Jongin waited until Sojin left the examination room before he stood up from the black exam chair to hand a plastic bag to Kyungsoo, who looked at the artist curiously as he accepted the bag. “Thanks for lending me these clothes. I washed them, so they’re clean.” Well, technically Yixing had done the laundry, but there was no need for the shorter male to know the specifics.

“Oh, you didn’t have to,” the ophthalmologist answered as he peered into the bag to see the folded woolen maroon turtleneck and black Adidas soccer pants. “But thank you, Mr. Kim,” he graciously continued as he placed the bag on the side counter. “That was very kind of you to do.”

“You were the one who lent them to me in the first place,” Jongin pointed out as he settled back into his seat. “It was the least I could do after you went through so much trouble to make sure I didn’t freeze to death that night.”

A lopsided smile appeared on Kyungsoo’s face. Despite how stressed he had been that rainy Saturday evening, it had been completely worth it to finally break the ice between him and the usually standoffish artist. Even now, the ophthalmologist could see how much more relaxed and comfortable Jongin was as he reclined in the exam chair. The frosty, dark aura that was usually pulsing around the tall angst-filled male was no longer there, at least for the time being. But unlike before, Kyungsoo was more confident this time around that this pleasant version of Kim Jongin was here to stay.

“Well, in any case, I’m glad to see that you’re feeling better, Mr. Kim. I hope these past two weeks have been treating you well?”

The artist was then reminded of the troubling thoughts that now plagued him daily—ever since Black Day, which he internally berated himself for, since it should have been a non-issue—and his mouth twisted into a small scowl. “Could be better, honestly,” Jongin answered, unable to keep the bitterness out of his tone.

Dr. Do smiled sympathetically at the artist as he kindly asked, “Is your lack of inspiration bothering you again?”

“Actually—” Jongin abruptly stopped himself, since he didn’t know whether or not he should divulge his worries from this past week. They were completely different from the conversation he’d had with Kyungsoo that night and it almost seemed silly that a grown man like him was so conflicted over dating.

Experiencing an existential crisis since his color vision was completely butchered and his muse was long gone?

Perfectly valid.

Experiencing an existential crisis since he had never dated before and was now possibly—even though he hated himself for even entertaining the option—open to the idea of finding a significant other?

Absolutely moronic.

And Jongin was far from moronic.

At least, he liked to think that he was, being a genius artist and all.

Except it seemed like even geniuses had their own limits.

As the artist went through another round of self-doubt and self-debate, Kyungsoo patiently waited for Jongin to finish his sentence. But when it looked like the other male was too distracted to continue the conversation, the ophthalmologist softly asked, “Mr. Kim, is everything alright?”

With that, Jongin was jolted out of his consuming thoughts and he sheepishly answered, “Sorry, I’ve been…dealing with some personal issues lately.” That was the easiest way to put it without having to explain the actual reason, which was terribly lame in the artist’s opinion. There was no need for Kyungsoo to know how much of a loser he was.

The ophthalmologist nodded in understanding and decided to end the conversation there, not wanting to pry. Every person was entitled to their privacy, which he respected. If Jongin decided to disclose the reason why later on, then Kyungsoo would do his best to provide a listening ear. But if Jongin didn’t want others to know what was vexing him so much, then Kyungsoo didn’t think he should interfere. At any rate, the artist didn’t seem as broken as he had on that rainy evening, so Kyungsoo decided not to worry too much.

Within minutes, Jongin’s eyeballs were feeling extremely dense and heavy once again, since the ophthalmologist had applied the dilating eye drops in preparation for another comprehensive retinal examination. This time, when Kyungsoo turned off the overhead lights and switched on the ophthalmoscope, the artist was prepared for the sudden visual change and he did his best not to flinch away when the medical tool was brought up to his left eye.

Having already done this before, the retinal examination didn’t seem as invasive as it had the first time. However, Jongin admittedly still struggled to keep his eyes from blinking, especially since they felt so weighed down from the dilating eye drops. Once Kyungsoo switched the room’s overhead lights back on, the artist exhaled loudly while as he leaned back into the black exam chair and then shut his eyes. Even behind his closed eyelids, he could “see” bright spots dotting his vision after being exposed to the light of the ophthalmoscope for so long.

“It’ll take me a few minutes to go over my notes, Mr. Kim. If you’re fine with waiting a little bit longer, I will update you in just a moment.” Dr. Do smiled weakly, but it went undetected since Jongin’s eyes were still shut.

The artist responded, “Go ahead,” before opening his eyes and blinking several times, letting them adjust to the light.

Kyungsoo lightly bit his bottom lip, since he was almost positive that he already knew the outcome of today’s examination, but tried to stay optimistic when he flipped open his patient’s medical file. After all, from his observations just now, Jongin’s eyes looked healthy. That was great news.

But that also meant they were nowhere closer to solving the artist’s color vision problem, which was a huge predicament in itself.

As he compared his current notes to the ones he had taken at the end of February, the ophthalmologist couldn’t help but frown. Jongin didn’t miss the troubled expression, but chose to stay quiet and patiently wait for the ophthalmologist’s verdict. However, when he heard Kyungsoo’s next words, he almost wished that he hadn’t, because his entire world threatened to crumble into dirt.

“I will be quite frank with you, Mr. Kim. I honestly have no idea what to do about your color vision problem,” Dr. Do confessed as he slowly closed Jongin’s file and rested it on his lap. “These past two weeks, I have pored over dozens of articles and I have also consulted several colleagues of mine to figure out what the issue is. But so far, nothing has been gleaned. Every lead that I’ve come across has turned out to be a dead end.”

Jongin narrowed his eyes. “So…what you’re saying is…I’m a hopeless case?” He couldn’t disguise the anger in his voice, especially after having laid his heart bare to the ophthalmologist the other night. Had he been talking to thin air the entire time? Did his struggles mean nothing to Kyungsoo in the end?

What a mistake.

Kyungsoo pressed his lips into a thin line, quickly realizing that he was now treading dangerous waters. He had warned himself that this could potentially happen, having seen how stubborn the artist could be when it came to his color vision in particular. However, since the appointment had started off so well, the ophthalmologist had hoped that the conversation wouldn’t spiral out of control. Nevertheless, despite the smooth beginning, tensions were now steadily increasing and Jongin’s hands, which were at his side, were curling into fists.

He had to remedy this right away. There was no telling what the artist would do after he left the eye clinic, if their previous appointment’s aftermath had been any indication of how he usually reacted when confronted with a seemingly insurmountable obstacle. And since Jongin’s mood was already dampened from whatever else he had been dealing with the last couple of weeks, this would more than likely push him back into that dark place if Kyungsoo didn’t fix this misunderstanding now.

Taking a deep breath, the ophthalmologist drew his ivory-colored wheelie stool close to the black exam chair and stared straight into Jongin’s eyes.

The artist stared back and stubbornly waited for the other male’s answer, even though his dilated eyeballs felt like they’d drop to the bottom of his skull. Thick tears gathered at his waterline, but Jongin hastily blinked them away, mulishly ignoring the stinging sensation that occurred as he did.

More seconds steadily ticked by until Dr. Do finally said, “I don’t think you’re a hopeless case, Mr. Kim. Far from it. Eyes like yours don’t just magically lose function, not without a reason. If given more time, there is a chance that I can figure out what the problem is.”

“Then why—”

“However,” Dr. Do continued without a pause, “I cannot guarantee that it will be timely or that I will succeed in the end. I don’t know if you remember this from our first appointment together, but I mentioned how I’m not a color vision expert. I have learned a lot since becoming your eye doctor, but there is still much for me to learn about this topic.” He then let out a loud sigh before adding, “I’m sorry for cutting you off, Mr. Kim, but I didn’t want my train of thought to be derailed by your interruption.”

“Sorry,” the artist muttered, his head facing down and his bangs falling over his eyes. His hands had unfurled and were now resting limply on the chair seat, next to his thighs.

“I understand how antsy you feel about your color vision and how it is currently impeding your art. You’ve been dealing with this for a very long time now, so the reason I am proposing this is because I know you would like a solution to this problem straight away.”

Jongin waited with bated breath for the ophthalmologist to continue speaking. His palms were turning sweaty as he pressed them against the black leather of the exam chair and the pit of his stomach swirled uneasily.

“If you wish to cease these appointments and switch to another eye clinic that houses ophthalmologists who are well-versed in color vision, I can refer you to a number of well-known doctors in the area. You will probably reach a solution much more quickly with one of them overseeing your treatment.”

There was a stretch of silence before Jongin quietly asked, “Why?”

Dr. Do looked at him questioningly. “Are you asking why I’m suggesting this?”

The artist solemnly nodded.

“Because I know how important it is that you recover your color vision as soon as you can. With someone more knowledgeable on the subject working with you, it is quite possible that you will soon discover a solution that will allow you to paint and distinguish colors like you used to. I usually deal with patients who have vastly different problems from you, so I cannot dedicate all of my time to researching color vision like other specialists can,” Dr. Do explained, his voice tinged with regret.

“So…this is it then… This is the end of…of this,” Jongin stated flatly, using his right hand to gesture around the examination room.

“If you wish to be transferred to a different clinic, I will ask Ms. Jung to begin preparing the paperwork for the referral process immediately. If you wish to stay at Bright Vision Eye Clinic, then I ask that you be patient as we gradually figure this out and that you aren’t disappointed if things don’t move as quickly as you’d like them to,” the ophthalmologist said, folding his hands over his lap. “The choice is yours, Mr. Kim.”

Well, he certainly hadn’t been expecting to make a decision like this. The thought of going to another eye clinic and seeing another ophthalmologist had never occurred to Jongin at all. Being given an ultimatum like this was terribly jarring and he found his mind beginning to overload from the stress of having to make such a monumental decision on the spot. “How—how soon do I need to decide?”

“The sooner the better, since Ms. Jung will need to organize the necessary documents if you choose to transfer. However,” Dr. Do glanced down at his gold-plated wristwatch, “there is some time left until Ms. Jung clocks out, so you can think about it right now before making your final decision. I will wait here with you, in case you need me to answer any questions you might have about either option,” the ophthalmologist finished with a reassuring smile.

“Okay…”

As he thought about Kyungsoo’s reasons for possibly sending him to another eye doctor, one that was specialized in color vision, Jongin had to admit that the shorter male’s words possessed merit. After all, the artist had waited over two months for Kyungsoo to try to discover how to fix his eyes and with his muse gone since half a year before that, Jongin was becoming more restless by the day. His work room was painfully void of his presence and he desperately wanted to return, despite knowing that he wasn’t ready yet.

If he switched physicians, perhaps things would finally get better. Maybe he would finally be able to look at a palette and confidently dip his paintbrush into one of the many puddles coloring the brown board. And, if Jongin even dared to hope that it would happen, perhaps his muse would return to him and life would go on as it always should have.

No more frustration. No more darkness. No more failures.

The artist glanced at Kyungsoo, who was still beaming at him, before his gaze drifted to the ophthalmologist’s brown hair. Now that he thought about it, Jongin still hadn’t been able to correctly identify the other male’s hair color after all of these months. Nor had he been able to distinguish which shade of brown Kyungsoo’s round eyes were, as the artist’s gaze moved downwards.

With a sinking feeling, Jongin realized that transferring to a different eye clinic meant that he would most likely never see Kyungsoo again. And that meant he would most likely never see his brown hair and brown eyes ever again. And that meant he would never be able to pinpoint the exact hue of brown they were.

Jongin wasn’t sure he liked that outcome. To never have this nagging question answered… To never be able to recreate these striking features, even if his color perception recovered…

But to stay at Bright Vision Eye Clinic would mean he would continue delaying the process and since Kyungsoo couldn’t guarantee a complete success, that decision could be pointless in the end.

The artist groaned loudly as he leaned forward, burying his head in his hands while his elbows rested on his thighs. His eyes hurt. His head hurt. Everything hurt when he tried to make a choice between the two. Jongin wanted both, but he also knew he couldn’t have both and that fact was destroying him on the inside.

No matter which option he chose, it felt like he would lose something important.

He kept his head down, unable to look up at the ophthalmologist, since he knew that would make the situation even more difficult to deal with. Time ticked by as Jongin went back and forth between his two options, weighing the pros and cons of both against each other. But no matter which one he tried to choose, he immediately found another reason to also choose the other.

It wasn’t until Dr. Do gently said, “The eye clinic will be closing soon, Mr. Kim. Have you made your decision yet?” that he felt certain enough in his choice to fully commit to it.

It was now or never.

Whether he ended up regretting his decision or thanking himself for choosing correctly, there was no going back after this.

Before he could chicken out and go through a dozen more rounds of flip-flopping, Jongin lifted his head to lock eyes with the ophthalmologist and then nodded.

Dr. Do smiled while asking, “So what will you do, Mr. Kim?”

♈♈♈