Kaisoo One Shots

Paint me in (a shade of you) [1/3]

Author: Seulpeo

  When Kyungsoo's eyes flutter open, he sees the face of a wizened old man, features lined with scrutiny and perfectionism, hands steady with patience, practice. The room that greets his eyes, as if from another dimension, smells particularly peculiar, something like electricity and mist mingling in the air, creating a soft spark that sends chills down Kyungsoo's very spine. The room itself is splattered with colours of every kind - reds and blues across the floor, yellows and greens streaked around the walls and even a few smatterings of purples and pinks across the ceiling.

'Hello there,' smiles the old man, eyes twinkling with a kindness that doesn't need any explanation. 'Can you speak?' he asks, brows furrowing with worry and Kyungsoo notices how his fingers are wrapped around a curious stick of wood no longer than the man's forearm.

'Y-yes,' croaks Kyungsoo. The sound of his voice startles him, he's never spoken before - but it makes the old man breathe a heavy sigh of relief, tired lungs exhaling expired air. 'Who am I? And what is this place?' asks Kyungsoo, large eyes scanning the multicoloured environment. The room is nothing short of comfortable and neat, painted in pastel acrylics and laced with magic. Kyungsoo's portrait seems to portray him as an old fashioned singer, marble floors and chandeliers and plush cushions and a chair his only companions.

'You are Kyungsoo, and you are a portrait. I am your artist, and this is my - studio, if you will,' says the old man. His words carry with them a sense of repetition, and although Kyungsoo's never heard these lines from him before, he can tell they've been repeated thousands of times. 'It's alright if you don't like it here. You're going to your proper home tomorrow morning.'

'Proper home?' pipes Kyungsoo, genuinely curious. 'You mean this place isn't it?'

The old man chuckles, throws back his head to allow himself a hearty laugh. When he's done, he has tears collecting at the corners of his eyes, and he swipes his fingers over them. 'Of course not. This is just the place where... You are born. Once completed, I send you off to your proper home and I can assure you you'll like it better there. Who'd want to live in a dump like this?'

'I wouldn't mind!' Kyungsoo exclaims. The old man smiles fondly at the portrait, who smiles uncertainly back. 'Where is my proper home, anyway? What's it called?' Kyungsoo asks, curiosity peaking again.

The old man's smile widens. 'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.'


Kyungsoo finds himself bundled up in bubble wrap and shoved into a box for the journey from his - birthplace? Maybe that was the word he should use from now on - to the school. He sits in narrow darkness, heart hammering in his chest and head spinning and it's not because he's claustrophobic - it's because he has anticipation built up under his painted skin. He's curious to know how his new home looks like, how his fellow portraits and the students would greet him... How he'd fit in.


The journey is short and unpleasant - Kyungsoo feels his body being sucked into itself and then expanding all at once, and it leaves him dizzy and uncertain as to where his feet are. It's still dark and he can't exactly see anything, and even though his body is protesting against his mind, he decides to stay still. His limbs are all over the place and he thinks he's going to cramp up in the most cumbersome places, but, well. He can't see what other option he has.

'What's this one's name?' he hears, the voice muffled through layers of packing material and a protective charm. 'Didn't get to sneak a peek when I came to get you,' the voice is gruff, and Kyungsoo wrinkles up his nose. He didn't like the sound of the man.

'Kyungsoo,' answers the artist, and Kyungsoo swells with pride. It makes him feel more important, being called a name in comparison to just "this one". He decides he quite likes his old artist. He will miss him. 'He doesn't know it yet, but he's got a marvellous voice. Took me weeks to come up with the proper ingredients for his voice potion, I can tell you that. Took me another long while to sort out his neck structure. But it's all worth it in the end, that's guaranteed. You'll see.'

Kyungsoo smiles to himself at his artist's words. Hearing all these things about himself - his inception, the process of his creation - makes him impatient, far too excited to see the world and properly get to know it. He isn't a week old yet, in fact, the protective charm that gives his portrait a sheen is barely setting in, but he's looking forward to this experience nonetheless.

He hears the creaking sound of heavy doors, the polite exchange of greetings between people who are not quite friends but owe each other favours. 'He's in there, I presume?' comes another voice, clipped and female and somewhat wobbly with age, and he hears his artist sound his ascent. 'Perfect. I'll have someone show you to the corridor we want him put up in. Terribly sorry, I'd do it myself but it seems the Care of Magical Creatures professor has brought in a shipment of rather peculiarly shaped wombats,' says the voice, followed by footsteps that echo away from Kyungsoo.

'Right this way, please,' comes a younger voice. Kyungsoo is just about tired of listening to footsteps, to the soles of almost worn-out shoes hitting stone floors, when the motions stop altogether and Kyungsoo can just tell - he's arrived. 'If there's anything at all that you need, please don't hesitate to ask!' says the younger voice, and then it is gone.

Kyungsoo decides now might be a good time to untangle himself, so he rearranges his limbs so that he's sitting down, cross-legged on the marble floor that lines his portrait. Seconds later all the packing material falls away, and his artist smiles at him. 'Perfect,' mutters his artist under his breath. 'Just perfect,' he says again, and then he waves his wand. A hole appears in the wall just where the artist intends for Kyungsoo to hang, and the portrait itself floats gently upward.

Kyungsoo rushes to the very boundary separating his world with reality, presses his hands right up against the invisible barrier that stops him from falling out of the painting. The distance between him and the floor just grows and grows, and soon Kyungsoo discovers he isn't quite cut out to stomach heights. His head spins and he gets a little queasy, so he decides to take a few steps backward and settles into the chair that's been painted in the corner of his portrait.

Once he's properly hung up, his artist takes a step back to admire his work. His brows furrow as he tilts his head slightly, adjusts the portrait with a twitch of his wand. 'Perfect.' he murmurs, satisfaction engrained in his voice. 'Now I just need to...' and he waves his wand a couple more times, whispers words Kyungsoo doesn't quite catch. Before Kyungsoo can make sense of what is happening, the paint and concrete that make up the wall of his portrait disintegrates, revealing doors to his left and to his right.

'What-'

The artist smiles at him. 'You're in your new home now, Kyungsoo,' he says, so endearingly Kyungsoo can't help but smile. 'Those doors I just put in - they'll let you travel from portrait to portrait. They'll open up directly into the portrait next to yours, so do be careful, people don't like walking into doors. It does a great difference to knock,' the artist says. Kyungsoo nods obediently. 'Oh, and - this is mostimportant, Kyungsoo - the magic that keeps you alive is embedded in your portrait. You will live, at this age, in this exact condition for as long as your portrait stays intact. You can stay away from it for as long as you like, it can be slashed, splattered, anything - as long as it can be restored by magic, you'll be alright.'

Kyungsoo nods again, vigorously this time, head bobbing up and down and his artist chuckles. 'You're all settled in, then,' the old artist says, and Kyungsoo gets to his feet just as the former turns to leave.

'Where are you going?' he hollers, and it's a testament to how badly he knows the world that he's startled when several pairs of painted eyes fall upon him. He flushes slightly, lips hastily pressing into a straight line. 'Sorry,' he murmurs, but his artist only chuckles.

'I'm going back home, Kyungsoo. I've settled you where you need to be settled, everything's in order. You'll be fine.' the artist hesitates, uncertainty shaking the corners of his lips. Parting with something he's worked so hard on, no matter how outlandish the sum he gets paid in exchange, is never easy. It gets harder when it comes to pieces he invests himself emotionally in, and it takes everything in his old soul to step so willingly away from his masterpiece. 'Have a good life, little Kyungsoo.'

'Wait!' Kyungsoo yells again, this time uncaring as to the attention he draws to himself with the volume of his voice. His artist is slowly disappearing down the hall, and there's one last thing Kyungsoo desperately needs from him. 'Your name! Please - give me your name.' his request has the footsteps halting, the artist hesitating before he turns to face Kyungsoo again.

'I just - I feel like I should have something substantial to remember you by. I know you painted me,' - Kyungsoo gestures around his portrait, arms sweeping around the expanse of it - 'but you haven't signed your name anywhere. I want - something of yours that isn't mine, if you could - if you could be so kind,' Kyungsoo finishes.

The old man's shocked expression melts away into a fond smile, and he ends the pregnant pause that falls between them with pleasure. 'My name is Lee, Kyungsoo. Just call me Lee,'

'Lee,' Kyungsoo repeats, marvelling at the word. He knows it's a surname, knows it's Asian just like his artist - Lee's - face, and he wonders what the latter's first name is. He thinks up the words to his question and is about to holler it at Lee -

The artist is gone.


Kyungsoo spends his first night in a fitful sleep. His chair is comfortable enough and it reclines, so his back is laid flat and his body doesn't crumple uncomfortably in his sleep. He'd spent the first few hours after Lee's departure just reexamining his portrait, taking in the slight tilt of the wall and the exact shade of blue painted on the ceiling. The next hour was spent pacing the length of his room (about 25 footsteps, toe to toe) and the width of it (ten), followed by an hour of pressing his head right up against his portrait barrier, trying to gauge his surroundings with his limited vision. He can make out that his neighbours are a couple of noisy-sounding fellows, what with the bellows and the chuckles passing through his doors, and that across him - well, across him there is an empty portrait.

It doesn't look very aged, sheen still prevalent on the canvas. It's a rather coarse painting, brush strokes hard and rushed, but it depicts the scene lying inside the frame with a kind of rawness Kyungsoo knows is difficult to translate to paint and canvas. The portrait is that of a rather dark room, heavy wooden floors and walls adorned with frame upon frame of miniature moving photos. There isn't much else in the room, just a large expanse of empty space, but Kyungsoo suspects the panels in the walls open up.

Kyungsoo watches the empty portrait with intrigue for hours, but no mystery man emerges. He sits staring for hours on end, until night has fallen and the brackets on the walls light up by themselves. The sounds coming from his neighbours die down, and Kyungsoo eventually decides it's time to go to bed.

He falls asleep easily enough, but calm doesn't blanket him the way it does when he's in the studio.

The portrait opposite is still empty.


Kyungsoo awakens the next morning and very nearly has a heart attack. There are two men, identical in age and height, hovering above him, smiles plastered across painted faces. One of them has an angular face, and wears a set of Muggle clothes and an infectious (albeit mischievous) smile. The other is softer, dressed in exuberantly coloured dress robes, and is grinning equally as wide.

Kyungsoo blinks at them.

They blink (simultaneously) back.

'Er - hello?' Kyungsoo tries, voice cautious because he'd been told to be prepared for the outside world by Lee, but never in his short life would he ever have expected to be prepared for two strangers breaking into his home. He is somewhat apprehensive, in fact. 'Who are you, and what are you doing here?' he asks.

The two men straighten up, Mr. Angular moving behind Kyungsoo's chair to snap it back straight. Kyungsoo is jolted awake by the sudden action, and he isn't any less grumpy for it. 'Hello, newbie!' says the soft-faced one, reaching out to touch the fabric of Kyungsoo's robes. Kyungsoo watches as long fingers caress the fabric of his collar, before he realises this is probably not proper conduct and snatches it away. 'Ah, cautious little fellow, are you?'

'What?'

'Now, Baekhyun. He isn't little. I daresay he's bigger than you are,' says Mr. Angular, and Kyungsoo can't help but nod in agreement. He has at least half an inch over this Baekhyun character. The look of stubbornness on Kyungsoo's face has Mr. Angular chuckling. 'My, my - how rude of us. We barged in here right after the sun rose and didn't say a word of introduction.'

'Dear me, where are my manners?' Baekhyun exclaims, and then he wraps his fingers around Mr. Angular's wrist and moves him so they're standing in line with each other. 'My wonderful companion here is Jongdae. He's supposed to be some sort of Muggle entertainer, and he's absolutely useless at everything,' Baekhyun introduces. Jongdae dips into a funny little bow.

'And my equally wonderful companion here is Baekhyun. He's meant to be a kind of fashion man, but he's got the most dreadful taste anyone in this corridor has ever come across,' Jongdae says cheerfully. Baekhyun does a twirl before ending in an unsteady bow. When he straightens up, both pairs of eyes go to Kyungsoo's. 'And what are you supposed to be, fluffy lips?'

'I'm - I'm a singer,' Kyungsoo says, and then when he realises the name Jongdae had called him, 'Hey! My name isn't flu-'

'Oh, how wonderful! Another singer to add to our collection,' Baekhyun gushes, taking Jongdae's hands in his own and clasping them together like an excited schoolgirl. Jongdae curls his lip in disgust and mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like Let go of me or I will not hesitate to set fire to your fabric samples. 'Jongdae and I sing too, fluffy lips! You should sing with us some time,'

'My name is not fluff-'

'Ah, will you look at the time!' Jongdae exclaims, when he hears the chiming of the clock down the hall. 'All the students will be rushing to class, soon. Just a minute,' Jongdae says, and then he excuses himself, exiting swiftly through the door on the left. Minutes later a loud screeching is heard from the direction Jongdae's just disappeared in, and Kyungsoo hastily covers his ears with his hands. Baekhyun just smiles.

'Why aren't you shielding yourself from that awful noise?' Kyungsoo half-yells, and Baekhyun actually chuckles.

'Because I'm used to it.' Baekhyun replies simply, and when he doesn't go on, Kyungsoo resigns himself to just having to find out with time. Sure enough, moments later, Jongdae's voice is amplified and it resonates all through the corridor, high and clear and Kyungsoo wonders what kind of contraption he has in there that makes his voice sound so.

'Rise and shine, my fellow paint splotches!' Jongdae bellows. From where he stands, Kyungsoo can see a few of the other portraits stir. 'The sun is up and it's a lovely day, time to get off those acrylic buttocks of yours before the students prod you awake!' he continues. A collective groan is heard all down the corridor, and Jongdae laughs. 'You know the rules, guys,' he says.

'What are the rules, by the way?' Kyungsoo mumbles to Baekhyun. Somewhere in the background he can hear a low, distinct grumble ofThose bloody rules coming from the portrait with the platinum blond hair and the flat face, and Jongdae's gleeful chuckle in response.

'Ah, yes - I imagine your artist wouldn't have told you the rules yet, seeing as he probably doesn't even know them,' Baekhyun says. Suddenly he drops himself down onto the marble flooring, sitting cross legged as he invites Kyungsoo to do the same. Kyungsoo does.

'Well, Kyungsoo - there are a few rules concerning life on the fourth floor corridor of the East wing - that's where we are, by the way. They're simple enough. First, we must always be up and awake before classes commence. I trust your artist told you the circumstances for your continued existence. Students will try to prod you awake, and they might accidentally blast you to smithereens in the process.' Baekhyun pauses to take in the horrified look on Kyungsoo's face, laughs until his middle hurts, and then stops altogether, every trace of humour gone from his face. How Baekhyun switches gears so fast, Kyungsoo thinks he'll never understand.

'Second, should your portrait be reparably damaged, it is strongly advised that you stay in someone else's portrait until yours is patched up.'

'Or else... What?'

'Or else, fluffy lips, you'll fall out of the portrait, of course. Slashing through the canvas will break the protective charm, this barrier, you see,' - here, Baekhyun raps against the barrier separating them from the real world - 'And you die. Quite unpleasant business, really.'

Kyungsoo shudders.

'Last, but not least, this is very, very important -' Baekhyun leans in, gesturing for Kyungsoo to do the same. 'Do not, under any circumstances, fall in love.'

Kyungsoo draws away, disbelief in his eyes. 'Why on earth is that a rule?' he asks. Baekhyun looks away, stares forlornly out of the barrier and when his voice returns, it sounds so far away Kyungsoo might as well have been on the other side of the planet.

'Because we're portraits, that's why. Love is a very human emotion.' Baekhyun's eyes shift ever so slightly, but Kyungsoo can't see what he's looking at. His next words come out hollow.

'We're not meant to be human.'


It takes Kyungsoo about three days before he finally spots the mystery man who belongs to the portrait opposite him. It's a fleeting glance, a gaze uncertain, and then he's gone again, one of the panels on his portrait wall opening up and swallowing him whole. Kyungsoo stares in wonderment.

It also takes about as long for Baekhyun and Jongdae to stop calling him fluffy lips.

'Hey, Kyungsoo!' Jongdae calls, stumbling through Baekhyun's door into Kyungsoo's portrait. His "necktie" (he says that's the proper name for it - Kyungsoo can't imagine why anyone would call a piece of cloth such a ridiculous name) is somewhat askew, and his hair is set in a way Kyungsoo knows Jongdae wouldn't usually allow it to be. Kyungsoo is sitting cross legged in the middle of the floor, music sheets scattered around him.

'Yes?'

'Have you even left this portrait since you got here?' demands Jongdae, arms crossing as he taps his foot with his lower lip jutting out. 'You haven't, have you? What a hermity singer you are! This won't do at all. Get up,' he says, and with that he promptly tucks his hands under Kyungsoo's armpits, hauls the latter up and doesn't wait for him to steady himself before he lets go.

'Where are we going?' asks Kyungsoo, but Jongdae's already got his mind set elsewhere. Kyungsoo watches as Jongdae's back retreats, and he hammers a solid fist against Baekhyun's door. 'What are you doing? Didn't you just come from there?'

'Hey, Baekhyun!' Jongdae calls, voice carrying through the heavy wood. 'Hey! Fluff - Kyungsoo here hasn't been round to meet the rest of the portraits! Let go of that dreadful handkerchief you're making and let's take him out.'

There is muffled grumbling and a clash that makes Kyungsoo jump, and soon enough the door is thrown open to reveal a very disgruntled Baekhyun. 'For your information, Jongdae, I was not making a handkerchief, thank you very much.' Baekhyun sniffs. Jongdae rolls his eyes. 'I was making a skirt. The ones our students wear are much too long and boring,' he says.

'Whatever,' Jongdae dismisses Baekhyun with a noncommittal flick of his hand. 'Anyway, down to the important stuff. We've to bring Kyungsoo round to meet everyone. Love thy neighbour, and all that.' Jongdae blatantly ignores the bristling Baekhyun produces at the word love. He stares expectantly at the elder.

'Well?'

'Well what?'

'Aren't you going to fix him up?'

'What for?'

Jongdae heaves a huge sigh, drags his palm down his face. 'Are you really going to let the neighbour of the famed Byun Baekhyun, fashionista extraordinaire, go about looking like he hasn't been groomed in weeks? Everyone will talk. Everyone. And you can't claim ignorance either, because he's smack between the two of us. Everyone knows how well we get along.'

'Not well at all,' Baekhyun mutters. Life as a portrait is hopelessly boring, the kind of bore that sets tongues wagging faster than brain cells can connect, and Baekhyun hates being talked about behind his back - unless, of course, it's a compliment. He whirls around to face Kyungsoo, cracking his knuckles in the process. 'Now then,' he says, eyes raking over Kyungsoo's form, from his unkempt hair to his wrinkled clothing, and he sighs.

'Let's get to work.'

Fifteen minutes and a fair lot of shrieking and use of brute force later, Kyungsoo looks as good as new. Jongdae had held Kyungsoo down as Baekhyun undressed him, leaving him unforgivingly nude on the floor before going to his own abode, returning with Kyungsoo's freshly pressed robes. Kyungsoo's hair has been fixed, and really, even though he appreciates the gesture - he absolutely hates being treated as a puppet.

'You're all set!' Jongdae announces, and then they're barrelling through Kyungsoo's portrait to his own, footsteps falling quick against wooden stage flooring as they run to the other side of Jongdae's portrait. 'Hello, open up! We've brought someone to see you!' Jongdae yells.

The door is thrown open to reveal a rather tall man, long in body and face, and Kyungsoo gawks in awe. The man is easily a foot taller than Kyungsoo, and the singer feels threatened. He finds himself propelled forward by the force of Jongdae's push with a don't be shy, he won't hurt you. Kyungsoo decides to trust Jongdae and manages a small 'Er, ah - hi, I'm Kyungsoo,' before all his nerve loses him and he stands there stock still, silent.

'Hello Kyungsoo, I'm Wufan. It's nice to meet you,' he says, and invites the three of them into his portrait. Jongdae and Baekhyun waste no time in familiarising Wufan with Kyungsoo, and in true whirlwind fashion, they get around to all the other portraits in record time. Kyungsoo doubts he'd be able to remember more than half of them when the day is over.

'Ah - well, I suppose he is the last one,' Jongdae says, when he and Baekhyun and Kyungsoo are standing in the portrait belonging to Oh Sehun, the flat-faced boy who absolutely detests Jongdae and his rules. Jongdae hesitates a moment before he turns to Sehun. 'Is he awake, do you think?' Jongdae asks.

Sehun shrugs. 'Beats me. I haven't heard a peep out of him the whole day, but then again, his doors are especially thick. Half the time I can't hear his music even when he's got it turned up high.' Sehun says. Baekhyun nibbles on his bottom lip, uncertainty worrying his brow. Jongdae looks equally uneasy, and Kyungsoo - well, Kyungsoo can only look cluelessly from one man to the other.

'What's the matter?' asks Kyungsoo loudly, interrupting Jongdae and Baekhyun's trail of thought and making them jump. He walks right up to Sehun's barrier, presses up against it as he tries to look into his neighbour's portrait. He pulls back with a start.

'Isn't this the guy who lives opposite me? The one with the big empty room and the panels in the walls that open up like doors of some kind?' Kyungsoo demands. Jongdae and Baekhyun exchange a look, and then turn back to Kyungsoo to give him slow nods. 'I'm going to have to look at him for a long time, don't you think? What's the big deal, let's just get this over with.' Kyungsoo huffs. He's tired, he hates socialising, and really, putting up with Baekhyun and Jongdae's antics have taken a toll on him.

He just wants to go home and rest.

It's with an irritated mind that he lays his fist against the door to the other portrait repeatedly, force increasing with every knock. He's just about to lose patience when the door swings open, and a hand shoots out to grab hold of him by the wrist. It's attached to a long, toned arm, much like, Kyungsoo has to admit, the rest of this mysterious character's body. The stranger's handsome face is painted with sweat, beads of it on his upper lip, traces of it from his hairline all the way down to his chin.

And it should repulse Kyungsoo, possibly anger him further, but the stare that holds his in liquid brown and a sunset calm has the fight evaporating from his very bones. This man, this stranger - is gorgeous. Kyungsoo sees passion burning on his very skin, condensed by the droplets of sweat that the stranger doesn't bother to wipe away.

'Yes?' asks the stranger, rather curtly, but not sharply enough to be considered rude, and Kyungsoo snaps back to reality. 'Is there any particular reason why you're trying to put a dent in my door?' the stranger asks again, gently letting go of Kyungsoo's wrist.

'It's your own fault for taking forever to answer,' Jongdae grumbles. He steps up next to Kyungsoo, steadiness returning to his voice. 'This is Kyungsoo, he's the new guy that came in the other day with that ancient little man. His portrait is opposite yours,' Jongdae states. He nudges Kyungsoo in a signal to offer his hand up for a handshake, but the latter doesn't move. 'Er - Kyungsoo,' Jongdae murmurs.

'Sorry,' Kyungsoo mumbles. His head is hung, hand held out and he can't look Jongin in the eyes, but when no warm palm presses against his own and no handshake comes, he ventures a look up.

All he sees is Jongin staring him down. He can't read the expression in his eyes.

Jongin's eyes trail from Kyungsoo's own to his hand, still outstretched, still offered in greeting. His lips curl in a smirk, and then he's looking in Kyungsoo's eyes again and not taking the latter's hand.

'It's nice to meet you, Kyungsoo,' Jongin says slowly. 'Hope you'll settle into life here well. It's quite dull. But, well - sometimes excitement is a bad thing, isn't it?'

With that last statement, Jongin withdraws, pulling his door closed.

Kyungsoo keeps staring at the dull wood.

'Um - don't worry, fluffy lips!' Jongdae says, aiming a light punch at the younger's shoulder. 'He'll warm up to you in time.'

Kyungsoo hopes he's right.


Kyungsoo sits in the reclining chair of his portrait, eyes trained on the room opposite his. It has been days since Jongin's subtle snub, and really, Kyungsoo should know better than to blatantly lay down his self respect (and discipline) by openly watching his neighbour opposite, but, well. He wants to know. There must be some obscure reason behind Jongin's distance, some sort of secret concealed by faraway brown eyes.


It has been days since Kyungsoo's first started watching Jongin, and yet he still can't quite lay a finger on it.

'What are you doing?' Jongdae asks loudly, slinking into Kyungsoo's room without so much as a knock. His eyes follow Kyungsoo's when the younger doesn't move, and when he catches sight of what Kyungsoo's staring at, he lets out an 'Ah,' in understanding. He makes his way to Kyungsoo's feet, and settles himself on the floor there, sitting cross-legged.

'Have you been watching long?' Jongdae asks, as if it's an inquiry as to the weather today or how Kyungsoo's feeling, not as an accusation of obsession. Kyungsoo stares straight ahead as if in a daze, and Jongdae returns the look with a chuckle. 'Don't worry, it's not in the least bit creepy. He was painted to dance. You're supposed to stare.'

Jongdae says the last few words with such reverence that Kyungsoo breaks his gaze away from the other portrait, eyes moving to stare at the man next to him instead. 'Painted? To dance?' Kyungsoo repeats. Jongdae nods, newly done up hair bouncing atop his head. 'What do you mean?'

'Well, in case you haven't noticed, Kyungsoo - this entire hallway is a dedication to Asians and art culture. That's why we all create in some way - you and I sing, Baekhyun designs clothes, Zitao does martial arts demonstrations whenever students walk by - and Jongin dances. He's actually really good.' Jongdae explains. His lips quirk up into a satisfied smile once realisation dawns on Kyungsoo's face.

'Then how come I've never seen him dance?' Kyungsoo demands, folding his arms across his chest and sinking into the plush of his chair. Jongdae barely holds back the urge to squeeze the younger's cheeks and call him cute.

'He's a very private person, Kyungsoo. He dances when nobody's looking, or in that extra room he's got painted back there,' Jongdae says, pointing a finger towards the wall panel that Kyungsoo knows is, in fact, a door. 'He doesn't even dance for the students, not really.' Jongdae finishes.

'But why?' Kyungsoo asks, exasperated. His question is one that has been skating across his mind for days, never really colliding with a proper answer and he feels like maybe, just maybe - Jongdae could be the one to give him that.

Jongdae doesn't, though. He just smiles a sad smile and shifts his line of vision to focus on Jongin's portrait.

'You'll have to ask him that yourself.'


'Hello there, what's your name!' the question is bellowed into the expanse of Kyungsoo's portrait by a student from Gryffindor, hair askew and tie loosened. Kyungsoo peers up at the giant - who, he can tell, is taller than the average student - and gulps. He has a wild smile and wilder eyes, and Kyungsoo's never felt more afraid before in his life. The student bends slightly, so his face fills Kyungsoo's vision. 'Hello, can you hear me?' he asks.

Kyungsoo gulps. 'H-Hi,' he says, inching closer to Baekhyun's door. The student's eyes follow his every move, and Kyungsoo wants to cry. 'I - I'm Kyungsoo,' he says. He knocks heavily on Baekhyun's door a few times and yells the latter's name, but no fashion designer emerges.

'What are you calling Baekhyunnie for?' booms the student, and Kyungsoo shivers. He's never been within such close proximity to a student before in his short stay at the school, and he's not entirely comfortable.

A hand lands on the student's shoulder just as Jongdae's door flings open, the singer entering spectacularly, smile fixed on his face. 'Morning, Chanyeol!' he yells, and the student waves at him. Jongdae does a double take, and seems to notice the other student behind Chanyeol - a smaller boy, from Ravenclaw, with kind eyes and a shy smile. He stops strutting. 'Hi, Junmyeon. Nice to see you,' he says.

Half a heartbeat too late, Jongdae turns to face Kyungsoo. 'I see you've met our best big friends! That's Chanyeol, he's in the sixth year, Gryffindor and he's absolutely terrifying in the mornings,' - this earns a hey! from the terror in question, but Jongdae ignores him - 'And that respectable young gentleman behind him is Junmyeon, seventh year Ravenclaw. Their parents are neighbours. Say hello.'

An awkward exchange of hellos follows, and then Jongdae is explaining to Chanyeol and Junmyeon what Kyungsoo's talent is. This inevitably leads to Chanyeol demanding to hear Kyungsoo sing, and Junmyeon nodding encouragingly from behind him. Kyungsoo feels all the colour return to his face, along with a fresh wave of blood - and then Jongdae is shoving a music sheet towards the former, and settling himself on the floor to listen.

Kyungsoo clears his throat. He still isn't used to singing in front of an audience yet, let alone such a (literally) large one. Chanyeol's eyes are easily a hundred times bigger than Jongdae's or Baekhyun's, and Junmyeon's also watching, also larger than Kyungsoo's life. Still, he was painted to do this, to entertain, to showcase - so this is what he will do.

He opens his mouth. He sings.

The notes slide across the air like figure skaters on ice, smooth, exact, beautiful - Chanyeol's jaw drops and Junmyeon's eyes widen. Kyungsoo's voice doesn't have the clear power and execution that Jongdae's does - it's softer, richer, is the kind of voice that snakes its way into your heart and soul and stays there. When he's finished with the song, Chanyeol and Junmyeon are left speechless, eyes unblinking as they stare at a bashful Kyungsoo. Jongdae smiles smugly, lips a silent I told you so as he watches the students' expressions.

'Was I... Any good?' Kyungsoo asks shyly.

'Good? You were brilliant, Junmyeon, tell him -'

'Absolutely brilliant!'

'Best singing I've heard in a while -'

'Except for Jongdae!'

'Really, really good and -'

The bell goes off just then, metal clanging against metal in the most unpleasant way, and it brings their conversation to a screeching halt. Chanyeol shoots Junmyeon a look of panic which the latter returns, and they both send hasty smiles to Jongdae and Kyungsoo before taking off down the hallway, robes billowing behind them as they run.

Jongdae and Kyungsoo watch after them, the former snickering when Chanyeol almost trips on his untied shoelace. And then they turn a corner and disappear, and Jongdae and Kyungsoo are left staring down an empty hallway. 'Nice kids,' Jongdae says, almost wistfully. He claps a hand to Kyungsoo's shoulder before he leaves, shoes clicking noisily against marble floor.

Kyungsoo crosses the room and flops down into his chair, sighing with relief. His eyes trail around his space absent-mindedly, taking in cracks and details he already has memorised. And then he looks straight ahead, eyes shooting towards Jongin's portrait out of habit, and he gasps.

There, sitting in the middle of the empty room, is Jongin. He sits with his legs apart, knees bent so he can rest his arms on them. His eyes hold a look of unmistakable wonder that Kyungsoo can see even from across the corridor, and he doesn't know how to react. His throat closes up and his limbs lock in their current position - he's immobilised, caught in the headlights, and all he can do is stare back.

Jongin doesn't move.

Neither does Kyungsoo.

And then, slowly, Jongin's lips curl into a smile. He lifts his hand in a quick half wave, and then gets up and disappears through his wall panel without giving Kyungsoo a chance to respond. The wood consumes him and then he's gone from Kyungsoo's sight, a shadow retreating back into self-inflicted darkness.

Kyungsoo keeps staring.

What just happened?


Kyungsoo wakes up the next morning to a rather violent rapping at his door. 'Kyungsoo! Goodness, wake up!' calls Baekhyun, high voice carrying through the heavy wood of Kyungsoo's door. The singer groans, shifting reluctantly in his chair before Baekhyun's fists start raining down on his door, insisting that Kyungsoo open up.

The younger groans, hollers at Baekhyun to 'Go away, the sun's not even up yet,' before turning on his side, cheek pressed against the ridged fabric of the back of his chair. He half expects Baekhyun to listen to him, but a better part of him knows he should have expected the elder to burst into the room unceremoniously, wood of the door banging into the cement and concrete of Kyungsoo's walls. Kyungsoo tries to ignore him, keeps his eyes firmly shut even as he hears footsteps approaching him.

'Don't pretend you're sleeping, you're a singer, not an actor.' Baekhyun mutters, voice coming from somewhere very close behind Kyungsoo. The latter doesn't respond. 'You are literally the worst actor I have ever stumbled upon, and I have lived in this corridor with Sehun for years. The boy has about three expressions in his repertoire.'

Baekhyun extends a long, perfectly groomed finger towards Kyungsoo's turned back. He jabs him sharply, just by his waist, and it makes Kyungsoo jump about three feet into the air. 'What was that for?' he half-yells, stopping himself just in time when he remembers that the other inhabitants of the fourth floor corridor are probably barely awake yet. 'Couldn't you have waited?'

'No, actually,' Baekhyun smiles cheekily at Kyungsoo, something like mischief twinkling in his eyes. Kyungsoo looks back at him warily, hair still mussed, his cheek still red and textured by the fabric of his chair. 'I wanted to go down to the kitchen to eat for a change, and I figured I'd ask you to come with me. You've never been, have you?'

Kyungsoo shakes his head. He hasn't been anywhere but the fourth floor corridor, and truth be told, he's curious, and a little bored. He wants to explore the castle - envies the students that are allowed the pleasure of strolling through its hallways, its grounds, with the chance to uncover old secrets and new treasures. It's in those moments that he feels most trapped, that the shackles of being nothing but someone's - Lee's - masterpiece chained tightly around his wrist.

'Great. It's settled then - do something about your face and your hair and we'll go,' Baekhyun beams. Kyungsoo steals a glance at Jongin's portrait, eyes moving out of habit, instinctively searching for Jongin's form like he was a ship and Jongin the lighthouse that would guide him home. The dancer is nowhere to be seen, and Kyungsoo assumes that it was to be expected. He was, after all, used to sleeping in his wall panel. He cocks his head towards Jongdae's door.

'What about Jongdae? Shouldn't he come?' Kyungsoo asks.

Baekhyun all but cackles with mirth. 'Honestly, have you seen his pace? He walks about as quickly as a cow to the slaughterhouse,' Baekhyun says. He reaches up and fixes Kyungsoo's hair for him, smiling when his fingers are done teasing the strands into something that looks halfway decent. 'Alright, you're ready. Let's go,' he says, and then he threads his arm through Kyungsoo's, and they're off.

The castle, Kyungsoo discovers, is enormous. There are staircases upon staircases that Baekhyun has to drag him down, and by the time they get to the floor where the kitchen are situated, Kyungsoo is exhausted. They're inside the painting right next to the kitchen entrance, faced with a surly looking knight guarding the door that would (according to Baekhyun) open up into a friendly chef's painting inside the kitchen itself. Baekhyun puts his hands on his hips, cocks his eyebrow and regards the knight as if it's a bad piece that an apprentice seamstress has put together for him.

Baekhyun reaches out and flicks the front of the knight's suit, darkened armour clanging against his fingernail.

The knight doesn't even flinch.

'Move!' Baekhyun commands, puffing out his chest and trying to look important. 'D'you hear me? I need to get into the kitchen. Vacate your post!' he demands again, louder this time, and with the air of a rather pathetic prince nobody pays attention to. Kyungsoo sighs, the knight still stationery. He waddles up to the man.

'Look, sir - I'm sorry for my friend's irreverent behaviour. He truly doesn't mean to insult, it's just - his mouth, you see, it runs without his brain - '

'Hey!'

'Anyway, my point is,' Kyungsoo says, glaring pointedly at Baekhyun to shut up, 'We've come quite a long way, and really I've never been in this marvellous cave of wonders called the kitchen, so could you just do us a favour and, er - permit us entry? Please,' he tacks the last word on hastily, almost as an afterthought, but it does the trick.

The knight reluctantly (at least, that's what Kyungsoo and Baekhyun think, they can't actually see his face) shuffles aside, the joints of his armour creaking. Kyungsoo does a polite bow before dragging Baekhyun's flabbergasted form in behind him, pushing open the heavy wooden door with all the might he can muster and shutting it with the same force.

Kyungsoo wipes the dust off his hands onto his pants, and he's surprised when Baekhyun doesn't tell him off. He turns his head to face the elder, expecting some sort of lecture about fabric quality and colour preservation, when -

'Baekhyunnie!' A figure latches on to Baekhyun's form, one that sounds a little more like Zitao than Jongdae, one with a puffy chef's hat and flour and bits of egg yolk stuck to the front of his grey apron. 'It's so nice to see you!' says the man, note of excitement never missing from his voice even as he releases Baekhyun from his vice-like grip and takes a step back to look at him properly. 'How've you been? And who's your friend?'

Baekhyun smiles widely, holding back a chuckle as he detaches himself from the man's hold. 'One thing at a time, Yixing,' he murmurs, and the chef nods, beckoning them over to the island in the center of his portrait that's currently laden with breakfast foods. 'My friend's name is Kyungsoo, and he's starving. I see you cooked up a feast for an army, as usual,' Baekhyun jokes.

Yixing's face immediately hardens at the mention of the word army. His eyes take furtive glances to the other portraits, to the house-elves bustling about getting breakfast for the students ready. Kyungsoo half expects him to snap the head off anyone who makes a sudden movement in the next three seconds. He's glad when Yixing's eyes fall back on Baekhyun's, and he doesn't.

'Don't mention armies, Baekhyunnie. Such unpleasant talk,' Yixing hisses, and Baekhyun's brows furrow together. For as long as he's known Yixing (and Yixing has been in the kitchen since before Baekhyun was painted), the chef has never been averse to any topics Baekhyun could think up. The blank look on both visitors' faces has Yixing sighing. 'Haven't you heard about what's going on?' Yixing asks.

Baekhyun and Kyungsoo both shake their heads, stacks of pancakes shoved towards them as Yixing begins to speak again.

'There was a commotion in here, a couple of nights ago. One of the house elves - I can't remember which, they all look the same to me - was found frozen by the staircase down to the dungeons. It was like he was turned to stone - only, of course, his eyes could still move and his skin was still soft - but the rest of his body, it was like all his bones had gone leaden and his joints had stiffened.' A house elf shuffles by just below Yixing's portrait, and he waits until it's out of hearing range before he continues. Baekhyun and Kyungsoo are both leaning in, enraptured by his story, faces stuffed with food.

'They put him on the table that's meant for Hufflepuff food and tried loads of things - charms, potions, even a couple of spells I didn't understand. Elf magic, see, Baekhyunnie - so different from human magic, but just as potent, maybe even more so - and they couldn't do anything. They couldn't save him.' He finishes speaking with a look of mystery, as if awaiting a prompt to go on.

'And then what happened?' Kyungsoo asks.

'Well, they got one of the Professors walking by - this was at about two in the morning, mind you, what the teacher could have been doing is beyond me - and begged him to put the elf right. He wasn't one of those kind-looking fellows, though, and, well - he refused to do anything. Refused absolutely and actually laughed.'

'What happened to the elf?' Baekhyun ventures to ask, plate already only bearing a few crumbs before him.

'We don't know.' Yixing murmurs. He gathers up Baekhyun's breakfast things and shovels them into the sink. The sound of water running and thoughts welling up inside Yixing's head drowns out the sound of Kyungsoo's noisy chewing.

'All we know is when we woke up the next morning, the frozen elf was gone.'

A chill runs up Kyungsoo's spine, travels all throughout his body and makes him shudder. He's still new to the school, still somewhat fascinated by the magic students (and wizard portraits - which means, not Jongdae) can perform, and hearing about things as unpleasant as this unsettles him. Hogwarts is meant to be a safe haven, Lee had said. The teachers were highly qualified and there was rarely anything they couldn't solve, he'd said.

Yixing's account of the teacher who refused to extend help, instead laughing in the face of dozens of house-elves in distress, chipped away at Kyungsoo's belief in Lee's words. Was Hogwarts changing?

Baekhyun notices the discomfort in Kyungsoo's face and clears his throat loudly. 'Well, Yixing - that was some really excellent breakfast, and it was great seeing you. I think Jongdae's just about to sound the alarm for the rest of our corridor to wake up, so we'll get going, it's a long trek back.' He gets up, offers a hand to Kyungsoo to help him off his stool and faces Yixing for a final goodbye hug.

When he lets go, both him and Kyungsoo make their way to the exit, until Baekhyun seems to remember something and whirls around to look at Yixing. 'Hey - Yixing! You don't happen to have any fried chicken or anything lying about?' he asks, coy notes in his tone of voice. Yixing thinks for a minute before he disappears through the other door of his portrait, running, Kyungsoo assumes, to someone who has what Baekhyun's asking for.

'Why would you ask for fried chicken? It's barely 9 am!' Kyungsoo asks, eyes bewildered. Baekhyun shrugs his question off without an answer, and soon enough, Yixing is back with his request.

'Here you go,' Yixing says, handing over the bowl of food. Baekhyun takes it gratefully, mutters a thank you, Yixing, you are truly the best person in the world and then they're really off, making their way back up the maze of staircases until they reach their destination. Once they're in the fourth floor corridor, Baekhyun shoves the bowl of chicken at Kyungsoo.

'Here,' he says, relinquishing his hold on the bowl. 'Take this to Jongin. I have to go and grovel to Jongdae for not taking him with us to the kitchen,' he finishes, and he's about to escape through the door of his portrait to Kyungsoo's when the latter's hand wraps around his wrist.

'Hang on,' Kyungsoo says. 'Why are you giving him chicken? He can't have been up early enough to ask you to bring him some,' he says, and a small, almost sad smile stretches Baekhyun's lips. He gently yanks his arm out of Kyungsoo's hold, shoves him in the opposite direction.

'I owe him a favour.' Baekhyun says, and his tone suggests to Kyungsoo that the latter shouldn't press the matter. Baekhyun's voice sounds so sad, despondence echoing in the undertones, and Kyungsoo's never known Baekhyun to be sad. Angry, yes, plenty of times, but never sad.

So Kyungsoo leaves without further question, and only regrets his readiness when he's in Sehun's portrait, fist poised to knock, hesitation tying his limbs in place.

'He can't hear you unless you make a sound, you know,' says Sehun drily. The actor is standing behind Kyungsoo, arms folded across his chest, impatience making his foot tap an irritating rhythm. 'And in order to make a sound, Kyungsoo, one should knock. Unless, of course, one is a singer, and then I suppose one could belt out the highest note one can manage to get attention. But I don't think the other portraits would appreciate that.'

'Shut up a minute, Sehun.' Kyungsoo mumbles, almost under his breath, but Sehun hears it and shuts his mouth. Kyungsoo takes a deep, steadying breath, intimidation exhaled out of his being with carbon dioxide and insecurity, and he knocks twice.

Jongin answers almost immediately.

'Oh, Kyungsoo!' he says, and Kyungsoo doesn't know if it's his imagination, but the dancer seems almost pleased to see him. The smile that envelopes Jongin's lips has his eyes lighting up, his cheeks drawn up to make him look much, much younger. Kyungsoo can only stare, breathless as he watches Jongin regard him.

'Do I have something on my face?' Jongin's tone is amused, and Kyungsoo immediately feels himself colour. He ducks his head, thrusts the bowl of food towards Jongin without a word. Jongin takes it, chuckling merrily when Kyungsoo doesn't lift his head.

'Are you hiding from me, Kyungsoo?' Jongin asks, and he bows his own head, tilts it so he can just spot Kyungsoo's expression beyond the droop of his hair. Another chuckle escapes him, and then fingers curl around Kyungsoo's chin and his face is being tilted upward, eyes with nowhere to look but into Jongin's.

'With a face like that, I should think the whole world would want you to keep your chin up.'

Kyungsoo's breath is stolen from his lungs, every last bit of oxygen drawn out just with those words. When Jongin lets go Kyungsoo finds himself wishing that the touch would have lingered longer, lasted longer, just - for a moment longer, that he could feel connected with the dancer. But it doesn't happen, of course, and he needs to find his vocal chords now before Jongin thinks he has a mental deficiency.

'I - um, - well, thank you. I'll be sure to - to keep that in mind. Baekhyun's best,' Kyungsoo wills the floor to open up and swallow him whole - his tongue has never failed him like this before. 'I mean - I mean Baekhyun sends his best. With the chicken. Yeah. Enjoy!' Kyungsoo splutters, before backing out of Jongin's portrait into Sehun's, heart thumping inside his ribcage as he shuts the door and leans back against it.

'That went well,' says Sehun drily, cynical smile pulling up a corner of his lips. Kyungsoo doesn't say anything in response, just rushes out of the room as quickly as his legs will take him, and he only inhales when he's back in Baekhyun's portrait. The designer has a measuring tape slung around his neck, several pins in his mouth and something that looks a lot like fifteen handkerchiefs sewn into a dress on a mannequin.

'So... How was it?' Baekhyun asks, and his words are so tentative and careful that Kyungsoo can't help the suspicion that's blossoming in his mind. He looks up at Baekhyun after he's caught his breath, narrows his eyes and it makes the elder shudder.

'Why exactly did I have to be the one to bring him the food?' Kyungsoo asks. His arms come up to fold over his chest, and he stares Baekhyun down with more confidence than he has. Baekhyun raises an eyebrow, the beginnings of a smile on his lips.

'You mean, to Jongin?' Baekhyun's tone twists mischievously, and there's no mistaking the full-blown grin that graces his face now. Just with the mention of Jongin's name, Kyungsoo's cheeks begin to colour, and Baekhyun doesn't let up. 'Why would I ask you to deliver food to Jongin, is that your question?'

Kyungsoo blushes furiously, hating himself for being so obvious, but wanting more than anything to punch Baekhyun right in the jaw. He restrains himself from doing so - Baekhyun was skilled with scissors and a needle, and Kyungsoo's own music sheets would do little to protect him.

Baekhyun's eyes twinkle.

'I already told you - I owe him a favour.'