Painted Blue (JOOKYUN✔️)

the

One week ago, Jooheon began the painting Changkyun had asked him to do. Using every shade of blue, deep sapphires and bright pastels, to create the image of the man he loved. Jooheon had never painted Changkyun before, never the best at painting those he knew too well. He wasn't happy with it, but his lover returned home with a grin and he decided it would become gorgeous eventually.

Six days ago, Jooheon still was not happy with the blue portrait. Everything was too properly placed. It looked just like Changkyun, too in depth, too many imperfections that shouldn't be painted on canvas. When his lover returned home from work, Jooheon found it easier to darken the painting with a navy shade that covered the older strokes.

Five days ago, Jooheon left the house to visit an older friend, and returned to an empty home and an emptier chest. Changkyun had been slipping away, his happiness fleeting with each day that passed them by. Jooheon was lost, and though he grasped his brushes and tried to make sense of oil against canvas, he couldn't find his inspiration.

Four days ago, Jooheon could tell that something was wrong with his lover. His painting didn't match up anymore, and he found it too beautiful. He striped down the canvas in white and began again. He didn't like what he was seeing before the easel, and it helped him use up every shade of blue beneath his brush.

Three days ago, Jooheon finished a client's commission, working on Changkyun's portrait for the rest of the day. The image was clear, yet blurred at the edges to hide the shame that the painter was growing in his gut. He couldn't hide it much longer, not if his lover was going to continue down this dark path. His painting was perfect.

Two days ago, Jooheon had never screamed before then. He'd never wanted to beat someone out of anger before, but he'd ripped the drugs from Changkyun's hands in a rage and thrown his painting against the wall in hopes that the blue would stain something. His lover was wrong, everything was so wrong. He couldn't help him.

Yesterday, Jooheon packed as much as he could and walked from his home. He didn't want to be trapped in the darkness with the shell of his lover. His paints lay across his work table, open and drying in every shade of Changkyun's favorite color. The younger man didn't fight it, and only wept into their sheets. Jooheon locked the door behind him.

Now, Jooheon can't stop the tears that stain his cheeks, his shirt collar, his hands. Blue streaks still mar his fingers, old strokes from his brushes, the colors left over from a love well wasted. Worry and pain eat away at his core, wracking his body with violent shivers and a waver in his voice. He hates that he loves the man he tried to change. He hates that he loves the man he couldn't fix.