"Loving you is art and your body is my canvas."
❝Wherein a portraitist who seems to have lost his love for art meets an ethereal young boy with stars in his eyes in a city full of secrets. A tale of bliss and tragedy, death and misfortune, but most...
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ˏ𓏧𓏲𓏲𓏲𓋒𓏲𓏲𓏲𓏲𓏧 ˎ
Jeongguk's cruel absence had cast a palpable chill within Taehyung's hotel room, the once gentle breeze filtering through the window felt impossibly icy against his skin, a ghost's elusive breath. He tossed and turned in his bed, restless and tormented, much like a wounded beast. Tears had soaked his pillow, blurring his vision, rendering everything into shapeless, fuzzy blurs.
Throughout the night, he'd screamed until his throat was raw, uncaring of neighbors. He'd wallowed in the anguish of rejection until his voice grew hoarse, strained beyond its limits. Clutching the bedsheets—echoing his lover's habit—he sought solace, taking in the lingering scent that hung in the air still—vanilla and lily petals—a haunting reminder of Jeongguk.
A week had crawled by since the boy's abrupt departure, and in that time, Taehyung hadn't found the will to finish his painting. He felt hollow without him as if Jeongguk had absconded with a piece of his soul. Where was he now? In another man's company, perhaps?
He'd attempted to ask Hoseok, yet neither of them had any clue. With Jeongguk withholding his phone number, Taehyung was at a loss. It gnawed at him—an unsettling guilt. Had he disappointed someone he... his mind couldn't be going there, could it? Had what he believed to be mere infatuation transformed into something more?
Foolish. Utterly foolish. Taehyung was not versed in love. To him, it was an alien concept, a falsehood perpetuated by the media for the naive, those who believed someone would dedicate a lifetime to them. Love made him queasy, a word synonymous with a mirage, a pretense.
"Humanity is pitiful," he mused, stepping into the shower after days of avoidance. He reeked of all the booze he'd been consuming instead of having regular meals. He was surprised he still hadn't been recovered due to a liver disease. Ridding himself of the filth intoxicating his body, he let out a sigh as he slipped out of the shower, hair wet and spiky, a linen towel wrapped neatly around his waist.
He glanced at his reflection—a worn-out man staring back. When was the last restful night he'd experienced? Probably the final night with his beloved. But he dared not dwell on it. The thought threatened to consume him, plunging him into the depths of insanity. He'd been there before, and it wasn't a place he wished to revisit.
But he was still alive, now wasn't he? Although feeble, his heartbeat was there, a repetitive, loathed melody striving to not be forgotten. Fighting inside his chest, the poor neglected organ was still pumping blood inside his veins, so that one could say Taehyung was alive and well.
Was he living though? Not really. He was hollow like someone scooped out a piece of him and threw it away, leaving behind the remnants of him. Oh, the utter mess his life had come to. One could barely believe it even if they saw it. What led Jeongguk to leave him so unexpectedly? Why did he flee? Why did he fucking flee?
