It's one of those days again. Days that Baekhyun can't seem to find his muse anywhere. He doesn't want to sketch anything, doesn't want to touch the palette or even think about sketching at all. It's like life is right out of him, and Baekhyun hates it, the feeling when nothing gets done and no motivation is left. The feeling of emptiness.

The house is a mess - it’s always been a mess since forever and Baekhyun doesn’t really care - with sketches and drafts and crumbled pieces of paper lying here and there, unfinished paintings covered with a large black pieces of cloth are placed against the wall next to a fireplace that has never actually been lit, tubes of paint rolling around, staining the old tattered carpet with hues of unknown colors. Baekhyun likes it: the carpet somehow looks warm and cozy and beautifully re-styled. It makes him think of nights when he actually sleeps for more than 4 hours, of mornings with clear blue sky and birds chirping happily outside, of afternoons eating homemade cookies and drinking tea in the garden. It rings familiarity, and it brings back good memories Baekhyun likes to reminisce once in a while.

The carpet looks dead to him now.

Baekhyun sits up from the bunch of pillows scattered messily in a corner right below the window. He puts his cat down from his laps. He needs to go out, gets some air and finds his muse, his life again. Baekhyun stands up, grabbing his papers and pencils along the way out. He almost forgets to bring his coat - until he opens the door and a light breeze of winter sneaks its way in and lingers a bit too long on his exposed skin. Baekhyun shivers. He hates the cold.

He’s out of his house and into the town. Winter has come so fast, quietly paving the roads a blinding white and the sky a sorrowful grey. All the stores' doors are closed, smoke from chimneys flying up the sky and vanishing into the air, leaving behind thin lines of smoke and slightly burnt scent.

He went to the park nearby. It's one of his favorite places to be when his mood turns to the negative side. He would sit on a random bench, look at people strolling here and there, watch some kids playing with their friends or maybe sketch an old man staring longingly into nothing. He feels peaceful just sitting there watching everyone's actions, studying their movements and facial expressions. People tell stories through the way they move, and Baekhyun always try to guess by observing and analyzing them.

The park seems deserted today. December winds are freezing, and Baekhyun is running out of patience. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone out at all. Maybe he should take a nap and his muse will magically come back to him after. He could even make a cup of hot cocoa and drink it to shoo the cold away. Maybe -

His eyes catch a glimpse of someone. A tall, young boy sitting on a bench with his guitar laid carefully on his lap. His curly blond locks keep bobbing up and down while he nods his head constantly, eyes tightly shut and mouth curved into a dreamy smile. Baekhyun wonders, what makes him look so happy, so alive?

It is when he gets near enough that he realizes this boy is blind. His beautiful chocolate brown eyes don’t focus on anything, and when Baekhyun stands face to face with him - from across the road, of course - he doesn’t seem to realize that someone’s looking at him. He just keeps on playing guitar, his mouth moving like he’s singing along, quite cheerfully to be honest. He looks so content with everything going on. How can someone be content with life when they’re disabled?

Baekhyun decides to sketch.

*

Chanyeol suddenly stops strumming. He feels someone looking at him, maybe standing in front of him even. The faint scent of charcoal, of newly made paper and some oddly familiar flowery smell - might be jasmine, if he’s not mistaken - fill the air as he inhales, bringing ever so lightly a peaceful and calming atmosphere. Turning to the side he vaguely remembered hearing footsteps coming from, he smiles politely, “Hello, is there anything I can help you with?”

There’s no answer. All he can sense are the winds - stronger every minute - blowing violently throughout the streets, maybe some leaves on the ground being swatted away, a few barks here and there coming from the yard behind, but no sound was heard from the person standing before him. Yes, he’s sure this person is still there - he can still smell jasmine in the air - but why didn’t they answer?

“Um, is there anything-” Suddenly that jasmine scent becomes much stronger, and Chanyeol feels something being put on his hand. “What is this-” It’s a piece of canson paper, he wouldn’t mistake that feeling for anything - one side rough, one side smooth. There’s something drawn on it, he guesses, since the charcoal scent has gotten much stronger. Maybe this person was drawing him?

Chanyeol turns his head to where the paper was from, and gives whoever standing there his usual big toothy smile. But before his “Thank you” could leave his tongue, the person before him has gone. Their footsteps blends into the winds, making Chanyeol’s smile quiver just a little bit.

* * *

TBC.