Some would say his passion is unconventional, maybe a little bizarre in this age. In this age filled with the most intricate of technology, and when people seek the dream of being digital illustrators or graphic designers or the like. Well, he designs. He taps and curves and kneads - the clay seeps between his fingers and it makes him inexplicably happy. Getting his clothes grubby and filthy and always feeling some sort of stickiness adhered to his fingers, he relishes all of it. He likes to smooth out the thickness and trim the excess with his nimble fingers, watching in fascination as something shapeless takes form under his agile hands.

For him, it's a little less out of the ordinary, certainly not as uncommon - he lets the brush slide on blank canvas, his thoughts, his wishes, his life pouring out and splaying across in dazzling lines and glossy dots. His work is lavish with shimmer and excitement. The smears on his face or fingers make him giddy. 

Alas, despite the honed skills, the fervor and dedication, it is cruelly unprofitable. 

Hakyeon draws out a long sigh. The pottery is deposited in almost every nook and cranny of his room, save for a few pots which he painted messily when he was drunk - Jaehwan said they looked 'exquisite' and slid some money to him and Hakyeon accepted it shamefully, cheeks dark pink because he knew they looked terrible. His heart clenched happily when he saw his little creations planted in Jaehwan's room as silly decorations (one even found its place atop Sanghyuk's writing desk). 

They do tell him to find something he can get actual money out of, but Hakyeon cannot abandon it, too sappy and emotionally linked to it. Besides, he's convinced nothing can make him happier. Better happy and broke than rich and miserable, right? Still, a dusty wallet is very pitiful to look at. Hakyeon swallows bitterly. 

Despite of his hobby having roots in deep ancient history, Hakyeon enjoys the contemporary techonology to the fullest, and that means, of course, that collisions with people while he's texting or laughing at a funny video Jaehwan sent the link to are unavoidable. Most of the times it ends up in embarrassed apologies and cast down eyes. This time, however, he watches in horror as the canvas soars a little in the air then falls noisily on the ground, fresh paint scattering onto the ground and then hears a deep groan, and he knows he's in for some verbal onslaught, deservedly so. There's a sigh and he dares look up, spotting a man probably around his age, the pained expression on his face making him swallow any words - even an apology would feel hollow, he thinks. 

"I'm gonna buy it from you-" 

There's a surprised gasp sliding from Wonshik's throat and he can see the man feels guilty. The painting wasn't something spectacular, just mere sunset, red and orange blending together. He shakes his head and a tiny smile surfaces. "It's alright. It wasn't something.. valuable." Hakyeon splutters, cheeks getting redder but his insistence bears no fruit. What Wonshik wants, though, is his name. 

He does get his name eventually and there's an exchange of phone numbers as well. Hakyeon feels much lighter at the end of their encounter, after they've shared a blueberry muffin and talked about life together. The sole fact that Wonshik is struggling as he is, passionate in his work but the taste of success is so far away he can't even harbor it, that alone is attractive to Hakyeon. Well, that and maybe his broad shoulders. Maybe his adorable smile and everything else. Wonshik gifts him a drawing of Hakyeon himself on their first real date. A portrait. Hakyeon is almost stunned at the accuracy, fingers tracing the contours in rapture and Wonshik smiles affectionately - feeling appreciated is really such a wonderful experience, but feeling appreciated by someone you are fond of is even better. 

Hakyeon shares his own hobby with Wonshik, but the outcome isn't as good as he expects it to be. The mass of clay Wonshik works with has bubbles and lumps and soft spots, and when he tries to strengthen the ugly shape he kneaded, forcing down the upper coil into the joint below it, he only makes a bigger mess. Hakyeon's swift and soft kiss on his cheek doesn't help his embarrassment (but he doesn't mind making a fool of himself more often if it means more kisses from Hakyeon). Wonshik finds the pots strewn in Hakyeon's room beautifully crafted, and he asks for a few to splash some color on. The result is pretty impressive, and Wonshik wonders if those are actually saleable. It's worth a try, isn't it? The flea market is open to everybody. 

Wonshik stumbles over a pot that night when he pushes Hakyeon to the bed, a soft thud despite the initial agressiveness and they both laugh. Wonshik closes his mouth over Hakyeon's, gently, and his shirt slides up, Hakyeon's palms slipping underneath, a tender touch that makes Wonshik shudder. Wonshik's skin might be the finest texture he would ever touch, Hakyeon thinks, corners of his lips turned up even though there's a surge of heat that makes his pulse stutter. The prettiest red spills over Hakyeon's neck and chest as the snaps of Wonshik's hips become more frequent and wanton, and Wonshik marvels at it, bends down to steal his breath, on his tongue as Hakyeon's nails dig into his waist. The rush of pleasure is exhilarating. Wonshik kisses him until they are breathless.

The next day is pretty much a disaster. Clusters of people walk by and spare a glance, maybe examine them a little and it gets them hopeful. At the end of the day, the amount of money gained is, for a lack of a better word, pathetic. A smile springs up on Hakyeon's lips as he wraps an arm around Wonshik's waist, chin propped on his shoulder and nose nuzzling in his neck, and it's the scent of meadows and sunshine. 

"Maybe next time?" 

Wonshik turns to nudge his nose against Hakyeon's and kiss him languidly. His lips curl up in a soft smile. 

"Maybe next time." 

A/N

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