MONTAGE. - g.st + c.ym

three.

Tak seemingly found watching Youngmin to be one of his favourite pastimes because it then extended to outside of their personal life and into their working world. Youngmin would be writing up reports on operations - still less risky ones so as to ease himself back into everything - and Tak would be sitting on his desk's edge, following every movement of his hand as it brought the pencil's tip back and forth across the paper, drawing an organ in detail for demonstration of the procedure.

"Have you ever drawn someone before?" The question mildly startled Youngmin out of his focus, his index finger going up to push his glasses higher along the bridge of his nose before giving Tak a scarcely acknowledging side-glance.

"Not really, no," Was all he said, hesitant to continue to disturb the tranquillity that had until then enveloped his office.

"Hm," Tak hummed in contemplation, "Then draw me."

Youngmin's hand stiffened, led point pressing harder into the paper as he processed the words so innocently spoken. He noted how whilst his voice broke the peace of the room, Tak's strengthened it, completed it.

Seungtak had rested his weight backwards against his palms set on the desk, waiting for Youngmin to stitch a few words together patiently, and then the latter was looking up at him again through those immaculately clean glass lenses and Tak questioned how the man was supposedly older than him if any semblance of closeness had him tensing and blushing. It was cute.

"I ... can try."

It was always a joy to see Youngmin flustered, have a chance to peer into a less cocky side of him, and Tak was delighted to peel away the layers that made up the man before him.

"Great!" His eyes skittered across the desk until landing upon a clean piece of paper and snatching it up, covering Youngmin's current report with it and getting into position: elbow resting on a leg he brought onto the desk and chin pressing into the palm of the same hand, an excited smile finding home on his lips.

Youngmin gawked at the audacity of it all, sight speeding between the blank paper and the younger male sitting so close to him, on his desk of all places, and looking directly at him. Not his hand at work, the detailed diagrams, but him.

He thickly swallowed, gave a disbelieving laugh and went to toss away the paper.

"I'm working," He rejected the suggestion with logic, hoping it would work because he did not want to have to stare at Tak's face, didn't want to possibly humiliate himself if he couldn't draw portraits at all. Tak was quicker than him though and splayed a stubborn palm atop the paper before Youngmin could return it to its place of origin.

The professor met his eyes with astonishment, silent, and for a moment he could swear Seungtak dropped a subtle look to his mouth before returning to his eyes with a saccharine sweet smile.

"Try," He encouraged, subsequently adding "For me?" as though it were the cherry on top - which it was but Youngmin didn't know how Tak knew it would be.

So he huffed, grumbled incoherently under his breath and got comfortable. For a moment too long he remained strained on the paper, almost pathetically afraid to look up at the other, but he begrudgingly steeled himself and lifted his head.

A sharp inhale ripped through him at the sight.

It was late in the afternoon, the office curtains mostly drawn shut, but the light that streamed in through their thin material was of a soft gold and daffodil yellow, landing with such delicacy on the arches of Tak's skin that he looked to be a painting come to life. His hair appeared to be as soft as spun sugar tousled upon his head and ending in little waves just above his eyes. His eyes, that warm brown that glimmered like amber and sucked anyone in if they were to look long enough. That was how to encapsulate the essence of Seungtak: warm.