Jongin thought he should clarify.

The shades of orange on the paintbrushes didn’t look exactly the same to him. He could just barely pick out the slight differences between them. But that was it. His eyes could only identify minor disparities that were otherwise glaringly obvious to Yixing. It was like the colors were muted, the usually vibrant orange intertwined with gray undertones. The darker tints of orange were more akin to the shade of black.

It was like Jongin’s world had suddenly been grayed out.

No, now that he thought about it, this wasn’t an abrupt change. Despite the seemingly unexpected turn of events, this alteration had been slowly and subtly occurring over the last few months. Jongin just hadn’t noticed it earlier since he had ceased painting soon after his muse had left him, not wanting to waste expensive art supplies even if he could easily afford to replace them. Since then, Jongin had focused solely on pencil and ink sketches, causing only the achromatic colors of white, gray, and black to grace his vision lately.

And because he never left the apartment, Jongin only saw the same things over and over again. The furniture and decorations in the home he shared with Yixing had all gradually faded into background noise, looking patchy and fuzzy whenever he mindlessly glanced around his surroundings as he ate in the dining room or exercised in the living room. His environment had slowly lost color without him realizing it and after finally deciding to pick up his paintbrush following months of disuse for a change of pace, Jongin’s world came crashing down in tones of gray.

This was just his luck. No muse, no artwork, and now, no color. Or at least not the vivid colors he was accustomed to seeing.

Jongin prided himself on being able to perceive every shade on the spectrum in rich color. Although a fairly significant portion of men were afflicted with color blindness or varying degrees of color weakness, Jongin had the fortune of seeing the world as it was meant to be seen: colorful, brilliant, and beautiful. That was one of the main reasons his paintings stood out and were so sought after. Jongin knew how to utilize every single color on his palette at its best, allowing him to create eye-catching pieces that instantly imprinted themselves onto the minds of every person who passed by.

With this new revelation that he couldn’t see color the way he used to, Jongin knew that if he didn’t do something quickly, his career would be finished. Over before it even truly began.

Kim Jongin never knew he could loathe himself so much until that moment.

--

Jongin was finally outside. Yixing had refused to allow the artist to stay indoors, not after they discovered his new disability. Even though Jongin wanted to try and fix his problem within the safe confines of their apartment, Yixing had unceremoniously shoved his friend out the door and quickly locked it behind him before Jongin could react, calling through the door that the artist wasn’t allowed to return until it was time for dinner.

“I’m not unlocking this door, no matter what you say or do. This time, you’re going to listen to me and follow my instructions, whether you like it or not. I don’t care if you curse me out or fire me over this. I’m not going to spoil you any longer, you arrogant brat.”

“But Yixing, I don’t have my keys or my phone!” Jongin glared at the apartment door, silently yet colorfully cursing his manager in his mind. At any rate, his swears made up for the lack of color that his eyes perceived. “At least let me come back inside to get those!”

“Nice try, buddy, but no way. Don’t think I don’t know you’re going to lock yourself in your work room the second I let you back in here,” Yixing shot back, firmly keeping his foot down. “All you need is your wallet and you already have that on you, so shoo.”

“But I won’t know the time without my phone!”

“Go ask someone on the street then. Or make a sundial on the ground or something,” Yixing flippantly answered. “Use that creative mind of yours, Jongin. You’re not allowed to come back here until sunset, that’s for sure.”

Jongin slammed his head on the door, wanting very much to strangle his friend at this moment.

“Don’t do that, Jongin! You’re going to injure yourself like that!”

“Then let me in!” the artist angrily shouted back.

“No!”

Jongin groaned loudly, knowing that Yixing wouldn’t budge on this issue, no matter how much the younger male begged. The artist irately kicked the door this time, eliciting another stern reprimand from the manager, before roughly shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and walking down the stairs to the first floor of the building. As he passed through the glass doors leading to the outside, Jongin grumbled under his breath, “Tonight’s dinner better be the best meal Yixing has ever cooked in his life.”

So that’s how Jongin was forced to walk underneath the gloomy Parisian sky for the first time in five months. The French capital was not known for its sunny skies and was usually covered with gray clouds that sometimes released light rain throughout the day. As Jongin trudged through the streets, huddled in his thick gray cashmere sweater, he sighed as he glanced around his dull surroundings. Even though Parisian architecture was still extremely beautiful and pleasing to the eye, he couldn’t bring himself to marvel over the tiny details that were often overlooked by regular people.

Five months ago, Jongin would have stood to the side as his bright eyes hungrily drank in the age-old designs while he memorized every single curve and straight line that graced these buildings. He would have eagerly taken out his sketchbook and carefully moved his pen across a fresh blank page, allowing the black ink to decorate the white paper as he perfectly outlined every part of these magnificent buildings. He would have raced home afterwards to later transform these drawings into something…grand.

But that was five months ago.

Jongin looked at the buildings now, but he didn’t see them. They melted into the grayness that encircled his being, becoming bland like the food that Jongin cooked whenever Yixing wasn’t home to feed him. The artist didn’t even know where he was headed. He just let his feet move on auto-pilot as he continued stepping forward, robotically shifting to different sides of the wide sidewalk every few minutes to avoid bumping into others.

He walked and walked and walked, keeping his head down to avoid making eye contact with anyone. It was highly improbable, but the slight possibility of meeting someone who recognized him still existed. After all, Jongin was the art society’s golden boy. And even though he had isolated himself for five months, he was still very relevant. Invitations to galas and showcases came in every so often, anxiously awaiting an affirmative that the illustrious Kim Jongin would deem their event worthy of his presence.

In case any of those event hosts or any museum curators he was acquainted with just so happened to be walking around as well, Jongin made sure his fringe was covering his forehead and his eyes while keeping his face angled downwards. He had the uncanny tendency to randomly bump into people he knew, even in the most bustling cities in the world.

Not to mention, he was somewhat well-known amongst the general public as well since he had given numerous television interviews throughout his time in Paris. Every few weeks, Yixing would bring home a stack of fan mail from their post office box, mostly from young girls who had become smitten with him after seeing Jongin’s interviews or getting a hold of the magazines he had posed for with his artwork. He wouldn’t say he was a household name, but Jongin was definitely not a nobody.

The artist wasn’t sure how much time had passed as he wandered aimlessly around the city of Paris, finally finding himself in the sixth arrondissement, or the sixth administrative district, standing at the entrance to the Jardin du Luxembourg. It had been so long since he had last visited the Luxembourg Garden. In fact, when was the last time he had been here? Eight months ago? Nine? Or had it been more than a year?

Jongin had no idea.

That’s how far removed he was from everything in his life that wasn’t related to his artwork. Had he really become so out of touch with the reality that existed outside of his personal bubble?

And was that why the Luxembourg Garden right now looked so different from the image in his memory?

The lush grassy fields were no longer as green as they had been when Jongin recalled his previous visits. The orchards of apple trees and pear trees almost seemed to be dead with their leaves giving off a sickly gray color. Even the Fontaine de l’Observatoire lacked the sparkling sheen that usually caught his eye first whenever he entered the garden.

To the side, there were several nearby groups of tourists who were giggling excitedly as they animatedly snapped pictures of the beautiful garden, the towering trees, and the gurgling Fountain of the Observatory. Jongin watched their faces light up as they chattered and pointed to the numerous statues that dotted the area, motioning that they wanted to take photos of those sculptures as well. As those people shuffled away, with newcomers arriving to pose for their own pictures, Jongin walked to his favorite part of the Luxembourg Garden: La fontaine Médicis.

The Medici Fountain was an exquisite piece of Italian Renaissance art that Jongin could never get tired of observing, no matter how many times he saw it. The fountain was located in a serene part of the Luxembourg Garden, flanked by several tall plane trees. And throughout the centuries, it had suffered greatly as its condition gradually worsened due to lack of care. Luckily, the fountain had gone through reconstruction to restore the monument to its former glory while adding new parts to it.

Jongin’s favorite section of the Medici Fountain was the group of statues in the middle, Polyphemus Surprising Acis and Galatea. The centerpiece depicting the jealous Cyclops, Polyphemus, silently watching the lovers, Acis and Galatea, conveyed such a strong portrayal of love and jealousy that Jongin couldn’t help but feel his heart tighten in his chest whenever he glanced at it, even though he had never fallen in love before. This was the type of art he wanted to create: the kind that pulled at people’s heartstrings.

Perhaps he needed to rebuild himself. Maybe it was time for a fresh change.

Jongin knew he couldn’t stagnate like this any longer.

--

He had been regularly going outside now, and spent most of his time in parks and gardens since the first time Yixing had kicked the artist out of their apartment. Some days, the manager joined Jongin on his excursions, saying he wanted to make sure his friend wasn’t just wasting time in bars or casinos. Truthfully, Jongin preferred having Yixing with him, even if he wouldn’t ever admit it out loud to his manager, since it was more reassuring to have company at a dire time like this.

Yixing hadn’t enjoyed acting so rudely and speaking so harshly to Jongin that day. In fact, he felt the exact opposite. But the manager knew he was partly at fault for enabling Jongin’s stupid and selfish actions these past five months. If only Yixing had been firmer and sterner as the artist’s manager whenever the younger male haughtily refused to step outside, then they might've been able to avoid Jongin’s newfound dilemma…

“Stop thinking whatever you’re thinking right now.”

“Huh?”

Jongin turned to the older male, who was lying on the red-and-white picnic blanket that the two shared. They were sitting on one of the many sloping green lawns in the Parc Montsouris in the fourteenth arrondissement. “Stop blaming yourself for my problem. It’s not your fault. Nothing has ever been your fault, okay?”

The artist’s uncharacteristically kind words were quite surprising and somewhat reassuring. Jongin wasn’t as hostile as he usually was whenever they talked about anything related to his art, his lost muse, and his color deficiency. However, Yixing couldn’t help but begin to protest. After all, the manager still felt guilty about not noticing that something was seriously wrong earlier. “But Jongin—”

“Let’s go back home, Yixing,” the artist cut in before his friend could speak any further.

The manager nodded as he stood up and stretched, feeling his stiff back crack several times since he had been lying on the ground for several hours now as Jongin stared off into the distance. “Okay. We should stop by the grocery store on the way so I can pick up ingredients to make dinner for tonight.”

“No, that’s not what I meant.”

“Then…” Yixing looked at the younger male quizzically, trying to decipher the impassive expression on the artist’s face.

“Let’s go back home. Let’s go back to Seoul.”

♈♈♈