#missing heeerrr!!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theory-talestelltalesss · 7 years ago

Text

∙ Parallel Hearts 2 ∙

Idea:

AU where Taehyung is a former street artist who sells Van Gogh imitations in Paris that gets him in trouble.

Description:

Her is a docile perfectionist art student who is unsatisfied with the course of her life. She meets Taehyung, a beautiful and free-spirited boy who sells Van Gogh imitations to pay his tuition for art school. They have something that the other lack. Her needs Taehyung’s creativity and Taehyung needs Her’s painting skills in order for them to produce great paintings. Her is the better painter but Taehyung is the better artist. One day, they wake up and the other is nowhere to be found. Both of their pursuit is to use their paintings as clues to find where the other is. Along the way, they learn more about each other and uncover a dark past.

You can read more details of the fic HERE if this is your first time.

-TT 🌹

Chapters: | 1 | 2 | - (Fanfic in progress )

CHAPTER 2: THE GAME

(8.3 K words)

Third wing studio. Third wing studio. Third wing studio.

It compulsively echoes in Her’s mind like an alarm clock in the morning. She blasts the music through her earphones, trying to drown out her thoughts with each melodic beat. In a pursuit to concentrate on the items she assembled in her corner before class, she picks up the broken piece of chalk pastel again and begin scratching the surface of her canvas. A ray of the morning light from the windows of the slanted roof luminesce her canvas into a bright neon white.

To Her, oil painting class always had one of the best ambience on campus. Student artworks cover the brownish white walls made from the past number of classes, always in view for critiquing. Paper maché animals made by the sculptors in the other class gracefully float from the ceiling. Curtains and tapestry dangle from the windows and house plants both big and small cover each corner of the room. Old wooden carts are neatly placed by an easel, each temporarily owned by a student. The room is quiet, filled only with the whispers of scratches against the canvases made by the students. However, the room’s ambience contrasts Her’s feelings at the current moment.

Her’s professor is making rounds, hopping from one student to another, listening to each student as they present to him briefly about the current state of their work. He then critiques their ideas and objectives afterwards to enhance their paintings. Soon, it will be Her’s turn, but her mind is somewhere else, distracted, and she’s afraid she might not be able to communicate her thoughts properly. Her efforts become futile every time she tries to push the mischievous boy’s image from her mind.

“Her...Heeerrr. Hey Her! you just knocked down your turpentine,” Gabrielle rushes to her side to turn the bottle up. She then grabs a bunch of paper towels and soaks them with the metallic odorous liquid that floods her cart.

“Are you ok, Her? You have a glazed look in your eyes,”

“Uh- yeah, sorry, no, I’m ok,” she grabs some of her art materials and transfers them to an extra cart nearby.

“Gabrielle…do you know where the third wing studio is?” her lips started moving on their own, and instantly she regrets her words as soon as they left her lips.

“Yeah, you just have to cross the grounds and go into the other building. Is that what you were thinking about?”

“I- uh,” Her tries to come up with a lie, but she remembers she’s horrible at lying. In fact, other than the fact that she is docile and timid, she is also honest and conscientious. It’s how she grew up to be. “I just have some business there to take care of. No worries,” Her tries to avoid Gabrielle’s eyes that should already come as a signal that she is awful in doing anything that requires deceit.

“Ok…it has a sign, you won’t miss it,” she assures her as she takes a peek at Her’s canvas, then hovers over it, “Her! This is so good!”

“Thanks, it’s a little messy right now but I will try to clean up the lines later,”

“What are you talking about??? It looks so real! And it’s not even finished yet! You really have some skills, Her. It’s not fair you being so good at art history too!” Gabrielle shows a pretend jealous pout. “You chose a bunch of glass bottles and lace to paint too? Those must be a pain in the ass!” she exclaims as she gawks at Her’s highlights on the glass bottles of her painting.

“Mmhm! Interesting choice, Ms. Lune. What’s the idea behind this?” Professor Jacques slashes the quiet air with his trademarked posh voice, cutting their conversation as she looks at Her with a proud and debonair charm waiting for a response. The two friends get startled, but thankfully, talking to Gabrielle about her piece prepped her mind for the ready response she’s practiced at breakfast.

“Professor, I want to get better with painting translucency and distinguishing between objects of the same color, in this case, white. The lace is inspired by Mierevelt and how he paints Dutch clothing, particularly the lace collars, and the color palette would be somewhat like Giorgio Morandi’s still lifes.”

Portrait of a Lady of the Van Beijeren van Schagen Family by Mierevelt (Year 1620).

Natura Morta still life by Giorgio Morandi (Year 1956).

He inspects closely on the lines of her work and the contrast of the initial smudges of grey on her canvas. She elaborates on her desired concept, the shades of her color scheme, and her planned final composition.

“As expected Ms. Lune, you’re always ready before making a new piece. And you definitely always try to challenge yourself! That’s what I like!…With this perspective, the color, the items that you chose…they’re hard to paint but I know your skills do not waver!” Her smiles from ear to ear and feels a sense of accomplishment and pride in his compliment.

“However!” Oh no. “This time, I want to challenge you more than you challenge yourself. That’s what I do as a professor! I think your skills to realistically illustrate things are pretty advanced than the rest of the class so I think this time, you should use your items as a guide instead. Rather than a basic still life, use your items as uh- as uh- loose guide for a scene or something. Make them have a story! Yes, a story! That’s the word,” he advises.

“Uh I-I’ll try my best professor,” she timidly accepts his challenge as she is docile and a perfectionist, even though she knows that when it comes to creativity, she lacks in that aspect a thousand fold. The talk between the professor and the student was going so well until he asked for something that she knows she clearly does not have.

“Yes, yes, yes. I’ll be looking forward to what you come up with,” he says as he walks to the person in front of Her, ready to pounce on another poor soul to interrogate.

“Well, you handled that better than last time,” Gabrielle said. “I know you’re always nervous about these things but it’s just a talk. Your piece is literally just a draft right now. You can always change it later if you don’t like it!” she attempts to comfort Her. Gabrielle is fairly familiar with Her’s perfectionist character and she’s thankful to have her by her side when she goes almost neurotic.

“I know but…you know me. I can’t help it sometimes,” she purses her lips.

“I know, I know. You and your perfectionist butt!” she points and pokes Her’s nose with a smile. “Oh!…but but but! Last night you didn’t act like your typical perfectionist butt, you know! You came home later than usual. It was your turn to cook too! I missed you before I left for Jimin’s last night.”

Her’s eyes widen as she picks up the chalk pastel again and try to avoid her gaze. She bargains with herself if she should attempt giving a lie again for she’s not sure if she should tell anyone about him yet. She feels wary to further meddle with a person with such deviance and she’s afraid that telling anybody about him might misunderstand. However, Her thinks it’s the only way she would know who he is.

Gabrielle has quite the reputation to know everyone. She’s one of those determined new freshmen who wanted to meet anyone and everyone in a sea of new faces. People would even say she thrives on socializing. How she decided to stick to an introvert like Her, nobody would fully understand-- not even Gabrielle nor Her. The saying ‘an introvert makes friends by having an extrovert adopt them’ is true for their friendship, and Her is thankful for having a trusting friend like her. She’s the only one she would trust in asking about a boy.

“I’m sorry, Gabrielle. T-trust me, it wasn’t my fault...this guy-” she sighs. “…Do you know anybody in our year named Taehyung Soleil?”

“OH MY GOD. Is that why you were late?! You hooked up with someone last night?!...Finally! Was he hot?” Gabrielle jokes as she raises her eyebrows, eager for a response.

“No I didn’t! Can you not be so loud here?!” she whispers sharply as she sends daggers her way with her eyes and pushes her dirty fingers against her lips, marking her face with black chalk.

“Pfftttt-” she shakes Her’s hand out of her face and looks at her with pretend disgust. Her instantly bursts out in quiet laughter as she enjoys the view of her expression accessorized with the funny smudge of dirt across her face. Gabrielle looks like she ate a pile of coal and she starts laughing as well as she guesses what her face might look like. Her takes a wet paper towel and wipes her face as she explains.

“No no, missy. You already know I’m never going to have an escapade with you,”

“Why not?! Last time I checked this was college, not a convent,”

“Haha, I know I know. But I don’t think I need to explain once more I don’t do those kinds of things, Gabrielle,” Her says softly but sternly.

“Mmm...ok ok, Ms. Perfect. But who is this Taehyung guy?”

“Well...I was at the Panthéon last night and met this guy named Taehyung. He says he studies here too. Our year is small but I never met him before or even heard of him. If I don’t know him, I figured you would since you’re a big and beautiful social butterfly,” Her pokes her cheeks.

“Taehyung Soleil hmmm...nope, never heard of him! That’s a unique name too. I would’ve remembered if I heard it. What does he look like?”

Right then and there, she recalls Taehyung’s looks and her skepticism along with her curiosity reaches a climax. There is no ounce of doubt in her mind that others would notice his looks in a school that is specifically devoted to studying, glorifying, and creating aesthetics.

Is it just me? That’s impossible. He even said a lot of people ask him to be his model countless of times. His angry attitude then is besides the point but with how he described it, it seems like he would be a very well-known person already?

Her then realizes she should be bound to see him on at least one of the student paintings on the walls or drying racks.

“Ladies! Don’t you have something to work on? Let’s. Get. To. Work.” Professor Jacques booms across the classroom as he claps with his words. Their fellow classmates look in their direction automatically like a flock of pigeons.

“Sorry, Professor,” she apologizes meekly as she looks at Gabrielle, acknowledging her shift of movements towards her seat.

That’s...odd.

Her’s left even more curious about the boy who just became more interesting now that she knows for a fact that he escaped Gabrielle’s acquaintance. She forms more questions in her head at a rate faster than crossing them off her list.

Meet me at the third wing studio...third wing studio...third wing studio....For goodness sakes!

Her turns the volume to its maximum as she tries to shift her attention to the objects before her and then again, pick up her chalk pastel for an infinite time.

In the middle of Her’s classes, she searches the different rooms of the art school where she thinks people would store their paintings. After oil painting class, she searches the first-year drying racks. After drawing class, she searches the practice studios. After art history class, she even searches the second-year, third-year, and fourth-year classrooms just in case an older senior encountered him and asked him to model.

However in the end, Her comes up empty handed. There was not a painting of him on the walls or even the drying racks. In fact, all the paintings were all either of scenes, objects, or of women. None of the strokes of paint hinted of a male, especially not someone who has his features or his stature.

Did he lie to me? If he did, why?

Her wears her backpack and holds her art box with one hand as she walks on the brick steps across the courtyard of the campus to the other building. She enters the building Gabrielle pointed out that morning and skips up the curved staircase that leads to a big hallway.

Third wing studio. Third wing studio? Third wing stu- here!

She sees the sign that leads to another empty but brightly lit hallway. With slow and frugal steps, she walks down the hallway, shifting her head from side to side to peek at the windows of the classrooms.

After a moment of searching, she sees the boy alone in an enormous maroon-walled room, sitting calmly at the edge of a large open window. He rests his body against the frame as one of his arms dangle like a seesaw on his knee, and his hand mindlessly twirls a pencil in between his fingers, unconsciously matching the emphasis of his thoughts. He looks outside at the ants of people passing by with his tiger-like eyes ready to hunt. Suspenders hang from his pants that suggests to Her a long day of school.

She almost didn’t recognize him since his hair looks more golden under the bright rays of the sun and his top is very clean and white unlike last night’s. He wears a loose collared shirt, openly unbuttoned with another layer underneath. He’s also wearing round rectangular spectacles that sit on the bridge of his nose that it almost changes her reckless concept of him completely. Almost.

“So you came,” his deep voice reverberates without shifting his head in her direction. He catches her off guard, thinking that he didn’t notice her at the door, and she’s not sure how to respond.

“Hello…” she greets him quietly. She pushes the door to make way for herself to enter. He shifts his head after a few seconds but only to look at the floor to hop off the window.

He doesn’t look at her but instead purposefully walks across the room, tapping random furniture that he meets along the way with his pencil. As he taps a furniture, Her realizes the furniture is mismatched in the current room, unlike oil painting class. Different styles of furniture are scattered everywhere-- modernized tables, victorian lamps, industrial shelves, and rustic benches to name a few. The walls are also covered with various kinds of decorations, mismatching like the furniture. It reminds her of her family’s furniture shop back home where her parents would introduce to their customers the diverse types of interior styles. However, what catches Her’s attention is an ostentatious but gorgeous golden couch that glows brighter the longer she looks at it. Taehyung continues to pace across the room as he bites a fingernail and continues to be lost in thought as if she’s not in the room.

“Are you ok?” she settles down her things at the nearest seat she can find. Finally, he looks at her and his expression changes to a light smile.

“I prepared those for you,” he nods to her right as he takes a seat near his canvas from across the room. He slouches down arrogantly with legs spread and arms crossed, and he pushes his glasses up his nose as he droops down.

She takes the object sitting on top of a coffee table and stretches it out with her hands. The crumbled garment becomes a graceful blue chiffon dress heavily designed with sparkling beads, feathers, and fringes that line the bottom. It looks like a vintage flapper dress from the twenties. She sees that it includes a silky turban, and on the floor are a pair of Mary Janes.

“Huh? What does this mean?” she asks him confused.

“I need you to wear it,”

“For what?”

“You do remember you have to make it up to me right?” a smile grows mischievously on his face.

This dress seems too lavish for anything informal. Maybe for a party? Ah...Gabrielle never told me there’s an upcoming event lately? Must be for the freshman spring dance? Why would he give me a dress?

“Yes…is this for the spring dance or something?” she said even though she honestly forgot this is the reason why they were meeting. She was more preoccupied to getting more information about him than to worry about the favor she has to do for him.

“Good idea but no, I need a model for my new project!” He claps his hands once.

What?!

“WHAT?! No no no…I can’t be your model,” Her sets down the dress in a frantic panic.

“Oh yes you can!” He giggles as he stands up quickly and walks over to her. He grabs the dress and stretches it in front of her body, checking loosely if it would fit, “Trust me, I’ve already envisioned it and you’re the only one that could help.”

“But-but I’ve never modeled for anyone before,”

“Hah! You’re funny. It’s not rocket science you know!” he laughs and puts the dress in her arms.

He grabs the turban and the shoes, and pushes her to the back of the studio where she sees a folding Japanese dressing screen in front of other miscellaneous items for painting, as well as other garments for modeling. The floor is covered with satin, polyester, linen, measuring tapes, and other sewing tools mindlessly scattered across the floor.

He twists her by the shoulders to turn her towards the full-body mirror behind the dressing screen. He puts his face near the crook of her neck and inspects her face and her body through the mirror.

“You are perfect,” he says. She then sees his eyes become focused and almost prying the more he stares through the mirror to visualize his project in his mind.

So, this is how he feels every time I stare at him.

“Oh no, I forgot you have long hair…this won’t do…” he brushes his hand through her long wavy hair as he thinks of what to do. “I need you to look like a flapper. I guess I’ll go find some hair ties and pins in the makeup room next door. In the meantime, get dressed…my model.”

She cheekily smiles through the mirror and Her gives him a scowl before he dashes to the door.

“Is there really no other way I can make it up to you?” she shouts as he leaves with quick footsteps and she hears a faint ‘no’ in return. She sighs in defeat, trying to play in her head how she could’ve prevented this consequence. She’s still curious to know as to why he feels too sensitive about people staring at him but at the same time, too cautious to ask since it might make him boil again.

She changes into the dress and the mesh cloth feels gentle on her skin. The dress is sleeveless with a boxy cut, typical of dresses in the twenties. Feathers poke out at the sleeves and fringes line its bottom. The low V-cut collar is heavily beaded with sequences and pearls that are form in shapes of flowers and stretches out to the rest of the dress.

Even though beautiful, she could not deny the fact that the dress fits big on her no matter how much twisting and turning she does. Not only that but the Mary Janes feel tight on her that she feels her pinky toes rub against the inside.

In fairness, he couldn’t have known my size without asking me.

As a consolation though, the silky turban stretches well and fits snug on her head. Her recalls she’s asked Gabrielle to model for her a few times for her projects but she’s quite unfamiliar with playing the opposite role. Gabrielle has a wonderful physique and symmetrical features, unlike herself, who has a rounder face and a borderline underdeveloped body for her age. Her looks in the mirror and she can’t help but notice that her bare and pale face does not match the exquisite taste of the dress. She’s seems like a toddler trying to fit into her mother’s dress.

Some of us are luckier than others, I guess...if Gabrielle’s Adele from Gustav Klimt’s portrait, then I’m Margaret Theresa of Las Meninas.

Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer I by Gustav Klimt (Year 1903-1907).

Las Meninas by Diego Velásquez (Year 1656).

While eyeballing what she thinks are underdeveloped parts of her body in the mirror, she detects footsteps repeat in the room and stop just by the dressing screen.

“Are you dressed, my model?” Taehyung teases as he waits for a signal.

“Don’t call me that...you can come in,” she retorts as he then takes a step inside.

“Ha! It’s a little big!” he chuckles as he looks up and down at her with fingers on his lips, “I knew you were petite but that’s the only dress of its kind that I could find. Here, I can tailor it temporarily. Turn around.”

She timidly faces the mirror and she feels her hair being pulled aside. She sees him through the mirror gather cloth by her waist and fold it vertically by the zipper to tighten it. She can’t help but feel his hands tickle her skin. Goosebumps shoot up her spine. She gulps and she wishes her nervousness goes with it and dissolve.

H-How did this get intimate so suddenly?

“Does that feel right?” he asks her through the mirror as he presses his hand onto the curve of her back to hold the adjustment in place. Her tries to cover her face as much as she can with her hair to hide her tomato face.

“Yeah- just- pin it down please,” she wants to scold herself multiple times.

I could’ve just skipped coming here.

“All right, Her. Don’t move,” he whispers behind her as he takes dressmaker pins from a small drawer beside him and holds a few of them between his lips.

Her breathing ceases and it’s not because she wants to avoid getting pricked with his pins. He then kneels on one knee to adjust his height to see properly. Her breaks into sweat and become more and more paralyzed as he slowly moves down her back, dangerously near her bottom. His hand heats through the mesh and she arches her back in an attempt to keep some distance. She closes her eyes and becomes gradually nervous as she feels his caterpillar hands go down her body.

“Another pin down…” he muffles through the pins between his lips.

“and another pin,”

“and another,”

Her’s hands clench into rock-hard fists.

If he goes down any further, I swear I’m gonna –

Out of nowhere, she hears his deep voice in very close proximity to her ear, “I’ll stop there.”

She opens her eyes and she sees him standing up instead of kneeling down.

“Y-You look pissed haha. Please don’t hurt me,” he teases as he looks at her hands in tight fists. He laughs and hunches over to hold his abdomen. She sees his face with complete joy from her reaction and again, Her is at lost for words. She now realizes that he knows what goes on in her mind because he always leads her to think a certain way.

“Ughhh, Taehyung!” she intends to give him a slap on the arm but he opens his hand to meet hers and made it seem like they just high-fived.

“Haha! Why are you so red? Did I make you nervous…my model?” he chuckles. She doesn’t reply and she waits for him to get his laughs out of his system.

“Are you done now?” she sarcastically asked.

“Relaaaax, I wasn’t going to touch you,”

She sighs, exhausted by his jokes. “Do you want me to tuck in my hair under the turban?” she says as she shakes the turban in the air.

“Haha, yes, please!” He hands her a small box of hair pins and hair ties he found from the other room. “Come out when you’re ready!”

He walks to the other side of the dressing screen and she hears him drag furniture in different parts of the room. Her looks at herself in the mirror and tries to imitate a bob hairstyle, just like the chic women in Tamara de Lempicka’s works.

Although, I’m not the usual glamorous socialite she always painted.

Self-portrait in the Green Bugatti by Tamara de Lempicka (Year 1925).

Her walks out to the other side awkwardly with the tight Mary Janes on her feet. She sees Taehyung setting up the painting scene he’s visualized. She sees that Taehyung pushed some of the furniture away from an open area and drag the gorgeous golden couch with scallop edges near the big open window. He lifts it on top of a Persian carpet several times to make it perfect. She notices that he took off his long sleeves and is now in a white t-shirt to ease himself of moving furniture around.

“Taehyung, do you need help setting up?”

“No no- ugh- it’s ok, just…hold on a moment,” he drags the couch more against the carpet until he’s pleased with how its placed. “Almost done,”

He then jumps on the window pane fearlessly and takes off the transparent white curtain that hung from its pole. He flings it on the couch and neatly assembles it until he is pleased with how the folds and creases flow. From a box, he grabs and tosses white baby’s-breath on the scene. Then, he carefully lays out various brands of liquor bottles on the floor marked with different brands.

“I hope you don’t mind I borrow this,” From his pocket, he takes out familiar scraps of patterned lace that was leftover from Her’s own project.

“Did you snoop through my things?!” she asks appalled but somehow not surprised.

“It was hanging out from your box and I just opened it slightly to free it. Don’t worry,”

So no concept of personal space and respect for people’s belongings.

He sets down the lace under some of the liquor bottles and throws another on the couch. Finally, he takes out a stuffed cat with fur that’s colored black, white, and orange.

“Here, I want you to hold this. It’s a plushie but I can’t expect a snobby cat to sit in a position for hours,” he observes the cat as he walks over to where Her is standing. He lands his eyes on her and stops in his tracks. A smile grows on his face as he cups her cheeks with his hands.

“Beautiful,” he whispers as he sees the entirety of the outfit for the first time. “Exactly as I imagined!” The way he looks at her and the soft tone of his voice makes her feel a gush of embarrassment even though he just said one word. Her shakes herself out of his grasp.

“Uh…it’s mostly the dress…so you said you want me to hold this?” she tries to distract him from commenting any further on her appearance and she takes the Calico cat in her arms.

“Oh, yes…Sit on the couch over there and slouch on your side on the arm,”

They walk over to the couch and she props herself according to his directions. She tries her best to avoid looking stiff and tense.

“Sorry, like I said, it’s my first time modeling for someone,” she defends herself needlessly.

“Try to relax. Make yourself languid like you’re melting on the couch,” he suggests as he hovers over her to check the placement. All of a sudden, he becomes serious and commanding while he directs the scene and holds his chin over his knuckles. Her tries to do as he says, becoming more self-conscious of her already horrible performance.

“Hold this also,” he puts a half-filled champagne glass in her hand.

“Hmm, I don’t think this will do,” he brushes his hand across her heel, swipes the Mary Janes off her feet, and lifts her legs on the couch, placing them in a specific way.

“Heh, I bet you liked that. Your pinky toe is as red as your face a while ago,” he said, referring to the incident that happened a while ago.

What is with him and physical contact?

Her’s complaints must have been heard by some higher power because now he doesn’t touch her to direct her, but instead, he taps her with the pencil he was spinning a while ago to instruct the finer placement of her body parts.

“Lift this up a little,” he taps her elbow.

“Move that back there,” he taps her shoulder.

“Put your hand there,” he taps her forehead.

“And finally,” Taehyung pushes the underside of Her’s chin and lifts it upwards, “Don’t look anywhere else but me,” he smirks, only inches away from her face.

Taehyung pushed Her past her edge, feeling treated like a toy, that she couldn’t help but blurt out the first thing in her mind after that statement.

“I’m seriously about to hit you,” she says, failing to further hold her thoughts anymore.

“Hey now, what’s with the tone?” he smiles, “You know-- it’s funny. You’re making it up to me for staring, even to the point that I snapped,” he walks away and sits in front of his easel, “But I’m also letting you look at me for a longer period of time, sweet cheeks. It might be the only acceptable time I would not be angry,” he crosses his arms. “Heh, I know you want to paint me too, like the other students out there. Take this opportunity to look at me more, yeah? Maybe by the end of this, you’ve memorized my face so well you see me in your dreams. But, in the meantime, what kind of music do you like?” he smirks at her waiting for a reply.

He solidifies his impression of having a way with words and in a sense that it makes her have mixed feelings towards them. Again, she’s speechless and he chuckles at her expression because he knows he’s right. She know he’s right.

“Put on some soul,” she says through gritted teeth.

“Excellent choice!” he claps.

He plays with the radio next to his easel until he finds the right station. A familiar song fills the air, Yves Montand’s Les Feuilles Mortes. Her hopes that this slow solemn tune will help her be at ease with the rather uncomfortable situation.

Taehyung then starts swiping the surface of his canvas to sketch the outline of the scene. She notices that his hand movements are swift and erratic, contrary to how she usually paints. At intermittent phases, he looks at her directly with an intense gaze and with eyes furrowed, concentrating on the shapes and contours of her face.

“Her, don’t stop looking at me,” he says sternly.

For a few times, she breaks eye contact as she could not take his gaze any longer. She looks at him again with difficult effort and tries to feel comfortable laying on the couch. She starts a conversation, thinking that it might help the awkward air.

“What are you trying to do with your painting?”

“Weell...my professor wants us to study textures so I brought together many different types of textures. Your dress, that silk turban, the transparent curtain, that furry cat, the glass bottles, the lace, the carpet…” The more he lists things, the more impressed she got by how much he’s thought his painting through.

“…But the main concept is…maturity,”

“Maturity? That’s…different”

“Well, thank you. Every artist wants to be different.” Her didn’t mean for that to be a compliment. She meant the concept seemed too mature for his type of personality but she doesn’t feel like correcting him. He continues, “I’m sure you could figure out how I decided to illustrate maturity.”

“Mmm…the liquor bottles, the baby’s-breath, and…me.” It clicks in her head exactly why he wants her in particular to be his model. “So you wanted to use my innocent face and my petite frame, huh?” Her has been told many times of her youthful physical features and she’s come to acknowledge it after too many comments.

“You don’t have to say it that way but it’s interesting how you know yourself well,” he smirks at his canvas. “An innocent girl whose lips touched alcohol for the first time! That’s why I made you look tipsy,” She looks down at her body and she instantly understands his words. “I chose to paint a flapper because…well, you can guess.”

“…mmm, I know women started being rebellious back then,”

“You know, the twenties was a wiiiild time! So wild they called it ‘Roaring’! Don’t you think innocence was easily corrupted at a time when being wild was the trend? Young girls probably felt the urge to mature quickly.”

Her’s mood suddenly shifts to an irritated and uncomfortable one to one that’s stunned. She finds it interesting, but strange, how he’s able to shift his personality from one that’s playful, to one that’s like a scholar. She realizes she’s seen this side of Taehyung outside by the bus stop. She’s reminded that he’s deeper person than he let on.

He’s so...creative.

It surprises her how much symbolism he’s produced for one painting. It reminds her of Renaissance paintings convoluted with symbols like Gustave Moreau’s works– abundant with images of good and evil.

Oedipus and the Sphinx by Gustave Moreau (Year 1864).

“You know…I-I’m honestly very impressed. I think your painting will come out well,” Her said shyly.

“Weeeell, that’s if I can pull it off,” he shifts his gaze from his canvas and looks at her. “I don’t know how many times I’ve heard that I have trouble with my realistic techniques, something you said that you were good at,” he says as he points a wet paintbrush at her.

“With time, you can always learn and practice realism…but coming up with things like how you just did, that’s different. No one can really learn how to do that.”

“The professors don’t think soooo,” he says in melody.

“Well, would you like me to give you some tips later?”

“I’m guessing you’re not annoyed by me anymore,” an eye twinkle peeks at the edge of his canvas. Her thinks a remnant of annoyance will forever be at the back of her head for him. “How did you learn how to paint like that anyways?” he asks.

“I was just kinda born with it and I guess I honed it over the years. It’s weird though, I’m the only one in my family who was born with this trait,”

“Is that so?” he raises an eyebrow at me, “What’s your family like then?”

Feeling a little bit more at ease with modeling for Taehyung, she tells him about herself as he paints and listens. She tells him about her childhood in the countryside of Arles and how she’s loved painting ever since she saw her first Van Gogh. Living in his hometown only fed her love for his works. She’s visited almost every site that he has painted-- that’s how much she loves painting. She tells him about the family business and how she’s expected to help design the furniture after graduation. She also discloses how her parents are “perfect people,” always accomplishing something they’ve started, and that it scares her to defy them, not arising to their expectations -- not being able to be perfect like them.

“Oh! So you have a job after graduation! Lucky you! You won’t be the usual starving artist,” Taehyung says.

“That’s not the point...” she sadly chuckles. “I could not fathom to tell them ‘no, it’s not what I want to do.’ It’s more of my passion to major in Fine Arts rather than, eck…Interior Design. I don’t want to be some Ikea hack that mass produces furniture that I know will eventually ruin the little bit of artistry in me. And you know how by the end of this semester we have to declare our concentration and…I don’t know what I should do! I can’t even be creative enough to even think of cool designs! I’m not creative at all! I don’t even know what to do for my own painting project which my professor wants me avoiding doing still lifes!

“How ironic. This is the first time I’ve seen an artist complain about a job offer and not being able to starve,” he teases and she gives him a murderous glare at him. “I’m only kidding! I’m sure you’re going to figure it out somehow…Come to think of it, is this the reason why you always go to the Panthéon? Every time I see you there, you always look so frustrated...and lost,”

“As a matter of fact..yeah. Whenever I feel stressed or trapped about my parents’ plans or school, I go to there...”

“But why there of all places? It’s so boring there!”

“I-I never really told anyone this but since you asked…I feel mmm…most inspired when I go there. You know how you have your own corner to wind down? Well for me that’s the Panthéon. The people buried there lead lives that sought after new things. They… thought for themselves instead of what others wanted them to think and it manifested in good ways – nice artworks, smart discoveries, beautiful literature, new ways of governing-…aaand I don’t have the same courage that they had in pursuing the things they want. Sometimes I wish their courage somehow miraculously transfers to me when I rub their statues. Kind of like how people rub their heads against their books before a test hoping it would just transfer to their brains,”

Taehyung laughs so much he had to stop painting.

“Hahaha, wow. I didn’t know you could be funny,” he looks at her with a big smile as he shakes his head, “You know you got some really high hopes there, wanting to be as big as them,”

Her stops holding the position of her body and lays flat on the couch, giving a threatening expression at the same time. “High hopes BUUUT very reflective and ambitious!” Her goes back to holding her body to how it was.

“Phew! Are you utterly sensitive,” he goes back to painting.

“Well, what about you? You haven’t exactly said anything about yourself since we came here.”

“Me? Oh you don’t want to know my story. I assure you it’s not up to par with your perfect life.”

“Try me.”

“No…no, Her. I don’t really want to say.”

“Come on! You just judged me after saying something somewhat vulnerable and now you’re not going to tell me about yourself? Where’s the justice in that?”

He thinks a moment about submitting as he chews his bottom lip and he furrows his eyebrows at her. Then, he smiles his iconic mischievous smile.

“If you really wanna know, then let’s make this interesting. Let’s play a game,”

Well. I shouldn’t be surprised. His playful self is showing again but this time, I think he just found a way to let it out to its fullest potential.

“Two truths and a lie. I’ll tell you three statements. Two statements are wrong and one is true. Your job is to say which one is true,”

“That’s not fair. I just told you things without a game,”

“I would’ve played your game if you offered,”

“Fine,” Trying to find out more about him the whole day, Her is eager to finally get some answers.

“Mmmmmm…ok…let’s start out easy,” he continues painting as he thinks of some statements.

“One: I have a dishwasher. Two: I like the color blue. Three: I don’t work at the Panthéon.”

“Really…?”

“I did say we’re starting out easy.”

Three is definitely wrong. Everybody on campus has a dishwasher. It’s definitely two.

“Two.”

“Correct! Ultramarine to be precise,” he picks up the French Ultramarine blue, squirts the tube of oil paint on his palette, and molds the paint against it with a palette knife. “That’s why I like your dress,” he says as he puts his forefingers and thumbs up in a shape of a box, putting Her in frame as he shoots one eye at her.

“T-Thanks?” Again, she’s at lost for words.

“Her,”

“What?”

“I said don’t stop looking at me, sweet cheeks,”

“I-I didn’t,” she said as she looks back in his direction, trying to maintain her eye contact through the box he formed with his fingers. Her finds it more and more difficult to stay in eye contact when he keeps toying with her.

“Something a little harder this time…mmmm….ah! One: PCA gave me a scholarship to go here, Two: I lived in the streets since I was 15. Three: I’ve lost 500 grand at a hand of poker.”

He doesn’t seem like he lived in the streets since he was 15. I don’t think anybody our age has that kind of money?

“One?”

“So you really do think I’m smart, huh? You weren’t kidding haha,” he chuckles that his hair gets caught in his eyes and he brushes it out with his arm. A streak of paint washes over his forehead. “Sorry to disappoint, I appreciate it, but no,”

“So which one is right?”

“I’ve lived in the streets since I was 15.”

“You…you did? You don’t look it.” Although, what Her really wants to ask is ‘where are his parents?’ However, she thought it might be too sensitive to ask.

“Of course not. Living in the streets taught you how to blend in,”

“So…is that how you’re so good at hiding and being stealthy? Like when we were at the Panthéon?”

“You noticed that, huh? My world required it of me,”

“How did you manage?”

“I have my ways. Yooouu…just go day to day and never expect that day to be like tomorrow. It’s not as bad as you think. In fact, I’m in debt to the streets. That’s how I found my love for art. It saved me,”

“It saved you?”

“…….One: I’ve left the country with a woman I barely knew, two times. Two: I have a black belt in martial arts. Three: I’ve been scouted to be in some commercials,”

Her detects that it seems like he doesn’t want to go into deeper topics as he ignores her last question and she decides to play along.

What kind of choices are these? One seems like he’s an indecent person. Two seems to good to be true. And three feels like just a scheme to make me acknowledge his good looks.

“So…what’s it gonna be, sweet pea?” his lips curve at one side as he looks over and waits for a response.

“…Um, one?”

“Haha…you’re right.”

“I’m right?!”

He’s really that indecent?!

“I escaped two times from some thugs I know who had a problem with my Van Goghs that it made me leave the country twice, just over the border to Spain. This Spanish girl I know who taught me how to paint helped smuggle me in for a brief time. She’s a street artist here, just over at Sacre Coeur…mi amorrr Isabella,” he says as he rolls his ‘R’s with an unexpected accent.

La Place St. Pierre et le Sacré Coeur de Montmartre by Maurice Utrillo (Year 1938).

“You’ve had a problem with selling imitations before and you’re still doing it?! And you made me help you!”

“I’m not lying when I said I just really want to learn. Plus, I got no other ways to pay tuition. I’m back to the streets if I’m not in school,”

“There must be another way, Taehyung,”

He grunts, “Y-you don’t understand, Her”

“Are you in trouble now? Should I be worried?”

“No…no. I’m not in trouble,”

She looks at him with deep skepticism and disappointment that it makes him throw his hands into the air.

“What? I’m not!”

“I’m not going to help you with your imitations if it gets you in trouble that you even have to get out of the country with some Spanish girl’s help,”

“Hmm, I do like Isabella a lot,” he raises an eyebrow and bites his lips, “she was damn alluring,” he emphasizes as he stares into the ceiling, trying to remember her image.

“Okaayy, that’s it-”

Her stops holding her body into position and sets down the champagne glass, but before she could stand up, Taehyung boxes her in with his arms on the couch. She notices that his white t-shirt is now stained with some colors of blue and yellow.

“Hey, hey, hey, slow down there. I was kiddiiiing,” he says with an assuring tone. Her almost forgot how deep and velvety his voice is until he’s in very close proximity to her again. His eyes smile and he chuckles, “You amuse me. What you taught me will always be used for good, ok?”

“No, Taehyung. It only makes you a scammer. Taking people’s money that’s not rightfully yours and it’s getting you in trouble with some god who knows what,”

“Van Gogh’s been dead for decades, sweetheart! We can copy his works and sell them! And I’ve outrun those guys a year ago!” he gestures and flicks the air.

“Ok, but you should still tell all your customers that you painted them and that they’re not original Van Goghs.”

“Ughhhh…you’re making my life difficult. Not only for this painting but my actual life,”

Her stares at him for a while with an angry expression. Her has always been an upstanding person and she was never comfortable with anything that she sees is meant to exploit others. After some time, she speaks in a stern voice.

“One: Taehyung will tell his customers his Van Gogh’s are NOT original, Two: Taehyung will run out of the country again, Three: Taehyung will go back to the streets. Which one is true?”

He squints his eyes back at her and they look at each other intensely like a gun showdown in Western films. One thing’s for sure though, Her’s not going to be docile this time.

“…ONE! ok? One! One. I’ll tell them. I’ll tell all of them, ok? Ughh, I’m going to lose a lot of money...” he exhales, “Now, can you please actually do what I say and stay still?”

“Seems like I won this game,” Her says with a smirk. She picks up the champagne again and goes back into position. She smiles at him, seemingly pleased with herself that their roles reversed. After all the times Taehyung has toyed with her, she gets her revenge. Or so she thinks.

“I can’t seem to compete with goody-two shoes,”

“You know what they sayyy, the good always conquers the bad,”

“Oh…so I’m the bad man now,”

“Eh…you’re more like a boy to me,”

All of a sudden, Her sees his tiger-like eyes darken once more. The angel in him disappears again and his emanating vibe becomes dangerous. Her realizes she triggered something in him again. She looks at him a little frightened, trying to hide her feelings of intimidation behind her eyes. As Taehyung gets closer, she scoots back to the couch, as far as her back would let her, shifting the flow of the curtain on the couch and squishing the cat under her.

“Bad boy, huh? You do know what else they say, right?”

She finds her throat stuck as he comes closer and closer.

“They say all good boys go to heaven, but bad boys bring heaven to you. We’re not done with this game.”

“W-What do you mean?” she stutters and her head draws a blank.

“Do you really want to know how I survived the streets?” he eyes her down and Her could see his eyes dilate.

“H-H-ow?”

“I didn’t have anything, Her. I was penniless. No family. No place to call home. I used the only thing I had – my looks. Isabella? Yeah, she was an older woman but she found me beautiful. She used to paint me a lot whenever she first saw me in the streets when I was 18. Even though it sickens me that I have to use this face to make a living, I had no other choice. The deal was that she can paint me as long as I can sleep at her place, keep me out of the streets. And you know what happened to her paintings?”

“D-D-Did they sell?”

“She taught me a thing or two in our sessions and eventually I started helping her– giving her some ideas on how to make it better. Her paintings became more and more popular that she was able to open a small shop by Montmartre. Eventually, the street artists in Sacre Coeur were paying me to be their model and I was able to stay off the streets as long as they give me shelter. I also started making some money that’s not from thieving around. Why didn’t I just stay a stupid model, you ask?”

The Boulevard Montmartre on a Winter Morning by Camille Pisarro (Year 1897)

“But I-I I didn’t ask…” she mumbles.

“Because I found out I can use my hands, I found out I can also paint. And you’re right! Every street artist I’ve met said I’m the most creative one they’ve encountered. So…” He holds her chin with his thumb and his forefinger, “One: Taehyung is a bad boy. Two: Her will do the exact opposite of what Taehyung says…or three: Her will ask Taehyung for help for her project. Which one is true?” He looks deep into her eyes to the point that he could be reading her thoughts.

Is he serious?!

“I am far more irritated with you and my patience has grown thin,” Her swipes his hand away and pushes his chest. She sets the champagne on the carpet, takes off the turban, and throws it against his chest.

“Don’t think you can just order me around like I’m some kind of toy that you have wrapped around your little finger,” she turns her heels and walks towards the dressing screen, taking her clothes, and then taking her backpack and art box.

On her way of stomping out the door, Her sees his painting at the corner of her eye and it stops her from her tracks. The colors are intensely vibrant, splashes of blue and yellow glimmer against each other-- just like how Van Gogh paints his paintings. His brush strokes are fast and mindless without a trace of hesitance with each swipe. The golden couch flares as if its the sun on a blazing summer day and her dress glows a vibrant blue with the beads glimmering like stars from the midnight sky. The feathers from the dress are exaggerated and stretched out, looking like a cloud separating the sun from the moon at dawn or twilight. It didn’t have a realistic style to it like her paintings, but it had a Post-Impressionistic style– her favorite. She’s astounded he’s covered so much of the canvas in so little time but she notices that she was completely painted in already.

“Y-You were finished painting me this whole time?”

“My eyes…just really gobbles up that blue dress,” he whispers as he slouches down on the couch, propping his head up with his arm.

“Ah! Alors aide-moi dieu!! I’ve had ittttt,” she walks to the door to exit but Taehyung catches her with his words.

“Nuh-uh, sweet cheeks,” Taehyung says. “Take it off,”

“W-What?!”

“Take off the dress. Or did you forget it’s not yours?” he chuckles, finding her rage of fit amusing. “Come on. I had to go through great lengths to find a dress like that, and if you won’t model for me no more, I can at least give it to another girl,”

Out of spite, Her walks over to the couch, takes off the dress right then and there, and slaps it on Taehyung’s face. Taehyung curls his tongue, seemingly irritated by her behavior. Her’s outrage pushed any trace of embarrassment she might have on a normal situation apart from the current one. She then quickly swoops her body into her own casual dress as she picks her things up.

“Hm, I thought people like Isabella are the only ones who could be risqué. Turns out goody-two shoes could be too,” he mischievously smirks. Her could not believe that Taehyung still has the audacity to toy with her. He’s driven her up the wall but he’s still not content, revving the gas pedal past its speed limit.

“Taehyung, please just shut up,”

“Well if anybody asks, you’re the one who stripped,”

“Ugh! Good luck with that damn painting,”

Her continues to stomp out the door as she hears the words ‘she’ll be back’ catch up to her.

Ch. 2 fin.

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