Painted Blue (JOOKYUN✔️)

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One week ago, Changkyun was happier than he'd ever been, fleeting it would seem. His job had finally given him an opportunity to move forward, and he'd taken it in stride. While he didn't want to work with other theorists in the field forever, this opportunity would never be passed up. One week ago, Jooheon was smiling, vibrant, and painting the portrait of his lover. Both men were happy one week ago.

Six days ago, Changkyun's opportunity fell so soon. The chance to write his own thesis for his company; he should never have thought it to be true. He's never been one for writing straight forward, too sensitive and poetic for the world. But he hadn't expected it to have such an effect on him. When he came home, Jooheon added a darker shade to the painting before going to bed.

Five days ago, Changkyun didn't go to work. He didn't want to face the embarrassment of failure so soon, and instead turned to an old friend. He hadn't seen them in years, not since his painted lover had come into his life. But Changkyun only begged for an escape from all the colors, just for a moment. Jooheon wasn't painting when he came home.

Four days ago, Changkyun and his old friend visited again. He let them into his home, sat too close on the couch for comfort. The man wanted that warmth of a friend, and became too dependent on them once again. It had been too long without one another. Jooheon started his canvas over with red cheeks and red eyes.

Three days ago, Changkyun had to go back to work, but his friend couldn't stay home. They had to be together. Too long apart could hurt them, and Jooheon would just have to understand. Work however didn't understand. They needed each other, why couldn't his friend stay by his side? His friend was breathing oxygen into his lungs yet-

Two days ago, Jooheon screamed. Changkyun had never been screamed at by the older man, but his shoulders bunched in fright as he held his friend close to his chest. The plastic bag, close to empty with only a few sparks of his friend left, was ripped from his hands. Jooheon tore their life to blue shreds, quick to flush Changkyun's best friend down the toilet.

Yesterday, Jooheon left with a bag over his shoulders and a second one hanging from his fingers. Changkyun had shaken, in pain and fear and loss. He missed his friend, and he was scared to be alone. Jooheon left his paintings behind, but the colors, however beautiful, were lost once again to Changkyun. He wanted to be dead.

Now, Changkyun sits alone on the floor of his room, his phone clutched between white knuckles. Jooheon hadn't returned, and he hadn't moved. He'd scribbled a letter down in a few moments of lucidity, but after that he cannot recall. He misses his friend. His body is weak. Changkyun wonders if Jooheon ever finished his portrait.