USE ME | VKOOK

00; KIM TAEHYUNG.

[ 00; pulchritudinous ]
— KIM TAEHYUNG.

Fifth subject,
the difference is that
there are many tears.

FLASHING lights and rough hands. The fake smiles and lies that slithered from the mouths of his competitors like snakes. The shallow conversation and the constant clinking of two glasses against one another. The rows upon rows of art that graced the gallery's mahogany walls. The once hushed whispers that turned into excited laughter, and shrieks of drunken excitement from each corner of the room. 

People were talking to him, but they weren't really talking to him. They were talking to his popularity. His fame. His influence. They didn't care that he'd stopped paying attention hours ago. They probably had no idea.

He'd come for the art and they came for the liquor. The beige liquid like a waterfall as it was poured from cup to cup. Glasses were raised from every corner of the room, slipping into wet mouths, further intoxicating the group of people he was yearning to get away from.

He gripped his fork tighter, his foot tapping against the floor in his tight leather loafers. His wavy blond hair brushing against his dark brown eyes, and his lips in an intimidating grimace. A puff of air slipped through his soft lips, ruffling the napkin that sat in front of him.

He pulled on his sleeve, revealing a midnight black watch in perfect contrast against his tan skin. He watched as the golden hands ticked— waiting in anticipation for the hand to reach ten.

He reminded himself of cinderella, waiting for the clock to strike, each tick reminding him of his time left. So much time and not enough things to do. The restlessness of wanting something to grab his attention, to pull him away from the talking and the drinking, and the expectations. Something beautiful to captivate him, to occupy his time until it ran out.

But alas, tonight was the night he'd be making his escape, hoping that he wouldn't leave a glass slipper behind.

As soon as a rhythmic tick confirmed it was time for him to go, he wasted no time grabbing his things, slipping his long fleece jacket over his suit. As he walked he enjoyed the sound his shoes made on the white linoleum floor, the clicks that reminded him he was still there. A little uprooted, but still there.

No matter how fake his existence felt, he was real. Though he felt his authenticity was slipping through cracks that weren't easy to seal.

The sex was no longer distracting. The various bodies that came in contact with his sheets were no longer doing their job. As much as he knew this was true, he'd still hoped to find someone to take home tonight.

The only thing that made him happy had been tainted by the constant criticism and bitterness from others. The only thing that took him away from the bleak world he'd been forced to exist in was the fleeting euphoria as he came down from his high.

Nothing could mimic it. Nothing could even come close. No drug, no drink, no person would ever be able to fill him with the same satisfaction. He knew that very well. There was no point in trying. Not now. Not after everything he had to endure.

The night was filled with too many smokers, pot bellied old men, and women who seemed to repel mirrors, had they ever taken a moment to look in one.

His hands twitched in his coat pocket, itching for his paintbrush. The one thing that made him feel like he meant something. It was what gave him power. The permission to create something.

As silly as it seemed, he'd be nothing without his paintbrush. He couldn't create anything without it, and when he first began painting he believed all anyone needed was a paintbrush and paint to create art.

He was starting to realize that he was very wrong. The complete devotion he felt for the art wasn't enough, nor the time he dedicated towards it. It mattered not how he felt— or anyone else for that matter. It only mattered if he had the skill. A skill he was so confident in before was something he felt so empty towards now.

He craved the fire he'd had when he first began. However, he was ignorant at that time. He had learned now that paint and a canvas weren't the only components.

He was afraid to lose the one thing that was his. The one thing he knew he was good at. The same annoying laughter and overly touchy acquaintances he had just departed from had become a bigger part of his life than he ever knew to be possible.

If art was gone he was afraid there'd be nothing left, and the only way he knew the art was still there was the sounds of laughing and the hollers that echoed down the hall still, voices bouncing off the walls and hitting his ears.

He'd make his way home tonight, still grasping onto the thoughts that haunted him day and night with no reprieve.

The sound of his feet hitting the floor ceased and cool air hit his face. He reached the end of the hallway, and faced the outside.

Such a big world, yet so small.

The sky grew darker, painted blue on blue, one stroke at a time into deeper and deeper shades of night. Overhead the night made an arch of frost, glittered with stars. somehow looking at the sky helped put everything into perspective.

Night represented an end to a day and a start to a new. If you could witness the sky grow dark and the air grow cold, you'd be living through the end of a day, and given the blessing to begin a new one. He learned to understand that life was simply a gamble against time.

Caught in his web of thoughts, he'd came in contact with a soft body that he hadn't noticed. He had been too mesmerized by the glitter of the moon and the twinkle of stars in the clear sky to notice there was someone else walking alongside him.

They were close in height, he himself slightly taller. As he looked into the face of the other, he felt like he had experienced true beauty for the first time.

The boy in front of him emitted a tempting aura, radiating confidence that Taehyung found himself easily matching. He had large eyes and soft lips that were painted blood red. There was a light blush across his cheeks that Taehyung gathered was from the cold.

He adorned long wavy hair that framed his round face, and several piercings that ran along his ear— the silver hoops catching Taehyung's eye—, clear skin and a somewhat dainty button nose.

It had taken a moment for the boy to reach his eyes, eyebrow raised, wondering why Taehyung was still blocking his way.

Yet he was too mesmerized by the boy in front of him to do anything about it. He was absolutely stunning.

"Excuse me," The man sighed exasperated in tone, and that's when Taehyung notices the dark ring around his eyes and the tired droop of his brows.

"Right, sorry." Taehyung nods, stepping aside for the man to pass him. Taehyung leaves quickly after that, mortification setting into him for the first time and the stiff awkwardness still heavy in the air around him.
———