Painter in the night| Changjin

The Weight of Silence

Weeks passed in a blur of monotony for Hyunjin. The days bled into one another, each indistinguishable from the last. He attended his classes at the university, but the vibrant world of art that had once brought him solace now felt distant, almost unreachable. The colors on his palette seemed muted, the brushes heavy in his hand. The canvas, once a playground of creativity, was now a stark reminder of the emptiness that had taken root inside him.

Hyunjin painted every day, locking himself in his small studio apartment for hours on end. His once meticulous strokes became erratic, frustrated. The flowers he had loved to paint—the roses, lilies, and wildflowers—now appeared wilted and lifeless under his brush. It was as if the life had been drained from him, leaving behind nothing but hollow echoes of what once was.

He hadn't heard from Changbin since that night in the garden. Not a single call, text, or even a whispered rumor. The silence was suffocating. It gnawed at him, day by day, slowly eroding what little resolve he had left. There had been no contact from Seo either, which only deepened the void. Hyunjin began to feel as though he had been forgotten, discarded like one of his failed paintings.

The world continued around him, moving forward while he remained trapped in a static existence. His classmates noticed the change—his withdrawn demeanor, the dark circles under his eyes—but they said nothing, unsure of how to approach the once vibrant, now brooding artist.

Hyunjin spent his evenings in solitude, staring blankly at the half-finished paintings that littered his apartment. The only break in the monotony came from the phone calls to his brother, I.N., who was still in the institution. These calls were his lifeline, the only thing that kept him tethered to the reality outside his own mind.

On one such evening, as the city outside his window hummed with life, Hyunjin decided to call I.N. The phone rang several times before it was answered, and Hyunjin's heart lifted slightly at the sound of his brother's voice.

"Hyunjin!" I.N.'s voice was bright, cheerful, and it immediately brought a small, almost imperceptible smile to Hyunjin's lips.

"Hey, how's it going?" Hyunjin asked, trying to inject some enthusiasm into his tone. He didn't want I.N. to worry.

"It's good! Actually, it's been really good. The therapy's been helping a lot, and I've made some friends here. I... I think I'm finally starting to feel like myself again." I.N.'s words were filled with a hope that Hyunjin had almost forgotten existed.

"That's... that's really great, I.N. I'm so happy for you." Hyunjin meant it. Despite everything, hearing that his brother was doing well was the one bright spot in his life.

"Yeah, it's like... I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, you know? I'm working on getting back on track, and I'm really excited to come home soon." I.N.'s optimism was infectious, and for a brief moment, Hyunjin allowed himself to imagine a future where things might be better.

"I'm really proud of you," Hyunjin said softly. "You're doing amazing."

"Thanks, Hyunjin. It means a lot to hear that from you. How have you been, though? We've been talking so much about me, but you haven't said much about yourself. Are you okay?"

Hyunjin hesitated, his grip on the phone tightening. "I'm... I'm okay. Just busy with school and work, you know? The usual."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Hyunjin could almost hear I.N. frowning. "Are you sure? You don't sound like yourself."

Hyunjin closed his eyes, fighting back the wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. "I'm fine, I.N. Really. Just a little tired, that's all."

"If you ever need to talk, I'm here, okay? I know I'm still in here, but I'm still your brother. You don't have to carry everything by yourself."

"I know. Thanks, I.N." Hyunjin's voice cracked slightly, and he hoped I.N. didn't notice. "I'll be okay. Just take care of yourself, alright? I'll come visit you soon."

"I'd like that. Take care, Hyunjin. And remember, I'm always here for you."

They said their goodbyes, and Hyunjin hung up the phone, staring at it for a long time after the call ended. The conversation had brought a flicker of warmth to his heart, but it was quickly extinguished by the relentless weight of his despair.

Hours later, as he sat in the dark, the only light in the room coming from the streetlamps outside his window, his phone buzzed. Hyunjin's heart sank as he picked it up, already dreading what he might see.

Another message from the blonde boy.

With a sinking feeling, Hyunjin opened the message, his worst fears confirmed. It was another photo, another taunting reminder of what he could never have. The blonde boy, smug as ever, was curled up against Changbin, his head resting on the mafia leader's shoulder. Changbin was looking at the camera, his expression unreadable, but the message was clear.

Hyunjin stared at the image, his blood boiling with a mixture of anger and hurt. How could Changbin do this? How could he move on so easily, as if everything they had shared meant nothing? The feelings that he had tried so hard to suppress surged to the surface, and before he could stop himself, he typed out an angry message.

Hyunjin: Are you trying to hurt me on purpose? Was I just a game to you?

His hands shook as he pressed send, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew he shouldn't have sent the message, but the pain was too much to bear. He felt like he was drowning in it, suffocating under the weight of his own emotions.

The seconds ticked by, then the minutes, but there was no response. Hyunjin stared at his phone, willing it to light up with a reply, an explanation, anything. But the silence stretched on, deafening in its finality.

Hyunjin couldn't take it anymore. The walls of his apartment seemed to close in on him, the darkness pressing down like a vice. He needed an escape, a way to dull the pain that was tearing him apart from the inside out.

He reached for the bottle of whiskey he kept hidden in his kitchen, the one he had sworn not to touch again after the last time. But tonight, he didn't care about promises. He needed to forget.

Hyunjin poured himself a generous glass, the amber liquid swirling as it filled the cup. He took a deep breath before downing it in one go, the burn in his throat a welcome distraction from the ache in his chest. The alcohol hit him quickly, a warmth spreading through his body that dulled the edges of his despair.

He poured another glass, then another, the room beginning to spin slightly as the effects of the whiskey took hold. But no matter how much he drank, the image of Changbin with the blonde boy refused to leave his mind. It haunted him, a constant reminder of what he had lost—or perhaps what he had never truly had.

In a fit of rage, Hyunjin grabbed his phone and turned it off, not wanting to see another message or photo. He couldn't take it anymore. The thought of Changbin with someone else was like a knife to the heart, twisting with every reminder.

The room spun faster, the alcohol pulling him under, and Hyunjin welcomed the darkness that was beginning to creep in around the edges of his vision. He wanted to forget everything—Changbin, the blonde boy, the empty promises, and the hollow feeling that had taken up residence in his chest.

But even as the alcohol dragged him into oblivion, the pain remained, a shadow that refused to be erased. And as Hyunjin finally succumbed to the numbness, one thought lingered in the back of his mind:

He was alone.