“… the exhibition was a success, especially for a debut. Can we talk a little more about the overall theme?” The interviewer was watching Hongbin expectantly, bringing him back from his absent thoughts.

He hadn’t meant to space out, but the surreality of the entire experience had suddenly hit him. This was real; he was being interviewed for a moderate sized art blog. He was an artist now. No longer just art.

Hyuk’s leg nudged his beneath the table and Hongbin smiled. He still had a question to answer.

“Of course,” Hongbin let his smile stay warm and friendly.

“So Grief was the title, can we hear about your motivations and expectations?”

“Yeah. Last year I lost a very dear friend, the mother of one of my close friends.” Hongbin’s eyes closed, this was harder than he thought it would be. “The death was so sudden, it really reminded me that we have less time than we think. I’ve always wanted to transition into photography—”

“Taking the photos rather than being in them?” The man prompted quietly.

“Exactly.” Hongbin gave him a softer smile. “I’ve always carried my camera with me, but the photos I started to take after she died all seemed to show how lost we were. I realised that people feel this everyday, all around the world people are going through the worst day of their life. I wanted to show that its real, it’s valid. And we can move beyond the worst days of our life. We can make it something beautiful and touching. Something that brings us together.” Hongbin paused, eyes twitching from the interviewer to Hyuk and back. “Was that OK? I felt like I rambled.”

“It was great!” The man grinned, making a few small notes on his pad. “So, the portraits are your three best friends,” The man’s gaze jumped to Hyuk for a moment before he continued. “They’re raw and emotional. Your self-portrait was a little different though.”

Hongbin nodded, preparing his answer for the obvious question to follow.

“Can we talk about your self-portrait? Why did you choose to include a self-portrait that hides your face completely?”

There was something to be said for spending a year in the sludgy pit of misery, nothing overly good, but still something. Ravi’s arms ached, his back stiff as he stood at the easel, trying to correct the mistake he had just smudged across the artwork. He was so out of practice it felt like he was beginning again.

True, he still remembered all of the techniques, all of the basic ideas and concepts, but his muscles were sluggish and unresponsive. His eyes were unused to Seeing anything really. The old work he was trying to revive was uncooperative as well. Clearly his skill level a year ago was far higher than the out-of-practice hacking he was trying to do now.

Ravi stepped back, wavering between wanting to pelt his pallet at the wall and wanting to persist and try harder. He set the pallet down and walked away, knowing that the urge to throw was beating out the perseverance.

He picked up his phone, checking the few waiting messages before dialling Ken. The call picked up on the third ring.

“Hello you.” It gave him a rush of flame-orange colour through his veins.

“Hey,” Ravi smiled, turning back to look at the canvas. “Were you working?”

“No, I was just getting ready to go down into the village.” There was a rustle of noise and Ravi could see Ken flopping onto the bed in his mind’s eye. “What are you doing?”

“Painting,” Ravi grumbled, slumping over to the models chair in the middle of the room. “Or trying to.”

“Kim Wonshik are you going to complain about not being as good as you used to be?”

Ravi let his eyes wander the room, ignoring Ken’s question.

“Do I need to remind you I had to learn a whole new way of seeing colour and shades to paint? While you’ve just spent the last year being lazy?”

“Hey!” Ravi protested, lips failing to hide the smile that Ken always seemed to unearth.

“You think that just because you aren’t instantly back in practice you should just give up?” Ken further, sweet and spicy pink in his voice. “You know, the rest of us mere mortals simply work hard and practice. We weren’t all born that gifted.”

“I wasn’t born gifted!” Ravi snapped reflexively. “I…” He huffed a loud sigh before falling silent again.

“Exactly.” Ken’s voice was soft now, a smooth purple through the phone. “You just need time. No one is rushing you, expecting great things from you straight away. We’re just proud that you’re even painting again.”

“I love you,” Ravi mumbled, sinking in the chair as affection bubbled through him.

Stagnant worry pooled in Leo’s stomach. Hakyeon was walking silent beside him; face now closed, set in stone. Even the betraying eyes were hidden behind dark glasses. Crackles of tension rode along in the air around them. It set his teeth on edge, prickled over the back of his neck and made his hackles twinge. They kept walking in silence.

“Well, there’s a taxi,” N pointed to a cab waiting by the theatre. “I’m going home.”

“Are you sure you’re OK?” Leo asked as they came to a stop.

“Yes.” His nod was curt.

The worry churned through him.

“Hakyeon?”

“God, please call me N.” The words laid another barrier of tension between them.

“You don’t have to go.” Leo glanced at the taxi. “We—”

“I’m really fine.” The smile was brittle; crystalline and sharp. “I’m just tired.”

Leo sighed, rubbing his face in defeat.

“OK,” He said softly, “Just… if you aren’t—”

“I’m fine,” Hakyeon snapped, the crackling tension charging off him like lightning. “Just let it go.”

“OK,” Leo raised his hands in surrender. “OK.”

“Bye.” With a jarring turn N walked away, climbing into the taxi and disappearing into the stream of traffic.

Leo watched, worry overtaking him for a moment. It washed a memory through his mind.

A door slammed and he was left alone in a room. Left with nothing but bitter disappointment and regret flowing through him.

He had successfully driven Ken away. He would not make the same mistake again. As much as he wanted to chase after Hakyeon, he had to wait. Uncomfortable and anxious, Leo turned and made his own way home again.

Leo’s leg jangled, jumping rhythmically as he waited for his clients to arrive. Usually the meeting would be the cause of anxiety, the perfectionist within him happy with nothing less than exactly what the commission dictated. Today, that anxiety was buried beneath the landslide of terror he felt for Hakyeon.

There was nothing more he could have done. The words were a mantra, over and over in his head. There was nothing more he could have done.

He checked his phone. Nothing.

He reread his own message to Hakyeon, as though it would answer itself if he read it enough times.

Hey, I just wanted to make sure you’re ok after today. I’m sorry if I made things worse by taking you to the  gallery.
Please, just text me or call me if you need anything. I’m here if you need anything.

Radio silence.

His leg continued jangling.<