Ken sighed, putting down his paintbrush and palette. He stepped back from the eight by six foot painting, continuing until he bumped into the partition that separated his work space from others’. He tilted his head, analyzing it with a critical eye.
“Tch, still wrong,” he moped. "The atmosphere doesn’t match you at all,” he complained, approaching the painting. “I’m going to have to do it again.” When he reached the painting, he looked into the eyes of the life-sized man depicted in the painting. Six feet tall, crisp white shirt and a sharp navy vest, detailed silver jewelry, glittering black eyes, and a dimpled smile as bright as the sun spread on glossed pink-lavender lips. “Sorry, Hongbin. I know it must be tiring. I was almost done. But the background just doesn’t fit. It needs to be... darker.” He stepped back from the painting again with a chuckle, returning to his palette to mix more paint.
“No,no, you’re perfect. The problem is never you,” Ken said, grin firmly in place as he squeezed more paint from the tubes. “How about I break the clock in the background? Gears and cobwebs. I think it’ll suit you, don’t you?” He looked up at the painting, pausing in his work. “Hey now, what did I do to deserve the quite treatment? Do you really hate it so much? I’ll paint it and you’ll see. Then you’ll have to tell me how much you like it.”
Paints mixed, Ken returned to the canvas, going back in and darkening the shadows in the room, painting cracks into the clock, adding spider webs and dangling silver jewelry to match the ones in the figure’s clothes. Hours passed, the sun rose, the fumes and lack of sleep making Ken dizzy. But he didn’t stop, he didn’t want to stop. He was so close to finishing. A few more strokes, quick wisps of the brush. He set his brush and palette down, backing up with a smile. When he hit the partition, he sank down to the ground giggles spilling from his lips.
“Now that’s right.” The grin on his face was crooked. His clothes were paint smeared and three days old but the painting was perfect. “Doesn’t that work so much better?” he asked. “It suits you, Hongbin, don’t you think?” He stared at the painting, getting lost in the figure’s eyes. “Don’t you think?” His voice grew distressed, the smile sliding off his lips. “Answer me.” He waited. “Hongbin, answer me.” He rose to his feet, stumbling towards the painting. “Come on, let me hear your voice...” he begged, tears welling in his eyes. “Answer me! Answer me!” He was yelling, a mere foot away from the painting when he collapsed to his knees. Tears streamed down his face.
“Is this how you treat the person who loves you the most?” He knocked over the table with all the paint on it, bringing his hands in to drag down his face. “Just let me hear your voice, please,” he begged, reaching out to the painting but not daring to touch it. “Please.” His voice cracked, breath shuddering.
“Ken.” A hand seized his shoulder, jerking him back. Ken ignored the intruder, continuing to stare up at the man in the painting. “Ken snap out of it.”
“Hongbin, please,” Ken continued to plead, resisting the other man in the room as he tried to jerk him away. “Just say something,”
“Hongbin’s dead, Ken. He can’t answer you.” Ken swallowed, turning to look at the intruder. N, his good friend.
“He’s not dead. He’s right there,” Ken insisted, pointing at the painting. “He’s right here. He hasn’t gone anywhere. He hasn’t left me. He’s just being stubborn. Aren’t you, Hongbin?”
“You need to get out of here. You need to rest,” N insisted, continuing to drag Ken away from the painting. “You’ve been holed up in here for three days.”
“I’m not leaving him. Let me go! I’m not leaving him!” Ken cried, too weak to over power N but fighting anyway. “Hongbin! Tell him to stop! Tell him to let me go!” But the painting didn’t answer. N threw Ken out of the makeshift cubicle, Ken’s cries vibrating through the entire studio as N dragged him further away.
“Hongbin!”
“Hongbin!”
