honeybee || jong gun

iii

"I don't know him, really," you said, taking a sip of the drink you ordered. Deciding that it wasn't worth it to go to your self-study sessions today, you asked Daniel to move to a more public place, where you could be less worried about a physical altercation (hopefully).

So, you were sitting at a local coffee shop, one that you were told Jace worked at.

"Today was my second time meeting him, the first time..." here you paused, thinking it through.

You weren't going to tell them that he was your soulmate (oh god, that word made you uncomfortable to think about).

"I was at karaoke with some friends, when him and some blond guy broke the door down," you said, looking down into your drink.

"Was he wearing glasses?" Daniel asked, and you nodded. "Then that's Goo." You saw Vasco's grip on his milk carton tighten.

"I'm not sure what happened after," you continued, "I... honestly can't remember, but I can ask my friends about it." You remembered that Mae said she would fill you in later, so you made a mental note to call her later tonight. "All I know is that Gun showed up today and thanked me for something, I'm... I'm-- not sure what for," you fumbled over your words and swirled your drink, taking another sip from it.

Daniel nodded his head, and you felt relieved that it looked like he was going to drop it. At least until Zack said, "So, something happened, and now that fucker Gun is thanking you and you can't remember why? I call bullshit." He sneered, some strands of hair falling from his pomade. "You're hiding something."

There was a lull in the conversation, and then, "Look," Daniel said your name in a pleading tone, "Gun is a very dangerous person, and he's done things that make me sick to think about. If you know anything about him, please tell us, anything that can help us take him down."

You thought about it. If they took Gun down, and if they meant put him down for good, then you'd have to go back to your colorless life and dead looking flowers. You... you couldn't have that. You wouldn't allow it.

"Do you mean to kill him?" you asked, leaning back in your seat and locking eyes with Daniel.

"...If it comes down to that."

Daniel was hesitant to answer, but it solidified your decision.

"Then no, I don't think it's my place to reveal anything about him---if I even knew anything," you said, the lie thick on your tongue. You knew one thing, one, but it was enough that you didn't want to tell them. "In fact, judging by your reactions, it seems as though you guys might know more than me. So, please, enlighten me on the kind of person Gun is."

You were being selfish, but when was that new?

That night you went home with more questions than answers. Daniel really didn't hold back when he revealed a world you had no idea existed, one that you weren't sure if you wanted to have any involvement with. It seemed impossible now, as you were delicately intertwined with one of the main facets of it, and some part of you wished that Gun wasn't yours.

The other part of you couldn't stand thinking of him as someone elses.

You wouldn't say you liked the guy. Not yet, at least. You could agree that he was attractive and the way he carried himself made you choke on your words, but it was nothing more than an artist's curiosity. You wanted to know more about him in order to draw him better. And you only wanted him to be drawn by your hand, because everyone else would do it wrong.

Speaking of; now that you had a much closer look at him, you'd be able to finally capture him the way you wanted to.

You flipped your notebook open, and froze at what you saw inside. It was almost an illegible scrawl, and it took you a few moments to figure out what was written down.

you're talented. a friend of mine has been looking to get his portrait done, contact him if you'd like to earn some money

and a number was written below.

You knew Gun had to have been loaded, so whoever his friend was had to be well off as well. Especially if he's been looking to get a portrait done. But... that probably meant that he was just as involved in what Gun did. Your resolve to stay as far away from it was quickly crumbling at the thought of money and experience.

If you wanted to begin your work in the art industry, this would be an invaluable experience.

You pulled up a few google searches, looking at what would be reasonable for a portrait. Almost all of them told you that it all depends. What was the size of the frame? The cost of your materials? How detailed did they want it? And, almost just as important, how badly did they want you to paint them? It was almost nauesating, seeing all the different questions you would have to put into consideration. With a sigh, you wrote down some basic frame sizes and prices, settling on differing prices for all of them.

You were really going to do this.

You leaned back in your chair as your phone rang, silently cursing yourself. You fiddled with the hem of your shirt as you did so, feeling less and less sure of yourself as you waited. Tapping your pencil on your book, you sighed and started a quick sketch while it ringed. Eventually, before the call was about to cut off, someone answered.

You introduced yourself, stating that you were only calling because Gun had left this number in your book and you were interested in the job.

"Eh? Gun told you," there was a hum and then---"well, I guess you must be good then. He's particular as fuck."

That made you feel warm, an artists pride. "We can discuss this more at length in person, are you alright meeting up?" you asked. Before you even attempted at painting this stranger, you'd like to get a good look at them. Assess how they moved and the way they acted, to be able to capture them in the realest way possible.

Once you got a confirmation, the two of you hung up and you sent them an address as well as a meeting time.

With that finished, you grabbed out some homework and began unwinding for the day. Mindlessly drawing over your faint lines allowed you to unpack everything that's happened recently, and it all felt like some sort of fever dream. The most dominating emotion was happiness and excitement, and you almost couldn't wait for the day you met up with Gun's friend.

You stopped in your thinking, seeing that you deviated from the original homework and had started on drawing Gun's backside. It was rough, and his shoulders were definitely broader than that, though that may have been in large part to the jacket he was wearing.

You felt embarrassed.

It wasn't normal to have a stranger, or at most acquintances, be the source of your artistic ability, to be the connecting theme across your recent artworks. But you couldn't help it. If you tried to draw anything else, it's quality would be significantly lower than that of your quickest sketch of Gun. You wanted to perfect him, and...

It'd be so much easier to do so if you had a picture of him. Preferably without having half of his face covered.

The look you got at his face earlier had been incredibly helpful, and you still had the accompanying profile that you drew in class afterward. You felt as thought you had gotten everything you could for a default full-face, but part of you wanted more. Like if he had dimples when he smiled, or how he looked without sunglasses.

You had experimented with several eye shapes, drawing each one onto a drawing of Gun. None of them looked quite correct, and you found yourself wondering what color his eyes would be. None of your oil pastels or colored pencils were able to fit your vision, none of the colors looked correct, and something deep down inside you told you that they were wrong.

It was frustrating.