𝐙𝐇𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐧

Hyunjin never talked about love. He simply painted it on canvas.

You knew he was an artist, knew about his studio and how he spent most of his free time there, but you'd never seen his work. Hyunjin didn't let you see inside, and even around you, he tried to be cooler than usual. He averted his gaze, answered curtly, and kept a distance between you, as if afraid of accidentally revealing something he'd kept hidden for so long.

But as soon as the studio door closed, everything changed. The brush glided slowly across the canvas, leaving behind familiar features. Your gaze, your silhouette, your movements, the flowers and places that somehow always reminded him of you. Even the most insignificant details, long forgotten, remained etched in his memory.

Minho was the only one who knew the truth. One day, he caught Hyunjin in front of another canvas of your image and, stopping next to him, chuckled:

— "You do realize you're not even trying to hide it from me anymore? Every time you pick up a brush, she comes out. You can call it an accident all you want, but I see the way you look at her. You avoid her not because you don't care, but because you care too much."

Hyunjin froze, his fingers tightening around his wrist, and then looked away.

— "I just like drawing her. Some people are easy to remember, and their faces just stay in your head. It doesn't mean anything, Minho. At least, it shouldn't."

Minho chuckled softly, shaking his head.

— "Then why do you hide every painting as soon as you hear her footsteps? You can deceive her, Hyunjin, but you can't deceive me anymore."

Hyunjin didn't answer. He simply looked back at the canvas and continued working. You were his muse, though you didn't even know it.

For you, he remained a cold artist who seemed to care nothing about you.

And for him, each painting was a confession that he would never dare to say out loud.