Chapter Two

Kyungsoo’s father had called the minute he had set his painting to dry, telling him to come home right away. He didn’t feel any more annoyed about this, but he had to obey nonetheless. It must have been because they thought he was upset – and he was, although he would obviously deny – and decided that he’d worry about confronting his parents later on his way home.

He let the paint dry under the weak ray of sunlight as needed and headed out to go home.

The forest wasn’t far off from where he lived. Growing up from an artistic family, he had been expected to be brought up in a very spacious location, where nature is not far from reach. That, he had thought, was just another overreaction. Artists these days likes to be loud with their art.

But some liked to stay in touch with reality.

For example: his parents.

It was a family heirloom – as big as it was. Their house were very much traditional, only renovated once to add on the heater. It was made up of stone, arched ceilings and wooden walls; elevated from the ground with sliding panels and push down windows. But that was only at the outside – the inside was much more normal.

Kyungsoo loves the idea of it all.

University was only a mile away, not much trouble. Baekhyun and he usually goes together, but these past days Baekhyun was busy being involved with school clubs that they hardly even meet at school. Not that he was bothered - not at all. Baekhyun tends to gather too much attention than he’d like.

Stepping on the first step of the marble stairway that lead to the sliding door, he could already hear the commotion inside his house. His parents were gaily in sync with themselves sometimes that it would rather cause into an uproar of diligent conversations. That was probably why they were a match made in heaven. But it was much far worse was when Baekhyun was around. Kyungsoo, on the other hand, settled himself as the silent one who listens to what they had to say.

They were artists after all. His mother would be boisterous all day when time slips between her fingers and she finds her own creative juices, telling everyone about this one “great piece of art” she and his father had seen into an exhibit in town, and how it struck her as impressive and revolutionary. Kyungsoo understood the thrill she feels whenever she discovers something to commemorate about, but wondered how it felt.

Kyungsoo was the silent artist, among anything else. He finds them in everything – no symbolism, no metaphors, no structural and no pop arts – unlike his mother. Faces were his masterpieces, portraits his solitude. Landscapes littered his room together with piles and piles of blank canvases. That was what Do Kyungsoo’s art was all about.

Sliding inside the flimsy door, he was met with an anxious mother and a deliberate father.

“What’s this?” he asked nonchalantly, dropping his bag full of supplies, his new painting set aside by the wall. It was always like this inside their home – untidy is acceptable unless it was art or music sheet you’re leaving about – which made it feel like a symphonic mess rather than a traditional house. You would often see sketches of toilet rolls and the very famous “Crack on the Wall in Kyungsoo’s Room” everywhere.

His parents blinked, surprised by his early comings.

“Didn’t expect you’d be home soon,” his mother said, glancing once, then twice, at the painting he had set aside. They were standing in front of each other in mid-conversation – evidence that they were, in fact, arguing about something, somehow.

Kyungsoo gave a habitual blink – his clear, shining obsidian black eyes doubtful and curious. He made a dubious move towards his mother and kissed her by the cheek, then facing his father, bowed at the older man.

His father only gave a cheerful – yet concealing – smile.

“Siwon’s getting worse,” his mother said with a