Dongwoo huffed as he packed his canvas bag, filling it with multifarious papers to accommodate various varieties of mediums, paints of every type, and his full set of sketch pencils and worn erasers. He slung the somewhat weighted bag over his shoulder and grabbed his large, wooden easel and keys. 

He left through his apartment door and locked the door behind him. He noted how the white paint was beginning to chip away due to the harsh, cold weather as fall transitioned into the unforgiving winter. He made a mental note to buy better, possibly thicker paint later to repaint it. 

"What do I do?" he asked himself, scoping around for anything to inspire him to create his masterpieces, "The park," he chose his destination and began to travel the short walk there. 

Dongwoo was an avid painter and artist, with current lack of creativity. For Dongwoo, or really any artist, lack of creativity is an uncomfortable sensation as the fascinating ideas that would normally start to arise in him are beyond a veil of unimaginativeness. The worst position he could discover himself in when he was due for a piece in his advanced course class later that week. 

The wind combed through his bleached blonde hair and threw it back in its threatening power, revealing his short, dark roots of natural hair. It was chilly, signaling goosebumps to erupt and decorate Dongwoo's pale skin. He wrapped his jacket tighter around his thin body and continued to press forward in his search. 

When the park was in view, Dongwoo hurried across the cross walk and onto the leading cross way. The air smelled different, assisting the sweet aroma of pine housed around the perimeter of the public attraction. It was a considerably dull day and slightly misty, the air heavy with moisture. A perfect scene to paint and treasure. 

Dongwoo observed the trees and noticed the drops of water that collected on the thin and dark green needles. Pictures manifested in his mind and possible outcomes built into his brain. Painting transparent objects was always a favorite of his because there was no end to the possibilities of scenes that could be painted, reflecting what was on the other side of the drip of water. 

The particular drop he was looking at however, soon fell to the wet earth below. Dongwoo frowned and removed the idea from his mind. He needed a quick piece. A drop of rain would fall no matter what and end his artistic progress. He shook his head and moved on to find something else of interest. 

He walked down the park side walk, dragging his tall easel behind him. The wooden legs dragged across the rough concrete ground and would skip along the rubble every now and then, hopping up to hit him on the back of the legs harshly. He ignored the slight pain however to search for his seemingly nonexistent inspiration. 

There lacked a large population in the park due to weather which Dongwoo was thankful for. Children diminished creative thought with their shouting and loud, active antics. They obscured view of Dongwoo, causing a problem for painting. People often walked in front of him and blocked the object of his interest, irritating him when he no longer wanted to paint or draw it. 

Dongwoo sat not the wooden park bench, not minding the damp wood of the seat. He set aside his things and decided on light sketching to help along his disturbed and dull mind. The easel stood tall next to him and bag lay limp against his thigh. The sketch pad of choice lay open on his thighs with a dull pencil in hand against the paper, itchy to move and master a piece. 

Dongwoo sat still too long to his misfortune and the blank sketch paper began to curl around the edges as it absorbed its enemy, water. The moisture so thick in the air, it began to accumulate into fog. Dongwoo growled in annoyance and tore the paper off to throw it in the trash can nearby. His nose scrunched in disgust when he smelt the putrid odor of aged trash emanate from the cylindrical structure.

Dongwoo closed his sketch pad and carefully shoved it into his canvas bag along with his pencil. His slung it over his shoulder and picked up the easel, once again carrying them around to find a less humid spot to draw. 

The minuscule amount of people once present in the park diminished, leaving Dongwoo alone or what he assumed as alone. The fog was so think he couldn't quite pinpoint any other being present. This also arose the problem of going home. If he were to head home now, he could possibly get lost, so seeking shelter in the park was ideal. 

In Dongwoo's search, he spotted the dark silhouette of a large structure many yards ahead of his current position. According to Dongwoo's knowledge of the area, there was supposed to be a massive stone pavilion nearby where people often ate on picnics, and he assumed this was it. 

The artist trudged over, locking his eyes on the barely visible ground to avoid any happenings with rocks or anything of the sort that was capable of tripping him. He held valuables, and tripping would prove to be problematic. 

It wasn't long before his feet made contact with a stone platform, the echoing of his sneakers retaliated off the two short, stone walls in echoes. The male was quite fond of the sound it created and helped with creative thought. 

He lifted his line of sight and was greeted by the sight of rows of many wooden picnic tables placed accordingly inside the structure. He noted how many were decorated with graffiti of many sayings or names. The sight of litter was spread a many ways, leading to the overflow of a trash can similar to the one before. 

Dongwoo seated himself on a table in the middle of the pavilion where he wasn't too close to the outside weather conditions. It wasn't much of a difference, but still helpful in keeping his paper flat. 

There wasn't much to see inside the pavilion, view obstructed by cold stone walls and everything darkened due to lack of light. The distance he was from the park landscape was enough to provide him little beauty. 

Dongwoo sighed and violently slammed his head on his folded arms placed on the picnic table, "This was a waste of time," he finalized, rerunning all the thoughts he had and things he saw that helped none with his creativity and lack of inspiration there of. 

He turned his head to the side until his cheek rested comfortably on his bicep to try once more to catch sight of any beauty he could capture in a drawing, a simple sketch. 

The only thing he could see was the layers of graffiti on the wooden table. His used his finger to trace the writings of the form of art the delinquent children used to vandalize the property not of theirs. He admired it however, thinking how easy it was for them to use their medium of choice and write what their heart desires unlike him who can't seem to do it. 

The scuffling of feet against wet grass drew his focus away from the graffiti. He lifted his heavy orbs to catch sight of a lone person walking adjacent to the pavilion. His eyes uninterestingly followed the stranger's movement until they sat in a child's swing to the playground. 

Dongwoo's interest soon bloomed when he focused on the face of the lone being. The person was male, but every other feature was blurred by the fog. He seemed dark skinned with blonde hair. Like Dongwoo's, his hair revealed dark roots underneath, but the sides were more evident. He seemed young, but his body said different as it showcased strong muscles through his sweater. He was a form of beauty and desire for Dongwoo. 

The lone male sat in his swing, using his legs to slightly push himself along as he stared at nothing in particular. Dongwoo watched with interest, eyes refusing to leave the male for even an instant. He was infatuated with him, no other explanation needed. 

It was almost as if Dongwoo functioned on auto pilot as he hastily removed his sketch pad from