[was inspired to find this fic by @hayszen , it was on my old blog and i never carried it over!]
it always started with the light.
hyunjin never said good morning first anymore. his gaze went to the window before it went to you, tracing where the sun touched your hair, your cheek, your shoulder. some mornings, he didn’t even speak — just reached for his sketchbook, already halfway gone from you.
you learned not to ask what he was working on. you already knew.
there was a time when he’d look at you and smile before he even picked up a brush. that was before.
the before was loud. you remembered the nights he’d drag you out into the street at midnight just because the sky was so clear, his hand warm around yours, laughing about constellations neither of you knew the names of. the mornings where you’d wake up tangled together, his hair a mess, his voice soft against your ear.
you were his lover then, not his subject.
♡
now, mornings were quiet. you sat on the edge of the couch, coffee cooling between your hands, while he adjusted an easel across the room. the canvas leaned forward like it was waiting for you.
you shifted your legs. his eyes flicked to the movement.
“don’t,” he murmured.
“don’t what?”
“move.”
you exhaled through your nose. “i wasn’t posing.”
he smirked faintly. “you always are.”
♡
it became a rhythm — not a healthy one, but a steady one. you in the chair, him behind the easel. his brush made small, sharp sounds against the canvas. the air between you carried the smell of oil paint and turpentine.
you’d try to talk sometimes, but his answers came late, clipped, like you were breaking his concentration.
and yet, when the brushes were washed and the paint was drying, he didn’t come to you. he’d sit on the floor, staring at the work, eyes still on the image of you, not the real thing.
♡
you started testing him without meaning to.
wearing clothes that covered your skin even when it was warm. keeping your hair tied back and out of sight. sitting in corners of the room where the light didn’t reach.
sometimes it worked. sometimes his gaze still found you.
♡
the first argument came small.
“can you look at me?” you asked one night, curled on the couch while he flipped through his sketchbook.
“i am looking at you,” he said without glancing up.
“no, you’re looking at me. not at me.”
his pencil stilled. “what does that even mean?”
“it means i’m not your fucking composition. i’m your partner.”
his jaw tightened. “you think i don’t know that?”
“you don’t act like you do.”
he closed the sketchbook too fast, the sound sharp. “this is what i do. this is how i love.”
“then you love your paintings, not me.”
he didn’t speak after that. neither did you.
♡
you stopped spending time in the studio after that.
when he painted, you stayed in the bedroom or left the apartment entirely. when he asked you to come look at a piece, you gave it the quickest glance you could manage before walking away.
he started painting you from memory. the likeness was still there, but you could tell it wasn’t the same. the angles were off. the shadows were wrong.
one night, you passed the studio door and saw him staring at a blank canvas. his hands were clean.
♡
the accident happened a week later.
you were looking for your charger, thinking it might be in the studio. you bumped the easel without noticing until you heard it — the wet, ugly sound of paint smearing across the canvas.
hyunjin’s voice cut the air. “what did you just do?”
you froze. “i didn’t—”
“you ruined it.”
“i said it was an accident.”
he was already in front of the painting, fingers trying to save what was left. “do you know how many hours—”
“do you know how many hours i’ve sat here for you?” your voice rose before you could stop it. “how many mornings i’ve given up just to be whatever this is for you? and you care more about some paint on fabric than me standing here right now?”
he turned, eyes sharp. “this was my work. it matters.”
“and i don’t?”
silence.
you felt something in your chest snap. “that’s it, isn’t it? you’d rather have me still and quiet, bathed in light, than actually deal with me. because i’m easier to love when i don’t move.”
his expression didn’t change, but his knuckles were white where they gripped the easel. “that’s not true.”
“then prove it.”
he didn’t.
♡
after that, you made sure he had nothing to see.
you left the apartment before sunrise. came back after dark. when you had to be there, you stayed in the shadows, hoodie up, body angled away from the windows.
you didn’t sit in the armchair anymore. you didn’t give him stillness. you gave him absence.
♡
you caught him once, sketchbook open to a blank page, pencil hovering but never touching.
he looked up at you like he wanted to say something, but you walked past him without a word.
♡
a flashback came uninvited one night while you lay in bed alone.
the two of you, months ago, sprawled on the kitchen floor at midnight because the oven had broken halfway through baking something and you’d both ended up laughing until your stomach hurt. he’d been holding you then, paint-free hands warm against your waist, no canvas in sight.
it felt like someone else’s memory now.
♡
the last time he tried, it was early morning. pale light spilled into the room, the kind that used to make him reach for his brush.
you were by the door, shoes half on.
“i can’t promise i’ll stop painting you,” he said.
you didn’t turn around. “i didn’t ask you to.”
“then what do you want?”
you paused. “to not have to compete with my own face on a wall.”
he stepped closer, slow like you might bolt. “you’re not a competition.”
“then why do i keep losing?”
his hand almost touched your shoulder. almost.
you left before it did.
♡
the apartment was silent when you came back that night.
in the studio, the easel was empty. the canvases were turned to the wall.
on the desk sat his sketchbook, closed. you didn’t open it.
you went to bed without saying goodnight.
he didn’t come in.
♡
the next morning felt colder than the night before.
you woke early, sunlight already creeping between the blinds. you found hyunjin in the kitchen, eyes puffy, fingers stained faintly with charcoal. the air between you was thick, the silence louder than any argument.
“i’m sorry,” he said finally, voice rough.
you didn’t look up from the coffee cup in your hands. “for what?”
“for everything.”
you laughed, bitter and low. “that’s not an apology.”
“i don’t know how else to say it.”
“you don’t have to,” you whispered. “just show me.”
he swallowed, stepping closer. “i’m trying.”
“trying isn’t enough.”
the kitchen filled with a tension neither of you wanted to break, but it stretched thin until your jaw clenched and you walked away.
♡
later, you packed a small bag. clothes folded tightly, toothpaste half-used, the familiar weight of goodbye that you wouldn’t say aloud.
hyunjin found you by the door, fingers brushing your wrist as you slipped on your jacket.
“where are you going?”
“out.”
“can i come?”
you hesitated, then shook your head. “not this time.”
he didn’t press further. just watched you leave, the sketchbook still open on the kitchen table.
♡
alone in the studio, hyunjin pulled out old photos of you — smiles caught in sunlight, candid moments, the warmth that used to fill these walls.
his brush hovered over a blank canvas. he started to paint, but the colors bled unevenly, the lines shaky and uncertain.
the absence in the room echoed louder than any stroke.
♡
hyunjin sat alone in the studio, the room dim except for the pale wash of moonlight spilling through the window. the easel stood empty—no canvas to catch his brush strokes, no face to chase in color and shadow. his hands trembled as he gripped a palette knife, the edges biting into his palms.
a rough breath caught in his throat. he tried to steady it, but the walls felt like they were closing in, the silence louder than any voice. the weight of every unfinished painting pressed down on him, each one a reminder of what he’d lost.
he sank to the floor, the knife slipping from his fingers. his head fell into his hands, shoulders shaking with a quiet, breaking sob. years of love folded into the brush strokes, now unraveling like wet paint running down a canvas.
“i’m sorry,” he whispered to the empty room, his voice raw and fractured. “i don’t know how to do this without you.”
the tears came harder then, streaking down his cheeks, mixing with the faint smell of oil and turpentine. the man who once painted you with such fierce devotion was now just a broken boy, lost in colors he could no longer name.
he didn’t move for a long time, letting the darkness cradle him, the silence swallow the pieces of himself he’d tried so hard to hold together.
♡
the night hyunjin broke, he couldn’t sleep. the weight of silence and absence pressed too hard. he picked up his phone, fingers shaking as he typed a message he wasn’t sure would be answered.
“meet me at the han river. i need to see you.”
he waited by the water, the city lights shimmering on the dark surface like broken stars. when you arrived, quiet and hesitant, he swallowed the lump in his throat and took a shaky breath.
“i’m sorry,” he said, voice breaking. “i was so focused on capturing you in paint… i forgot how to hold you in real life.”
you looked out over the water, the cool breeze tangling your hair.
“i’m moving,” you said softly. “busan. new job. new start.”
he closed his eyes, the ache twisting in his chest. “i don’t want to lose you.”
“it’s not that simple,” you said, turning to face him. “but maybe… maybe it’s a chance to find something new. apart.”
he nodded slowly, tears glistening under the city lights. “i don’t know if i can fix this. but i want to try.”
you hesitated, then reached out, fingers brushing his.
“maybe that’s enough, for now.”
the river carried away your whispered promises, the future uncertain but weighted with the fragile hope of something beyond the silence.
