Jongin notices his mistake too late.

Cursing, he dumps the brushes unceremoniously back into the container. When Minseok looks up from his spot across the room in askance, Jongin avoids his eyes and reaches for another canvas.

It wasn’t that he made a mistake that pissed him off. It was the fact that he didn’t know what the problem was. There was something off about the whole thing and Jongin didn’t know why.

“Let’s try that again,” he says. But he doesn’t start, staring to the point of glaring at the white space before him.

“Let me see.” Minseok strides over and leans down over his shoulder.

Jongin sit there, eyebrows furrowed in frustration. He looks up when Minseok sighs.

“I know what your problem is,” Minseok says finally. “You’re not looking at me.”

“But I—”

“It’s been fourteen months since you last painted me, Jongin,” the older cuts over. “Your problem is that you’re painting the me from the past.” He settles back into his seat before Jongin just has he had the week before. “You don’t see it yet but you will.”

Jongin stares at his hyung, not realizing that he was holding his breath. And Minseok waits patiently as he settles back into character. With red-brown head tiled over his shoulder, he sits there a perfect model and laces his sculpted fingers together.

That’s when it hits Jongin.

Xiumin was a sculpture. Over a year ago, he was a simply bas relief and Jongin had been painting him so. Now he was in high relief. All sharp cheekbones and defined muscles. And shining, just like on the stage.

With a quiet grin, Jongin raises his paintbrush and begins to paint. Before him, the smile is mirrored on Minseok’s face because they both know.

Everything sharpens and comes into focus.