Four. I counted back the eyes around the table. Only four people, including myself. Boisterous by those boring sound, I chose to mind-read with a glass of wine flanked with my fingers. I am sitting among the old men. Bob Ross on the left and Sir Tolkien on my right.
In the first half, we were able to communicate well. Sir Bob explained the certain techniques of painting the pine trees. Sometimes I laughed as he speaks. His eccentric hair, mustache, and beard mingled with fantastic black and white; he looks so unique with his own style. I also commented his clothes and he said that the white shirt is just the only one suitable for his hair.
Chuckled, Sir Tolkien emerged between us. He gave Sir Bob a challenge to paint a gold-feathered dragon. I have never doubted his imagination, that is why he became one of my guests tonight. In some ways, our level of imagination is pretty the same. Coconut shells that can make us fly above the water; angel-winged hyena; or lion-faced woman wagging her tail to lure the pirates. We blend together as a couple of Disney cartoonist.
The strains of evocative piano distracted me. There, at the corner of the room, Sir Mozart is playing Piano Concerto #23 in A, the piece of art that I like. I leave those old men in their place. Both of them are fascinated by Sir Mozart’ dancing fingers on the piano. He is not wearing his wig. His hair is in the black paint and it combs to one side. He looks stunningly handsome in a black suit and ties ribbon. And when he smiles at me, as if he is offering a special song only to me.
My eyes turn to the obstreperous applause at another side. That is Chris Evan, still calling out Sir Mozart as if we are in the midst of the concert. I have talked to him before. We sat together, amused by his dirty jokes and his provocative raving. Handsome; melodious voice; perfect frame; gentle; stunning beauty; he has it all. He is raising his glass there, almost hitting my conscious with his smile. I can not resist it. He is too beautiful as a human being.
When I am talking to the air with Chris, I heard heavy footsteps entering the room. I stand, observing the presence that hidden under the shadow. As the light illuminates, I can see him frosting. Nobody care. He is negligible, insignificant. But not for me. He is the one I am waiting for. The first list of my guests.
“Come,” I say. Barely and almost mutter.
He gave me a bow before he set himself beside me. Unlike Sir Bob, Sir Tolkien, Sir Mozart and Chris; he is wearing simply, something comfy and young. Just like his soul. Black T-shirt combined by a striped blazer, uncombed brown hair with light makeup on his face. He looks natural. He looks original.
“You know me, don’t you?” he asked.
My lips forming a smile. He does not have to say it. I know him, right after he debuted as a part of his team, EXO. I take a new glass of wine in front of me—so he is. We glance each other and he successfully makes me dying because of his smile. He is more than Chris, more than anyone. The way he blinks his eyes; the way he bites his lips; the way he flips his hair; the way he smiles; I am dying while he is looking at me intensively.
“Yes, of course. You are my ultimate bias.” then we toss our glass and start talking about his latest performances in Japan.
Yes, he is Kai, The one I can not describe so well. The one that makes me want to stop the time.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing Prompt: “Seat Guru“: you get to plan a dinner party for 4-8 your favorite writers, artists, musicians, other notable figures. Whether dear or live. Who do you seat next to whom in order to inspire the most fun evening?