Haaaaaaaaaiiiiiii~

Please don't shoot the author! I wanna be honest and just like many other authors, I got a huge sense of writer's block. I wrote this chapter a while back and hadn't decided to upload it because I didn't think I would ever get back to this story. I don't know if I'll be able to continue where I left off...I felt like I exaggerated the situation a bit in this chapter but it does touch on a very sensitive topic that has occured to Chaerin. Although it's been quite a few months since this incident occured, the pain at losing a loved-one is never easy. I will read over the entire story once more and hope that I'm able to get in touch with these characters again. I do want to continue this story because as some of you have stated, you've wanted a story that is essentially like their actual lives--and thinking about the professional aspect of their careers is a bit challenging as I know jack-squat of what it's like being artist--BUT I SHALL TRY! Well, guys, here's chapter three!

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A painted index-finger tapped at a wooden table before him. His sharp eyes stared at the drip of flush-pink paint that lifted off of the table and onto his finger with each raise.

The man tilted his head slightly as he lost himself in the view. Although it wasn't something overly fascinating to most, to him it brought a sense of calm to see the droplet eventually fall from his fingertip and back onto the puddle of paint drenching the table.

Behind him was a continuous fluctuation of noise which he deemed to zone out on—hence the distraction by paint.

Rather, he was in the middle of another collaboration with Nike—a Valentine's collection set to release very soon. They would have almost been done had it not been for his indecisiveness of making last minute changes.

“You ready to continue, Jiyong-ah?”

Jiyong tilted his head in the opposite direction and gave a slight nod, dipping his thumb into the basin of red paint and dabbing that onto the tongue of the 'Air Force 1' shoe beside him.

His eyes slightly narrowed at the approach he had unconsciously taken at aiming his thumb at an angle and tilted his thumb the other way, effectively making a slightly-there heart shape.

He felt off—in fact, he had been feeling off for quite a few days now and he didn't know why.

A small sigh escaped him, beside him he heard a sigh mimicking his own.

Jiyong's altering mood swings had his manager under stress as well. His manager was currently doing everything to help his employer but nothing seemed to bring him out of this funk he was in.

“Jiyong-ah, come on...you need to tell me what's wrong so we can get this over with.” His manager stated, running his hand through his hair.

Jiyong cleared his throat and looked at his manager, “What do you want me to say when I don't know what the hell's wrong with me, either?”

The Big Bang leader didn't really click or vibe with this guy. He had been giving him a trial run for the past two weeks now and maybe this was part of the reason why he was feeling off. TaeHee-hyung had been with him through a lot and it wasn't until after being discharged from the army that Jiyong was told his manager was no longer with YG.

He hadn't heard a single thing or had been given an explanation as to why Taehee-hyung had left. It had hurt for a while...still hurt but it was more of a bothering factor ringing in the back of his head instead of being ever present in the forefront of his mind.

They always left him—that was the key component here.

Every time he thought things were going great—that he had someone he could trust, they did the complete opposite and proved him wrong.

His eyebrows furrowed as he stared back down onto the oddly-shaped heart he had made and stood up from his chair.

His manager's eyes widened as he saw the young hallyu star begin walking away.

“W—wait, Jiyong-ah!”

He felt the various amounts of stares coming from the entire crew within the large warehouse but continued on toward his awaiting vehicle outside.

At the feel of a vibrating sensation going off in his pocket, Jiyong reached for his hand-phone and looked at the screen, unconsciously wiping his paint covered hand against his jeans.

YB<3

Answering the call, he brought the hand-phone to his ear, ignoring his manager shouting after him and waited for Youngbae to talk.

“Ji...”

Jiyong slid open the door to his SUV and sat himself down on the pristine while leather seats, effectively shutting the door behind him.

“You don't normally call me during these hours.” Jiyong murmured, leaning his head back against the head-rest, relishing in the darkness encircling him within the vehicle.

“You haven't heard...?”

Furrowing his eyebrows, he closed his eyes and slouched even more into the chair, “What now?”

Youngbae sighed, in the background Jiyong can hear Youngbae's wife sniffling.

“What's wrong with Hyorin-noona?”

“Chaerin-ah's eomma...,” Youngbae grimaced, “she passed away a few days ago.”

Jiyong's eyes snapped open as he felt his heart thump painfully in his chest. He leaned himself forward in his chair, his eyes widened as he looked down at the floor, not even the opening of the door to the SUV got his attention.

“Mwoh...?”

“I've tried calling her but...she's not picking up. I don't know if she even knows, Ji.”

Jiyong felt his head begin pounding, his body temperature began to rise, and his ears began to ring.

He looked over to his manager to see his lips moving but the words coming out his mouth weren't viable. The hand holding his hand-phone fell to the side as he felt the world come crashing down on him.

00000000000000000

Fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight...

She couldn't feel much anymore.

She knew she was in a room where funerals were traditionally held. She knew her sister was beside her, holding onto her arm for dear life. There was a man kneeling on the floor in front of her, his face was to the floor beside his hands. The man was crying profusely, she could see it in the way his body jerked, the man was her father.

Her peripheral vision caught various things at once, among those things there was one thing in common—the color black...everyone was wearing black.

Fifty-nine, sixty...

There were so many vibrant flowers at the head of the room where her father cried.

She knew what was happening but couldn't grasp the concept. At her side, she felt her arm shaking—no, it was Harin who was making her shake every time she wept.

Was she not crying also?

At that thought, she refused to acknowledge what was going on. So much has happened in her life for it to only get worse. This distortion of reality that she was facing couldn't be real so she kept herself distracted.

Sixty-one, sixty-two, sixty-three...

She had always loved receiving flowers. Her mother had a garden with a vast variety of them in her backyard.

Chaerin's vision unfocused as she looked down at herself. How did she even get dressed? She doesn't remember choosing her outfit.

Her eyes veered back up to stare at the occupants of the room. With all of these masks being enforced, Chaerin didn't really know who half of these people were. The people standing closest to her she knew as close family and even friends, but the ones on the other side of the room—why were they here? Where they people her mother knew while she was abroad? Was she gone that long for her mother to make acquaintances that she didn't know?

Wasn't there a limit as to how many people were allowed to congregate now anyway? There were easily more than twenty here.

“Eonni...” She heard whispered beside her as her arm was lightly pulled.

Her attention focused back down toward her sister as she questioned with her eyes what she wanted from her. Harin's crying eyes looked toward their father, noticing he had stood up and had a cross in his hands. It was time for the procession to continue.

Chaerin slowly untangled herself from her sister's grasp and gently grabbed the photograph of her mother centered on the mantle filled with hundreds of flowers.

She felt a painful pounding sensation on her left temple hit her as she moved away from the mantle and began walking out behind her father.

Chaerin could see and hear people crying against the wall as she passed them by, she also heard the murmurs circling.

“She's not crying...”

“She doesn't look as distraught as she should be...”

“She looks...cold...”

The former 2NE1 leader felt her fingers clench around the picture frame tightly.

What did these people know of her pain?

'Distraction—I need a distraction...' Her eyes quickly assessed her surroundings until they landed on her father's feet. 'One...two...three...four...five...'

She began counting his footsteps as they made their way outside.

'Fifteen....sixteen...seventeen—stop.'

Chaerin slowly looked up to see the light of day, her eyes slowly peered up at the bright-looking sky, completely betraying what she felt