Kim Jongin was a dancer. At age nine, he joined his first ballet class. At age thirteen, he stopped. At age fourteen, he started doing
hip hop. By age sixteen, people considered him a pro. Kim Jongin was a friend. Sehun always claimed he was the only person worth anything in this god forsaken place and yet Sehun didn't know Jongin at all. Kim Jongin was a student, constantly praised, treated like a jewel, a trophy, a prize. Kim Jongin was happy. There was nothing a bright smile couldn't fix, no problem was big enough to make him break, no hurtful words too painful to make a blend of salt and liquid seep from the corner of his eyes. Kim Jongin was loved, even if Kim Jongin was a cocky son of a . Kim Jongin was perfect. Kim Jongin lived a grand life. How did this happen?

No. No. It's wrong. It's all wrong.

Everyone saw Jongin onstage, in the dance studio, popping, locking, twirling, spinning. Everyone saw Jongin in school. Laughing, making mean jokes, solving math problems, and analyzing literature. Everyone saw Jongin out in the mall with Sehun, drinking bubble tea and buying new shoes to wear and new plushies to hug to sleep. No one saw Jongin alone. Jongin wasn't happy. Jongin was a human canvas.

two hundred days before

"Ow, god." Luhan groaned, as his paintings and brushes flew out of his grasp and his hit the cold marble floor.
", sorry." Jongin grimaced, looking just as pained as the other. Luhan got up first, patting himself off, before grabbing Jongin by the wrist and helping him up as well. They both bent down to pick up the paintings and brushes and palettes.
"Art major?" Jongin asked, handing the paintings to Luhan.
"No. Math." Luhan said in monotone. Jongin chuckled.
"Alright, no need to get sarcastic with me."
"Stupid questions get stupid answers." Luhan shrugged. "How about you?"
"My major?"
"No, your underwear color."
"God. Are you like this with every person you bump into? Dance. I dance." Jongin said, annoyed. Although he couldn't help but smile. He hasn't met anyone who had the guts to talk like this to him in a while. Other than Sehun, of course, but that wasn't counted.
Luhan nodded, jutting his lower lip out. "I'm impressed." He brought out his free hand. "I'm Luhan."
Jongin brought his left hand out of his pocket to reach out and shake Luhan's out-stretched one. "Kim Jongin."
At the mention of the notorious name, Luhan's eyes flew wide open. "Jong-- you mean, Kim Jongin, dance prodigy, Kim Jongin?"
"You know, I'm beginning to wonder if dance prodigy is a middle name that I never knew I had." Jongin chuckled.
Luhan laughed awkwardly. "Sorry, I just. Wow, wasn't expecting that."
Jongin shrugged, looking down at himself. "I'm actually not much in real life, huh?"
Luhan cocked his head to the side, examining him. He was wearing faded jeans, worn out shoes, and a hoodie that looked way too big for him. "You're pretty. But you look like a burrito all wrapped up like that in this weather. But still pretty."
Jongin raised an eyebrow. "Looking at you, I don't think you're in any position to call me pretty. You look like you stepped right out of an anime about a fairy princess who frolics along the meadows of Street Homou--"
"Alright, it's time to shut up now." Luhan said smacking Jongin's chest, making him grimace slightly, before returning to his amused smirk.
"I'd love to chat with you some more and bombard you with insults," Luhan says turning around, "But I'm gonna be late for class. Nice ing meeting you, Kim 'dance prodigy' Jongin."
Jongin smiled at Luhan's retreating figure. "Yeah."

one hundred and eighty two days before

Jongin had requested that Luhan pay him a visit to his dorm the day after he got back from Christmas Vacation, for two reasons.
1. Sehun, Jongin's best and roommate, had decided to come home a little bit later, leaving Jongin to himself, and Jongin did not like being alone, especially since he doesn't even go home for Christmas Vacation.
2. He likes to watch Luhan paint.

Those are the stupidest reasons I've ever heard, Luhan had said. But he went anyway. He never really could say no to Jongin's requests, no matter how stupid.

"What are you painting this time?" Jongin asked, as he sat behind Luhan, resting his chin on his shoulder.
Luhan rolled his eyes because he was obviously painting the beach at sunset. "I am painting a penetrating an ."
Jongin sighed. "Right."
Luhan smirked. Despite his sarcasm and constant insults to the boy, he's learned to grow used to his presence, has learned to enjoy his company.
"Hey, Jongin."
"Hmm?" Jongin hummed from his bed, looking up at the ceiling.
"You know, you watch me paint a lot. But I've never seen you dance. I wanna see you dance."
Silence.
"Then you should." Jongin said. Luhan couldn't see his face, but he could hear his smile.
And it made him smile too.

one hundred and seventy one days before

"Luhan, run with me." Jongin said appearing from out of nowhere, grabbing Luhan's wrist and pulling him past people, hallways, and lockers.
"Jongin, what the ." Luhan said in between heavy breaths. "Where are we going?"
"Trust me." Jongin said. And Luhan couldn't bring himself to say no.
Luhan smiled knowingly when they reached their destination, Jongin slamming the door open and hurriedly flicking on all the lights.
The Dance Studio. 
"Do I finally have the pleasure of getting to see you dance?" Luhan asked, sitting at the far back, hugging his knees to his chest.
Jongin smiled. "You should feel honored. I've never let anyone else watch me dance in the studio."
Luhan raised his eyebrows. "Wow." He raises a hand and presses it to his chest. "Touched. I feel the love."
Jongin shook his head at him with a light smile. "You're gross."
"Dance, , dance!"

And he did just that. Whenever Jongin danced, it's like he was in a different world. The music as loud as his heartbeat, his body moving as if it had a mind of it's own, he could feel the blood running through his veins, his sweat drop from his temples to his neck. He could feel the music, the beat, the lyrics, seep through his skin, past his bones and muscles, becoming his blood, his heartbeat, his soul.
No one in the school could dance like Jongin, because no one in the school loved it like Jongin.
The music stopped. Jongin reopened his eyes. The only sound heard was his heavy breathing. He turned around and saw Luhan, looking at him like he was the greatest and most beautiful thing to ever exist. And at that moment, to Luhan, he was.
Jongin smiled softly and walked to Luhan's side, sinking down to the floor beside him, grimacing as he did.
"You're really ing amazing. I thought everyone was exaggerating but they weren't. You're amazing." Luhan said.
Jongin smiled. "No, I'm not."
"Yes, yes, you ing are."
"I love to dance." Jongin said simply, wiping the sweat on his forehead. "It doesn't matter to me how good I am. As long as I get to do it."
Luhan looked at him, with pure admiration and amazement. "You're really something."
Jongin smiled at him. "Wow, you're being nice. Who are you and what've you done with the sarcastic company I've been dealing with for the past month?"
Luhan scoffed and shook his head. He looked at Jongin's sweaty face and noticed the fact that he was still wearing his hoodie, too big, too thick, for this kind of weather.
"Jongin, you're sweating like you've been standing in the middle of the Sahara desert for two days, take off your jacket." He said, about to grab onto Jongin's jacket to help him take it off.
Jongin's eyes widened in panic. "Wait, , don't."
Luhan furrowed his eyebrows. "Why..?"
"U-uh.." Jongin stuttered. "I don't have anything underneath."
Luhan rolled his eyes. "I may be pretty like a girl, but I'm not one, your s won't be a big deal to me, will you please just--"
Luhan drifts off when he feels Jongin's head hit his shoulder. "Jong..in?"
Jongin exhales shakily. "Please." He whispered into his shoulder. "I'm begging you. I don't want you to see."
Luhan feels tears on his shirt. So he lets it go. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't ask. He simply puts an arm around Jongin, not knowing how heavy the weight of those words truly were.

fifty four days before

They had just gotten back to the dorm after a party, Jongin was drunk, Luhan was half drunk.
"You're so heavy, jesus ing christ." Luhan groaned, throwing Jongin onto his bed, collapsing right on top of him.
Jongin smiled sleepily, his eyes still closed. "He. He."
Luhan rolled his eyes. "Remind me never to get you drunk ever again."
Just as Luhan is about to get off him, he feels Jongin slide his arms around his waist, hiding his face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent.
Luhan takes a sharp intake of breath when he feels Jongin pressing kisses along his jawline.
"Jongin, oh go--" He groans, when he feels Jongin bite his neck.
"Luhan," Jongin says in between kisses. "Luhan..."
"Mmm?" Luhan hums, closing his eyes at the sensation, looping his arms around Jongin, tilting his head to give Jongin more access.
"Is this.. okay?" Jongin asks.
"Yeah." Luhan says breathily. "Yeah, it is."

Their hands are starting to explore from their neck, to their hair, to the small of their backs. Luhan was starting to melt into it, starting to realize that, no, this isn't a drunken mistake because he's not that drunk, this isn't a one time thing because he doesn't want it to be a one time thing, his hand went down to pull Jongin's hoodie off when--

"Wait." Jongin said, his hand reaching down to stop Luhan's movements. Luhan sighed in frustration.
"God damn it, Jongin, if we're gonna do this, you're gonna have to take off your ing hoodie!"
"Luhan, I can't." Jongin sighed, slowly pushing himself away from him.
And Luhan explodes.
"I don't. ing. Get it. We're friends, aren't we? , we were making out just thirty seconds ago, we're more than that. What's wrong? Are you conscious about your body? Because you're a dancer, I'm pretty ing sure your body is going to make my mouth water. I've talked to Sehun and he tells me that even he hasn't seen you get out of a god damn hoodie, why can't you just--"
Jongin shuts Luhan up with a kiss. And it works.

"You're a painter, right?" Jongin says against Luhan's lips.
"Mm." Luhan says.
"I'm a canvas." Jongin says softly, looking at Luhan in a way that Luhan didn't understand then. He didn't understand.
"What?"
"A canvas. I'm a canvas." Jongin said, smiling a smile that Luhan would never ever forget. Smiling the saddest smile the world has ever seen. "I've always been a canvas."

three days before

It was another break from school, in which everyone goes home to their families, a week of hugs and kisses and i miss you's and happy tears. It was another week to go home.
"Luhan?" Jongin said softly, turning around to face the boy lying beside him, throwing an arm around him, burying his head in the crook of his neck.
"Hmmm?"
"Luhan, can you paint me?" He asked.
A pause.
Luhan turned around and looked at Jongin with a childlike aura, with eyes that glowed with excitement and giddiness. He nodded eagerly, sitting up, and Jongin could only smile softly, staring in endearment as Luhan set up a chair and lay down his paint and his canvas. "How do you want me to paint you?"
A smile.
"I want you to paint me ."
Luhan drops his brush. "E-excuse me?"
Jongin chuckled lightly at the boy's face. "I'm serious."
Luhan only looks at him, surprised, but then gulps and nods. "If.. you're sure."

Jongin takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes. He raises his shaky hands and grips it around the hem of his hoodie. He pulls it up.Higher. Higher. Higher. Almost there. And his jacket is off, and Luhan gasps, his hand flying to his mouth.
Jongin unbuckles his belt, s his jeans, and it falls to the floor, and he does the same with his boxers. He exhales. It's okay. This is okay. It's Luhan. It's gonna be okay.

Luhan has tears in his eyes. He chokes on a sob and rushes out of his seat to gently grab Jongin and examine his body.
"Who did this-- why, why-- why didn't you tell me?" He says, tears falling down his cheeks continuously.
Jongin raises a hand to wipe them away. "Don't cry."
"Who did this to you?" Luhan whispered.
Bruises. Everywhere. Big ones, small ones, patches, like the world map. Like splotches of paint. Marks, as if he were cut, punched, beat, slashed.
"I told you.. didn't I?" Jongin said, pressing his forehead against Luhan's. "I'm a canvas. Every bruise, every cut, every time I bled, it was an addition to the painting. My dad was the artist. I was the canvas. These bruises are the paint. I'm a canvas."
Luhan sobbed, his chest rising, his voice cracking. He shook his head. "No, no, Jongin, this isn't art."
"Shh." Jongin said. "When I get back there, my dad's going to complete the painting. He will. He always does. Everytime. And I'm scared, Luhan. I'm so scared. I don't wanna live like this. So before I go back.. I want you to paint me. You need to paint me."
Luhan shakes, his entire body shivering. "I can't.. I can't do that. I--"
"Luhan, look at my face, don't look at my body, look at me." Jongin said cupping Luhan's face. "Paint me. Paint the story of Kim Jongin who danced, Kim Jongin the canvas, born to be a canvas, a canvas, forced to be one by his dad. An ugly canvas, a sad one, turned into something beautiful, something worthwhile by a painter named Luhan. Can you do that for me? Can you paint me?"
Luhan pressed a kiss to Jongin's lips and nodded. "I will. I'll paint you."

Luhan cried as he painted, choked back sobs and wiped away tears. But he did. He painted the human canvas, the human canvas he loved, the human canvas who didn't deserve to be one at all. Once he finished, he went into bed with Jongin, kissing every bruise he could reach on his body.
"You're still beautiful." Luhan whispered against his battered skin.
Jongin shook his head, breath hot and heavy, eyes closed. "Nothing about this is beautiful."
Luhan agreed. "Yeah. Nothing about this is beautiful, what happened to you isn't beautiful, what he did to you isn't beautiful.."
He pressed his body against Jongin's and pushed back his hair. "But you are."

That night, Jongin gave everything to Luhan, showed him everything, showed him more than he's ever shown anyone. Whispered soft i love you's and thank you's in between, called out his name as he came.
"You're not a canvas, Jongin." Luhan whispered as they drifted off to sleep.

the day he left

Luhan threw up into the garbage can when the school announced that Jongin had died before he could make it back from home. Luhan didn't hear if he was killed by his dad. Luhan didn't hear if it was a car accident. Luhan didn't hear if it was a suicide. He ran out before he could hear any of that. No. No. This is wrong. It's all wrong.

The morning after he painted Jongin, he woke up and he wasn't there. But Jongin had left him a note.

My dad isn't the painter of this canvas. It's you. I love you. - Kim 'dance prodigy' Jongin

Luhan cried out, dropping on his knees, putting his hands against his ears, and he screamed, his painting of the Jongin sitting on it's stand.

Kim Jongin was a dancer. At age nine, he joined his first ballet class. At age thirteen, he stopped. At age fourteen, he started doing hip hop. By age sixteen, people considered him a pro. Kim Jongin was a friend. Sehun always claimed he was the only person worth anything in this god forsaken place and yet Sehun didn't know Jongin at all. Kim Jongin was a student, constantly praised, treated like a jewel, a trophy, a prize. Kim Jongin was happy. There was nothing a bright smile couldn't fix, no problem was big enough to make him break, no hurtful words too painful to make a blend of salt and liquid seep from the corner of his eyes. Kim Jongin was loved, even if Kim Jongin was a cocky son of a . Kim Jongin was perfect. Kim Jongin lived a grand life. How did this happen?

No. No. It's wrong. It's all wrong.

They're all wrong.

Everyone saw Jongin onstage, in the dance studio, popping, locking, twirling, spinning. Everyone saw Jongin in school. Laughing, making mean jokes, solving math problems, and analyzing literature. Everyone saw Jongin out in the mall with Sehun, drinking bubble tea and buying new shoes to wear and new plushies to hug to sleep. No one saw Jongin alone. Jongin wasn't happy. Jongin called himself a human canvas.

'You weren't a canvas, Jongin.' Luhan whispered. 'You were the masterpiece.'

'You were my favorite painting.'