~ His Manifesto ~
M - fluff, light ual references
Kyungsoo & Jongin

In which the introverted Kyungsoo becomes an artist's inspiration

'Art and love are the same thing; it's the process of seeing yourself in things that are not you' - Chuck Klosterman

The professor gesticulates as he speaks, but his teaching still isn’t captivating enough to receive Kyungsoo’s full attention. If anything, the constant waving about of his arms and the deep bellowing of his voice makes Kyungsoo less attentive to the lecture. He taps his booted feet to an invisible beat and hums softly so that he cannot be heard by the professor, but can still block out his dismal tone. His eyes drift around and eventually focus on the luscious greens and vibrant pinks of the plants by the window. The cherry blossoms are prospering and beautiful, and there is one towering right outside, so close that Kyungsoo could touch it if he dared to stick his hand through the partially open window. He is already unashamedly ignoring the professor’s ongoing lecture though, and decides that making his mind’s absence any more apparent is a risky choice of action. Still, his attention lingers on the outside world.

The lesson is almost complete and Kyungsoo is gently pushing his spectacles further up his nose, when he notices that a flourishing bush is rustling quite peculiarly. He instinctively leans closer and squints, trying to distinguish the source of the constant movement and now raucous sounds. His nose is pressed firmly against the dirtied glass, so he sees the figure emerge from behind clusters of fresh, green leaves.

It is a young man, with pastel pink hair and striking sun-kissed skin. From beneath a rolled white shirt, toned arms extend, black tattoos outlining the muscles. He has slender, elongated legs and his torn blue jeans perfectly accentuate the taut definition of his thighs. Kyungsoo does not find him familiar, but vaguely recognises the unique sketchbook grasped in his seemingly smooth fingers. Its cover is decorated with intricate designs and cursive text, all moulding together and swirling around enchantingly. He has seen it lying around before.

The man begins to retreat, broad shoulders hunched over to ensure no professor on the campus detects his presence. He tiptoes at a deliberately sluggish pace, each step cautious and light. When the proximity between him and the closest artificial structure is significantly large, he sneaks a glance at the window by which Kyungsoo sits, a subtle smirk tugging at the edges of his prettily plump lips.

Kyungsoo frowns and gathers his belongings. The professor is unrelenting and continues to talk gloomily, despite the lecture being over and all of his students fleeing urgently. He trails behind some of his slower classmates. There is nowhere he needs to be, so he is in absolutely no hurry to escape the campus. In all honesty, university is Kyungsoo’s favourite place to be. It is lively and the students passing by are boisterous, loud enough to distract him from the danger of his own jumbled thoughts. The buildings are pieces of art, because they are not just simple structures, but painted in bizarre colours and constructed in distinctive shapes. The architecture is truly beautiful, and Kyungsoo admittedly treasures its existence.

Kyungsoo’s apartment is dismal and exerts an atmosphere of isolation. It is on the fifth floor of a block and the elevator is never working, so he has developed a close relationship with the horribly winding staircase. The walls that line the ascent are plain, with scratches from drunks wielding sharp fingernails and discoloured patches where the paint has gradually peeled. It is no better by the time Kyungsoo arrives out front of his apartment, because his door is rusty and the handle requires at least three rattles before it creaks open.

Upon entering his apartment, there is an immediate detection of muskiness and usually the realisation that he has left the window wide open, and it has rained miserably all over his uneven floorboards. There is a minimal amount of furniture and little personalisation. There are a few kitchen utensils scattered on the counter and inside the cupboards are two bowls, two plates and two cups. Kyungsoo never has visitors, but there are two sets of everything to exaggerate his inner hope that he will have a guest one day.

There is a tattered couch, an old nugatory piece of furniture he found at a dump a couple of years back. It possesses a rancid aroma and though he sprays it with perfume on a daily basis, this fact is eternally unchanging. An agrestic coffee table sits in front of it. The surface is tainted by the stains of spilled soda, mostly left behind in the circular shape of a cup or can. A few paces forward is the television, which doesn’t function properly when Kyungsoo really wants it to, but manages to switch itself on during the middle of the night. Kyungsoo is suspicious and believes that there is a metaphysical being floating around his apartment. He isn’t frightened of spirits though and therefore welcomes it, often pretending that it is really visible just so he has someone to talk to.

His bedroom sticks true to its title; it is a single bed inside a square room. The sheets are as boring as his Literature professor’s droning voice, just white with faint blue stripes and the occasional dribbled sauce mark. He has one pillow and it is flat like the drinks in his fridge, and there is a tiny, furry plush that sits lopsidedly on top of it. The walls are what the real estate agent described as ‘pearl’ and are completely barren. Kyungsoo owns no posters or photographs that he could hang around his room to lighten it up and even if he did, there is no part of him that cares enough to do so.

Right now, he is dawdling lazily, delaying the return to this bleak apartment. He drags his feet so that the new shoes protecting his stubby toes are scuffed on all sides, appearing less expensive and more aesthetically pleasing. There is an extensive amount of money in his bank account and he does not often use it to treat himself, but when he does, he tries desperately to ensure that news of his wealth is discreet. By dirtying his shoes, the designer label imprinted on the side becomes indistinguishable and he blends into the crowds just the way he wants to.

He has been peering down at his boots for so long that he hasn’t noticed the young man walking beside him, purposely synchronising their steps even though their legs are of entirely conflicting lengths. It is the man from the bush and he is holding his sketchbook snugly against his chest as he observes Kyungsoo, whose eyes are still cast downwards. When pink strands topple into his eyes or cling to thick black lashes, he hurriedly swipes at them so that his view of Kyungsoo is never obscured. He stares intently, his eyebrows knitting together as he studies every pretty feature of the shorter man, from his thick heart-shaped lips to his wide doe-eyes. His lips part as he prepares to make his presence known, but then, just a little too late, he realises that he should have been paying more attention to what was quickly approaching him. The pole strikes him in the centre of his body and yet Kyungsoo’s pace is maintained, because he is so oblivious and cannot possibly fathom that the shadow beside him might have belonged to a person who was genuinely curious about his existence.

Though there is an excruciating red indentation on the sketcher’s handsome face, a line that stretches from his smooth forehead to his generous jaw, he jogs to catch up with Kyungsoo. Once again, his feet align with Kyungsoo’s tiny steps and his towering figure blocks the sun’s sparkling rays from illuminating the slighter man’s features. It is the sudden darkness that makes Kyungsoo freeze. His body is rigid and his facial features are contorted with fright as his eyes slowly move to the right. He is shocked to see the artist’s smiling face invading his personal space.

Kyungsoo does the only thing he knows how to; he avoids confrontation and he begins to run. He forces his stumpy legs to carry him all the way back to his apartment and he musters up enough strength to conquer the staircase without even stopping once to regain his breath, so he is gasping and his cheeks are reddened when he comes to stand in his doorway. He doubles over and places his palms on his knees as he inhales deeply, trying to stabilise himself. When the dizziness fades and he is convinced that blackness will not swallow him whole, he turns to shut the door. A foot stops him from doing so and the taller man squeezes through, still sporting a smirk of sorts.

Kyungsoo paces backwards, stumbling over his own two feet and toppling to land on his bottom with a soft oomph. ‘Why did you follow me?’

‘I followed you because you ran away.’

‘Usually someone running away insinuates that they don’t want to be followed,’ Kyungsoo mutters as he readjusts his spectacles.

The taller man chuckles and crouches down, extending a hand. ‘I know. I’m just determined.’

‘Determined to do what?’

There is no response, but Kyungsoo still accepts the man’s offered hand and is heaved to his feet. He tumbles slightly and his arms shoot out desperately. Both of his clammy palms press firmly against a broad, warm chest and his fingers around for a moment before this fact actually resonates with him. He gasps, yet he doesn’t retreat.

Fingers slowly close over his trembling hands and the other man stares down at him with kind, twinkling eyes. ‘I’m Jongin, and I would like it if you let me paint you.’

Kyungsoo is an introvert. He doesn’t have friends and his family are across vast oceans, so he has adapted to a lonely lifestyle. He therefore has no idea how to respond to such desires, desires that originate from a man he barely knows. There is a sheen layer of sweat beading across his forehead and the base of his nape is drenched, thick black hair gluing to his unblemished skin. He wants to retract his hands and let them hang awkwardly by his sides, but Jongin holds on tightly and continues to gaze at him with those charming eyes. Somewhere in his irises, there is a sense of pure admiration and it swims around, making itself known to Kyungsoo who has finally found the nerve to look up.

Jongin accepts their mutual gaze as an agreement and tells the shorter male that he will drop by over the weekend, before disappearing from sight with the fluttering of his fingers. Kyungsoo has so many questions, but there is no means for him to ask them. He is confused and yet he feels exhilarated and his heart is bouncing around madly as though threatening to break his ribs and poke through skin. His hands are still shaking and his legs feel unsteady, knees close to giving way at any moment. Does Jongin want to paint on him or on a canvas? Will he be allowed to wear clothes, or is Jongin a ert? Is he allowed to move during the experience? There are too many questions flashing by unanswered and Kyungsoo, for the first time in his life, doesn't mind that his path his unpaved.

The artist follows through and pops by unannounced on Saturday morning, when Kyungsoo is snoring soundly, his limbs twisted with strewn sheets and his mouth agape. Jongin fiddles with the handle and after a few jiggles, the door slips open and he sidles inside. He immediately strolls towards Kyungsoo’s bedroom and peers in. Kyungsoo is adorable in his deep slumber. He twitches every so often and his hair sticks out crazily in multiple directions, the static of the pillow case attracting individual strands. His bare toes jut out from underneath the uninterestingly coloured sheets, wriggling as he is attacked by dreams of other, more mystical worlds. Jongin wants nothing more than to wedge into the single bed and spoon Kyungsoo from behind, but he doesn’t. Instead, he saunters over and plonks down onto the edge of the bed with just enough force that Kyungsoo wakes up, peering around through lidded eyes.

‘What’re you doing here?’ Kyungsoo mumbles, his voice slipping in and out.

Jongin smiles and leans in closer. ‘I’m going to paint you, remember?’

‘Huh, what’s the time?’

‘It’s eleven.’

Kyungsoo moans and sits upright, prodding softly at his eyes. ‘Can I eat first?’

‘I’ll buy you something tasty on the way.’

Jongin watches as Kyungsoo blindly traipses towards his cupboard, hands half-heartedly prying it open. He yawns and tugs an oversized black sweater off its hanger. It drops to the floor, but he doesn’t bend to scoop it back up until he has gathered tight jeans and leather boots in his arms. His descent is sloth-like and he groans as he reclaims the crumpled sweater, before straightening once more. The outfit is dumped onto his bed and entirely overlooking Jongin’s presence, Kyungsoo yanks off his pyjama bottoms. They pool around his feet and lust pools around Jongin’s pupils.

Kyungsoo isn’t wearing any underwear, but the shirt he has slept in dangles low enough to cover his crotch. It does not, however, conceal his smoothly rounded cheeks as he tilts to pull up his jeans. The material swallows porcelain thighs, milky skin vanishing behind the blackness. His fingers fumble over the flimsy zipper. He is exhausted and his eyes are still not fully open, so yanking the zipper up is as difficult as the creation of his grade seven science project.

With a smirk, Jongin paces over and kneels, his hand reaching out to wedge it up. ‘There you go.’

It is at this point that Kyungsoo jerks awake. He screeches and shoves Jongin away. Then, he glares furiously until the taller male withdraws from the room and waits out in the kitchen.

After a few minutes he joins Jongin, his hair combed neatly and his body cloaked from head to toe in pitch black. The only colour contrasting against this is the pink tinting his cheeks and the shining hazel of his irises, a colour that Jongin fears he could fall in love with.

Jongin clears his throat, trying to rid of impure thoughts in his mind. ‘Are you ready?’

‘I guess so,’ Kyungsoo replies weakly, placing his wide spectacles onto the tip of his nose, ‘where are we going?’

‘To my art studio,’ Jongin says.

‘You have an art studio?’

‘Well, it’s technically my home, too. It’s a rundown apartment that I split in half. One side has all of the necessities and the other is clustered with canvases and wrinkled paper.’

Kyungsoo smiles faintly. ‘That’s kind of cool.’

‘It’s enough to keep me going.’

Jongin leads the way, which is fine with Kyungsoo because he quite enjoys the view of the other male’s strongly set shoulders and firm legs. Today he is wearing denim overalls and one side is unclipped, hanging off his shoulder to reveal defined collarbones only partially obscured by a transparent white shirt. His feet are shielded by extremely tattered Converse, the original design of course. He has an artsy vibe about him and as Kyungsoo looks more closely, he notices that the sophisticated tattoos whirling around Jongin’s muscular arms are reminiscent of the pretty designs on the sketchbook he always carries.

They stop quickly to fill Kyungsoo’s audibly gurgling stomach. Jongin insists on paying, uninformed that Kyungsoo’s wallet is stocked to the brim, thick wads of cash filling its entirety, and smiles when the smaller man closes his eyes to let the steaming aroma of coffee soothe him. Kyungsoo sips tentatively and when he thinks Jongin isn’t paying attention, he lets his mouth stretch into a broad smile, eyes crinkling into precious crescents. Jongin catches this and his heart flutters, like a bird flapping its wings within a cage.

Kyungsoo is titillated the moment he sets foot in the artist’s unique abode. The bed is literally mere paces away from the kitchen counter, with mixtures of sheets and furry rugs, and there is one separate space where the toilet sits. Unlike Kyungsoo’s apartment, the homely half is exceptionally personalised. The walls are invisible, wholly concealed by pinup posters and collages of Polaroid photographs, some capturing memories and others more simply illustrating the beauty of the natural world. There are various plants here and there, all contained within hand-painted pots. They add a peculiar sense of vivacity to the apartment and their magical aromas waft around, circling Kyungsoo’s body and making him feel at ease.

The other half is incredibly messy and disorganised, but Kyungsoo locates magnificence in this. There are gigantic canvases and on them are realistic figures, people caught mid-action, smiling and playing, and exerting happiness. On the far side there are more paintings, but these are all of the back of someone’s head or of their hands, feet or lips. They are observations of Kyungsoo from the view of Jongin who could never get close enough to paint him in in full, wanting to highlight the beauty of his slight figure. Now though, Jongin has the chance to fulfil such desires and makes his way over to a stool, by which a table sits covered in wet splatters of paint.

‘Get yourself comfortable,’ Jongin says gently, gesturing to the set out of pillows and pure white sheets, ‘oh, and take your clothes of. It’s difficult to paint the shading of black material in this kind of lighting.’

Kyungsoo’s eyes widen drastically. ‘You want to paint me ?’

‘You can put on some of my clothes if you’d like. Anything that’s not black.’

Kyungsoo contemplates doing so and quickly decides against it. He is already here and may as well go all of the way. So, with an embarrassed sigh, he dawdles over to the clustered space. He an eyebrow at Jongin and urges him to look away, before proceeding to shred his clothes and delve into the sheets, wrapping them around his slender frame. He is so self-conscious. He never developed defined abdominal muscles or broad shoulders and his legs remained the same length throughout the entire duration of his high school career, so he isn’t comfortable in his own skin. It is difficult, but he puts on a brave front and merely drapes the light material over his crotch. His milky thighs and erect pink s are still on clear view.

‘You can look now,’ he mutters, with eyes downcast in humiliation and fear of Jongin’s judgemental gaze.

Jongin almost topples off his stool when he sees Kyungsoo. He thinks that the smaller male looks like an angel, his delicate skin shining under the lights and the slight blush in his cheeks acting as the cherry on top of the cake. He does everything in his power to avert his attention from Kyungsoo’s ally parted lips and must fight back a moan when his gaze spots the faultlessness of Kyungsoo’s chest.

He coughs. ‘Are you comfortable there? Do you need anything before I start?’

‘I’m okay. Go ahead, I guess.’

The canvas in front of Jongin is soon filled with Kyungsoo’s majesty, with extreme emphasis on the emotions swimming around his eyes. Stunning tones melt together, forming his perfect thighs, perfect arms and perfect face. It is all so perfect, just like how Kyungsoo is perfect in Jongin’s mind. And Kyungsoo is breathless when he sees it.

‘Jongin, this is amazing. Thank you,’ he whispers, a palm held over his madly thumping heart.

‘No, thank you. I really can’t believe I finally got to paint you.’

Kyungsoo finds himself leaning into Jongin as they examine the masterpiece together. It feels instinctive, like the way his body naturally sways the moment reggae music is played, and all of his problems fade into the background as an arm winds around his waist. He lets the sheet slide away from his body and there are lips on his own before it even hits the floor.

The following day, Jongin attends a Literature lecture for the first time. He sits directly behind Kyungsoo and fantasises about the body his hands touched, the man he made love to until the sun set, shooting gorgeous pinks and oranges across the sky. He smiles continuously without even realising and is scolded by the professor multiple times for paying more attention to the back of Kyungsoo’s head than the words scribbled over the whiteboard. Kyungsoo never turns around, but he is grinning throughout the entire lesson nonetheless.

Jongin’s hand slips into Kyungsoo’s as they exit the room. ‘How do you sit through that every single day? I was on the verge of insanity after like, three solid minutes.’

‘You get used to it,’ Kyungsoo responds, squeezing the fingers tickling his palm, ‘or you figure out ways to distract yourself. I went with the latter option.’

‘Got any tips?’

‘Are you really going to continue attending?’

Jongin nods. ‘Only if you do.’

There is a giggle from Kyungsoo and Jongin thinks it is the most beautiful sound, harmonious and soothing. He vows to make Kyungsoo laugh often, hungry for more of the slighter male’s breathtaking smiles.

They head straight to Jongin’s apartment. Kyungsoo reclines on plumped pillows and inhales as wet lips press against his skin, nipping at and on his s. They trail along the entire length of his body, over the tensed muscles of his thighs and all the way back up to his exposed forehead, where his hair has been tenderly pushed away, slender fingers raking through silky strands. His breath seeps out shakily as hands roam over his contours and he has to bite back a sharp gasp when a finger enters him.

Unlike the previous night, Jongin is not as gentle. He is playful, a smirk playing on his lips, and decides to leave Kyungsoo hot and flustered. He darts away and Kyungsoo whines needily, his legs sprawled and his lips swollen from earlier activities. His position, the sheen of spit on his lower lip and the prominent bulge from beneath the sheets are all captured swiftly on the canvas as Jongin’s arms snap back and forth, working diligently. When the piece is complete, Jongin hangs it in the centre of his apartment, despite Kyungsoo’s protests.

He is admiring the accuracy of his work, the alluring sense behind it, when Kyungsoo’s voice pipes up. ‘You’ve finished painting the canvas, so why don’t you come over here and paint me white?’

Jongin happily obeys and Kyungsoo believes, as the warmth of his company’s body presses against his, that he has finally found someone worth inviting over to use the second bowl in his cupboard.