Kris Wu was not an ordinary man.
He had certain traits that made him more than average: his appreciation for beauty, his subtle wisdom, his talent for painting dreams into reality, and a particularly crass intellect that (more than often) made him stand out from the familiar crowd of chattering crows. But no matter how brilliant he was, the first thought you’d have about Kris Wu was that he was strange.
Kris didn’t speak like everyone else, and he didn’t think like everyone else. His mannerisms and curt words put him often at odds with even his closest familiars. Sometimes Kris felt as if the world he saw and experienced was completely different from the world everyone else saw—as if his sky was coloured in roses and terracotta and everyone else had simple blue. It could be lonely living in such a world.
But that was to be expected, because Kris was not an ordinary man. His family always had high expectations for him to rise to prestige and acclaim. He was special, that was what they said, that he had a keen eye, a gift from God that not many were able to touch. Ever since he was a young boy, Kris had a passionate interest in art and beauty. By age seventeen, he had received great acclaim as a prodigious young painter in the making (they called him the Van Gogh of his generation). By age twenty, he had sold five million dollars’ worth in art sales, and had developed a reputation as handsome, crude, intelligent and difficult.
So he had expected nothing more when he entered the Oh Household to have all those eyes peering at him curiously. Gossip ran wild, setting the rose bushes on fire.
It made Kris wonder why he was puttng himself through all this. But then he thinks of Suho and his feet become grounded, unable to leave.
He and Suho had been childhood mates. They grew up in the same kind of world of grand expectations, and had grown to find a kindred spirit in one another—in truth, Kris didn’t think there was anyone who understood him better than Suho.
However, his friend had always tended to be a rather confounding puzzle for Kris—quiet, reserved, courteous, though there was always something macabre about the way he smiled (though Kris just valued that to be a result of growing up in this privileged world of theirs). Suho never meant what he said, and never said what he meant. It was, in part, this quality that made him so dear to Kris. He never found another person who could be as quick witted and as absurd as himself.
So when Suho died, it had been nothing short of an earthquake to the golden haired man. At the time, he had been away in Europe, traveling and painting, lecturing to classrooms full of eager pupils. The young man was deeply troubled by his friend’s death; he had found it hard to breath at the very idea that he was not utterly alone in his worldview. He could not believe it. Suho the writer was always enigmatic and seemed almost immortal, as if he always knew what would happen. That was what disturbed Kris the most: that such a person could be taken down so easily by a mere illness.
However, only two weeks after his dear friend’s death, the Oh Family lawyer came knocking on his door. The Oh Family was one of the most powerful families in Seoul, a distinguished chaebol clan of entrepreneurs. The parents had tragically died on an airplane accident when Suho was only in high school, leaving him and his younger brother orphans. But Suho rose to the occasion and worked to prosper his family’s illustrious estate. His death had been a misfortune not only to his friends, but also his company and shareholders. Of course, with the older Oh deceased, Kris knew that it would be Suho’s younger brother who would have to take up the mantle and run the empire his brother had solidified.
Kris had never met the younger Oh sibling, had heard only stories of him from Suho, who seemed to have adored his younger brother. Sehun was his name, if Kris remembered correctly. Suho often described his younger brother as a fragile and innocent butterfly. Kris knew that Sehun had no force compared to his elder brother, thus knew the younger sibling would not be able to do well in a world such as theirs at his age. So Kris was only half-surprised when the lawyer told him the conditions of Suho’s will (his friend as, after all, just as strange as he).
In light of my death, I would like for Kris Wu to be the sole guardian of Oh Sehun and the Oh Estate till Sehun comes of age.
That was what the will said.
And that was why Kris was now here in the Oh House.
The artist gazed around at his surroundings as the head butler led him to his room to set his things down, practically herding him from the whispers of the other servants. Kris couldn’t help but stare at the magnificent estate—there were paintings all around, grand and Romanesque; statues made of ivory marble, sparkling in the shine of the light that peaked through the velvet curtains of the ebony windows. For a moment, Kris envied Suho, and only for a moment, for such a place was an artist’s dream, with works of art as magnificent as those in the Louvre. But at the same time, Kris pitied Suho—to be tied down to a life he never wanted in the first place, to do what you have to do, and not what you want. It was beautiful, the Oh Estate, but Kris knew, to Suho, this was a prison of unbreakable walls.
The dark eyed man nodded in appreciation to the butler as the older man left him in his quarters. This room had been especially chosen by Master Suho for yourself, the butler had said. As he sets his suitcase on the bed, Kris looks around the immaculate space. The room was spacious and luxurious, as expected of something Suho would have chosen. The walls were of a rich oak, adorned with a lovely silver leaf pattern. The ceiling lights sparkled brightly in contrast to the red velvet curtains that shaded the windows. Kris’ bed was, like the rest of the house, beautiful: it was a large silver four-poster bed, the columns spiraling, and covered with white bed sheets, with a golden lining and bright pillows.
Kris sat down on a nearby loveseat and sighed deeply. What had you gotten me into, he silently asked his old friend. The truth was, nothing in the world, not even Suho’s deathbed wish could have made Kris take the position as the younger Oh’s guardian. He was an artist and he couldn’t be tied down to anything or anyone. His only goal in life was to find that object of true beauty, that one thing that proved God existed—for only in beauty, could one find His grace.
He wanted to capture that in his art—but he never found it.
After many years of nomadic pursuit, Kris believed that it was time for him to take a long deserved rest, to refresh himself before going back into the search again. This would be a good time to finally find some peace of mind, to simply paint for want of art, that was what he believed (though his decision to go on a temporary hiatus from the art world unfortunately coincided with his friend’s death). And now he was left with the responsibility of a child.
The butler had informed Kris that the young master Sehun had been in the gardens, reading one of the many books of the many libraries in the House. The artist thought that it was right time to meet the youth; after all, he was now his guardian, responsible for his well being and growth. The golden haired man arrived at the splendid lush garden of the grounds; the flowers were being watered by the sprinklers.
Kris enjoyed looking at the flowers—the different hues and colours, the tulips, lilies, carnations, roses. It was all a spectacular kaleidoscope for the eyes. They had such a simple beauty to them, but certainly not the beauty Kris was searching for. The man had come to believe, rather, that he might never find that single spark of beauty he had always been searching deep within the crevices of this unholy Earth.
Perhaps such a thing did not exist, he thought as his fingertips brushed against the gentle petals of a lily.
Abruptly, a butterfly flew into his sight, its wings of a gleaming blue and black. It flew past his eyes, and eclipsed his vision only for a moment, and when it passed, Kris felt a rush of blood surge through him like a torrent.
There lay before him the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
It was love at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight.
He was no older than thirteen; Kris was sure, maybe even younger. He lay carelessly on the perfect grassy ground, reading a book rather absent-mindedly. He lay on his stomach, his eyes staring intently at the pages and the words. His skin was like porcelain, smooth and flawless, with a light touch of pink. His rich black hair shined, damp from the sprinklers he chose carelessly not to hide from. He wore a simple white dress-shirt that seemed to be much too large for him, leaving one of his shoulders exposed and naked, and pair of pale beige shorts that ran up to his thighs. They were wet from the water, and rather transparent, leaving little to the imagination. The clothes stuck to his body firmly, curving around him rather sensually. His feet dangled in the air, moving casually up and down. He seemed so innocent, so pure, so fragile like a doll that if Kris would’ve touched him, he’d shatter into a million little pieces.
And Kris’s heart burst with love, adoration and affection for this thing that lay before him.
My sin, my soul.
Suddenly, the boy turned his head, having felt Kris’ presence and penetrating gaze. And Kris saw his eyes—his magnificent, bright, wide honeyed eyes that reflected the Sun and the Sky and all the beauty in a world Kris could only dream of. The boy seemed unaffected by the older man’s sudden appearance, yet curiosity lit up on his face. But Kris couldn’t bear to turn away from him, this beautiful boy.
Then all of a sudden, as if charmed by the easterly winds, the little blue butterfly came to land on the boy’s slim shoulder. His bejeweled eyes turned slightly to peer at the curious blue and black butterfly, fluttering its tiny wings, making hurricanes on the oceans inside of Kris’ mind. And suddenly, the boy smiled, so softly, gently, as if it were merely a whisper of words.
Oh Sehun smiled at the little butterfly, and took Kris’ breath away.
Ladies and gentleman of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns.
Author's Note: Okay, I seriously don't know wtf I was thinking when I started this, but like KrisHun is my secret guilty ship that I love, and also I wanted to try writing something different, I guess. >_> My conclusion is basically I lost my mind and made Kris a pedo. /shakes head This story is actually an older story I wrote, which was based on Vladimir Nabokov's novel Lolita. Although this version will tie more closely to the Adrian Lyne version of the film, starring Jeremy Irons
Anyways, hope you guys enjoy this insanity! Thanks for reading. ^^