To My Last Love | TAEBIN

The morning light filtered softly through the windows, casting long, delicate shadows across the room. Soobin sat by the small desk near the window, his new book open in front of him. Taehyun knew it was new because the cover—a deep, calming blue—stood out against the others scattered across the shelf. The shade reminded him of the ocean at dusk, its quiet depth pulling Taehyun's attention away from his own work.

Soobin's pen moved fluidly across the pages, his brow furrowed in concentration. Taehyun, content to watch from across the room, kept his eyes on Soobin's hands as they paused, then resumed their gentle writing. The silence between them was comfortable, the kind that spoke of years of shared moments, the space filled with unspoken understanding.

Taehyun picked up his paintbrush, the colors on his palette swirling and mixing beneath his steady hand. Occasionally, his gaze drifted back to Soobin, who, despite being lost in his world of words, somehow seemed completely aware of Taehyun's presence. A quiet smile tugged at Soobin's lips as he paused, lifting his head from the book for just a moment. Their eyes met, and for a brief second, the room was filled with nothing but the sound of their breaths and the faint strains of music playing in the background.

"I've never seen you write in a blue book before," Taehyun remarked softly, his voice almost a whisper, as though afraid to disturb the peace.

Soobin chuckled, the sound light and easy. "I guess I wanted something new, to match what I'm working on. It deserves something different."

Taehyun nodded, the thought lingering in his mind. Soobin always found ways to make the ordinary feel special, to breathe new life into everything he touched.

He wondered what topic Soobin was writing that deemed itself worthy of a blue book. Was it something deeply personal? Or something tied to the layers of meaning blue carried—grief, serenity, immortality? Maybe it wasn't that poetic at all, and Taehyun was just reading too much into it. Either way, he liked the mystery.

Turning back to his canvas, Taehyun added a few strokes of color—a blend of oranges, reds, and pinks—forming an image only he would ever truly understand. He loved hearing others' interpretations of his work, their guesses often sparking ideas of their own.

And yet, a big part of his art, of who he was, had always been influenced by the people he loved. He drank coffee with two sugars because that's how Hueningkai had made it for him once, the warmth of the drink and his friend's gentle presence seeping into the memory. His laugh, the unrestrained, ugly one he only shared with his closest friends, carried echoes of Beomgyu's loud and untethered joy. His dancing, though less precise, mirrored the moves Yeonjun had taught him during a bored afternoon.

And Soobin? Soobin bled into every part of Taehyun's life. Every particle of his being held some trace of Soobin—an acquired habit, a loving gesture, a shared joke. Like now, with his lip caught between his teeth in concentration, his pen moving slowly, deliberately, over the blue page.

Taehyun dipped his brush into a soft orange and added a few finishing strokes before breaking the silence. "Hey," he began casually, stepping back to admire his work, "I'll be heading out with Beomgyu later."

Soobin looked up, his pen pausing mid-stroke. "Oh? Where are you going?"

"He asked if I wanted to check out a few places in town with him, and I figured it'd be good to get some air." Taehyun's voice was light, but his eyes flicked to Soobin's for any sign of hesitation.

Soobin tilted his head, a soft smile spreading across his face. "That sounds nice. You don't go out often enough anymore."

Taehyun twisted his lips in thought, the paintbrush swaying lightly between his fingers. "Yeah, I guess I don't," Taehyun agreed. He paused a moment, glancing at the drying swirls of his painting, and inhaled through his nose. "I'll pick up something on the way back. Anything you want?"