. Eyes trailing down, he was met with full cheeks, but cheekbones still high and noticeable, a nose that seemed that was sculpted and a pair of full, but small lips.

“O-Oh.” Was the only word that Yoseob could say, realizing that yes, he had been staring a little too long and studying too much, and that holy , yes, that face was way too ing close to his and crap, he could feel their breath on his damn face.

“Nice drawing.” A low voice flowed from those lips and Yoseob nodded a little before frowning.

“It’s ruined now, thanks to you.” He almost hissed—he didn’t care if he was acting rude or not at that second, he was pissed, the sketch was coming along beautiful but this man had to nudge him and ruin it all.

“It’s alright, you’ve got plenty more.” He replied, his eyes trailing back to the gallery and his lips pressing against the top of his Starbucks cup. Yoseob took this chance to study him more, noticing that his hair was not sleeked back like mostly everyone else in the street, but instead down and loose and natural, straight, of course and with full bangs covering his forehead. However, he was wearing a suit, a dark navy shade that fit him snugly, a crisp stark white shirt underneath, buttons done all the way up, but no tie. On his feet, there were no horribly uncomfortable Italian leather shoes, but instead a set of combat boots, black, a little worn out. Formal, but with a hint of casual.

Yoseob simply scoffed at his comment. “Oh, yeah? And how would you know, smartass?”

“I’m Yong Junhyung.” He said, shrugging before looking at him with a smirk.

Yong Junhyung? Why the hell would Yoseob care who he was, and how would it mean that he knew that Yoseob sketched the gallery every single day?

Junhyung obviously took his silence into account, so he continued. “I’m the son of the owner of that gallery you sketch all the time—well, son doesn’t really come into the context of it, I’m the soon to be owner.”

Well, .

Yoseob’s heart seemed to have jumped in his throat at that second in time, because Junhyung’s eyes were on him and a smirk was on his face.

“What happened? Cat got your tongue?” He asked, chuckling, eyebrow arched, his smirk widening. He was clearly amused by all this.

“N-No.” Yoseob managed to stutter out. He had to get out, quick. Ah, yes, he had class soon. “I-I got to go.” He said, rather quickly also, and stood up, shoving his things in his bag before literally running away and to the bus stop, but not before hearing Junhyung’s next words.

“Alright, I’m sure I’ll see you tomorrow, kid.”