Work Text:
Her art has been the one constant in Yoo Ju's life. She has been granted control over paint and canvas as life turned to chaos, love to loss. When none would allow her the freedom to crumble--least of all Yoo Ju herself--she has been free to lash out in rage and grief, ink and paint.
Her paintings are the history of Yoo Ju as an artist, and as a woman.
Han Sung's understanding is both deep and incomplete. Music is the undercurrent of his life, but he has never understood the joy that comes with a once empty world brought to vivid life beneath his hands.
Yoo Ju is a willing teacher. She curls her fingers around Han Sung's, and guides him towards the canvas.
"Now what?" he asks.
"Now," Yoo Ju says, "show me how you feel."
Han Sung rocks back on his heels, lips pursed. He is still for a long moment, watching Yoo Ju from the corner of his eye. When he paints, it is with quick, messy strokes.
The heart takes up most of the canvas.
"Has your student pleased you?" Han Sung asks, smiling.
"Very much," Yoo Ju answers, laughing. She leaves paint smudges like fingerprints on his face when she cups Han Sung's cheeks and pulls him down for a kiss.