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Summary
It’s just a painting, he tells himself. A borderline erotic painting. Nothing about the composition suggests that except for the fact that it’s a painting of Seungmin—naked. These rose coloured glasses be damned. Why did he have to put so many layers of intimacy? Why did he have to shade his body in golden light and take so much care to paint the cream coloured bed sheets twisted between his legs? Why did he spend hours getting the shade of his knuckles right?
The lines between love for art and for Seungmin have been blurry since the day they met, but now Hyunjin wonders if that line ever existed at all.