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Saeran likes to draw.
Actually, he likes to paint, sculpt, take pictures, animate, decorate, design. Anything that piques his artistic interest and inspires him. After all, inspiration is a fickle thing and sometimes one needs to swap mediums to draw it out of the cave it’s retreated to. Saeran is flexible, if nothing else.
At least, artistically he is.
His therapist had applauded him when she’d found out that he’s able to change up what he’s doing in a moment’s notice if he needs. Even if it’s just in this one small thing, he’s relinquishing the strict control he keeps over every other aspect of his life. He’s learning to adapt and no matter how small the victory, it’s still a step forward. Worth being celebrated. He should reward himself, go do something new he’s always wanted to do.
Which is how he ends up at a park half the city away, one he hadn’t been to since he was a child escaping the house of terror with his brother. They’d had ice cream, watched the sky. Played like normal kids. Laughed. A brief respite before returning to the place determined to rid them of their happiness. Their mother, a dementor, warden of their own personal Azkaban.
Saeran shakes his head, frowning. That’s not what he should be thinking about right now.
So no, this place isn’t exactly new, but it’s been at least a decade since he’s seen it’s flowering foliage and watched the animals running freely from tree to tree, chittering about something interesting no doubt. Sometimes he wishes he could understand them, curious what ups and downs their little lives hold.
Shifting in his seat slightly, he unzips his bag, tugging on it in frustration when it catches in the usual place. He really should just get a new one but this one is familiar. His. Letting go of items he’s acquired has always been a struggle. Something to do with having everything ripped away from him as a child, apparently. Because that’s what everything always boils down to: his fucked-up childhood and how it still haunts him today.
At least he’s not alone. It affects Saeyoung too, though he’s always been better at hiding it behind cheerful jokes and annoying memes. No one's any the wiser that the bright computer genius is actually a depressed mess who can’t bear to consider a life without his twin next to him.
Not that Saeran minds. Saeyoung’s always been the one to protect him. It’s because of him he’s even alive now and that he’s free to pursue his love of art. Sure, he brings in money too by selling it and he’s actually quite popular but it’s Saeyoung who goes to the exhibits. Saeyoung who talks to people and agents and brokers deals and commissions. Saeran’s not a people person. The idea of being in a room full of strangers staring at his heart bared on canvas is too much for him, a one-way ticket to panic attack city. Maybe he should just move there. He certainly visits enough.
The mechanical pencil he pulls out is old and beat up, the same one he used in high school. It’s familiar and non-threatening. He knows how to hold it, how to make it do what he wants. The sketchbook is new but that’s out of necessity rather than desire. This will be it’s maiden voyage and he’s determined to make it a worthy one. But what should he draw? The scenery, the animals, the sky? Should he try to capture the combination of peace and fear being here strikes into his heart or should he just let the sun guide him? (“The sun is the mother of all, let it guide you in your journey,” Uncle V had told him when he first started sketching. “She will never lead you astray.”)
He’s mid debate when a bark catches his attention and he watches as a snow-white husky comes into view, it’s sparkling leash leading back to an impossibly beautiful man as they run together. He’s tall, hair as pure white as the dog’s with striking red eyes. Albino? Saeran’s not sure and he probably shouldn’t be staring but it’s hard to pull his eyes away from the chiseled features and sculpted muscles he sees.
Is he a statue come to life?
Delighted laughter startles Saeran and he feels his face heat up when those eyes turn on him. “Want a picture?” The tone is teasing but friendly, relaxed as though catching some random man staring at him is nothing out of the ordinary. Which is quite possible, considering his ethereal beauty.
Saeran’s head snaps down and he quickly shoves the book and pencil back in his bag, ripping it shut and standing, refusing to meet the man’s eyes when he asks if he’s okay. It sounds like he’s genuinely concerned but Saeran’s smart enough to know a hallucination when he sees one. It’s been awhile since he last experienced one but the red flags are undeniably there. Too good to be true? Check. Someone outside of Saeyoung caring for him? Check. At a moment when his guard is down? Double check. Something unreal about it, like it’s fuzzy at the edges (or in this case, too perfect to exist)? Checks to infinity. Shouldering the bag, he turns the opposite way of the stranger's direction and hurries away.
-oOo-
Saeran makes the mistake of mentioning his visit to the park (but leaves out the encounter with the man and his dog) to his brother and he finds himself dragged back out there that weekend, Saeyoung deadset on having an ice cream date reminiscent of their childhood one. “It’ll be good to repeat it, but instead of having the dread to go home, we can talk about how nice it is to live on our own,” he claims, sounding like a parrot of Saeran’s therapist. For a moment he wonders if they know each other outside of the professional capacity; after all, she was recommended by Saeyoung’s boss as an outstanding psychiatrist.
Dr. Mi-Chan Gim, apparently the best of the best and covered under C&R’s impressive insurance. Insurance that had made an exception and allowed Saeran to be covered under his brother as a dependent since it’s debatable about whether or not he’s mentally stable enough to live on his own yet.
Frankly, after 22 years of life, Saeran wonders if he’ll ever reach that point. Or if he even wants to. Living with Saeyoung comes with its annoyances but it’s nice to have him close by, nice to have someone who genuinely cares and wants to help. Nice to have someone who loves him, even if it’s only because they’re twins. Saeran will take whatever he can get.
They walk along until Saeyoung finds a bench close to the ice cream truck, declaring it the temporary property of the Choi brothers and considering the merits of building a moat around it to keep unwanted visitors out. Whether by fate or terrible luck, it’s the same one Saeran sat on last time. Rather than worry about it, he snickers at his brother’s stupid idea and shoves him off toward the truck. Why bother with a moat if one stays here to guard the castle?
Saeyoung squeals and pretends to swoon, spouting nonsense about being the princess and Saeran, his knight. Scoffing, Saeran rolls his eyes and sits down, making shooing motions at the embarrassing man until he finally heads off in the direction of the soft chimes, a melody that still manages to warm Saeran’s heart somehow. Maybe his true love in life is ice cream.
He can handle that.
If not for the intervention of Saeyoung, he’d be prone to eating it for every meal. There’s enough different flavors he wouldn’t get sick of it, and it has milk in it… so it’s healthy, right? At least better than those stupid chips Saeyoung always eats.
A bright purple flower catches his eye as he’s leaning back to relax and suddenly he’s on his feet, pulling out a camera from his bag and getting as close as he dares as he watches a butterfly lazily fly near the beautiful anemone. Uncle V had taught him that often the perfect shot comes when one’s least expecting it, which is a good reason to pay attention to one’s surroundings at all times. It’s a lesson he took to heart and as he focuses the lens, he’s thankful for it. He waits, waits for the butterfly to get into the perfect position and…
Click. Click. Click.
One after another he takes pictures, wanting to have a few to choose from whenever he reaches the end of this film. It almost seems like the butterfly humors him as it continues to circle the flower and he chuckles softly to himself. “You’re quite the little model, aren’t you,” he murmurs, lowering the camera as his expression softens. “You know how pretty you are and you’re showing off.” It flies in a tighter circle and he huffs out softly in amusement. Nature is fascinating.
“You caught me~”
It requires all of Saeran’s effort not to turn and launch the camera at whoever is talking to him to give him a chance to bolt to safety. It took years and years of self-conditioning to get to the point where he freezes instead, forcing his mind to listen to reason rather than run off the high of emotions and responses from childhood. Hissing out softly through clenched teeth, he keeps a tight hold on the camera and stands, wiping any hint of surprise or fear off his face before turning around the face the perpetrator.
Oh. It’s him.
A deep frown carves itself into his face and he sidesteps to avoid the red-eyed man with his dog, walking back over to stow the camera safely away. Twice in a week this image has come to haunt him. Is it loneliness again? Is his brain cooking up imaginary friends to try to cope once more? Because he’s totally not down for that, not after the debacle of having to sort through what was and wasn’t real last time and failing, ending up in the mental ward for a few months until he and the doctors were fairly certain he had a grip on reality again. It’s a pain in the ass and he refuses to go through it again. Maybe he’ll call his doctor tonight instead of waiting until their next appointment. Something obviously needs to be adjusted in his meds if this shit is happening.
“Look, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry about last time,” the man says, his words ringing true with guilt. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just pretty used to catching people watching me and teasing them.”
Gripping the top of the bag tightly, Saeran stays faced away, refusing to acknowledge its existence. Maybe if he focuses enough, tells himself that he’s going off the deep end again, it’ll disappear. It’s not real.
There is a bit of irony in the situation, though. A hallucination apologizing for upsetting the person who's being forced to deal with it. If nothing else, he has to appreciate that his brain has a pretty shitty sense of humor. Must run in the family.
“You’re not real,” he whispers, closing his eyes and trying to calm his erratic heartbeat. The dog behind him whines softly and he hears a shushing noise and a footstep coming closer. Damnit, this is the opposite of what he wanted.
“Another response I get,” it says with a quiet laugh. “But I am quite real, actually. Here.” Saeran flinches when he feels something being softly inserted underneath his taut fingers. “This is my… well, pretty much my business card, haha. Look me up. You’ll see I’m real enough. And maybe next time we meet I can apologize face-to-face about spooking you.”
A click of a tongue followed by retreating footsteps and the panting of a dog, leaving Saeran alone, flustered, worried and holding some card that a hallucination gave him.
-oOo-
The card feels heavy. Like it’s weighing down his bag, about to burn a hole in the bottom and bring light to Saeran’s shame. He hasn’t called his therapist yet because this is a startlingly new development. Being given something like this… and having it be true. The first thing he’d done after getting back from having ice cream with Saeyoung was to research this man - Zen - on the Internet. And then, because he can’t trust himself to not fabricate a page full of results, he asks his brother.
“Zen? Yeah, I know who that is. Some musical actor. One of my coworkers is a fanatic. With good reason, too. Have you seen how hot he is?” Saeyoung flutters his eyelashes and smiles stupidly, chin placed in his hands like a teenage girl. “Be still my heart~”
Saeran groans loudly and turns back to the food he’s trying not to burn. “Can’t you ever be fucking normal?”
“Nope! One of us has to have a witty and charming personality!”
“I think you mean ‘obnoxious and overly dramatic’.” It should be impossible to burn pancakes, but somehow Saeran is tiptoeing the line. “Quit fucking distracting me before you have ashes to eat.”
“You’re the one who talked to me~!” Saeyoung answers in a sing-song voice. “Why the sudden interest in hot actors, hmmmmm?”
For a few moments, Saeran doesn’t answer. The pancake he flips onto the plate is dark brown on one side, but he’s pretty sure he pulled it off just before it couldn’t be salvaged. The inside of his cheek is raw from his nervous tic of chewing at it but it doesn’t stop him from continuing to do so; even the sharp tang of blood isn’t enough.
Walking the plate over to the table, he drops it in front of his brother, uncaring for the way the other flinches. “I think I’ve met him.”
The mumbling about breaking plates recklessly halts at his words, Saeyoung’s eyes swinging up to meet his own, brows dipped in confusion. “You… what?”
“It’s not a big deal,” Saeran grumbles, turning away and pouring in some mix for his own pancake. Maybe it was a mistake to bring this up. Once he determined the man was probably not just a cruel figment of his imagination, he should’ve just left it alone. After all, what are the odds he’ll ever run into him again? Why open himself up to the concerned stare and probing questions of his brother?
“No, no, I think it is.” Saeran sighs wearily when he hears the sound of a chair being pushed across the floor, prepared for the hands that land softly on his shoulders. “So. You’ve met Zen. And you’re acting… strange about it. Not the normal ‘oh-my-god-I-just-met-a-celebrity’ strange, but the ‘I-think-I’m-going-crazy’ strange. Did something happen?”
Silence descends between them as Saeran debates whether or not it’s worth it to confess everything. The pancake batter begins to bubble and he watches as a few pop before sliding the spatula under and flipping it. If only knowing when the other side is done was so easy…
“Saeran, you can talk to me. Don’t hold it all inside, you know that’s bad for you.”
“Hypocrite,” he snaps, unable to help himself. “You keep everything away from me, why should I tell you shit?”
The hands slowly lift from his shoulders and he hears the soft clinking of metal. Saeyoung’s probably clutching that stupid cross of his as though it’s going to be what saves him in this situation. Saeran aggressively scoops the pancake on a separate plate, uncaring whether or not it is completely cooked and flips off the burner. There’s still plenty of batter left but right now he just wants to get away. The urge to flee is overcoming all else and he can feel anxiety starting to rise up. The drawer squeals in protest as he yanks it open to grab a fork and nabs the syrup, dumping it on before retreating to the safety of his room.
Saeyoung calls his name but doesn’t follow; good. He’s learned. Saeran still deadbolts his door, just in case. No way is going to trust the flimsy lock on the knob to keep his brother out.
Settling cross-legged on the meticulously made bed, Saeran stares at the syrup as it runs over and off the pancake, pooling along the bottom of the plate like a sticky form of water surrounding an island. He feels like he may as well be on that island most of the time. Always alone, never wanted. No one reaching out to try to help him even if he’s signaling SOS.
So is it really such a surprise that he’d assume that someone as impossibly attractive as Zen being nice to him couldn’t be real?
The plate is set on the bedside table and he drops his head into his hands, letting his fingers tangle in his hair and tug on it. Why can’t he just function like a normal human being for once in his life? Hindsight’s 20/20 but couldn’t he just have said hi, made a poor attempt at small talk and not looked like a bumbling idiot? And Zen had sounded so guilty yesterday, like he seriously thought he’d done something wrong and spooked Saeran. Well, while it’s true that he spooked Saeran, it’s not his fault.
He should find a way to apologize to the man but how? He’s only ever seen him in that park. The opening for his next musical is a month away and there’s no guarantee that Saeran would be able to see him, let alone that Zen would remember him. It’s not like he’s as unforgettable as Zen.
Perhaps he could try the park? Keep returning until he either runs into the man or gives up? Would that be good?
...should he give him something as an apology? Is that something people do?
Scanning his room, his eyes fall on his watercolor set and he tilts his head to the side in thought.
Yeah. That could do.
-oOo-
The first time Saeran ran into Zen was at dusk, just as the moon was starting to creep into the sky. So he goes a few times during those few hours, manilla envelope clutched nervously as he watches the clouds and emerging stars to try to help himself stay calm. After about an hour, he puts down the envelope and pulls out his sketchbook and colored pencils, drawing the colors of the clouds when the sun sets or the stars as they twinkle above. After two hours, he’s relaxed completely and more or less forgotten why he’s there until he hears the sound of shoes hitting the pavement, head jerking up to look at the dark shapes hopefully.
It’s never Zen.
After four days, he tries the afternoon. He sees plenty of kids, couples and joggers but never the one he’s looking for. The hope that he’ll have the chance to apologize begins to ebb away, and by the seventh day, he’s resigned to failure.
That doesn’t keep him from returning a few more times though for that reason, but he’s always let down.
He doesn’t mean for it to happen but the park morphs into his new go-to place when he needs to relax. It becomes common for the twins to go once or twice a week to share ice cream and laugh, enjoying the time away from home. Weeks pass, then a month. Saeran has his ups and downs, makes progress, regresses a bit. But always, always the white-haired man with red eyes is in the back of his mind.
-oOo-
Two months have passed. Restless and unable to sleep, Saeran flips over once again. His demons seem particularly set on haunting him tonight. Guilt, guilt, always guilt that he should do more, be more. He climbs out of bed and tries to vent emotion onto a canvas but it ends up looking like a bunch of uneven lines and painful colors that a toddler drew.
Exasperated, Saeran pulls on a shirt and changes to his jeans. He needs a change of scenery. It doesn’t matter that it’s 3am or that he’s supposed to go to an appointment in less than 7 hours; he’s not going to sleep anyway.
He grabs the keys to his brother’s bright red car as he walks past the kitchen table and shrugs his leather jacket on. Bag slung over his shoulder, he heads out, for once not feeling anxious about driving.
It’s a quiet night and the way the air combs through his hair is refreshing. Something in him settles a little, his restlessness decreasing. Maybe he should drive at night more often. Less traffic, cooler breeze. He feels at home in the dark.
The park is silent when he pulls up save for the chirping of crickets. He parks and heads to the bench he normally frequents, dropping his bag next to him as he sits. Tonight isn’t about art or observation. It’s a night of becoming one with nature, forgetting his past and present. The wood is cool against his neck as he tilts his head back, eyes closing. One by one, the muscles of his body relax and he focuses on his senses. The leaves rustle in the slight breeze and the sound of the occasional car driving by. The smell that can only be described as night, the fragrance of flowers and the slightly overflowing trash can a few feet away. The way the wind licks at his skin, cooling it down but not biting. The wood, firm and unforgiving beneath him.
It’s a form of meditation for him and just like every time, he chastised himself for not using it more.
He’s not sure how much time passes, lost in the pure stimulation of the world around him. Padding footsteps enter his hearing but he’s desensitized to them by now. Not even the panting of a dog can draw him out and he doesn’t even notice when they halt in front of him, the soft but steady breathing blending into the symphony around him.
The bench creaks when a body sits next to him and he lazily starts to bring his focus back in on himself, slowly reconnecting all the parts of him that had spread out. One after another, his thoughts begin to line up and eventually he cracks open an eye, noting the visitor beside him staring up at the sky thoughtfully.
His heartbeat speeds up as recognition dawns. He swallows nervously. “Zen?”
A soft smile plays over Zen’s lips as he turns to look at Saeran, eyes dancing in amusement. “That’s me~”
Thump. Thump. Thump.
His heart is racing. Can Zen hear it from where he’s sitting? Saeran bites his lip before returning the smile, quickly ducking his head to look at his lap after. He’d given up on this, but now it’s happening and he has no idea what to do.
Thankfully, Zen doesn’t seem to have the same problem.
“Hey, look. I didn’t mean to embarrass or upset you when I teased you. I’ve had people say I’m a bit of a flirt, haha...” A beat of silence. “I sincerely didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’ve been hoping to run into you again so that I could tell you that.”
The sincerity on his face is unquestionable, not that Saeran ever once blamed Zen for any of this. “Actually,” he says so quietly it’s almost a whisper, “I was hoping to run into you to apologize.” Taking a deep breath, Saeran pulls his bag onto his lap and carefully extracts the manilla envelope that hasn’t left it since the day he put it in. When he dares to glance at Zen out of the corner of his eye, he sees him looking at it with something between curiosity and wariness; he supposes that makes sense. Never know what’s going to be in these things. “You didn’t do anything wrong, I just… I suck at talking to people. Especially… especially handsome men. And I, uh. Wasn’t in a good state of mind at the time.” Heat tingles in his cheeks and he toys with the corners of the envelope a bit. “I know you felt guilty and I feel bad about it, so I made you this. Um. Yeah.” He holds it out, still not looking up.
Zen tugs the envelope from his hands and he tenses when he hears the crinkle of it opening and the subsequent scratch of paper sliding out. There’s a hitch of breath; then silence. Saeran can’t bring himself to look.
“You… made this?” Is that awe in Zen’s voice? No, it can’t be. “An amaryllis… and you… you think this flower best represents me?”
When Saeran had decided to paint Zen something, he’d wracked his brain over what the actor might like. Theatre, dogs, food? Without any real way to obtain accurate information, he’d decided to go with a subject he knew best and that hopefully Zen would appreciate: flowers. The little he’d learned of the man’s history combined with being successful and not just because of his looks had cemented which flower in his head easily enough. The rest had been easy.
The flowers blooming in a small garden.
The background a simple farm house, an undetailed figure in the back with long silver hair.
And a small note scribbled at the bottom explaining the name of the flower and what it means, along with his signature.
It’s not much, but it’s something.
“From what I know about you, yeah.” Saeran feels frozen in his position, afraid to look. He’s never been good at watching people react to his art, and he’s never given something like this to a stranger before.
Some more silence. Saeran’s heartbeat fills it, ringing loudly in his ears and blocking out everything but the sound of his breathing. Doubt begins to creep in. Was this a mistake? Should he not have given him this?
“I’m… wow. No one’s ever done something like this for me before.” A soft touch on his arm and Saeran finally raises his eyes to meet Zen’s, only to be sent reeling from the emotions broadcasted across his face. “Thank you…” Zen glances back down at the painting, eyes widening a moment. “...Ray Choi. Wait.You’re Ray Choi?”
“Um. Yeah. P-please don’t tell anyone. And uh. Call me Saeran.”
Zen nods, that soft smile back in place. “Okay, Saeran. Wow. This is so beautiful. And yeah, I’ll keep your secret, no problem. Hey, are you hungry?”
The sudden change in topic throws Saeran off and he furrows his brows, taking an extra few moments to process the question. “Hungry…? Kind of,” he admits slowly, confused.
“There’s a café just down the road. I’ve got to run Princess back home but do you want to have breakfast with me?” The smile morphs into a wide grin, a sparkle making it’s home in Zen’s eyes. “I know four is a little on the early side, but I haven’t eaten yet and I’m starving. Rehearsal ran late and then I felt like going for a run. Oops.”
Breakfast with Zen? Saeran rubs his eyes a moment, blinks a few times at Zen. Pinches his arm. This has officially changed to dream status; he has to be sleeping, right?
Zen chuckles at the reaction. “You’re awake, trust me. It’ll take me about fifteen minutes to get home, changed and back to the cafe. Sound good?”
The corners of his lips twitch as Saeran nods. “Yeah. Sounds… sounds good.”
“Great.” Standing, Zen stretches and tosses Saeran a wink. “I’ll see you there.” Then he’s off, jogging in the direction Saeran’s always seen him come from, dog at his side and wow, his body is just as fantastic from the back as the front.
“Huh.” Maybe Saeran’s not destined to be alone with only his brother for company after all.
Maybe there’s some hope for friendship after all.