Luhan tries to paint the ebb and the flow of the waves. He tries to mimic and recreate the fierceness and the anger of the water as it crashes and then becomes forgotten when it seeps into the sand with angry brushstrokes against a white page; turning the blankness into the fullness of his vision. The wind howls in agony, pushing through the fabric of Luhan’s sweater and making goose bumps rise on his skin. It’s the absolute worst time to be at the beach but he’s here due to obligation to be by Sehun’s side whenever he attempts to fulfil his artistic urges.

Sehun’s out in the water waist deep with his standard water proof camera trying to condense the raging beauty and realness of the vast landscape into a single still shot; beauty and all its grandeur compressed in a single digital frame. Sehun thinks there’s a certain beauty in that, but Luhan doesn’t so much as like the real unaltered world as much as the real unaltered world seems to mutually despise him. He likes to take the figurative things, the things you can’t see, the things that you can only feel, and put them onto a page; twisting them, colouring them, extricating people’s souls and making it art. He takes the imagination and makes it as much of a reality as humanly possible.

While Luhan tears apart reality and haphazardly puts it back together in the wrong way deliberately, Sehun observes and admires the realness of everything and ultimately decides that he doesn’t want to alter things, because nature shouldn’t be tampered with. The world is the way it is regardless of how you think it came to be that way, and the beauty beneath the soil and the pores that come along with it should be celebrated even if the clear blue skies become enshrouded with dark hues and seamless rainfall. Simply, Sehun is a person who always likes to take what he sees. He likes to take a picture without altering the hue and put it in a little frame.

Thunder cracks in the sky sounding like a deafening rumble of the gut. Luhan closes his art diary, holds it against his chest and watches as the sky renders itself less inviting and spits rain like a vengeful wrath of god. Sehun’s still in the water looking tiny in comparison to the boundless sea that shrinks him and swallows him into oblivion.

Luhan recollects his painting tools then starts sprinting for a gazebo in the near distance, smacking into the rain with his feet crunching against the wet sand. The sky has become grey, spilling over the horizon like a movie in black and white. Lightening rips through and penetrates invisible forces, the ends barely touching the meniscus of the water. Interesting to photograph, fair enough, but still not something Luhan would risk getting his clothes wet for.

The soles of his feet are covered in clumps of wet sand that sprinkle up his calves. He dumps his equipment in an irascible haste onto the bench, paintbrushes clattering and rolling off of the edge to make a mess on the floor. He inspects his art diary, flipping through its pages delicately; pages that are soaked with a texture resembling soggy bread and that rip easily between his fingertips. In his moment of despair and amidst mourning the book he sinks to the floor, the floorboards wet and the sand that trailed along with him sticking to his knees.

“Hey.”

Luhan looks up. Wet strands of his blonde hair sticks to his face and water leaks from the tips.

“Your book,” Sehun says, pointing at it. Luhan looks down at it.

Sehun gets on the floor beside him. He’s all water, dripping endlessly. His shorts are soaked to the point that it sticks to his body and when he walks it sounds like he’s a jug full of water on the brink of overflowing. He kneels beside Luhan and places an arm around him, his shorts eliciting a sound like rinsing a wet rag as the wet and thick fabric presses down onto the wood. The rain is still hard and the thunder still claps every now and then, but with Sehun by his side like a calming presence everything else just lessens to faint background noise.

Sehun slides an arm around Luhan’s neck and pulls him just that tiny inch closer as he flips open the cover of his art diary and starts flitting through. Luhan doesn’t want to look at Sehun’s face, too scared to witness what his expressions may be conveying as he looks through his book that’s less of a book but more of a window into his imagination, his thoughts, himself. Sehun spends time on each piece just looking and not saying, all the while making Luhan feel anxious and judged, not that Sehun would make remarks on things that matter such as toning, or shading, or on the overall aesthetics of things, nor would Sehun go on rants negatively criticising several of Luhan’s takes on surrealism. Luhan is anxious because he realises that this is the first time that Sehun has actually seen his work in their infinite years of friendship.

When he’s done, Sehun goes for a more civil, non-critical comment instead to invalidate Luhan’s apprehension.

“These are really good,” Sehun says.

Luhan can’t really feel the conviction, but the commitment is there in Sehun’s words and he decides to take them to a certain degree of sincerity.

“Thanks,” he replies then shuts the book. “But they’re ruined.”

“I’ll buy you a new one,” Sehun offers.

Luhan scoffs. “Okay, sure. A new book with all my work in it intact and not soaked beyond repair?”

He abandons the book and sits back on his bottom, staring out into the ocean that looks as angry and upset as he is as the rain continues to pour down like the tears that he’s suppressing if he were to just let them fall. But he doesn’t want to look vulnerable in front Sehun. Especially about his art, which there’s a probability Sehun might empathise what with the photographs and all.

“You know you didn’t have to come with me today.”

Luhan looks at Sehun, who’s got the book in his hands. “Of course I had to,” Luhan says distantly.

If asked why he had to, he wouldn’t be able to formulate a reason except that he just had to. Besides, when did he not accompany Sehun on his various escapades? Years upon years of friendship and years upon years of events that were either successful or turned out to be like today, it was unspoken that Luhan had to stick by Sehun’s side and vice versa. That’s just the way it was. That’s the way it has to be. What would Sehun be without Luhan? A buffoon who knows how to work a camera. But with Luhan’s presence it becomes more of an experience and those photographs he takes on their adventures gain a little more sentimentality.

“I’m terribly sorry about your book,” Sehun says, sounding like he might cry out of guilt.

Luhan scoots back to Sehun’s side and wraps another arm around him, nuzzling his neck in the most platonic way possible, even if he doesn’t really mean it platonically. He likes the smell of rain on Sehun’s neck, as much as he wouldn’t want to admit it aloud.

“It’s fine,” Luhan says, and it really is fine.

Sehun plops down beside him and Luhan hugs his knees to his chest. Sehun’s hand wraps around his tremulous body and forces Luhan closer to him and deeper into his embrace.

“How’d the picture taking go?” Luhan asks, rubbing his face against Sehun’s shoulder.

“Okay. Speaking of pictures, we should take one,” Sehun says.

“Of us?”

“Yes, of us. We never take pictures together,” Sehun says glumly, as if remembering all those times they could’ve taken pictures of them together and regretting not doing so.

“Well, we can’t take one now. I look like .”

“So do I,” Sehun says with a grin. “Come on, it’ll be fun, and one day we can look back on this picture we’re about to take of us together and we can think, ‘damn, we both looked like absolute .” Despite the morose weather that was quick to turn on them, Sehun still manages to maintain his default chipper mood, which is always annoyingly infectious and makes Luhan want to live in his arms forever. It’s special this way, too, because the only time Sehun’s chipper is when he’s with Luhan.

When Sehun takes the picture, his lips are just hovering over Luhan’s forehead. Luhan imagines that Sehun’s thinking about putting his lips elsewhere, preferably on Luhan’s lips or all over him. The tingle that the slightest touch leaves is enough to ignite Luhan’s entire body like a candle; making a blush surge down his neck and make him feel a lot warmer and whole.

They’re different in lots of ways outside of their art mediums, but Luhan knows that they’re both aware of what they’re like without each other, which is that the person that they are when parted from the other is incomplete, and that when they’re together they make one whole entity.

They laugh at the picture together, but they both know that it’s only the first of many more to come. One day they’ll take a picture together when their lips are actually touching, but for now Luhan will just have to bring that imagination to life in his art diary. Well, when he gets a new one.  

A/N: 

So here's something that I started writing back in July of this year and finished editing about two minutes ago. The reason why I left this piece alone for a really long time is because it was supposed to be, like, a full-length chaptered kind of thingy? With, like, a more developed plot??? But if you've ever witnessed me try to write a multi-chaptered thing, then you'd know that I kind of when it comes to finishing them. Anyway, there was supposed to be a few dramatic scenes following this lil beach scene right here where Sehun and Luhan were supposed to stop being friends, then they'd meet again, become friends, Sehun would propose to Luhan and then Sehun would die. Somewhere along the way I lost motivation and when I re-read this I decided I'd just shorten it to this. I think it turned out alright. 

Also, this is the first thing I've posted on this website in a long time (which means I'm back??????) so yeah my writing's a little rusty~ 

(if you've subscribed to me for JongKey stuff then don't worry I still ship them hardcore so yay) 

Anyways (jesus christ sorry about the long author's note as always), comment if you have any thoughts and if you read it then you're rad and I hope you live the rest of your rad existence being happy and yeah

Peace out (oh and mistakes and stuff--ignore those)