Painter in the night| Changjin

Reaching my own limits of heart

The days that followed were a blur of hangovers and regret. Hyunjin drifted through his classes at the university like a ghost, barely aware of his surroundings. His once bright eyes were dull, his usual energy depleted. His classmates began to avoid him, sensing the storm of emotions that swirled beneath his surface, but unable—or unwilling—to reach out.

Hyunjin didn't care. He didn't care about anything anymore. All that mattered was the next drink, the next attempt to drown out the feelings that refused to die. His paintings, once vibrant and full of life, now reflected the darkness that had consumed him. The flowers he painted were no longer beautiful; they were wilted, their petals falling like tears onto the canvas.

He barely ate, barely slept. The world outside continued to move, but Hyunjin was stuck in a never-ending loop of despair. His phone remained off, abandoned on the floor where he had dropped it in his drunken haze. He couldn't bear the thought of turning it on, of seeing more messages, more reminders of what he had lost.

But despite his attempts to numb himself, the pain remained. It was a constant presence, a dull ache that never fully went away. The alcohol only made it worse, the temporary relief giving way to a crushing sense of emptiness.

Late one night, after another long day of painting and drinking, Hyunjin found himself staring at his phone. The urge to turn it on, to see if Changbin had responded, was overwhelming. He hated himself for it, for still caring after everything that had happened.

His hands shook as he reached for the phone, the screen lighting up as he powered it on. The notifications flooded in immediately—messages, missed calls, and several more photos from the blonde boy. Hyunjin's heart sank as he opened the first message, bracing himself for the worst.

Blonde Boy: "Look who's with me again 😉"

The photo that accompanied the message showed Changbin and the blonde boy in what appeared to be a nightclub, the blonde boy draped over Changbin's arm like a trophy. The sight of them together made Hyunjin's stomach turn, his hands clenching into fists as he stared at the image.

He wanted to scream, to throw the phone across the room, to do anything to release the anger and pain that was building inside him. But instead, he did the only thing he could think of:

He reached for the bottle.

The whiskey burned as it went down, but Hyunjin welcomed the pain. It was better than the emptiness, better than the thought of Changbin with someone else. He drank until the world blurred, until the only thing he could feel was the numbness that he craved.

As the night wore on, Hyunjin's anger turned inward, becoming a black hole of self-loathing. He hated himself for caring, for letting Changbin get under his skin. And as the alcohol finally took hold, dragging him into a dreamless sleep, the last thought that crossed his mind was how much he wished he could forget Changbin altogether.

With a resolve he hadn't felt in weeks, Hyunjin opened the contact list on his phone and selected Seo's number. His finger hovered over the screen for a moment, his breath catching in his throat. Part of him wanted to hear Seo's voice, to demand answers, to confront him with the pain he had caused. But the larger part of him, the part that was tired of being hurt, knew better.

With a quick tap, he blocked Seo's number. The action was both liberating and heartbreaking, a final severing of the bond that had kept him tethered to a painful past. But it wasn't enough. The blonde boy had his number too, and Hyunjin knew that he wouldn't stop until he had driven the knife in deeper.

Determined not to give him the chance, Hyunjin searched through his messages until he found the blonde boy's contact. His heart clenched as he remembered the cruel texts, the smug photos, the taunting reminders of Changbin's betrayal. With another swift motion, he blocked the number, cutting off the last avenue of torment.