It's hot.

Like, melt your face off hot. Even worse than that, it’s raining; so it’s humid. Hyungwon takes a second to say a little something for the clubs that are taking place outside, or have stalled to pick up later when the fields are still sopping and riddled with mud landmines. He’s in his air conditioned classroom balancing on a stool as he tries to paint something that isn’t dead-eyed while keeping his deepest, darkest secrets from spilling onto the canvas. It’s a juggling act, as per usual.

This Thursday in the middle of motherfriggin’ monsoon season is the same as any other. It’s almost five o’clock, and Hyungwon’s planning to call a quits after a few more heavy . Then, something happens that makes his fingers freeze. He nearly stops breathing. His first instinct is to shield his dead-eyed, deepest and darkest secrets with a fuddled hand. His second instinct is to tell the obviously lost stranger that whatever club he’s looking for is anywhere but here. He’s about to when he sees the flyer every club is required to have gripped in his hand. It’s a sickly grey and no doubt has ‘Wack Weebos!’ printed across the front in the plainest, most boring font known to Microsoft Word.

“This is the art club, right?” This stranger, with inquisitive coffee eyes, a peachy grin, and a lilting voice, floats right past the first few rows of desks and somehow ends up right in front of Hyungwon. His curious eyes are immediately scorching into Hyungwon’s piece of exposed soul on 20”x30” canvas paper. He feels exposed, and unprepared to have his person split open and examined by a total stranger. This is supposed to be his lair of confinement. He’s supposed to be able to come here and avoid this sort of thing. Who does this boy think he is waltzing in here like this is some sort...of...open space-?

Dammit.

“Um, excuse me.” Hyungwon stands out of nerves and uses his body to block his canvas from the boy’s prying eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Yeah, hi.” The boy smiles up at Hyungwon with enough sunshine to thaw the former’s icy frown. Almost. “I’m Minhyuk. I’d like to wack weebo as well.”

“You can’t wack weebo as well,” Hyungwon scoffs. “It’s not a verb. You can’t just make it a verb.”

“Like hell I can’t!” Minhyuk laughs. “Now, where do I sign up?”

“We’re uh…,” Hyungwon clears his throat uncomfortably, “..we’re not accepting any new members at the moment.”

“Is the ‘we’ supposed to be metaphor? Because you’re the only one here.” Minhyuk takes a quick survey of the surrounding area. “And no new members, fine. But, have you ever accepted any members?”

“Yeah!” Hyungwon blurts defensively. “For your information. My good friend,...Bob.”

“Bob?” Minhyuk says incredulously.

Hyungwon nods, clearing his throat again. “Yes. Bob. He’s British-Korean.”

“Fine.” Minhyuk crosses his arms over his chest. “And where is this infamous Bob?” 

“He’s in the bathroom,” Hyungwon says.

“Ok, well why don’t I see any of his stuff?” Minhyuk asks.

“He lost it on the way.”

Minhyuk snorts. “On the way to imaginary land?”

“Ok, fine!” Hyungwon plops back on his stool. “Bob isn’t real.”

“Gasp!” Minhyuk covers his mouth in mock surprise. “And I was so looking forward to meeting Bob the imaginary British-Korean.”

Hyungwon rolls his eyes. “Do you even art?”

“Art’s not a verb. You can’t make it a verb,” Minhyuk snarks.

“Watch me.” Hyungwon makes a face.

“Yes, I art.” Minhyuk slips off his backpack and pulls out a sketchpad. “I was looking for a quiet place to draw. The only other art club is full of posers leaning on canvases and trying to impress girls or boys with stick figures and contemporary ‘pieces’. You know, like the dots inside circles hanging in the modern art museums? It’s not really an environment conducive to talent?”

“I bet Yoo Kihyun was there.” Hyungwon groans. “He can’t draw for , but he’s always carrying around this huge sketchpad and pushing up those dumb non-prescription glasses like the fakest art snob ever. It’s empty, you know? But, it’s not because he’s a talentless fraud. Oh, no. He just hasn't found his muse.”

Minhyuk smirks, amused. “You two sound intimate.”

“We used to be friends or whatever.” Hyungwon shrugs. “But, while I wanted to practice, he wanted to go to some lame house party. We eventually grew apart, I guess. There’s not really any hard feelings. It just pisses me off when he tries to act like he’s all into art when he’s as good as a toddler trying, and failing, to color inside of the lines. Honestly, it’s whatever.”

“Ok, so, we both like to art. We both hate posers. And I’m still expecting to meet Bob the imaginary British-Korean someday.” Minhyuk smiles. “So, can I join?”

No one’s ever wanted to join. And if someone ever did, Hyungwon promised himself he wouldn’t let them. Who’d want to join his crappy art club named Wack Weebos! anyway? An actual weirdo, that’s who. This is supposed to be his time away from the world, and time away from his college-obsessed mom and her posse of casserole baking, sweater knitting, pinch-faced talking friends. If Minhyuk joins, he’ll have to share his sacred, crappy club with someone else. It won’t be his solitary haven anymore. As unnerving as that thought is, Hyungwon can’t help thinking that sharing it Minhyuk wouldn’t be the worst thing ever.

A/N: So, I realized halfway through trying to write a 2k+ chapter that it wasn't going to happen. So, I've decided to make this a series of dabbles, something I've never done before. -Mia ❤