𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝟏𝟏𝟗 || 𝘼𝙉𝙏𝙊𝙉 𝙇𝙀𝙀

three : the book

wonbin's pencil danced across the paper, adding delicate strokes to his drawing of the star. he was lost in the process, the soft scratch of the lead on paper his only focus. the star began to take shape, its gentle curves and points shimmering with life.

as he worked, wonbin felt his worries and cares melting away, like paint dissolving in water. his family, his school, and his responsibilities — all faded into the background, leaving only the art.

he added a sprinkle of stardust to the corner of the page, the tiny dots shimmering like diamonds. wonbin's heart swelled with pride and joy, his love for the painting growing with each passing moment.

time stood still as he worked, the world outside receding from his consciousness. wonbin was one with the art — his soul pouring onto the page in a riot of color and light.

and when he finally put down his pencil, wonbin stepped back to admire his handiwork, his heart full of wonder. the star shone brightly.

wonbin's eyes roamed over the painting, drinking in the subtle nuances of light and shadow. the star's gentle glow seemed to pulse with an otherworldly energy, as if it might leap off the page at any moment.

he added a few final touches, his pencil whispering across the paper with precision and care. the star's rays extended outward, delicate fingers reaching for the edges of the page.

wonbin's heart swelled with satisfaction. this was his sanctuary, his haven from the world's chaos. art was his language, his voice, his soul.

as he stepped back, the room around him began to reappear, like a veil lifting from his eyes.

the dinner call still echoed, but wonbin's hunger was sated by the creative feast.

with a contented sigh, he placed the painting on his desk amidst scattered pencils and half-finished sketches. his gaze lingered on the star, now a shining jewel in his collection.

wonbin's thoughts drifted to the mysterious book in his bag, but for now, he was at peace, surrounded by the beauty he had created.

his gaze lingered on the completed drawing of the star, his eyes tracing the delicate lines and curves. he knew he had created something beautiful.

"wonbin, dinner's ready!" his mother called out from downstairs, her voice echoing through the hallway.

"wonbin, come down and eat!" his father added, his tone firm but laced with an undercurrent of annoyance.

wonbin's expression faltered, his shoulders tensing. he didn't want to go down there. didn't want to face the tension, the criticism, or the expectations.

he pretended not to hear, hoping they would leave him alone. wonbin's room was his sanctuary, his escape.

"wonbin, we know you're up there!" his mother called out again, her voice sharper.

wonbin's heart sank. he knew he couldn't avoid them forever. but for now, he just wanted to stay hidden, lost in his art and imagination.

he locked his door, the click a small act of defiance. then, he leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and willed himself to ignore the calls.

he then drifts off to sleep.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

wonbin's eyes fluttered open, grogginess clouding his mind. his cellular's incessant ringing pierced the silence, making him wince. he rubbed his eyes, remembering he had fallen asleep in his chair, surrounded by art supplies. the faint scent of turpentine and oil paints lingered, a comforting aroma.

with a jolt, wonbin realized he had forgotten to cover and hide his painting. his heart skipped a beat as he glanced around the room, ensuring the door was still closed. the silence from downstairs was oppressive, a heavy blanket that suffocated him.

his gaze drifted to the painting, his passion, his escape. the vibrant colors and bold strokes seemed to pulse with life, a stark contrast to the dull, critical eyes that awaited him downstairs.

the ringing continued, breaking the spell. wonbin's eyes dropped to the caller id - anton, his friend, his confidant. the time read 4am. what could anton want at this hour?

wonbin's mind raced as he hesitated, his thumb hovering over the answer button. he felt a pang of anxiety, a familiar knot in his stomach. it was a feeling he'd grown accustomed to, a constant companion in his own home.

with a deep breath, he connected the call, his voice barely above a whisper.

"anton, i think someone's coming..."