Forbidden Desire | sunsun

4

Wonyoung visits the next day.

Sunoo doesn't warn him ahead of time — doesn't even mention it. Sunghoon notices that he chooses to pretend she isn't real when it's just the two of them, keeping certain parts of his life behind a locked door where Sunghoon can't see them, though Sunghoon doesn't know if it's for his sake or Sunoo's.

"I'm teaching her to paint," is all Sunoo says. His feet are kicked up on the table in the sunroom, letting the yellow rays splash across his legs and face as he slowly smokes a cigarette, mostly letting it go to ash. He seems to just like having it between his fingers more than he enjoys actually inhaling off of it.

It's a bright and early morning, filled with the sounds of birdsong and cicadas. The room is warm from the sun, and the sky is clear and blue. The day feels livelier than usual, like some of the life from outside has leaked into the house and illuminated the walls, though, as soon as it reaches the first locked door it's stopped.

Sunghoon stands beside Sunoo, organizing the trays of watercolours and bottles of brushes for when Wonyoung arrives. He likes the smell of the fresh canvas and the gritty, powdery texture of the inks when they rub on his fingers — staining the tips red and blue. He wipes them on his pants, fascinated by the streaks of colour they leave behind.

"I thought you didn't have much experience with painting," Sunghoon says conversationally, sitting next to Sunoo on one of the satin chairs that face the courtyard. It feels soft under his thighs, almost too soft to sit in.

"I don't," Sunoo says simply, smothering the cigarette in a crystal dish. The smoke withers away, crushed under the force of his hand, but the fresh smell of tobacco still lingers in the air. "My father wants me to teach her though, so I'll pretend I've done it all my life." Sunoo flashes him a fake smile, but his eyes still glitter with interest as they linger on Sunghoon. He tends to get like this when he has to do something he doesn't want to — an uncomfortable mixture of both erratic and pessimistic.

"Are you going to paint here?" Sunghoon asks.

"I don't know," Sunoo says, looking like it doesn't matter to him much. "Should I?"

"What does it matter what I think?" Sunghoon chuckles, nudging Sunoo's feet off the table with his hand. Sunoo lets them fall heavily, dramatically, to the floor, before straightening his legs to give Sunghoon room to pass. "It's a nice day for it, but the wind might disturb the paper."

"I care what you think," Sunoo says easily, watching him closely as Sunghoon gets up at the sound of a knock on the door. Sunghoon takes that as his cue to move, as much as he doesn't want to.

"You shouldn't," is all he says before he wraps his hand around the brass knob and swings the door open, revealing Wonyoung, who wears a smile that matches his own.

He doesn't feel like smiling.

"Hello," she says sweetly, peering into the room. Sunoo doesn't look up from his lap when she steps inside to wipe her shoes politely on the rug, ever careful not to be rude. She wears her hair long and straight, looking fresh and summery to match the warm weather in the loose-fitting flowery dress that falls to her ankles. It's reminiscent of a style worn back in Korea, and it makes Sunghoon yearn for home. Maybe it's supposed to have a similar effect on Sunoo, too, by making him yearn for it through her. Sunoo doesn't seem to be much for nostalgia, however.

"Young master," Sunghoon says kindly but sharply, causing him to raise his head before Wonyoung notices his mood. He watches as the miserable expression Sunoo was wearing earlier dissolves into one that's artificial and sweet as he stands, placing a delicate hand on Wonyoung's arm. The change happens quickly, and once it does, Sunoo is unrecognizable.