Chapter 3

Have I told you yet? That some days, I am not truly here.

I hear the birds, their songs threading through the morning air. The water rushes softly down the stream, crickets hum in the distance. The world breathes around me, yet I feel myself flickering—present, yet distant.

And then, I see you.

Have I told you yet? That I will miss you.

You make me smile, effortlessly. But why is it that I say I will miss you? You’re here, right in front of me.

Yet somehow, the words feel true.

"So this Claude Monet guy… why was he so obsessed with water lilies again?" Leonis drawled, lazily chewing on the plastic straw from his strawberry milk carton.

Haneul and Leonis had just finished their fourth elective class and had already begun their oil painting assignment. He had the idea to drag Leonis to a nearby park, which, surprisingly, had a bridge overlooking a pond filled with water lilies, aquatic plants, and a lush forest teeming with koi fish.

They sat side by side on a random grass patch—nothing special, but it had a perfect view of the pond and all its details.

"He wasn’t obsessed with them. They just happened to be in his garden, so it was probably out of convenience. If anything, I’d say Monet was more obsessed with light. Okay, obsessed is a strong word… maybe more like… uh—" Haneul's brows furrowed deeply as he searched for the right word, but his mind was blank.

"Fascinated?" Leonis pulled out his canvas, setting his milk aside, though the straw still hung loosely between his lips.

Haneul gasped, nodding as he unpacked his paint set. "Didn’t know you still had bits of intelligence left in you!" he teased, passing Leonis a paintbrush.

Leonis narrowed his eyes at him in mock dissatisfaction, then grabbed Haneul's wrist, tugging him closer without warning. Haneul leaned in, staring at him with confusion.

"I’m also fascinated by you," Leonis murmured, his green eyes gleaming as the afternoon light caught in them. "The rumours about you."

Haneul's heart sank. Instinctively, he pulled away. He hadn’t expected the conversation to take this turn—it felt as though their friendship was teetering on something fragile, something precarious. And he didn’t want it to, but Leonis had a way of pressing his buttons.

Leonis caught the paintbrush mid-air, his gaze lingering on the bristles before shifting subtly to Haneul. His expression sharpened with curiosity.

Haneul remained silent, deliberately ignoring him as he squeezed a tube of Phthalo Blue onto his palette. Swiftly, he dipped his brush into the oily paint and dragged it across the canvas. The blue mixed with green.

Green, huh.

Had Leonis befriended him for the wrong reasons? The thought wormed its way in, unwelcome yet persistent—a creeping insecurity that refused to be ignored.

"And I imagine you’ve heard rumours about me too."

Haneul's paintbrush stilled against the canvas. He turned his head, meeting Leonis’ unwavering gaze. His eyes—piercing, verdant shards of emerald—bore into him. In contrast, Haneul's own eyes were a muted grey, unremarkable against the vivid brilliance of his companion. And yet, the intensity of that stare made it feel as if Leonis could see straight through him.

"It must have been difficult for you," Leonis said, voice soft but unwavering. "But despite everything, I’m glad you’re here today. Your talent remains, and I admire that."

Green came in many shades. Phthalo Green, blended from blue and yellow. Viridian, deep and cool. Sap Green, vibrant and alive. And then there was Leonis—a shade he could never quite mix, no matter the combination.

"Shut up. You sound so cringe right now," Haneul snapped, immediately looking away. Confusion flickered in his expression, entwined with something unspoken—nervousness, irritation, something tangled and raw, something he have yet to understand.

Leonis’ lips curled into a familiar mischievous smile, the signature of every successful attempt at teasing him. Yet, it wasn’t just amusement; this smile had also become a subconscious habit, surfacing whenever curiosity took hold. His gaze briefly flickered back to the canvas.

"I’ll tell you what happened," Haneul muttered. "If you tell me why you’re spending more time with me than your other friends."

Leonis had never felt happier about someone.

The sky stretched overhead in crystal blue, the wind weaving through leaves as they danced in quiet celebration. They spoke—about their lives, their families, the unspoken pieces of themselves—and with each exchange, they drew closer. Green trees swayed whimsically with the breeze, while blooming flowers kissed the sunlight. Fish swirled beneath water lily pads, their quiet movements mirroring the lazy drifting of dragonflies above.

Haneul had always struggled with adjusting to new settings—whether a school or an unfamiliar environment—it had been that way since childhood. Change overwhelmed him, leaving him disconnected and lost, but his father had always been his anchor—the one person who truly understood him, even more than his siblings. But when his father passed, that reassurance shattered. Grief struck him, amplifying his anxiety until it morphed into isolation. He found himself unable to attend classes, unable to focus, unable to submit his work. It felt impossible.

His mother grieved in her own way, withdrawing into silence. She stopped cooking, and the dining table—once a place of shared warm meals and conversation—became nothing more than a quiet space, another reminder of their loss.

The school extended kindness, granting him leniency—he could submit his work before the end of the year, which he eventually did. Rumours spread in his absence—partial truths and outright lies. But Leonis didn’t care about any of that. If anything, he understood. Perhaps not in the exact same way, but enough to recognise the loneliness behind Haneul's silence. Enough to know that isolation was rarely ever a choice.

Leonis’ smile slowly faded. Haneul noticed the shift—how he had become quieter, more restrained.

"I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—"

He cut him off before his friend continue. "You said you needed to see your mum today, right?"

Leonis faltered. His brush dragged clumsily over the canvas.

"Can I join you?"

For a moment, his emerald-green eyes reflected the world around them—glowing brighter than the forest itself.

Leonis turned to Haneul. His wide grin reappeared, mischievous and warm, bouncing back onto his face. Haneul chuckled, realising how Leonis could be so simple-minded at times.

As evening settled, closing the chapter on their time together, they understood each other a little more. Each week unraveled new layers—their flaws, their strengths, the differences in the worlds they inhabited.