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the countryside.
i have to get to the countryside.
as soon as i had arrived home, i shed my coat for a juniper hoodie and grabbed the last scraps of paper money i could find - using a credit card would be no good as it would leave a digital footprint and a paper trail wasn't much better but it could be destroyed faster; time was not in my inventory today.
i set off in the early hours of the morning, locking my apartment as normal and stepping out into the chill at a steady speed towards the woods. i stalk past the kwon manor, now decorated with a large 'for sale' sign out front and a garden of flowers under the great oak tree. i hurry past the 'renoir' lake, permanently closed off for investigation, past the turning that would lead me towards the quaint choi cottage, also constricted in a snake of yellow police tape.
i never stop for a moment: seoul is far behind me and my new location is in the middle of nowhere. grass surrounds me in every direction and i slow to a walk, confident to let my guard down for a moment. along my route, an industrial farmhouse juts out from the rugged horizon of the countryside. it looks completely abandoned but as i draw nearer, i notice a figure standing right outside the doorstep, wooden easel propped up in the grass. the painter's attention is on the crimson hydrangeas christening an emerald bush, which he translates with gentle stokes onto a stretched canvas: i deem him as no threat.
i don't stop to make conversation and i barely make it past when the stranger laughs; his umber eyes never leave the canvas for a second but i feel scrutinised all the same. still, i choose to not engage.
"what, you don't want to murder me too? am i not worthy?" the opportunity to play it down slips through my fingers as i tense up, telling him everything he needed to know.
"what a shame, i was getting bored of this country life in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere."
"minghao." i can't help but grit my teeth as the stranger's familiar voice shatters my resolve.
"nice to see you too. i can't believe this is what you've become-"
"don't say my name."
"-il pittore," he laughs, mocking my pseudonym. "the painter? really? you're a disgrace to the art society." his playful attitude drops in an instant and the sparkle in his eyes dulls. he turns to face me properly, though i can't meet his eyes, choosing to direct my anger at the plants just behind him.
"i can see the gun in your pocket. just shoot me, get it over and done with. but you have to answer me one thing."
i'm silent still, the gun burning through the fabric of my jeans and branding my skin, leaving the mark of a murderer behind. i reach for it and undo the safety catch, levelling it with minghao's head; he shows no outward reaction and even has the audacity to smirk.
"why did you do what you did? for a painting? for your own sick fantasies?"
"art is more than painting. i wanted to explore the boundaries of morality within it."
minghao scoffs, slipping his hands into the pockets of his slacks. when i jolt the gun forward, he pulls them back out empty-handed and places them in the air.
"so...fantasies it it. if that's genuinely your answer then just shoot me already. i knew i made the right move in dropping you as a student: you're a psychopath."
"SHUT UP!" i cry, finger tightening around the trigger. still, minghao doesn't react.
"i've already called the police. i've been in touch with them as soon as i suspected it was you from the get-go. so shoot me, you're done for jeon wonwoo."
