***

When the sun began to set, Hyukjae the radio, letting the chatter of the late afternoon hosts running a live quiz fill the small kitchen. He turned the volume down to below half and prepared a simple dinner. He ate and washed up before he left the house, heading down to the store to buy the laundry detergent that he never kept in mind and always omitted put down on the grocery list.

His steps were unhurried and he took the time to glance down each aisle as he passed in case he needed anything else. When he turned into the aisle for cleaning products, his steps slowed to a stop as he spotted a familiar person in a denim jacket, inspecting the laundry detergents.

Hyukjae approached with slow steps, stopping a close enough distance for the man to start turning on noticing his presence in his peripheral vision.

“Donghae?”

Donghae’s face was that of genuine surprise. “Oh. Hi.”

Hyukjae nodded. “Hi.” He took a place right next to Donghae, facing the laundry detergent and began scanning the shelves.

“You need detergent too?”

“Mm.” Hyukjae replied. “I keep forgetting to buy some.”

Donghae nodded.  “Ahh.” They looked up and down the shelves for a few moments longer, both undecisive.

“Do you… um…” The artist slowly turned his body towards him, eyes unpeeling from the shelves. “… know of any laundromats around here?”

“Not close. I know there’s one in the next area. It’ll be a few bus stops though. If you want to walk… it might take you half an hour.” A memory struck him. “Or you could drive?”

“Ahh… nevermind then.” Donghae dismissed with a slight shake of the head. “But thanks.”

Now that Hyukjae was properly looking at the artist, he saw the tired bags under his eyes, how his skin looked more tired than before and how the artist squinted slightly to inspect the upper shelves and the brilliant store lights fell into his eyes.

“Do you need to do your laundry somewhere?”

Donghae leaned over to inspect the hand washing laundry detergents, before eventually squatting down get a closer look. He pulled the smallest box off the shelf.

“Ah… Yeah. The washing machine at the motel broke over the last two days.” He said, sighing. “I need to do the laundry though because it’s piling up. And I needed to give the painting some time to dry anyway.” 

“I see.” Hyukjae said. He kept browsing the detergents as he considered inviting the artist to his home to use his washing machine. When he finally settled on a box, he pulled it from the shelf and was about to turn to go. The artist was still looking at the back label of the hand-washing detergent boxes.

“Do you...” He paused briefly for Donghae to look up at him. “Do you want to come and use the washing machine at my place?”

Donghae looked briefly relieved, then worried.

“That would be really, really… That would be great. Can I really?”

Hyukjae had his arm curled around the box of detergent, which he lifted slightly in gesture.

“You’re pressed for time. And I’m not doing my laundry tonight anyway.” As he said this, he squatted down next to the brunette and gently took the hand washing detergent boxes out of his hands, placing them back on the shelf. They both stood up together. “Let’s go.”

“I’m sorry.” Donghae said, walking right next to Hyukjae. “You’re not busy tonight?”

“No need to be sorry. And no, I’m not busy tonight.” Hyukjae reassured. “How is the painting?”

“Almost done. I just have the final layer to do.” Donghae breathed out in ease, a tight smile on his lips. “It takes so long not because of the detail – though, there’s that too – but I have to wait for some things to dry before I can paint on top of them.” He explained. “And if the layers don’t dry well… it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

Hyukjae nodded. “I see.”

They paid, and Hyukjae accompanied Donghae back to his motel to help him grab his clothes. Then they took the van to Hyukjae’s house.

“I have to say, I don’t drive much.” Donghae said. It was obvious that it had been some time since his feet had last touched the brakes and the accelerator, the car jerking forward and slowing down a little roughly at times, but he could hold the wheel steady enough, and that was reassuring enough for Hyukjae.

When they arrived outside Hyukjae’s apartment, he needed to back in and out a few times before he could get the van straight into the parking slot, a mildly embarrassed expression on his face as he kept whipping his head back and forth between switching gears, mumbling something about how he hadn’t done this in a long while.

Donghae carried his basket of clothes up the stairs, a large pile of dark garments, as he’d decided to leave the whites for another time when Siwon had the washing machine fixed. Or when everything was over and he could afford the time to travel to the laundromat that was a distance away.

They stepped in, removed their shoes, and then Hyukjae led him to the washing machine at the back. Donghae kept his eyes straight ahead as he followed the home owner, unwandering in the rather bare apartment. They both loaded his unwashed clothes into the washing machine before retiring to the living room to wait out the hour before the clothes would be done.

“Coffee? Tea?” Hyukjae asked. He gestured with a hand at the couch for Donghae to sit and he obliged.

“Tea would be nice.” He replied. “Thanks.”

Hyukjae returned with two steaming cups of a tea in coffee mugs. Donghae was sitting straight, feet together and hands on his knees. His eyes had been exploring the room, taking his surroundings in with a mild sense of wonder when Hyukjae entered.

“Thanks.” Donghae stood up to receive the cup, then sat back down. Hyukjae hesitated, unsure where to settle for a few moments before he chose to sit on the other end of the couch, inclining his body inwards so he was facing his guest.

“You don’t have any pictures.” Donghae noted, looking at nothing on the pale olive walls. His eyes scanned the shelves and drawers and cabinets, which contained books, a few CDs, spare batteries, some unused blankets. The surfaces were bare, the dust wiped away in easy smooth swipes earlier in the week, no ornaments and no frames.

“Mm. I haven’t bothered to decorate.”

The artist nodded as if in agreement. “Do you have family?”

“Yes. My parents. And a younger sister. But they live a while away.”

“Whereabouts?”

“Goyang. Gyeonggi-do.”

“Ahh.” Donghae nodded at this information.

“You?” Hyukjae asked.

“Mokpo. Jeolla-do.” He said. “It’s a long way from here.”

“It is.” Hyukjae acknowledged.

They lapsed into another few moments of silence. There was the whirring of the washing machine through the walls, and a melodic tune that was telling of the beginning of the wash cycle. Donghae put his cup down on the wooden coffee table.

“So… about my brother.” Donghae began, his voice affecting a casual tone but the subject suggesting otherwise.  “I got a call the other day. They told me I could come in to see him any time.”

Hyukjae nodded slowly. “I finished working on him. Three days ago. So yes, he should be ready for viewing by now.”

“I just wish this could all be over soon, so I could see him.” Donghae ran a hand through his mussed hair and it stayed stuck up in the direction he’d brushed it in. He looked tired, burdened, sad, worried. “It’s been, what, four? Five days? I still can’t believe this is all happening. That Eri’s life is in danger. It’s just so quiet without the either of them but I can’t relax.” Donghae rubbed his eyes, and when his knuckles came away from his way, Hyukjae saw that they were red-rimmed.

“You said you had evidence.” Hyukjae said, eyes downcast at the cup. “Evidence that of the real person who hurt your brother?”

At this, the artist seemed to look more awake. “Ah.” He didn’t expand straight away, but after a few extended moments, added “I… could show you.”

Hyukjae tilted his head. “What is it, exactly?”

Donghae looked back at the empty wall.

“A voice message that they sent through to my brother’s cell.” He paused to take a slow, deep breath in. Hyukjae felt tempted to prompt him at the pace he was going, but held himself back. “I heard Eri screaming in the background. And then they told me that I had a week and when and where to deliver. Or else the same would happen to my brother. That recording. That’s the evidence.”

Hyukjae dipped his head solemnly, not saying anything for two moments. “Ah..” Then his head snapped up in realisation.

“You were at the scene of the crime.”

Donghae looked confused as to where he was going with this. “Yes.”

“Then… the evidence…” Hyukjae struggled, the realisation that had hit him hadn’t fully sunken in and he needed time to process. “You didn’t need to hand in that sketch of my face. This could all have been resolved quietly, couldn’t it? Why did you need to give the police a suspect?”

“… You’re right. It could’ve.” Donghae’s shoulders slumped, looking guilty. “It could’ve but I was so, so stupid.” He shook his head in self-reproach.

“When I went to the meeting point and saw my brother… dead… I wasn’t thinking. I wanted to know if Eri was safe. I wanted my brother back. I wanted help.” He seemed to curl in on himself as he spoke. “He was so… cold. I knew he was dead. I called for an ambulance. I called for the ambulance and I called for the police. I told them my brother had been stabbed by someone, that he was dying- dead. I told them to come quickly, to save my brother.”

“But then not long after I made the calls, Donghwa’s phone rang. I picked it up and it was a message with a voice recording attached. Someone must have stayed behind, someone must have been watching me, somewhere, because they knew I’d called the police as soon as I did. And they told me to lie.” He said the last word with emphasis, echoing the instructions that had been given to him. “Lie. Throw them off the trail. Or Eri got hurt.”

“And I did. I didn’t know how I was going to do it. The police already got the information from the paramedics that I’d been there, at the scene of the crime and witnessed everything and they had questions. Even though I hadn’t. But at the time, I couldn’t explain why my brother was dead… dying, without going into more detail. I just went along with it.”

“They were going to bring me in and make me sketch out the murderer’s face. I decided I’d tell them then and there of my photographic memory, and then I would just go home and draw any face and hand it over. At the time, I thought if I just made up a face… if I just made up a face, it would be fine. But what if there was someone out there with that face? I couldn’t do that to an innocent person.”

“But then I remembered meeting you last year. I found your sketch among some of my things.”

“I had to report back to the police soon, and I needed to start on the painting as soon as possible. I had to take a chance. I handed over your sketch and prayed that you would be a forgiving person.” Donghae glanced furtively at Hyukjae, then back at the wall.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry.” Donghae said. “And you deserve to know, anyway.”

Hyukjae unconsciously shifted closer to the artist and put a soothing hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you.” Donghae said again, as if he hadn’t said it enough times. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. I just hope your friend is safe.” Hyukjae answered.

Donghae picked up his tea, gazed at the dark liquid contemplatively, then at Hyukjae.

“I know this question is a bit sudden but… what is your favourite colour?”

Hyukjae’s mind went blank all of a sudden.

“My favourite colour?”

Donghae nodded, seeming to show genuine interest in this matter.

“Umm.” Hyukjae had never been too picky about colours, but if he had to choose one...

“Blue.”

“Dark? Light?” The artist questioned curiously.

“Light.” Hyukjae answered, and then after another moment, added “Like the sky.”

At this, Donghae let out an unexpected laugh, loud and unrestrained.

“What.” The sudden burst of laughter caught Hyukjae off guard. “What is it?”

“Nothing. It’s just that you don’t seem the type.” Donghae replied, shrugging. “To have a favourite colour. Or to like the sky. I don’t know. I guess I was surprised.”

Hyukjae turned this admission over in his mind. “So what kind of person do I seem like?”

“I don’t know. I don’t really know you.” Donghae said, but it had a shrugging tone to it. “I think you’re a nice person too. You help people, dead or alive, and you’re sensitive, no- that’s not it. Sympathetic? You seem kind of lonely…” But he paused here to think reconsider his words.  “But I’m sure you’re not.” He wore a hopeful smile. “All-accepting and all-forgiving.” He concluded. “Do you get angry much?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Hyukjae didn’t understand the question. “I… haven’t felt the need to?”

Donghae laughed again and Hyukjae looked confused.

“See, that.” The artist pointed out, and Hyukjae didn’t know what he was talking about. “I don’t think anger is a need. No one gets angry because they want to, it’s natural.  When you feel like the world is unfair, you get angry. But I guess-” He paused, an incredulous smile spreading across his face. “You don’t feel much of that, do you?”

“No, of course I do.” Hyukjae immediately denied. The artist looked surprised. “Of course the world is unfair.” Hyukjae said, with enough emphasis that it sounding protesting. “People who don’t deserve to die, die every day.”

Donghae gave himself a moment to let this sink in, then nodded .”Ahh… I forgot…”

“It’s okay.” Hyukjae replied lightly. He held his hand out towards Donghae’s cup. “More tea?”

*

They both pulled out the wet laundry from the machine and into the basket, and then Donghae was at the door bidding Hyukjae goodbye.

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” Donghae said.

“It’s alright, no trouble, really.” Hyukjae replied, waving it off with a hand. “Good luck with your artwork.”

“Thank you.” Yet again. The artist smiled a tired smile. “I really appreciate what you’ve done for me.”

“I really haven’t done anything, you know?” Hyukjae pointed out.

Donghae shook his head. “For not doing anything then, and letting this all happen. Thank you.”

*

Hyukjae didn’t see him again, but he did receive two phone calls on Sunday. One to let him know that the testimony of the witness had been revised and therefore he was now guilt-free. The other call came from Donghae himself.

“I would have come visit you personally, but… I’m sorry. We’re in a rush to leave.”

Hyukjae heard the voice of a woman in the background, asking Donghae whether he had yet to take down the dry clothes in the bathroom.

“Is that Eri?” Hyukjae asked curiously.

“Yes, it’s her.”

“How is she?”

“… She’s… she’s doing alright.” Donghae said hesitantly. Hyukjae nodded to himself on his side of the line. “I mean… she’s healthy and… relieved. She’s a lot stronger than she looks.”

“That’s good to hear.” Hyukjae replied. He twisted the long cord around his fingers. “So… about the testimony…”

“I gave them the sketch of the real culprit’s face this morning.” The artist’s voice sounded confident and more rushed at the same time. “They’ll be hunting him down now, which is why we’re leaving this town as soon as possible.”

“Right. Of course.” Was all Hyukjae could breathe down the line.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Good luck with everything.”

There was a pause before the reply came from the other side.

“You too. I wish you all the best.”

Then the line went dead.

*

It was two days later, when Hyukjae went into work, that he decided to take a stroll among the tombstones on the grassy side.

He found it, right next to where the elderly woman had been buried, no stone, but a small plaque that had been stuck into the ground at the head of the grave. It read “In loving memory of Lee Dong Hwa” and then a small flower engraved underneath.

Hyukjae knelt at the foot of the grave and prayed for a few quiet moments, wishing him peace in the next world, before he departed for an ordinary day of work.

*

Another two weeks passed. Hyukjae continued his usual routines. He embalmed dead bodies. He frequented the Midnight Blues. He went to the music shop and listened to some new songs, humming to himself newly learned tunes on the way home. He called home and asked how his parents were. He found himself thinking more and sleeping easier.

He often thought about the artist and wondered where he was. He gave more thought to Yesung and Sungmin, making an effort to banter along in their conversations and discovered how much he appreciated them. He found himself looking at people around him, people that walked past, gave less of a thought about what they would look like when they came out of a cold shelf and wondered at the warmth in their lives now. He found himself looking at faces and wondering why Donghae had sketched his. He wondered if his face always looked like that, on the sketch. He wondered if he would do something meaningful to someone again, and if anything he did in life was meaningful at all, if life was always this peaceful. Ever since the criminal label had been removed, he realised he didn’t have a label of his own.

When a month had passed, he received a large, flat parcel with no return address. When he cut the string and tore away the wrapping, it revealed a canvas on which a picture of the sky had been painted. Every blue of the sky had been incorporated into this painting, as if the artist did not know which shade would best please the viewer. It faded into pale, almost glass-like translucent blue as the sky stretched into the distance, and was a much richer, deeper blue towards the immediate sky. The blues were mixed and moulded themselves into different shades around the wisps of clouds dispersed across the sky. Rather of a big block gradient of blue, all the different blues looked as if they were swimming amongst each other in the ocean that was the sky.

Hyukjae hung it up centre on the wall and stepped back, admiring the flawless brushwork. There was no visible signature, no note that had accompanied the gift, but he wanted to tell the artist “Thank you”, that it was beautiful, that it was one of the best gifts that he’d received in his short lifetime. He wanted the artist to know that he appreciated the thought behind the piece, wanted his words to lift the artist, to encourage him to bring forth into the world the creativity that was his own, when he remembered that he was doing exactly that.

Donghae was off somewhere, starting a new life, and his art would from thereon all be his own, original, unique, and they would showcase those feelings and memories he so treasured, capture and move people at a glance.

He was sad to think that he would never hear these words of appreciation that he knew every artist needed, but then again, the artist probably knew. The words “Thank you” didn’t need to be delivered personally, but they would be taken, for granted, and merited.

Sometime later, he didn’t think so often about the one week and the artist anymore. He no longer had sleeping pills in his cabinet, he’d nurtured the firm conviction that tomorrow would come and today had been a day with no regrets, so intrinsic, and he no longer thought about anything at all, willingly and easily submitting himself to a night of restful unconsciousness when he rested his head on his pillow.

Whenever his eyes fell on the painting of the sky that seemed much so much deeper and wider, broader than the size of the canvas itself and larger than life, he felt something – Pride? Happiness? – in any case, it was a reminder to him that something had once changed for the better in his life and that there would be better things to come.

*

Hold on, first- /gets down on knees/ im sincerely sorry

i really should take this piece off this website, waste no one’s time, and im pretty sure that I  will sometime in the near future, but i really needed to just finish this one for the sake of finishing so I can move on to a better project

thank you if you read it though, thank you