1. Filter

"Colour is my day-long obsession, joy and torment" Claude Monet

If I had to use one word to describe my vision of life, it would be sameness.

It's not like I'm sad or I miss something but, sometime, I just wish everything to be different. I don't hate monotony, I see it as something reassicurable, comfortable in its defined limits but, also, too predictable, unchangeable.

Like a constant 50% grey, like an infinite wall of concrete. Life is the same: a wall. Everybody has the same starting raw material but it's you, on your own, that decide the shape, course and color of it.

I love colors. They make life full, enjoyable, rich. But, they are hard to find.

Reality isn't a marvelous walk along the 'Grande-Jatte' of Seurat, peoples aren't matter's fulcrum as for Boccioni's 'Materia', love isn't immortal and blind as for 'Les amants' by Magritte.

I'm not a dreamer, I don't wish to live my life in past, trying to act like living in one of those paintings. Neither, I'm lost on aesthetic's lost values. Beauty is different for everyone and I don't research it.

But, I decided to live shielding myself from the dull, flat, grey reality. Nothing is as it is supposed to be, rarely people reveals themselves for real, vaguely the image reflects the subject.

I don't like looking at things with my bare eyes, I don't remember things I see randomly, I don't pay attention at my surrounding if it isn't needed. The world isn't good enough without a filter.

The perfect filter, after long years of searching, appeared to be a coarse pencil, a dark grey raw soul into a soft wooden shield.

A blue pen is the cheaper version I use when I can't be dirtied by graphite everywhere.. Even if my hand's back shades to blue anyway.

Absurdly, as a living human being, I can't endlessly spend my time drawing so, since some years, I had found another filter to apply: photographic one. My little Instant Lomography's camera following me everywhere, it's like Captain America's shield, Thor's hammer, Linus's blanket. And walking behind it it's easier, calmer.

Drawn, painted, photographed, life's color are just better than in reality.

◊

I was in my class early as my previous lesson had ended fastly; the drawing room was softly lighted as usual, only the central spotlights on, focused on the small circular platform in the middle.

I greeted the teacher with a silent bow as I saw her talking with two people. I noticed surprised that one of the two, Tao, our usual model, was propped up by two crutches, a big white chalk on his left leg.

He would be unable to pose like this and, as I vaguely heard, he had brought one of his friend as a substitute. I sighed, hoping that this time the model's body wouldn't be a mass of muscles like Tao's. Not that I disliked him, he was a funny and cute Chinese boy so we also had talked a bit in the past but, his body was just too rough. He was a Wushu trainer after all so, it wasn't a surprising thing.

I supposed that the tall guy beside him was going to be the new model but I didn't pay attention, I didn't even lifted my gaze as he shifted past me to go changing, neither I moved when he seated in the middle of the room, under the lights.

When we were told to start, however, I shifted my gaze on the lighted area and froze surprised: at the exactly same height of my eyes there were his hands, naturally crossed one in other.

They were simply perfect: long bony fingers, short nails not too cured, defined knuckles. My mind drifted to Modigliani's long figures and Schiele's sketches.

I wished I could have my camera; It wasn't that far as it was in my bag but, I knew I couldn't take picture during lesson, it would be considered as cheating.

But, I was strangely attracted by those hands and I wanted it only for me, not for cheat on the draw class, I just wanted a glimpse of those fingers for the collection of lucid photographic papers I have in my room, covering the wall behind my bed, coloring my small flat.

But, I would be disappointed with the photo, exactly as I was with my first draw: absurdly, I didn't seem to be able to duplicate that perfection, those lines. He had some small cuts around his fingers, tiny white lines like invisible rings and a circled bruise on his right wrist, skin paler on that patch, cells more new, more stretched.

Even after the lesson, on the way home, my mind kept wondering on those hands, slowly becoming subject of my new obsession, drawing them everywhere, trying to use oil colors, watercolor, pantone: anything seemed to be enough.

◊

"Luhan-sshi", teacher's voice startled me, my hand loosing balance for an instant, breaking the black coarse charcoal in between my fingers. My eyes focused on the familiar old women before me, age's wrinkles over her brows, "It's an entire week that you're drawing only his hands, I expect something different from you today".

I stared at her puzzled, offended. Why would I draw anything else? I didn't answer, just nodded briefly, resting my graphite dirtied hands down on my knee, probably staining even my jeans but really not caring.

"Sehun-sshi, could you please turn around? So the students can have a different view for this week".

My ear were bewildered: how could she impose me it? I had used my entire past months drawing a body I didn't liked and then, even having that perfection in hand, she was obliging me to ignore it?

Reclutantly, I changed paper on the easel, the sketch's sheet trying to return to his rolled-up form while my fingers fumbled on pins to fix it, I was angry.

My eyes stared motionless the white canvas in front of me for a while: I knew I had to continue, to do what the teacher had told me but, it was wrong. Nobody has gone to Picasso and obliged him to stop drawing absurd cubist composition and do a landscape.

Tentatively, I shifted my eyes at the center of the room, to the familiar wooden stool. My breath itched silently, mouth gasping a bit at the flawless of the figure in front of my eyes: a smooth, pale, straight back.

Nothing blemished it, just a little scar on the left hips that was maybe the most beautiful particular of it all, the brief shadow of it so easy to draw.

My hands shifted alone on the paper, tracing his figure, his slightly curved shoulders, his dorsal's bones, his scapulas.

And the need to take a photo burnt me but I couldn't, it wouldn't be enough, it wouldn't satisfy me.

And for a week, that new obsession filled me up, drowning me completely.

That, until he moved, changed position, and made my breath stop again, unbelieving that perfection in human form: nape, shoulders, arms.

His locks of warm brown hair couldn't be represent with mere grey, charcoal was not enough anymore and I spent almost two hours in my usual artisan's shop to find the right shades: sanguigne, pastels, chalks. Anything to capture the porcelain skin, the bone's shadows and the messy caramel hair.

◊

I had started to hate weekends, as not being able to see those lines, those hair; I refuged behind my camera another time, the entire Sunday into a park to capture colors, shades.

Friends' laughs on my fixation didn't bother me anymore but even Lay, my best friend since kindergarten, couldn't understand that new obsession and started teasing me about it.

"You like him".

I was clear on my sensuality even if I didn't had any relationship after highschool's crush but, the fact that Lay seemed always desperate on finding me a lover was tiring. I didn't find anything wrong in being alone: there weren't explanations to do, justification to create. It was much more simpler. Lonelyness is misinterpret. It isn't synonymous of saddenss but only of calmness, self examination.

"Him?".

"The model, what is his name?".

Did he needed a name? It only would bring him on a reality level and, it wouldn't be enough. I looked at Lay shrugging, my mind didn't recall anything about him having a name.

"He hasn't a name".

Lay's gaze asked me if I was crazy and he sighed soundly before taking a long sip of his tea.

The day after, I found him waiting for me outside my classroom and I greeted him surprised.

"Why are you here?".

He didn't answered, his gaze wasn't on me so I turned around, following his sight on a guy walking fast towards a bus approaching.

My eyes traced the shoulders line under the black hood he was wearing, I knew too well that nape, those hair; my hands clenched fast and clumsily around my camera in my bag to take a photo of his figure walking from the back. He disappeared in the bus, leaving me the time to have a glimpse of his hands gripping on the bus' metallic pole but, not enough for me to capture it.

I sighed. Would I ever photograph them?

"Is it him?".

I jumped startled at Lay's voice, I had absolutely forget him being there with me.

"Who?".

"That tall guy, he's the model?".

"Yes".

"He has strange hair but he was cute".

I snorted. Surely nothing would be compared to his hands or back. That night I couldn't sleep as Lay's word 'cute' kept repeating in my mind, he probably had a normal face, maybe cute one but, nothing compared to the gorgeousness of his body or to the perfection of his pale limbs. I had never actually see his face clearly, I didn't had looked. It would had only crash the ideal I had created in my head and I didn't wanted it, I cherished too much his body as an endless source of inspiration.

◊

Unconsciously, I had almost ran to the draw class the day after, I didn't even know why I wanted to be there early but, I entered first into the class. At first I had thought I was alone but then, a soft noise came from behind me. Turning around, I realized that there was someone into the small changing place at the corner of the room. The white curtains were being moved slightly from the inside and my hands trembled at the realization of whom was.

Approaching the curtains slowly, I heard noise of shifting fabric and my eyes landed on the bare feet and ankles visible at the lower hem of the fabric.

As the lights of the class were , I jumped startled but, even if I heard other students entering, my gaze couldn't divert from the curtains: the change of illumination had cast the shadow of him changing on the white fabric: sharp countours of each limbs visible. I gulped down silently, unconsciously, as the figure started to slowly sliding off pants, hands pulling the fabric.

I couldn't think straight and, without paying attention to other students, I took a photo, stealing that perfect image with my camera and then shifting flushed at my spot. Silently, from my position, during that lesson, I managed to draw only his ankles and bony feet, trying to reproduce every vein and ligament til the end of the lesson.

"Mn?". I lifted my gaze as someone had bumped onto me as I was walking to the train station after class. To my surprise it was Lay.

"You don't have to pick me up", I mumbled puzzled by his presence; he rolled his eyes pulling me towards another train.

"We have to go buy Wei Mei's present! I even texted you!". Sighing I remembered our previous appointment. I didn't disliked wondering in town but I wasn't really in the mood to crazy shopping hours. "Aish! You forgot everything Lu! Just come". My feet followed his fastly only to make me bump again on his back, why had he stopped halfway?

"Oh! your crush".

I looked at him puzzled about what was he talking about but then realized and turned around fastly.

He had the same posture, the same walking of days before. For the first time I lingered with my gaze on his clothes: a pair of dark blue jeans were on his slim and long legs and, instantly, my mind wondered again on the image of his shadow slowly pulling them down.

"Luhan. Luhan? Luhan!".

I jolted at the pinch on my arm, Lay was staring at me like I was crazy.

"Can't you just talk to him?".

"Why would I?".

I never had heard his voice, that first day I was pretty sure he had talked but it was too soft to be heard by me.

"He doesn't talk". I mumbled starting to walk again to the bus for the citycenter. Lay looked at me perplexed.

"He has no name and he doesn't speak? Maybe you should just starting to pay attention around you Lu".

I shrugged passing my transport's ID at the entrance of the bus, luckily we found even space to seat down.

◊

We shifted into the comfortable red fluffly armchair of the fast-food, paperbags beside me with our recent purchases. I had found a new type of paper, thicker one and also some fabric canvas on sale in a nearby artshop.

I had left to Lay the choice of the place for dinner. I really don't care about food's taste, I would enjoying eating those marvelous looking food of magazine's image though. If something doesn't appeal my eyes, I don't even bother tasting it. I usually end up munching on some raw vegetables at home: my stove being used only to make liters of tea. Black tea, Yunnan one with intense flavor and lots of sugar. Not the green one loved by Lay.

I ordered only a salad, the cheapest plate on the list and the most appealer; it couldn't look that bad as it was practically natural right? I found slightly amusing munching on those raw leaf of nature, no dressing, no sauces.

"Don't you feel like a sheep? At least add some oil!".

I looked at Lay surprised. He should be used to my diet but, sometime, he nags me about anyway. He rolled his eyes at my shaking head and returned to his giant portion of something visibly unbearable that was vaguely similar to the mc donals's AD's pictures.

I often ask myself if 'the image has only a representative purpose' isn't an understatement. A huge one.

"So, what did you draw today?".

I knew Lay was only going to use my answer to laugh but, just recalling my draws, I smiled a bit.

"Ankles".

One of Lay's brows went up: "Foot ist now? I have to start worrying about it?".

I didn't react and just continued munching on my green dinner; that didn't discourage him.

"But, he's ?".

Nodding without paying attention, I laughed as he almost choked on his coke: "Totally??!".

I looked at him briefly, he was still munching satisfied onto his hamburger, an oily fried potato in one hand. I didn't really know, was he ?

◊

In class I damned Lay for his stupid questions. His words kept returning on my mind and I wasn't concentrating at all. I had already started drawing feet but my eyes shifted higher unconsciously, looking a bit over, to his knees. The bony joint was folded in a soft angle and I couldn't help to gaze just over. The thighs were almost hairless, slim and firm as the other limbs.

I stopped there, too entangled by the strict lines of muscles his thighs had, each one was stretching the pale skin and I was surprised to notice that he was more muscular on the legs that on the arms: was he doing any kind of sport? Anyway, it was awesome and my hand brushed on the paper swiftly, drawing the leg from the knee upwards; later I realized that I needed to draw also his pubes to connect he two legs and, reclutanty, I shifted up my eyes.

I didn't really know from were my hesitation came by but, I even found my cheeks warmer than before, mouth clenched in a nervous line. I sighed when I saw the white simple slip, contrasting briefly his flesh, covering just what was needed, confining his private part in a sweet soft line that I swiftly reproduce on the paper, not lingering on it with my eyes, simply sketching it lightly.

I released the breath I didn't even know I was taking and realized how silly I were being. Relaxing I started the other thigh which was lifted and folded at the knee height in a pale triangle of flesh.

◊

"Luhan-sshi? I though you were absent". I bowed trying to stabilize my panting breath from the run.

"I'm sorry, I had a test and we finished late".

I reached my easel silently, not wanting to disturb other students. Preparing paper slowly, I relaxed my breath and tried to concentrate. I lifted my gaze smiling briefly to myself as I studied the new position of the model: folded crossed knees with hands resting on. It would be perfect to draw as both hands and legs were visible but, I noticed something on his arm and frowned.

My eyes widened at the bandaged wrist and the two bound up fingers. How could he ruin those marvelous hand?

I was mad, annoyed, thinking that he could actually be that stupid to injure that perfection.

I stared at the bandage as it offended me, not moving a muscle, not wanting to draw anymore.

I stopped myself on yelling at the hand's owner that he had to take care of them, that he was an idiot. Yes, I liked the almost invible cuts on the long fingers and the circular bruise on his left wrist but, he was just being senseless.

I gripped my fingers on my pencil, looking at it in trance, tracing the line of my name carved on it, blood rushing away from my knuckles til they were white: I stood up abruptly and tore the plain paper away from the easel. I wasn't going to draw and the fault was only of the idiotic human being onto that body.

◊

I stared at Lay puzzled, he was obviously happy that night, the opposite from me as I was still annoyed since lesson; we were watching tv randomly, him eating some chips, which he brought from his house, while I was munching a carrot.

"Why so happy?". I asked in the end, sensing that he was just waiting for the question. His eyes lighted up looking at me.

"There's a new guy in the dance group! His previous group got disbanded as three of them got a job".

Lay was probably thinking I was a mind reader or something similar as he didn't go on, I frowned: "And?".

"He's sooooo good! Really! And finally the instructor is varying the choreography! I was bugging him to insert some speed steps today and the new guy supported my idea!".

"Good", I nodded smiling, I knew how much Lay lives for dance, he's really good.

"You should return, ya know? Don't you miss it?"

I looked at him tiredly. How come that each time he had to ask me that? Sincerely, I didn't miss dance. It was too tiring, too fast, too real. I had to talk and look around too much for my taste and I did it only because Lay had brought me into the studio the first time when we were kids.

"You already know I'm not returning to it", my answer sounded more bored that how I actually was but he shrugged it off with a roll of eyes and a goofy scoff.

"Yeah, I know. Just trying".

I punched him slightly and stood up for preparing some tea. I remembered well the times I spent days practicing dance, it surely was a good way to relieve stress when I was younger but, I had grow and changed; often, I ask myself if I had changed really in better or not. I'm still not sure about that.

When I returned with two boiling cups of tea, Lay was reading a manga, half sprawled on the couch, chuckling every so often at the comic.

"So, Thursday's party.." he started closing the small book and taking his blue cup from my hand.

My answer came as humming questionsly as I had totally forgotten what was he talking about and, at his answer 'Chen's party', I groaned. Chen is an old friend, since elementary just like Lay and he was going to party about being accepted into a college in Seoul; It was the kind of party I couldn't not attend.

Sighting I mouthed my biggest doubt: "It's at a club?"

Lay shifted uncomfortably on the couch but I was too entangled by the piece of polymer clay in my hand to take notice of it, instead I waited for an answer while creating a little man with the clay.

"No".

I hummed satisfied, mostly because I had managed to make the figure resemble the body I was drawing from almost a month but, also because I really hate clubs.

"Tomorrow we're going to buy present".

"Why we have to buy a present each week? It's not like I'm rich", I complained sighing and taking a sip from my cup, dirtying it with the red clay. Actually, I haven't money problems, my parents send me a monthly allowance so I am not supposed to worry about it but, I do. And for that, I do some partime work usually and keep stored my parent's money.

"I have to find a new job".

Lay know though, how short are usually my jobs.. Not that I'm not capable but, I'm not so good, or even interested, in approaching peoples so I'm not really fitted as a sealer.

"Ask the landlor, maybe she knows something, I'll ask around". I smiled at his advice and nodded briefly. He was still working at the Chinese restaurant near his house, it were almost 2 years and it was like family there for him.

"Oh!". Excited Lay's voice startled me as he started blabbering out fast, "and Kai is younger than me! I'm not the maknae anymore!"

My puzzled face brought him to say more while glancing me with an exasperate look.

"The new guy at the studio, his name is Kai!".

"You already know his name?"

"It the praxis Lu, actually people first know the name, then see the person ".

I would bet there were much more passages in between the two things but, I decided to ignore it.

"He's not , he has brief on".

The shocked expression on his face was priceless but it also embarrassed me, knowing too well how would he react: "You looked?!?!".

"I drew!" finding myself blushing, I kept my head down, half hid by my hair.

"So you drew his crotch for the entire week?!".

A pillow on his face, made Lay stop saying idiocy and yelp in surpise.

"Stupid, I drew his legs!".

"And crotch", his voice was muffled by the pillow but I heard it anyway. My punch landed on his shoulder provoking him to laugh soundly before throwing the pillow back at me.

"Are you planning to talk to him or not?".

I shook my head violently plumbing down again on my place in the couch: "No, he's just a jerk".

"How can you say so?", laughed surprised Lay, watching me over his tea.

"He injured his wrist, how could he be so stupid to ruin those hands? What if it leaves a bruise? He's stubborn enough to think he can treat them like that. He's a selfish jerk".

Lay looked at me puzzled by my little trantum with his mouth open in disabelief; after throwing a glance to his watch, he stood up shaking head: "You seriously need to speak with a doctor Lu. A good one".

Scoffing, I shrugged, pulling up the manga he had left on the floor: "Are you going home?".

"Yeah, got lessons early tomorrow".

He walked shiftly to the door; I didn't have to show him the way as I practically lived in a square room with everything inside, door included.

"Lu?".

My head lifted automatically as Lay called me, a hum as an answer.

"Did you have, at least, thought about asking him if he's ok? Probably that hurts".

I twitched in surprise. I was partially aware that I was being strange again and that probably Lay was right but, I shrugged looking away.

With a sigh I heard the door open: "Tomorrow, remember Chen's present, try to think what we should buy.. 'Night".

"Yeah, bye".

My eyes stared at the closed door for awhile, the televion's noise as background of my thoughts: I should had asked him if he was ok? No. I didn't knew him. And, being perfetc was actually his work so, he had been just negligent while hurting himself. I had all the rights to be angry.

Rummaging in my bag, I found the two lucid photos, one of his back walking, one of his shadows while changing: his legs were so long. I glanced at the wall behind my bed, there still was a lot of space; I walked to it slowly, deciding on starting a new line of images. Just at eyes height, the wooden little peg clipped the two lucid paper perfectly at the brown string nailed to the wall. My eyes studied again the figure portayed..

"Should have I asked you something?".

...................................................................................................................................................................................................................