Jinwoo stared at the money in front of him not fully registering what had just happened. This would pay his bills for a while, and finally he would be able to work in an environment with a reliable supply of electricity. He felt a tear slide down his cheek, which was then followed by several. Until he could grasp what was happening he sank to the floor and sobbed into his paint streaked hands. For months he had lived as an unfeeling mechanical robot, going about his daily tasks with no emotion behind them. He had, had no drive to live but he didn’t have the will to die either. Merely existing but completely forgetting what it feels like to live. Somehow this man had broken the dam he had built inside of himself. Maybe all it really took was someone, anyone to look at him as though he was a human being again. Like he had some sort of meaning in this meaningless world. 

  Tears still stinging his eyes, he pulled on his overly large rain jacket and locked the creaking glass door behind him. The rain was welcoming, and he lifted his palms upward letting the new sensation of feeling wash over him as it pooled in his hands.  He wasn’t magically happy, but for the first time he felt something other than the hallow numbness he had existed in for months on end. He made it to his block without getting lost, and walked up the stairs to his small apartment. Turning the key he went directly to the easel and pulled out his acrylics after days of unused. The world blurred around him and the only things that existed were his brush and the paint. The small brushstrokes covered the canvas in shades of blue, and Jinwoo finds himself smiling. It may be a broken smile, full of pain and sadness. But it was enough for him to find at least a little color left inside of himself.  

     “Minho are you in there?” A soft voice knocks Minho from his daze and he looks up towards the girl he is supposed to marry. She was conventionally beautiful, supermodel thin with porcelain skin, with slight curves that you would miss if you didn’t look close enough. Her black hair hung long and pin straight against her white blazer, and her face was an unblemished work of perfection, and she always held a sort of pouty expression that was hard to look away from. He should feel lucky, she would make a perfect wife, and any man would risk anything to have her. He didn’t even have to do anything and she would be his. Set up since birth they both came from wealthy families, their companies were close partners and Minho was the only son to carry on the family name. He had no choice in the matter, there was nothing he could have done to change his fate. He forced a smile and raised his head to meet his fiancees eyes. His whole life he had been putting on a show, the perfect son, the perfect student, the perfect business man. He had lived behind a mask of perfection to the extent where he was nearly nothing on the inside. Every aspect of his life was artificial, and he felt like someone else was in control. And maybe someone else was. His father had been pulling the strings since he could remember, money is power and the head of the family definitely demonstrated that. 

 “Sorry Yumi I was just a little distracted by the rain. How are you doing?” She smiled whenever he showed even a fake interest in her personal life. She couldn’t help but love him even if they had been arranged to be married. Even so she would have made the decision herself just by the first meeting. He was the epitome of perfection, from his bone structure to his mannerisms, but some part of her knew that he would never have the same feelings for her. But being with him was enough, and that is all she could’ve ever asked for. 

  “I’m doing well, but I am interested in how your day went, you just disappeared this morning I never heard from you.” It pained Minho deeply that he couldn’t love her. She was considerate, and kind and never put herself first. He wanted to love her. He wanted to look at her and feel warmth flowing through his veins. But he knew this was impossible. He had known it ever since he could remember. He closed his eyes and was transported to another time.

  He saw himself standing in his childhood bedroom staring at himself in the mirror. A knock at the door jolted him from his trance and he went to open it, and he saw him standing there. Bobby Kwon. His best friend. The next images came in blurs, the kiss, the screaming, the shattered mirror, and the blood. There had been so much blood, Minho still had scars on his back from the impact of his body slamming against the mirror. He had played it off to his father as an intruder, someone trying to rob the Song family of their wealth who fled at the sight of Minho’s slumped figure. He knew it was his fault, boys weren’t supposed to kiss boys it wasn’t natural. But it felt like human nature to him, because even his earliest primary school memories never had him chasing the girls on the playgrounds. 

  “I was on my way back from the café and it began pouring suddenly, and I stumbled upon an art gallery. A certain piece in the window drew me in, and the artist made me tea and I purchased it. He is very talented, I will have to go back soon his work would sell for millions in the bigger galleries. I may even ask my Father if he can look into presenting him at the art Galla next month.” Minho looked down at his hands, smooth and soft as if he had never lifted a finger in his life. His mind flashed with images of Jinwoo’s paint streaked hands, his fingers slightly crooked from countless hours of holding a paintbrush. He saw his empty eyes, pleading for someone to look through the wall he had built for himself. 

  “Wow he must be very talented, you never have shown an interest in the arts before. Maybe you could bring me sometime? I am actually looking for possible prospects for the Galla as well, I was going to go with a well known artist, but I would give him a chance if he were really as good as you say.” What she didn’t know is that he had always been interested in art. Not the kind you’d find in the houses of the rich, but in the ones you’d find along alleyway walls. He remembered how he felt when he had first met Jinwoo’s eye and he was disgusted at himself. He felt a stirring inside of his chest, and his heart thumped dangerously against his ribcage. Choi Yumi would never make him feel like this no matter how many times he told himself that he loved her. His attraction would never grow outside the platonic spectrum. They continued their conversation, but everything was a blur to him. In his mind he was in the dimly lit gallery listening to the soft breaking voice of Kim Jinwoo as he told him his life story over a steaming cup of green tea. He tried his best to plaster on his perfect smile, and it worked but it only hallowed him out inside. He was sick of pretending, but he knew that for the rest of his life he would continue to pretend.  

   Jinwoo woke up to the sun shining through the tears in his blinds, hands stained blue from the hours he had spent perfecting his newest piece. He rose rubbing his eyes he threw on a pastel blue sweater, and ripping black jeans and walked into the kitchen to make himself some tea. Wait I could go to the café, I have a little extra cash to spend. Jinwoo thought to himself remembering the smiling face of Minho as he threw the money on the counter and raced out the door.  He threw on some shoes and a jacket and made his way down the 7 flights of stairs, and made his way to the local café. This hadn’t been a luxury he could afford in his long time, he had been living of discounted take-out and instant noodles as long as he had lived in Seoul. The bell jingled welcomingly as he made his way inside. His ran a hand through his unkempt hair and walked up to the counter and ordered a green tea. You could’ve gotten anything idiot. He was used to the cheap watered down tea packets he had gotten from the convenience store, and it had always been green tea. Something’s really never change. Jinwoo sighed and took his steaming cup from the smiling barista and sat down at a booth farthest away from the chattering customers. There hadn’t been a miraculous revival, he still found it hard to lock eyes with anyone around him. One night of good sleep wasn’t enough to get rid of the black circles that had been accumulating under his eyes for months of unrest. 

 He watched a couple walk in the door with smiling up at each other as if nothing else existed. His mind flashed images of the man with the big black glasses and the crooked smile, and Jinwoo’s hands tightened around his mug. Jinwoo had always known that he was gay, and he was comfortable with himself. He never made himself feel like he was broken or an abomination. This was something he had always been good at, self-acceptance. He used to accept that he got lost all the time, and the fact that he tripped over nothing. But all of those things became annoyances that he could barely stand to live with. There had been boys on the island, stolen kisses and broken hearts. But it was never love it was always a past time. No one was ever willing to be open about it, because it was frowned upon. But Jinwoo never felt the effects of it on his small island. There were plenty of straight couples crowding the streets of seoul, laughing at each other and pretending like they were the only people alive. There was no one for Jinwoo to hold hands with on the busy sidewalks. There was no one for Jinwoo to look at and forget about the rest of the world. There was only downward glances, and avoiding sidesteps. He rose from his seat and made his way towards the door, not wanting to see anything else that he would never be able to have. 

  He made his way towards the gallery the large canvas in the tote bag slung around his shoulder. It wasn’t an ideal way to transport things, but there wasn’t enough room in his small gallery to set up a studio in the back. He unlocked the door and placed his newest creation in the display window and laid down on the narrow bench in the back of the room. He stared at the cracks in the ceiling until they melted into blurs, and felt the familiar black emptiness tugging at his mind. Willing him not to allow the loneliness to manifest itself into another tear-stained face. He closes his eyes and watches Minho’s smiling face dissipate into dust, the dark numbness seizing hold of his brain. 

The bell toiled just in time for it to evaporate. Jinwoo rose up and flattened down his sweater with his hands. 

  “Good morning!” He called to the customer before he had even glanced at who it was. 

  “You sound so lively today did something happen?” A familiar voice caused Jinwoo’s eyes to raise and he met Minho’s with a silent gasp. His heart fluttered in his chest, and he went to greet Minho at the front of the room. Minho hated himself for coming back here just the day after. He hated himself for getting the same stirring in his chest when meeting Jinwoo’s eye. His eyes trailed along Jinwoo’s pastel sweater, to his ripping jeans before he realized what he was doing. 

  “No nothing happened, anyone can fake happiness. I’m just good at pretending.” Jinwoo said with a sigh. A sadness he had been holding back flooding his voice. Trust me I know my whole life is pretend. Minho thought to himself. Holding his hands tightly at his sides as not to reach out and touch Jinwoo in someway. 

  “I just wanted to stop by and ask you a question about something. But I see you already have painted something new since yesterday. I guess you weren’t kidding when you said acrylic was your medium. Jinwoo you are a very talented artist, and you deserve recognition for you work.”  He glances quickly at Jinwoo’s reaction and swears he could have seen a slight smile form on his lips. 

  “You wanted to ask me a question?” Jinwoo said hoping that Minho hadn’t seen the smile that had escaped from his usual stolid expression. 

  “Ah yes. I was wondering if you would be interested in presenting some pieces at a gala a month from now. I was looking for a prospect but none of them even come close to your brushwork. You would of course get paid a decent amount.”

 “Are you a collector? I would be happy to present some pieces at the gala I need all the help I can get. No one really comes by here anymore.” Minho laughed at the idea of being an art collector. If only his career had been that simple, maybe he wouldn’t have these scars on his back. 

  “Ahh.. No I am not a collector. My father is throwing the gala for my mother’s birthday, and he trusts me to find the artists to present to her. She would love your work.” Jinwoo’s eyes widened in realization. He said his name was Song Minho as in Song Industries. He took a sudden step back and bowed in front of this important man. He immediately felt his cheeks redden in embarrassment. 

  “I am so sorry Song Minho, please forgive my casual behavior I had no idea..” Minho place a finger against Jinwoo’s lips, and he immediately stopped talking. Now it was Minho who took the sudden step back as he looked at his hands in horror at what he had just done. 

  “I-I forgive me. I don’t know what came over me. Please don’t treat me any differently, I would hate it if you did. Nobody treats me like a normal human being, and that’s all I have ever wanted.” Jinwoo’s lips still tingled from where Minho had touched them and he reach for his mouth as if somehow he could keep the feeling there by doing so. 

  “Don’t worry about it. Would you like to sit down? We can talk about it some more if you’d like.” Jinwoo’s voice came out strained as if that one second touch had been enough to drain him of oxygen. 

 “I wish I could, but I’ve got to go my fia..my sister is waiting to have lunch with me, but could you give me your number? I would like a way to keep you updated about whats going on.” You really don’t need his number for that. You could just come back to the gallery. Minho thought to himself, knowing there was an alternate motive as to why he wanted Jinwoo’s number. 

  Jinwoo wrote his number on a scrap piece of paper and held it out for Minho, every nerve aware of Minho’s hand brushing against his as he took the paper out of his open palm. You’re falling for a straight man Jinwoo you need to stop now. Jinwoo told himself as he waved slightly as Minho made his way towards the door.