The Artist Behind |Seongjoong|

2

"Seonghwa, my dear, come down for a minute," mom called me. I felt some disappointment because I wanted to go up to him right off. Still, I had to go to the living room where mom was with two guests. They seemed like a mother and son. I glanced at mom before sitting beside her.

"This is my son Seonghwa," mom introduced me to them, I bowed my head.

"Seonhwa, it's pleasure to meet you," the unknown lady spoke in a gentle voice. "We are your neighbors. My name is Choi Byeol and this is my child Choi San." she pointed to the guy on her left.

"Nice to meet you too," I replied while taking a better look at him. He gave out the vibes of the church choir boy, the one every mother needed to introduce to their daughter. To be honest, even I found him cute, especially those dimples of his and the shining smile.

"Seonghwa-ssi, how old are you? I'm 18." San said unveiling a smooth melodic voice, proving my assumption he could sing. Maybe the other part was correct too.

"Hmm, I am 19," I tried to stay polite. His eye widened a bit then he nodded. Probably he assumed we are the same age.

"May I call you hyung, then?" he asked and I agreed to it out of politeness. For me, it was new someone called me such a way cause I was the maknae in my family.

"We're glad you two get along just fine," they both spoke after which my mom shifted to San. She had that warm friendly grin on her face she used when requesting favors.

"Would you mind showing my dear around the place?" she asked him, for my surprise he accepted immediately. He stood up off the sofa, I followed him on our way out.

...

San dragged me around the small mountain town, to my surprise the place was larger than expected. We hung out nearby the center and he showed me the market, all shopkeepers there were coming out to say hi. I suppose in a tiny community like this everyone acknowledged everyone. Next, the tour headed to a spot where he and his mates were gathering to hang out. It was a mixture of a skate park and a cabin. There were already several people, of course, San acknowledged them. One of the guys even showed hints of being more intimate to him than the rest. I assumed they are besties or something but then saw the new guy sticking his tongue in San's throat. That guy, Jung Wooyoung, was his lover. They told me people here weren't that old-fashioned and homophobic, the exact opposite of what I imagined at first. It made me feel a lot lighter, which meant I didn't have to cover my sexuality. It meant I didn't have to experience that hell of prejudice and hatred once again.

...

I came home in the late evening, dead tired from hanging out with my new buddies. But not too tired for the attic atelier. After all, I promised to go back and I ached to read that diary I found. Okay, observing the beautiful portrait was part of the reason too. He was my type of person.

I stepped into the room seeing everything was the way I left it, nice and clean. Though the portrait was a bit odd, it appeared to give off a somehow lonely feeling. I had no idea how to explain that quirky sense it gave just this is how it was. Perhaps it was my brain playing tricks on me.

"Were you lonely without me?" I spoke to him as if he was alive. "Sorry for coming late."

After apologizing that feeling faded and became even slightly cheered. I blamed it once again on my brain before resting down in front of the desk. Got the old notebook in my hand and gently untied the band around it. My hands were slightly trembling from excitement, cause that little book could tell me more about him. I lifted the top and revealed a neatly written page for which was used cursive font.

13th September 1995. Kim Hongjoong

I had another argument with my mother. She couldn't accept my lack of interest toward the girls she tried to settle me with. No one could understand that I prefer to stay in the garden and sketch flowers the entire day long, rather spend it with narrow-minded girls. It was a waste of spending my time with someone who never attempted to understand me. Pretending to be who I'm not, furthermore enjoying it, was such a loss, it only caused me to hate myself even more. They demanded of me to be like everybody else, but I couldn't. I never asked to be born this way, it's just who I am. Yet being different in this society meant being told your whole life that your existence is wrong. I just get mad at myself. Pushing my grief and self-hatred further.

Honestly, all of this is excessively exhausting. Only if I could close my eyes and erase all of it, by never waking up...

After reading this I turned to the painting and gave him a soft look. I had no idea that this fine person could be like that. No one could assume it by looking at him. A painful sigh left my lips, then I got up and stepped closer. Tenderly touched his cheek.

"I had no idea," I murmured. "I bet it was lonely and painful. I'm sorry, Hongjoong-ah, sorry for leaving you here last night. If you allow me I'll bring you with me tonight." I said out of the blue. Just now I didn't want to abandon him by himself up here, even if it was just a portrait of him.

So I took the painting and the diary in my hands then proceeded to leave. Carried them to my room where I laid them on the bed. There I took a chair and set it on the side of my bed so I could place Hongjoong there. Afterward, I sat on the bed and continued reading.

From as much as I could read before being called for dinner, he was at war against himself. Struggling with a lot, like hiding his depression and anxiety from others, questioning his sexuality, coping with his suicidal thoughts and loneliness. From what I read the art was his way to preserve his sanity and escape the world. I could understand him well.