Red String (Series #1) \\ Ateez ✔

reverie

THIRD POV

The sea stretched out before him, a canvas of ever-changing blues and greens.

He sat on a weathered wooden bench, a palette of vibrant colours in his hand. With each brushstroke, he tried to capture the fluidity of the waves, the way they rose and fell with the rhythm of the sea.

He painted with a sense of purpose as if each stroke was a piece of a puzzle that he was trying to solve.

"It's going to rain soon."

A familiar voice spoke behind him, footsteps crunching on the pebbly sand as the figure approached.

Seonghwa merely nodded, not averting his gaze from the painting. "I know,"

Wooyoung frowned. "You're going to catch a cold," He warned, a crease forming between his brows. "And you need to rest. we wouldn't want our King getting sick because of his desire to paint under the cold sky."

Seonghwa sighed from his words, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

"I'm not the King."

"Oh really, but in a week you are to be crowned one."

This time, he remained silent, for he knew that he couldn't deny the truth in the latter's words.

Since the last ten months; he seldomly got into brutality and fulfilled his duties as the current Crown Prince; which he had soon earned the respect of the people and the court alike. As the newly appointed successor, of course, he knew that his step to the throne was inevitable.

As the days inch closer and closer to the day of his coronation; his perturbed soul often gets caged with trepidations and fears.

But he does not let it show.

"I know," Was Seonghwa's plain answer, again.

But after all the dread of preparing for the coronation, he would always find himself back in the ocean to paint— the comfort he would always go back to wherever life would take him.

Then the lilac-haired joined him at the scene as he developed a painting. In his canvas he painted a woman facing her back; Her long brown hair fluttering in the breeze.

Wooyoung nestled close as he surveyed the latter's painting, "Who is she?" He pointed with interest.

Seonghwa's gaze lingered on the unknown woman depicted on his canvas, and just like that again, a familiar ache gripped his chest.

"She's no one," He replied, his voice hollow.

"I doubt that," Wooyoung cheekily retorts, his eyes narrowing. "You can't even make me a subject to your painting, let alone a woman you don't know?"

The Prince remained mum.

It was true. He never paints anything insignificant for he believes it was a waste of paint— but in this case, he couldn't help it.

It was an irresistible urge to not paint the woman he constantly sees in his dreams.

"I don't know who she is," Seonghwa says as a matter of fact, his voice mingling with the waves of the sea. "She's just... Nobody. Someone without a name."

Wooyoung linked his arms to Seonghwa's shoulder. "Alright, I see." He inched near as he scrutinized the details of the artwork, "Ah you painted the waves so prettily! You know what, you should add more strokes right here..."

Seonghwa was never a man of too many words, but he would gladly comply with every one of the younger's adamant requests. After all—  once he became king, such opportunities would be rare.