Listen to 「Leia」 Piano Ver. (Eng cover by Miku-tan)

     Another of red there... Nope, that's the wrong shade... Oh, a bit of brown, no, that's too dark. Ahh, that's the right color.

That was how Luhan lived everyday; in front of his canvas painting. Every was precise, every color had to be perfect. That was Luhan. The perfectionist.

"Luhan, your lunch."

His best friend and the only person he let into his house, Kris, laid the take-out boxes on the dining table. He sighed as Luhan did not reply and walked over to him, placing his hands on his shoulders.

"Hey, Luhan. Did you hear me?"

Luhan still did not reply, merely dipping his paintbrush into another pot of paint and sweeping it across the canvas. Kris sighed again and laughed wearily. He knew that Luhan rarely ever looked away from his painting when he was working. He sat down on a chair near Luhan, opened a take-out box and began eating, watching Luhan intently. Finally, Luhan put down his paintbrush and turned to Kris with a smile.

"Hello, Kris. How was your day?" He asked, wiping his hands on his smock, leaving a trail of paint on the pale blue fabric.

"It was fine. Your lunch is on the table," Kris replied, still stuffing his mouth with fried noodles.

"Thanks," Luhan offered him another smile and immediately headed over to the table, wrenching the cover open. "Oh, my favorite."

"You know, that girl gave me another one," Kris said conversationally. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a crumpled letter.

"Throw it away," Luhan replied, not even looking up from his food.

Kris shook his head and placed it on the table instead. His friend never looked at other girls, or any other person aside from Kris, for that matter. Luhan was well-liked in school, which was quite reasonable, since he was cute, good-looking, and gave off that cold, stoic, uncaring vibe. For some reason he could not fanthom, that personality attracted a ton of girls, even though they were always ignored by him. Kris, although terribly popular himself, became the messenger for Luhan's fans, always receiving love letters for his friend that never cared for them. Most of them were thrown in the trash can before Luhan even so much touched them.

"Shouldn't you at least look at it?"

"No. Who cares."

Kris shook his head again at his friend, but didn't say anything. He didn't mind Luhan being such a cold person, mostly because he knew him too well. Luhan wasn't the type of person that wished ill upon others, but more of the type of person that didn't wish to associate with troublesome matters. All he needed in his world was his paint brush, paints, and canvas. Oh, and probably Kris too, since Kris was in charge of his meals. Otherwise, he'd be too engrossed in painting and forget to eat. And sleep. And do anything else.

"You know, Kris," Luhan began. "I'm glad you're here. Otherwise, I'd never be able to eat such good food." After he was done talking, he flashed Kris a smile and threw the box away, heading back to his stool.

Kris, though not seen by Luhan, was also smiling. See. Luhan did need Kris. A warm feeling enveloped him as he finished his meal, Luhan's words still swirling in his mind.

---
 

     Kris remembered when Luhan's parents had died in an unfortunate car accident. The five year old Luhan was already best friends with the five year old Kris, having lived side by side since birth. To the horror of his relatives, Luhan shed no tears and simply looked at his parents' broken bodies. Then, he turned to his aunt and asked, "Why are mommy and daddy painting themselves red?"

For some reason, probably because they thought Luhan was traumatized, his aunt and uncle and everyone else surrounded Luhan, hugged him, and burst into tears. Once again, Luhan did not show any expression nor cry. He just stood, staring at his parents. He and his younger sister, Luhui, lived with a close relative until he was 18. His relatives were, to put in a mild sense, afraid of him.  He rarely showed any feelings, never cried, hardly laughed, and spent most of the time in his room painting. The only people he talked earnestly to were Kris and Luhui. No one knew if his personality was a result of the horror he had experienced when he was merely a toddler, or because he was just like that.

When he turned 18, he immediately moved out of his relatives' house and took Luhui into his custody. He lived well, as well as an 18 year old with a younger sister of 15, could. To everyone's surprise, he did not forget his relatives and often sent them presents and sometimes even money if he had any to spare. Life seemed to be almost ideal for Luhan. He enrolled into an arts college, whereas his sister was accepted into a prestigious high school with a scholarship.

Then, everything took a turn for the worse. Luhui died in a teenage shooting at her school. Once again, Luhan did not cry. Yet, his face was distorted with pain, a pain he struggled to keep within him. Kris remembered how Luhan knelt by Luhui, cradling her head in his chest. He stared at her with clear eyes and gently swept her hair away from her face. One would think she was sleeping, the way she was held by Luhan.

If anyone thought Luhan was unaffected by his sister's death, they were wrong. He locked himself in his room for weeks, not coming out. Kris had to beg for him to open his door, even just a little, so he could bring Luhan some food. When he did let him in, Kris found Luhan sitting at his canvas, painting away. Most of his paintings were ambiguous. Kris could never understand what was going through Luhan's mind and never knew what inspired his paintings. However, this painting, the one Luhan had been working on, was not vague at all.

After all, how could a girl, a woman, and a man, lying in a puddle of blood be vague?

Kris saw the resemblance of Luhui, Luhan's mother, and Luhan's father in the painting. He wasn't going to deny that it scared him. Just a little. He hadn't thought that Luhan still remembered the terrible experience when he was five. But obviously, he did. To a disturbingly precise extent.

After a couple weeks of solitude, Luhan emerged from his room and attended school as if nothing had happened. Whispered rumors flew about him as he stepped into the hallways. If he was affected by any of them, he did not show it. He went about life normally, still painting, still at the top of his class. Soon, all stories of him faded away and he rose in popularity because of his princely looks and uncaring attitude.

One thing had changed, however, after Luhui's death. Luhan started on a painting that would probably be the greatest masterpiece of his life time. He spent days planning it out. When anyone asked what he was painting, he would simply answer, "Perfection."

Kris had also questioned it once, and Luhan had given him a longer answer. "Nobody in this world is perfect. That's why I want to create perfection."

Kris wasn't sure if the answer was any clearer, but he accepted it without any other inquiries. Kris didn't know what perfection was, but he knew that perfection, in everyone's eyes, was different. But no matter how he looked at the painting, he seemed to think that perfection in Luhan's eyes was a bunch of random colors mixed together,splattered on a white canvas. He wondered if Luhan saw a different picture when he was looking at his work.

Did he?

---
 

     Honestly speaking, Luhan wasn't sure what he had in mind when he began painting the picture. He just... simply painted. Like he always had. However, when people asked, the only thing that popped into his mind was "perfection". Perfection. The only thing no human being possessed. And it didn't take a genius to figure out why Luhan was so obsessed with it. His life was far from perfect. As far as it can be. It was only natural for him to search for something that he so dearly longed for. That everyone so dearly longed for.

When he began painting, it was as if some other entity was moving his hand. He had no idea where his would lead him, but he was confident that the result would be simply marvelous.

And marvelous it was.

Perfection. He had achieved it at last.

That's what he thought as he sat at his stool, staring in awe at the painting that had been created by him. Him, the complete opposite of perfection.

A burst of color filled the canvas, giving the viewer a sense of paradise, though it looked nothing like it. The colorful background did nothing to overshadow the main attraction. Gazing serenely at the viewer was a beautiful being, positioned at the center of the canvas. A being that radiated beauty, not just from his looks, but from his very presence. His black eyes, his dark hair, and his pale skin showed so much realism that one would think it was a photograph.

A photograph. Luhan wished. That would mean that this... this... this angel existed on Earth. Thst would mean that the very manifestation of perfection existed on Earth, the planet built from imperfection.

How, oh, how Luhan wanted him to be real. Even if Luhan had to view him from afar, he would gladly oblige. He would give anything to find a person so perfect.

It was no wonder that Luhan spent hours sitting in front of the canvas, not speaking, not moving, just simply looking at the painting. It was as if he was in a trance. A trance that brought him to a different dimension, a dimension where he could meet this angel.

He didn't show anyone the painting. Not even Kris. He didn't know why he didn't. Perhaps it was a feeling of possessiveness. The painting belonged to him. It could only grace his eyes. He didn't want to share it with anyone else. It was the one time he wanted to be selfish. Just this once.

---
 

     "Love. Love is a word that has one of the most ambiguous meanings. We use the world love to describe anything we like, to the extent that its deep meaning has now been forgotten."

Luhan yawned and placed his chin in his hands as Kris's friend, Jongin, droned on and on about love.

Love. Love. That was one thing Luhan did not need. What was love? Love was pain. It was separation. It was useless and only a nuisance. It was too troublesome to deal with. That's why he didn't need it. Or want it.

Yet he still had to sit at the bar, listening to Jongin talk about how he fell so deeply in love with some person named Do Kyungsoo. Why did he think Luhan and Kris cared? Maybe Kris did. But Luhan certainly did not. But Kris had dragged him away from his painting anyways, claiming that he needed to "party" a little.

His painting. He smiled to himself as he thought of it. As he thought of how the perfect being appeared in his dream. Alive. He felt a bubbling in his chest as he remembered every aspect, every detail, of his dream. It surprised Luhan, himself, too. He always thought dreams were meant to be forgotten, yet he remembered this one so clearly. It was so clear that he sometimes wondered if it really had happened in real life. Perhaps he had mistaken an old memory for a dream. But every time he laid his eyes on the painting, he would remember, it was just a dream. It wasn't real.

"Luhan? What are you smiling about? Have you felt any of the things I was talking about?" Jongin asked interrupting Luhan's thoughts.

Luhan blinked up at him, having not registered anything that Jongin was saying. "Uh... what?"

Jongin heaved a dramatic sigh and looked at Luhan with exasperation. "Okay. Let me repeat myself. Love is when you feel possessive of someone. Love is when you think of them constantly when they are not with you. Love is when you feel an elated feeling in your heart. Have you ever felt that?

Luhan stared at him, not speaking, his mouth hanging slightly open.

Everything Jongin had described was so familiar to him. He felt all of that alright. He really did. But he also felt a little bit of fear as he realized it. If that was love.... then did that mean... he fell in love with

his painting?

---
 

     There was no doubt. Luhan was in love with the person in his painting. He chuckled as he thought about how conceited he sounded, to have fallen in love with his own creation.

But there was no helping it. Every time he looked at it, he would feel his heart beating as if he had just run a marathon. He so very wanted to look away from those piercing eyes, but he just couldn't tear his own away. The image floated in his mind 24/7, never leaving him, never giving him a break.

Yet everyday, just before he falls asleep, he'd remember, Ah. He... he isn't real. He's... just a painting. But just before this thought could eat away his insides, he would fall into slumber and travel into dreamland, where he would spend his time happily with the one he loved.

He wasn't sure if he could fall anymore in love with it, but he did. Everyday, it seemed as if his love grew. Soon, it hurt to just look at the painting. He couldn't forget about how it was just a painting. It wasn't real.

Luhan didn't know if the painting brought him happiness or pain anymore. Looking at it made his heart soar, but when he remembered that it was a painting, his heart would drop, drop much too fast, and crash into reality painfully.

As he stared at the painting, it with his hands, he realized that he was wrong. Love was pain. Love was separation. But... love wasn't useless. It wasn't a nuisance. It wasn't a troublesome matter he didn't want to associate himself with. It was a necessity. A necessity for a human being to be... human. For a living thing to be living. How could one live and not love?

Live. Love. Live. Love. He marveled over how similarly these words were spelled. How interlocked these two were. To live, you had to love. To love.... to love... you had to live?

No, Luhan didn't think so. To love.... you did not have to live. Did you?

No, Luhan decided firmly. You did not.

That explained the sleeping pills he purchased soon after he came to this revelation. He sat with it cradled in his hands, looking, once again, at the painting. Or should he say, the person in the painting. The person who had became the center of his world. The person he could not live without.

With a worn out pen, he grabbed a small piece of paper and scribbled,

He isn't real in reality, but he's alive in my dreams.

He wasn't sure who he was writing the note to. To Kris to explain his actions? To the police so they wouldn't start an investigation? Perhaps it was just to another person who also sought perfection.

Luhan swallowed the pills, his eyes never leaving the painting. As he felt drowsiness take over him, he slowly closed his eyes. Just before he completely out, he swore, he swore, the person in the painting smiled. It was a comforting smile, as if to say, I'll take you to my world. I'll take you to paradise, where we can be together forever.

Luhan smiled back. Then, he fell into an eternal slumber. A slumber where he lived in his dreams, with the one whom he loved. Perfection.

---
 

     There's a price to pay for perfection. One that can cost you dearly.

That's what Kris thought as he knelt by his best friend's grave. In his hands, he clutched a piece of paper with Luhan's handwriting.

He isn't real in reality, but he's alive in my dreams.

Kris couldn't say he completely understood what Luhan was talking about, but he had a vague idea after he had seen the painting Luhan had painted. When he was uncovering the easel the police had covered with a dark cloth, he couldn't deny that he felt nervous. He held his breath as his hand grasped the edge of the fabric, and in one fluid motion, he lifted it off the canvas.

His breath stopped as his eyes swept over the painting.

So this was what perfection was to Luhan. This was what he fell in love with.

Looking at it, Kris knew he had no chance. His love for Luhan had never been acknowledged by the latter, and now, he knew why. Luhan had fallen in love with an angel, with perfection. How could Kris, a mere human, so imperfect, compete with that?

With a bitter smile, he had covered the painting again.

Now, he calmly arranged the flowers he had brought by the tombstone. Calla lilies. They were Luhan's favorite.

"Luhan-ah," Kris said. He cleared his throat as he realized how hoarse and broken his voice sounded.

"Luhan-ah," he began again. "I... I love you, you know that? But... I wish you happiness in your next life... and... I hope that you could meet... him... whoever he is."

With that, Kris walked away from the grave, feeling his tears threatening to fall.

Then he remembered that Luhan never cried when his loved ones died. Kris struggled to keep a tiny smile on his face and blinked back his tears.

---

     "Hello, my name is Oh Sehun, and I am the new EXO member. It's nice to meet you."

A tall, lean teenage boy with wind-swept hair bowed deeply to the others in the practice room. He was bundled up in lots of winter clothing, so Luhan couldn't make out his features. However, he felt a shocking wave of familiarity as he shook his hand.

"I'm Luhan. It's nice to meet you too. I hope we get along well."

Sehun nodded and unraveled his scarf that covered half of his face, save for his eyes that were twinkling. He smiled at Luhan when the scarf was finally off.

Luhan felt his blood freeze as he stared at Sehun. He... he knew this person. As he struggled to remember where he had seen him, fleeting images of a brightly colored painting flooded his mind at an alarming pace, each leaving much too quickly. Finally, the mist in his mind dispersed and the images slowed their pace, forming a picture of a painting sitting on a wooden easel in a much too familiar room. It was a painting he had never ever seen in his life, yet he could remember every little detail of it, as if he had painted it with his own hands. His heart stopped as he realized who the person in the painting was.

Perfection.

________________________

....Complete nonsense. LOL. >.>