MUSE | Taeyong

Part 13: Giving In

 Soon enough, brief hugs turn into cheek and forehead kisses, lingering touches into hand-holding and affectionate cuddles. Taeyong can never seem to separate his hands from your waist nowadays, and you are always pressed into his side like a leech. No one says anything because no one sees anything.

Actually, you didn't quite know what you were now. If you were to really put a label on it, it was a messy blur between a friendship and relationship. A kind of romantic purgatory. Even when he gave you kisses and held you affectionately, Taeyong never asked you to be his girlfriend. Not even a hint of a label or definition.

However, you wanted to be his. You wanted to be the one, his darling that he wined and dined. You wanted to be the one to relax him from the stress of life with soothing words and calming touches. You wanted to be the one that he woke up next morning in bed. You wanted to be his everything.

Alas, like some tragic Greek romance, it was probably never meant to be.

Even in the midst of this confusing haze of a relationship, Taeyong produced more and more phenomenal art inspired by you. You sometimes watched him paint each painting lovingly, stroke by stroke, on those rare days he let you into his art room. The mood of his art was... changing. You could see his abstract style shifting closer and closer into what was semi-impressionism until his portfolio was an eclectic mix of both. Of course, this subtle shift led to some outcry from critics, but his artistic reputation was still on the rise.

Today was one of those rare days Taeyong brought you to his studio. Darkening sunlight shone through the huge industrial windows, juxtaposed by the mahogany paneling and gold light fixtures. You sat in a chaise in the corner with his back to you as he stood, slathering hues of paint over a large canvas. He was painting the background first, it looked like, setting up the stage for a grandiose and show-stopping centerpiece that was sure to come around.

"Y/n? Can you come here for a moment?" 

"Yes?" you said, padding across the floorboards in your socks.

He steps back from his painting and comes slightly behind you. "Can you look closer and tell me if you see any dark grey streaks on the background? I'm afraid some of my brushes were contaminated, as it's supposed to be completely oil black."

You frown but nonetheless, bent over a bit to inspect the painting. "No? Honestly, I don't know how you expect me to see slight color variations, you're the artist here—"

You are cut off as his arms wrap around your waist and bury his head in the crook of your neck. You jump a bit, surprised from the sudden embrace, but quickly adapt and melt back into him. The pads of his thumb attach itself to the slightly exposed skin of your belly, running smooth circles into your skin. Your hands come over the top of his and just stay there, while you close your eyes.

"I lied. I just wanted you to come over here so I could just hug you," he whispered roughly yet mischievously in your ear, his breath causing the back of your neck to stand up.

"How utterly rude, you nefarious villain," You murmur as a slight smile tugs at your lips.
He hums in agreement and the two of you bask in each other's presences for a while before he breaks the silence.

"Man, have I been getting a lot of feedback about my art style for the past few weeks," he chuckles and lifts his head off your shoulder. "To be honest, you make me want to... want to take my head out of the clouds. Why is imagination needed when you exist, when you are so human yet flawless? I've always loved painting the world the way it's not, but you... you are the way it is, and it is perfect."