Twisted.

An indelible part.

It had been more than a month, Hyunjin was still searching for Minho, albeit the search was 𝘶𝘯𝘧𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘧𝘶𝘭, leaving Hyunjin to grapple with a sense of frustration and helplessness. Still, he refused to stop hoping, clinging to the belief that someday, somehow, he would be reunited with Minho.

Hyunjin had enough money, he was rich. He had people searching for Minho everywhere, no stone was left unturned in his relentless pursuit. But he still couldn't find him.

He couldn't shake the feeling of foolishness for allowing himself to believe in Minho, to be 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 by him. With each passing day since Minho's departure, it felt as though years had slipped away, time had slowed to a crawl, dragging out the agonizing wait for his return.

The absence of Minho's presence in his life was like a gaping wound, raw and festering, 𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 at Hyunjin's spirit day by day. Every morning brought with it a renewed sense of despair, another reminder of the void left behind by Minho's departure.

As he grappled with the pain of rejection, Hyunjin couldn't help but question his own worth. How could he have been so 𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘥 to Minho's true intentions?

Yet amidst the turmoil of his emotions, there remained a flicker of hope, a stubborn refusal to give up on the possibility of his return. And so, he continued to search, fueled by a determination to find closure, no matter the cost. He desperately needed an answer from Minho.

In the quiet solitude of his studio, Hyunjin found solace in the strokes of his paintbrush, each movement a cathartic release for the storm of emotions raging within him. His canvases, adorned with Minho's likeness, became a sanctuary of memories, a collection of portraits crafted with longing.

With each brushstroke, Hyunjin poured his heart and soul into his art, capturing the essence of Minho's presence with an intimacy that only 𝘩𝘦 could truly understand.

These portraits were not meant for the eyes of others, they were for Hyunjin's eyes 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦, a private collection of memories to be cherished and admired in secret. In the quiet hours of the night, he would lose himself in the depths of his paintings, finding comfort in the familiar contours of Minho's face, the warmth of his smile immortalized on canvas.

And so, as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, Hyunjin's collection grew. For in his art, Hyunjin found a fleeting glimpse of the happiness he had once known, a bittersweet reminder of the love that had slipped through his fingers like sand.

Hyunjin was standing Infront of a life-sized portrait of Minho, with a meticulous mix of colours fashioned in a way to mimic the beauty of Minho.

Despite not considering himself a great artist, Hyunjin couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of the painting before him, maybe it was because of the 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘦. It seemed to transcend his own limitations. It was just impossible to capture anything but beauty when painting Minho, he was the epitome of beauty.

But the itch in his hands was unbearable, he wanted to tear that portrait apart because of how real it looked. Despite the beauty of the painting, there was a disquieting realism to it that unsettled him.

Hyunjin raised his hand up to trace Minho's face, the canvas seemed uneven and bumpy under his fingers because of the brush strokes of paint, disrupting the illusion of perfection and reminding him of the artifice of his creation.

As his fingers lingered over the rough patches, Hyunjin couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment, realizing that no matter how meticulously he painted, he could never capture the true essence of Minho's beauty.