Stray Kids Drabbles

My muse

Hyunjin hadn't said much since he came back home from work. He mentioned yesterday that today the band was going to spend half of the day recording new music and the other half was going to be spent learning new choreography for a song.

He had left for work cheerily as ever. You had packed him his lunch and written a brief sweet note and stuck it in his lunchbox. You knew that he was hard on himself sometimes. You couldn't be with him physically, so the notes you sent every day were the next best option.

When he came through the front door, a frown sat on his face. The corners of his mouth were lower than they normally were. You knew the drill. At times like this, he didn't want to be coddled. He didn't want your love and affection during these times.

The two of you had agreed that when Hyunjin came home upset from work, you wouldn't overwhelm him. No kisses, no tender touches, nothing. He just wanted to be left alone and yet you still craved his presence. So the two of you would sit in the same room. Still with each other and yet far away.

Lost in your own forms of escapism while still being near. It made both of you content. When Hyunjin had finally worked himself out of one of his moods, you'd be there. Ready to kiss away the stagnant remainders of whatever unpleasant funk was left behind.

Today was no different. You were curled up on the couch with a book when he entered. Glancing over at him, you didn't bother getting up off the couch. "Welcome home," you called out and then you went back to your book.

Hyunjin kicked off his shoes, hung up his jacket, muttered a similar greeting and went back to the back of the house. You ignored it and continued flipping through the pages of your latest novel. You had been wanting to read this one for a while, so you had been glued to the couch reading it for over an hour.

Out of your peripheral vision, you could make out Hyunjin coming back to the living room. His sketchbook was in one hand and a pencil and eraser were in another. This didn't come as a surprise. He had said it himself that sketching was one of the best ways to let go of his stress.

So the two of you sat for a while. You still soaking up your imaginary world and him drawing all over a blank white page. The only sounds filling the air were the occasional crinkling of paper as you turned the page and Hyunjin's pencil scribbling up against paper.

Without warning, paper tore. You glanced up to see Hyunjin ripping a sheet of paper out of his sketchbook. He balled it up between his hands and tossed it onto the floor. You opened your mouth to say something, but then closed it. Whatever was going on in his head, you didn't want to make it worse.

So you went back to your book until it happened again a few minutes later and again and again. By the fourth time, you closed your book and looked up at him. His teeth had sunken into the soft flesh of his bottom lip. His fingers turned white as he squeezed the ball of paper between his hands.

"Are you okay?" You asked timidly. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He tossed the ball of paper to the floor where it laid with the others. "I can't get the drawing right. Besides that, I kept screwing up the choreography. I thought that maybe drawing would make me feel better, but it's only making me feel worse."

"What are you trying to draw?"

"You."

"Huh?" Soft pink blush rushed up to your cheeks. "Why me?"

"Because I love you, but I can't do you justice. You're my muse, you're my everything. I just can't seem to capture your beauty properly. I can't get the angles of your face right. I can't get your nose right either. I want to draw you, but I can't." He let out a sigh and ran a hand through his long hair.

You chuckled and slowly moved towards him on the other end of the couch. He raised an eyebrow as you gently took his hands in yours. You ran his hand across your jawline and he let out a small laugh. "What are you doing?"

"Maybe if you can feel the shape of my jaw, maybe it'll help." You grabbed his pointer finger and ran it over the top of your nose. "Is it helping?"

"I don't know."

"Well, don't be shy. Go ahead and touch my face."

And so he did. The soft pads of his fingers gently made their way across every inch of your face. You closed your eyes and basked in his touch. He touched you with such delicacy, as if you were the most fragile person on earth.

Nimble fingers ran over your jawline a few more times. Brushing up against your cheekbones. As if he was a sculpture sculpting your face, as lightly as he could, he pressed his thumbs against your eye sockets and trailed up to the corners of your eyes. Using two fingers on each hand, he traced your eyebrows.

Since he was this close to your face, he could see how lovely your lashes were. He had studied your face hundreds of times when you were sleeping, but it had never been like this. He had never had the chance to touch you like this.

It was so intimate and you were so vulnerable. You knew he could see every flaw you had when he was this close to you. Every pore, every scar, every curve, every slope, every single thing that made you, you. Your eyebrows that wildly grew out, the eyelashes that kept falling into your eyes, the peach fuzz. He could see everything and you hated it.

And yet this was Hyunjin. He had told you over and over and over, he loved you and you were beautiful. You lapped up every little praise. Every murmur of approval sent butterflies to your stomach and caused your heart to beat faster. You loved him and he loved you.

Without warning, a thumb ran over your lips. In shock, you opened your eyes to look at him. That's all he needed, the warmth in your eyes. You didn't have to say anything. He tilted his head and let his lips collide with yours. Fireworks popped and sizzled inside of you. Your cheeks flushed red and everything was on fire.

He pulled away and let his forehead rest against yours. "Thank you, my muse."

You smiled and pulled your head away. Kissing the tip of his nose, you moved away from him. "Did it work? Are you going to try to draw me again?"

"Of course. How could I not?"

"Do you have time for a bowl of ice cream before you begin? I know how long your art takes and I think you should probably eat something before you get lost in it and lose track of time."

"I'd never turn down ice cream."

"Good because I have your favorite!"

He watched as you turned and left the living room. Your book sat beside him on the couch. He leaned back with his sketchbook, pencil, and eraser on his lap. How lucky was he? Not everyone had the chance to find their very own muse.