Work Text:
Sunoo sat, frozen, paintbrush in mid-stroke, ears ringing with the cursed words that left his professor's lipstick-stained mouth.
"I'm sorry?" His confused apology stood out in the chorus of tired groans.
"You heard me right, Kim." She took off her glasses, getting off the stool she was sitting on, as she had explained the techniques of brushstrokes. "Should be easy for a portrait legend like you, huh?" She smiled, silent expectations weighing her words.
He forced a smile, a sinking feeling in his chest.
Sunoo sat cross-legged on the couch of the dorm's living room. He was zoned out, deep in thought. His professor's words echoed in his ears like a mantra:
"Should be easy for a portrait legend like you, huh?"
...Easy
...Portrait legend
...You
...Portrait legend
...Portrait
...Portrait
...Portrait
...Portrait
He hadn't realised that tears had cascaded down his cheeks until his dormmate plopped down beside him, ranting about something.
His hand shot up, trying to wipe away his tears before Sunghoon saw, but the future CEO was too noticing. His dark eyes raked his face, a long, veiny hand brushing back his raven hair, trying to figure out his roommate's thoughts.
"Sunshine?" His tone turned serious, "What's wrong?"
"I'm fine." Sunoo lied, but the crack in his voice gave him away.
"Don't lie to me." Sunghoon turned toward him, folding his legs underneath him as he leaned forward in anticipation.
Knowing he couldn't lie, but also couldn't tell the truth, he opted to go for a half-truth: "The professor assigned a self-portrait."
"And?" Sunghoon asked, too curious for his own good.
"It's just that—it's been... years since I drew a portrait..."
"You were so good at it, you can't have forgotten in a few years. It'll be a piece of cake for you."
Sunoo cracked a tiny smile at Sunghoon's 'uplifting' words. Who would tell him of the curse the worrying boy beside him carried?
The next day, he sat in his studio, mind blank, hands trembling as he spread the base coat over the blank canvas.
In theory, he had a month to enjoy the rest of his days since the project was non-negotiable. Sunoo finished the canvas and stared at its white complexion.
For once, he didn't want to stain the surface with a plethora of colours.
Snapping a quick picture of himself, he thought of using oil pastels as his medium, but then picked up acrylics.
He couldn't bring himself to sip on the boba that sat beside the canvas, nor could he drag himself to the minifridge beside the door of his cramped studio to get himself the cake he had saved for later. It would probably go bad the next day, but he failed to bring himself to care.
He was lost.
He didn't know how he felt.
Sunoo woke up with a jolt. It was the middle of the night, and his room was dark, save for the sliver of area washed in a silver coat of magical moonlight.
He didn't remember what he dreamed of... not entirely.
He remembered blurry snippets: voices he had last heard years ago. They were angry, no—fuming, a sinister rage lacing their words. Screams demanding something.
Sunoo trembled violently. The voices ringing in his ears were clear as day. But the strange thing was, he couldn't remember what they said to him.
Sweat dripped down his hairline, his shirt stuck to him, and the duvet he was curled in suffocated him. His breath came in ragged gasps as he glanced at his roommate, fast asleep in the other twin bed, blanket bunched haphazardly at his waist, limbs spread out in uncomfortable angles, feet dangling from the edge of the bed, his mouth slightly agape, and hair resembling a bird's nest.
Not wanting to wake him up, he snuck out of the dorm, still in his nightsuit—some shorts and a random, oversized T-shirt. He wandered to his studio.
Flicking the lights on, the sight that greeted him left a void in his heart. He was halfway done with the portrait.
The background was a beautiful clash of mint-green and gold. His silhouette was accurate, and the skin colour was a perfect match to his own. He had painted his favourite shirt, a white—borderline ivory cardigan with an intricate design of the same colour on the shoulders.
With nothing else to do and sleep having evaded him the moment he woke up, Sunoo sat back on the uncomfortable stool and dragged it over to his canvas.
Taking in a deep breath, he began with the hair.
Despite a slight tremble in his hand, he carefully replicated the pale blond mop of hair on his head. Every stroke of the brush carried a perfect replication of his hair. The fine-tipped brush left highlights in the correct place. A single bristle plucked from a brush delivered even more detail.
By the time he was done, his eyes drooped, and his body felt heavy. He had opened the window at some point. A butterfly had fluttered in and currently sat on the drying painting. It looked like an accessory on the meticulously painted gold-like hair. The pure innocence of the scene sent a smile to the mourning boy's lips.
Beyond the studio, the rising sun painted the world in orange-pink hues, the birds took flight, and a car drove by on the empty asphalt.
The calmness and familiarity of the world greatly contrasted with Sunoo's mental state.
"It looks just like you, Sun!" Sunghoon had barged into the studio, arms overflowing with various dishes of takeout.
Sunoo smiled in gratitude, chewing on a mouthful of ramen. Sunghoon sat across him, a cup of the most bitter coffee known to mankind in his hand. "You were worried about nothing."
Sunoo deflected replying to his comment, shifting the topic, "You're actually going to drink that?" He motioned to the cup of black coffee
"Of course I am, this is the only thing keeping me afloat throughout those horrible classes of statistics." He knocked over a cup of charcoal pencils as he leaned back, a cup of soup perched dangerously on his knee.
Sunoo sighed, picking the cup and placing it on the table beside him, "I swear, you're gonna mess this studio up with your stunts with your takeout."
Sunghoon smirked in response, eyes wandering to the finished and semi-finished artwork lying around the studio.
"Did you eat that slice of cake you wrestled from me the other day?" Sunghoon broke the comfortable silence that had blanketed the room for a few moments. He gave a scandalised look when Sunoo shook his head in denial.
"I'll throw it out," He mumbled, eyes downcast as he remembered how he wasted good food. "I was too distracted." He tried to excuse himself as Sunghoon disappointingly sipped his coffee.
The painting was complete, save for the eyes. Sunoo sat on the grass in his university's garden, the morning dew still fresh on the vibrant green blades. The soft, morning sun hid behind the engineering building of the university.
He had woken at sunrise. His sleep had once again been disrupted by a nightmare—this one more vivid.
The voices were still enraged, but now he knew what they had been saying, and now he could see the ghosts of their owners.
"Repay for what you did!" A face resembling his late cousin's had screamed.
"It's time you feel how we felt." His mother's face whispered darkly.
A violent shudder coursed through his body. They were all the people he had painted before. He had many regrets in his life, but nothing outweighed his wish to the Gumiho.
He had read the tales of the Gumiho—a nine-tailed fox. He knew the ones who wished from her paid a heavy toll. Yet he still ran to the beast in desperation.
He remembered doing a ritual, he remembered the beast's words—"You will now excel at portraits, and carry on your family's legacy... but there will be a price." He wanted to beat his younger self up; he was the reason behind so many innocent souls' deaths.
"If you can't paint a hundred people in a year... you will go by the means of everybody who became your victims."
He didn't know back then.
But he knew now.
He had failed to paint a hundred people in a year, too consumed by the guilt of being the reason for their demise, and it was now the time he repaid his wish.
His hand shook as he added the final detail: a dot of white in the eye. His vision blurred as he stared at the sea of hazel in his portrait's eyes.
Hot tears spilt from his eyes and cascaded down his cheeks like a spring from a river. His breath shallowed; each inhale careful, trying not to disrupt the fragile aura around him. He reached a shaking hand to the canvas, tracing the soft—borderline feminine features of his face, wishing it to prove the moment as unreal. But no—the canvas was in its place, the acrylic was hardened and coarse under his fingers, and the colours would not budge.
The calm of the world felt criminal under the weight of Sunoo's reality: the normalcy of the constant hum of his minifridge, the distant hum of the other students at the university, the chirping of the baby birds in their nest on the tree that stood right beside the studio's window, and the distant traffic.
He was breaking down, but it wasn't loud. He broke down internally, a few signs of it showing on the outside.
His lips trembled, his throat tightened, and a heavy feeling settled in his chest. He wished someone would remember his smile and face once he was gone.
There was no going back.
Memories of the excited faces when they saw their portraits he had drawn flashed in his brain.
"Suno..." He imagined the Gumiho's voice, but when he turned around, she stood, all in her nine-tailed glory. "How about you fulfil your promise?"
Sunoo let a final tear cascade from his eyes before closing them and letting the monster have what he had promised to her:
His life in return for the failure of a task appointed at the fulfilment of his wish.