The misconception that human apathy, isn't solely derived from the one expressing it, is one that burdens the minds of young painters, dreamers, writers. By stating these particular fields of study and work, I don't mean to twist my words, for the damsel in distress in this story, is a plain man. This plain man is a mathematician and by no means does creativity seize to offer a helping hand in that field. But in our lives we all keep a hidden painter, a dreamer, a writer in ourselves or within others we associate close enough with.
This man, named Chanyeol, had met Baekhyun. Small, lazy, unemployed and careless. From what assumptions you might have accumulated by now, they were complete opposites. Now Baekhyun is not to be labeled in this book as a 'quiet place' or a 'safe haven'. He was more of a pain to Chanyeol than any difficult calculus or algebra problem he couldn't manage to solve. But he seized to be, thankfully, the only digits Chanyeol would ever find himself spending so much of his time on. Trying to solve him hours on end, but seemingly not even all of the logic and intelligence in the world would help him reach a final solution. All the experiences, the forehead kisses, the shy glances, the nose bumping, the light touches could never be solved through any system of x and y. And they didn't really have to.
Chanyeols' chalk carved the board, as he swiftly wrote the solution to a problem assigned for a math test tomorrow. With each line and move on the board, followed by the harsh sound of the chalk, little incoherent steps could be heard as the small mans feet padded across the acid brown wooden floors. Baekhyun stood, as tall as his height could permit with his chin upward and gazed at his partners writing. He always found math useless together with all the other sciences and he'd told the tall with aggravation many times. He looked at his face and pushed himself not in a physical manner but more of a mental. He tried to make his heart beat. Beat faster like before. Beat, beat. What time was it. Chanyeol turned slightly and as he shifted, caught a glimpse of the smaller man before him.
His heart was beating, pounding. He couldn't help it. He smiled. A toothy smile. Maybe not the most presentable he'd ever been. He couldn't wipe it off his face. Baekhyun stood. He stood calmly, a bit too calm - a bit too collected. Nothing was forced so everything was fine. Chanyeol turned to him and looked down. He traced his face. He caught strands poking from the front of his hair and twirled them. He twirled them once more. He grinned. Looking down the digits weren't looking good. Stoic face gracing Baekhyun. He sighed- knowingly but awaited for the system to solve itself. He kissed his nose. Paused just there; for a couple of seconds. Maybe minutes. He breathed in. Withdrawing from the smallest scent he returned to his regular posture and took his hand. He drew small circles -for that was the only thing he could afford to draw perfectly- on Baekhyuns palm. Because it had to be perfect. For him. It had to.
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Chanyeol recently rearranged the living room to coordinate with the likings of his beloved. He changed the flowers for the first time. Strange. Nice change. Baek always used to do it. Even though they lived in separate apartments.But he liked change. Baekhyun was sitting on a chair, legs up on the wooden table and the flower pot arranged to the center. Chanyeol had recently picked up a book. He was flabbergasted the first time he saw it. Always complaining about how he never cooked, Chanyeol wanting to make Baekhyun proud bought a book. "Cooking for Mathematicians". Chanyeol laughed thinking about it leaning on the kitchen counter across from the table but still too far away for Baek to heat and ask what's going on. That was it. Right. As he got out the eggs, the bacon, the maple syrup a few feathery touches on his arm halted his actions. Turning around he met a face.
"I'm going to a deli to grab a sandwich for breakfast"
Chanyeol beamed. He pushed himself mentally. Push. No.
"Okay. Do you want me to join you?"
That's not supposed to be a question. But yes leave it be a question. Question means freedom.
"No, it's all good"
Baekhyun walked. Changed from flip flops to sneakers. Keys. He has the keys. Mind. He has a mind. Yes. He walked out. He slammed the door subconsciously.
Chanyeol looked out at the window just nearby the kitchen counter. Calm. The flowers. Flowers seemed to make him calm the past few months. Paint he should go. He should go paint the flowers. When Baek returns, he can give him the painting. Yes.
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Baekhyun never came back. Chanyeol is still waiting for him. Wakes up everyday. Looks out the window. He waits. While waiting he decides to make tea. Every day. He recently quit his job. He pours the tea from the kettle to the cup. He still has the same table. He kept them. The flowers. In the case. The same vase. He awaits for Baekhyun to change them. He smiles at them. They were brown. He forgot. He forgot the color that they used to be. Panic. No they were yellow. He smiles. He sits down. With his tea. Shoots up and walks over to the window with the flowers. He forgot to do that today. He smiles. He picks up the book. Yes the book. He will cook for him. Maybe tomorrow. He sits down again. He looks around.
The house, ironically filled with paintings of the flowers but; they are different. Each one is different. How can a bouquet of the same flowers appeal and amaze a man, so as to get so many renditions of them? Nature has a cunning way of doing things. It evolves with it comes change. As does change of heart and change of perspective.
Chanyeol couldn't quite fathom ever having to view Baekhyun in another way. These flowers, the only change he ever needed. The simplest of virtues, in his humble opinion were found in him. As he sat there, twenty years later slowly gliding his eyes through the letters that seemed to escape his train of thought, he smiled to himself and thought.
Was Baekhyun ever the painter?
