Ink and Honey - Minsung Smut

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A high school dropout, a drug dealer and skin covered in black tattoos. The only thing normal yet unknown thing was the love of cheesecake. Cuts all over a skinny frame, bringing a hint of color to the brooding boy. Long hair, unkempt, the blue color slowly being pushed out by a natural brownish-black. Big baggy black hoodies paired with ripped black denim jeans, black boots with spikes and a choker with silver embellishments. Like a spill of black ink staining a fresh white pad of artists' paper.

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A gentle and sweet-natured artist, with a love for poetry and romance, despite the lack of experience in relationships. An art apron with a pastel pink hoodie beneath, and white tracksuits with pink Converses hid the masculine build, ripped arms, thick thighs and popping veins. A cute and small smile, with a soft and cat-like attitude. Like a drizzle of honey on top of a perfect slice of cheesecake.

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Completely opposite to each other, yet oppositely complete to each other.

In other words,

Meant to be.

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The average height boy kept his hood up, trying to shadow every part of his unwillingly adorable features. his hands that were decorated in silver rings were snugly hid behind cute sweater paws. He slowly dragged his feet to the front door, the heavy bags full of egg, milk and other grocery items weighing his skinny body down. Lazily dragging out his keys, he unlocked the front door and was met by his dark yet comforting hallway. 

'I'm home.' He called out to no one. He felt his heart ache in loneliness, but shrugged it off, throwing his shoes off and trudging down the hallway. He placed the items on the kitchen counter - which was dimly lit due to the light settings. Checking the time, a smile slowly formed on his face.

'6pm, I have plenty of time.' Jisung pulled out the ingredients for the cheesecake, slowly mixing everything together. He started humming whilst crushing the Graham biscuits, and ended up singing at the top of his lungs by the time it was in the oven. This was Han Jisung. Han Jisung - who acts all indifferent, lazy and blasé in the presence of other people - was really a big softie.

Jisung kept himself away from people, to protect himself - and even others. He had had plenty of friends in primary, and a fair few in secondary school too... until he started pulling himself away from everything social.

He reclined onto the sofa, scrolling through tiktoks on his phone, occasionally dancing or singing along with some songs of his favorite bands. He sat there for ages, only getting up once to pull his cheesecake out of the oven, then back on the sofa with nothing to do. This was Jisung's life. He was lonely, isolated, and was in need of love.

At 10pm, he got bored of tiktok and youtube, so he threw his phone onto the table and pulled his knees to his chest, hugging them tightly. The last time he was hugged by someone, he couldn't remember. After his mom died, he forgot what being 'loved' felt like. 

'Two more hours...' he mumbled sleepily to himself. Two more hours before he'd have to get up for his jobs.

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The thick velvety clouds spread across the blackened sky, covering the iridescent stars that sparkled like opal dust scattered onto a black canvas. They slowly unfolded, like a thick duvet on a winters night, shielding and protecting; yet they brought about dullness and gloominess to the night simultaneously. The thin crescent moon was hidden away, lethargically attempting to illuminate the sky through the shadowy haze. The bitter breeze numbed, and its whisper was heard sighing through the almost bare trees. Everything was silent, besides the low hum of the wind. Everything was still, despite the slow rocking of the trees. And everything was noticed; the way the clouds gently rolled like the waves on a cold beach; the fact that one street lamp flickered at the end of the road, second one on the left; and how the skinny person in all black silently slipped down the road, thinking no one could see him.

But nothing goes unnoticed in the night

Especially not by the artist, who paints every single detail in proportion. 

Perfectly.

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'Take it, and go.'

'You don't use 'em yourself, pretty boy? Eh, you should try it.' 

'I deal drugs, I don't use them. Talk to or about me, you see what I do. Understood?'

'Comple'ely.'

--- ---

Jisung woke up, with barely any sleep. He could easily sleep through the day if he wanted to - quite frankly, he had nothing to do in the day. Despite his day job being from 3pm to 6pm, he was now sitting up in bed at 8:30am, yawning groggily and checking his phone for any messages from his nonexistent friends.

He wasn't expecting anything, but he saw a notification pop up from his Instagram account. He pressed it, and saw it was from that famous artist he was following. Jisung always had an admiration for people who were good at art, and this artist's skills were insane. Jisung would go to the gallery every time the artist painted something new, to show his support, but the artist was never there. In fact, Jisung didn't even know the name or appearance of the artist - he only knew that the artist was roughly a year older than he was.

Why was I born such a fucking failure? Jisung thought to himself, regretting his past life decisions. Why on earth did he drop out of high school? And what had his life become of now?

He cleared his head and turned his attention to the Instagram page; the new art was beautiful, of the night sky, clouds swirling yet the moon shining. Jisung could almost feel the wind in his hair... it was so realistic. 'Let's have a look at this art piece in real life, huh Sung?' He said to himself, giggling at the nickname.

Slowly, he went to the bathroom and cleaned his teeth and face, and then wondered what to change into. In his heart, he was absolutely drawn to skirts, crop tops and feminine wear, but he knew he was odd enough and he didn't want society judging him more than they already did. He pulled out a black lace crop top, sighing longingly. He pulled it on, and admired his slim body and abs complimenting the piece of attire. But his eyes were averted, knowing it wasn't 'normal' or up to social 'standards' for a boy to wear girl clothes.

In the end, he kept the crop top on, but pulled on a knee-length long-sleeve black sweater, paired with black jeans and silver jewelery. He liked it that way; society wouldn't judge him, but he still wore the clothes at heart. He just wished he had the courage to wear the skirts and tops, screaming a statement of I DON'T GIVE A FUCK outside.

Maybe one day.