genre. non-idol au, omegaverse (a/b/o), polyamory, red string theory, painful slow burn, a not so meet cute in this one
what does a promise, a rainy day, and a beta have in common? nothing. the universe just happened to be on your side for once.
word count. 2,169 (not beta read)
warnings. no major warnings, more world building, introductions to important background characters, lowkey the first like 5k words is just about m/c sorry not sorry, out of nowhere rain that could ruin anyone's mood, art curator!taehyung, again inaccuracies when describing stuff all i have i google <3, the forming of a friendship, this really can't be categorized as anything but i'm just putting fluff
SERIES MASTERLIST.
CHAPTER ONE. MOMENATRE
Just a few weeks ago you had gotten a random and surprising urge to purge your entire closet in the middle of the night. Not getting any sleep until the early morning when you had gone through and thoroughly thought through every piece of clothing. Pressing the fabrics up against your chest or doing the neck trick with a old pair of jeans from high school. And it always failed to do this because you always eventually ended up trying on the piece of clothing, then you had to go back and try to attempt to salvage the piece of clothing by seeing if you can create an absurd but wearable outfit with it. Because yes, a skirt from middle school does go with a random going out top. But the skirt just happens to no longer reach the ground but now it touches your mid calf from the growth spurt you had towards the end of middle school and you no longer have time to go out to parties like you did in college, so both pieces ended up getting thrown into the donate pile. This cycle continued until you had two distinct piles, no longer giving yourself the mercy of a third maybe-keep-maybe-donate pile, you're being cutthroat this time around.
That is exactly how you end up on the L with a stuffed trash bag, and end up carry said trash bag down and up steps and through city streets just to reach a Goodwill. And for an errand to be so quick it sure was treacherous having to stop and knee the bag up when it started slipping in your arms, or having to accept defeat when your tote bag slid down your shoulder and into the crook of your elbow just a few a block away from the Goodwill. And you really could've not been so adamant about donating your clothes to a Goodwill and instead to a local thrift store closer to your apartment. But those thrift stores always have an image to keep up with and just won't accept any piece of clothing that walks through their doors. You also had a hunch they would hate it if you come in with a trash bag of clothes, some that's a decade and some older and it isn't vintage galore. So the trek to Goodwill seems worth it.
And worth it is when your in and out with an errand done already. But just as quick as the errand was over, it also took no time for the clear skies to become muddle blob of grey as you continue walking. Thinking to yourself over and over that it better not start down pouring as you speed up your walking. Extending your arm to let a strap of your tote bag fall over your shoulder as you haphazardly scramble around the items in your tote, hoping that a random umbrella spawns inside of it. When it doesn't you grumble, you're usually the person with everything possible in your bag, you practically revel in being one of the most prepared person ever. But of course the self proclaimed 'most prepared person ever' isn't really who they say they are.
Excepting defeat you open up your phone before it does actually start raining and it'll be unusable to use and open up the Maps app and look up Momenatre Gallery, clicking the top suggesting and seeing the bright directions telling you where to go. Looking farther ahead on the directs to notice the street names and turns you turn your phone off, the gallery isn't too far away, and you're sure since it is a galley there will be indications of it when you get closer.
But the you get the darker it gets, and not even five minutes pass when you feel a warm droplet splash against your head. It's just a droplet you think, but then more droplets fall, and a steady drizzle picks up. Regretting the lack thereof a coverup, no cardigan, no nothing, because you said you wouldn't need it, deceived by the Weather app's prediction of perfect weather. And now you find your walking speed turning into a jog, because you're adamant to reach that gallery.
And almost on que, just as you round the corner there it is, Momenatre Gallery in it's glory and along with it, torrential downpour and the crosswalk signals turn to a little orange walking man. At this moment your only worry is about seeking shelter within the gallery as you run across the crosswalk clutching your tote bag and to the doors of the gallery, thankful to whoever designed the building for having a little ledge just above the entrance as you no longer feel the warm pellets against your skin as you open up the heavy door, trying your best to wipe off your feet and shake yourself off before entering the gallery.
You don't know what you expected as you walked into the gallery, but you almost expected it to be the size of an art museum naively, much like the Art Institute of Chicago. Standing in the lobby, taking in the tasteful decor and plum red accent wall you're met with you fist walk in.
"Would you like a map of the gallery, Ma'am?"
Turning around you're greeted with an doorman you can only assume from his attire, an older Beta you confirm from his mild basil scent as he steps forward to extended a map towards you from the small pile in his hand.
You take the map, looking down at it as your fingers stick to the glossy material of it from then still being damp from your encounter with the downpour. "Thank you-" Your eyes adverting to his silver name tag over his heart, "Bernard." Exchanging polite smiles, eyes shifting back down to open up the map to figure out where the exhibit Jamie is apart of is located.
"Sorry I wasn't there to open up open the door for you, Ma'am, I was a little distracted," Bernard apologizes and your head whips up at both the fact you are getting an apology right now and the abrupt cough the echos throughout the gallery. Looking over your shoulder to the front desk to see the coughing culprit, an older woman with bright copper hair and thin wire glasses who eyes the doorman, but looks back to her monitor screen when she catches you looking at her as well. And when you look back at Bernard, whose eyes are still on the front desk worker despite her trying to busy herself, your eyebrows raise, you interrupted workplace flirting.
When Bernard focuses on you again he gives you a shy smile that accentuates his wrinkles of his eyes and his smile lines and you just give a wide smile back to him. "Promise I won't hold it against you," You muse.
"Very well then, I'll let you see the art now."
Nodding you turn and begin to walk, shifting your tote up your shoulder once more with the hand that holds the open gallery map. Eyeing the front desk worker when you past by it, her eyes peeking over the top of the monitor, giving her the same wide smile you gave the doorman.
It seems the way the gallery floor plan is, is that the exhibit Jamie is apart of is in the very back of the gallery, or well wind of the gallery as the various rooms surround the off-centered outside courtyard. As you enter the first room of art displays you take in how quiet the gallery is, albeit it's weekday, but it's also a weekday that had an outburst of rain. Feeling a little pep in your still squishily damp sneaker knowing that you won't have to brush shoulder with anyone or have to get frustrated from getting caught behind someone who has no awareness that other people around them since you're the only person who took refuge in the gallery and the few other visitors who you sometimes cross paths with who were here prior to you.
Floating through the first few rooms, slow walking past each art piece. You occasionally stopped to read the artist descriptors next to pieces that piqued your interest until you felt bad for not reading every other's descriptors, all worthy art that deserves to be seen and known. When you finished reading the last descriptor of this specific exhibit you floated to the next, a noticeable shift upon entering the new room at all for walls are painted a navy blue, lights cascading upon a massive sculpture made of twisted, rusted metal in the center of the room. Eyes darting around only for the sculpture to be the only thing in the room, and you admire the galleries trust in it's visitors as the sculpture is only on a slightly raised podium that you can only assume it's bolted into so no accidents occur. But other than that, no protective measures of the art are made, no elegant rope fencing it off, just a small stand next to the sculpture that reads at the top in capitalized and bold wording, "PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH". And just below it is the title along with the author's name and descriptor, 'Despair' you read out loud, looking back up towards the sculpture and you can't help but chuckle. Because, yeah, it really does perfectly encapsulate the feeling of despair as you eyes rake over the twist and crooks of the metal, getting lost as you try to follow where the sculpture eventually becomes one.
You were staring at it, trying to find some deeper meaning, when a smooth, low voice startled you.
“It’s a bit much, isn’t it?” A smooth, low voice startles you from behind.
You flinch, shoulders raising to touch your ears as you turn around to see a man standing behind you, now facing him face to face. He was tall, with smooth jet black hair that looks both meticulously but carelessly styled from the glasses pushed on top of his dead, his stature is softened by a cream-colored buttoned up, the sleeve pushed up to his elbows and the length of the button up tucked into brown slacks. Brown almond eyes and a sense of knowing that he had just frazzle you pulling at the corners of his mouth. He smells like the ocean, not salty bad, but salty good, like you just ran along the beach, and something else, something cleaner and neutral. A beta.
“I, uh," Losing you train of thoughts when the man's eyes widen, waiting for your answer, but you can only shift back and forth on your heels as you try to straighten yourself out and not try to visibly cringe from your socks still being damp. "I was just trying to figure out if it was supposed to be a tree or a…" Turning around you look back to the sculpture, hands gesturing towards it, and now you're made very away the galleries map is still in your hand. "very abstract octopus,” you admitted, flustered. Turning back around to expect the man's eyes to be on the sculpture trying to also determine what it is, but instead when you do do his eyes are still on you, so you just wiggle your lips, trying to configure them into a small smile.
When he lets out a soft, airy laugh your shoulders deflate. "The artist said it represents the weight of modern existence, trying to do too many people in one body to please others." He pauses, now looking past you and to the sculpture, his eyes narrowing and eyebrows furrowing. "But personally," He begins, a quick peek of tongue swipes over his lips, his chin is now lifted, eyes no longer narrowed, but his eyebrows are still furrowed. Coming up with his own interpretation of the piece. "I think you're right. It looks like a depressed octopus. But it also looks like an elephant standing on it's hind legs if you look at it like this."
Now it's time for your eyebrows to furrow, looking over your shoulder before you get his hint and you move to stand beside him. A final look at him to note how he's standing and imitate your body to do the same, lifting you chin and look a the sculpture in its entirety. You eyebrows relax when you start to see the elephant take shape.
"Yeah, I can see it," You agree, taking the gallery map in the other hand of the side that your tote bag is on, so you're now free hand can trace the figure of the elephant. Laughing as you, because it constantly amazes you how art can take multiple shapes. "That actually makes me feel less stupid now, thanks."
Your arm falls to your side to take a look at the man once more, only to notice that he has a glimmering silver name tag like the doorman, Bernard. Only his reads "Taehyung".
a/n. be on the look out for chapter two's teaser tomorrow!
chapter two's teaser will come after my finals!!! i'm done thursday so my hopes is to return home and write to get it out over this upcoming weekend! then after that (i don't have a time frame really) both chapter one and chapter two will be posted at the same time!
genre. non-idol au, omegaverse (a/b/o), polyamory, red string theory, painful slow burn, a not so meet cute in this one
what does a promise, a rainy day, and a beta have in common? nothing. the universe just happened to be on your side for once.
word count. 2,169 (not beta read)
warnings. no major warnings, more world building, introductions to important background characters, lowkey the first like 5k words is just about m/c sorry not sorry, out of nowhere rain that could ruin anyone's mood, art curator!taehyung, again inaccuracies when describing stuff all i have i google <3, the forming of a friendship, this really can't be categorized as anything but i'm just putting fluff
SERIES MASTERLIST.
CHAPTER ONE. MOMENATRE
Just a few weeks ago you had gotten a random and surprising urge to purge your entire closet in the middle of the night. Not getting any sleep until the early morning when you had gone through and thoroughly thought through every piece of clothing. Pressing the fabrics up against your chest or doing the neck trick with a old pair of jeans from high school. And it always failed to do this because you always eventually ended up trying on the piece of clothing, then you had to go back and try to attempt to salvage the piece of clothing by seeing if you can create an absurd but wearable outfit with it. Because yes, a skirt from middle school does go with a random going out top. But the skirt just happens to no longer reach the ground but now it touches your mid calf from the growth spurt you had towards the end of middle school and you no longer have time to go out to parties like you did in college, so both pieces ended up getting thrown into the donate pile. This cycle continued until you had two distinct piles, no longer giving yourself the mercy of a third maybe-keep-maybe-donate pile, you're being cutthroat this time around.
That is exactly how you end up on the L with a stuffed trash bag, and end up carry said trash bag down and up steps and through city streets just to reach a Goodwill. And for an errand to be so quick it sure was treacherous having to stop and knee the bag up when it started slipping in your arms, or having to accept defeat when your tote bag slid down your shoulder and into the crook of your elbow just a few a block away from the Goodwill. And you really could've not been so adamant about donating your clothes to a Goodwill and instead to a local thrift store closer to your apartment. But those thrift stores always have an image to keep up with and just won't accept any piece of clothing that walks through their doors. You also had a hunch they would hate it if you come in with a trash bag of clothes, some that's a decade and some older and it isn't vintage galore. So the trek to Goodwill seems worth it.
And worth it is when your in and out with an errand done already. But just as quick as the errand was over, it also took no time for the clear skies to become muddle blob of grey as you continue walking. Thinking to yourself over and over that it better not start down pouring as you speed up your walking. Extending your arm to let a strap of your tote bag fall over your shoulder as you haphazardly scramble around the items in your tote, hoping that a random umbrella spawns inside of it. When it doesn't you grumble, you're usually the person with everything possible in your bag, you practically revel in being one of the most prepared person ever. But of course the self proclaimed 'most prepared person ever' isn't really who they say they are.
Excepting defeat you open up your phone before it does actually start raining and it'll be unusable to use and open up the Maps app and look up Momenatre Gallery, clicking the top suggesting and seeing the bright directions telling you where to go. Looking farther ahead on the directs to notice the street names and turns you turn your phone off, the gallery isn't too far away, and you're sure since it is a galley there will be indications of it when you get closer.
But the you get the darker it gets, and not even five minutes pass when you feel a warm droplet splash against your head. It's just a droplet you think, but then more droplets fall, and a steady drizzle picks up. Regretting the lack thereof a coverup, no cardigan, no nothing, because you said you wouldn't need it, deceived by the Weather app's prediction of perfect weather. And now you find your walking speed turning into a jog, because you're adamant to reach that gallery.
And almost on que, just as you round the corner there it is, Momenatre Gallery in it's glory and along with it, torrential downpour and the crosswalk signals turn to a little orange walking man. At this moment your only worry is about seeking shelter within the gallery as you run across the crosswalk clutching your tote bag and to the doors of the gallery, thankful to whoever designed the building for having a little ledge just above the entrance as you no longer feel the warm pellets against your skin as you open up the heavy door, trying your best to wipe off your feet and shake yourself off before entering the gallery.
You don't know what you expected as you walked into the gallery, but you almost expected it to be the size of an art museum naively, much like the Art Institute of Chicago. Standing in the lobby, taking in the tasteful decor and plum red accent wall you're met with you fist walk in.
"Would you like a map of the gallery, Ma'am?"
Turning around you're greeted with an doorman you can only assume from his attire, an older Beta you confirm from his mild basil scent as he steps forward to extended a map towards you from the small pile in his hand.
You take the map, looking down at it as your fingers stick to the glossy material of it from then still being damp from your encounter with the downpour. "Thank you-" Your eyes adverting to his silver name tag over his heart, "Bernard." Exchanging polite smiles, eyes shifting back down to open up the map to figure out where the exhibit Jamie is apart of is located.
"Sorry I wasn't there to open up open the door for you, Ma'am, I was a little distracted," Bernard apologizes and your head whips up at both the fact you are getting an apology right now and the abrupt cough the echos throughout the gallery. Looking over your shoulder to the front desk to see the coughing culprit, an older woman with bright copper hair and thin wire glasses who eyes the doorman, but looks back to her monitor screen when she catches you looking at her as well. And when you look back at Bernard, whose eyes are still on the front desk worker despite her trying to busy herself, your eyebrows raise, you interrupted workplace flirting.
When Bernard focuses on you again he gives you a shy smile that accentuates his wrinkles of his eyes and his smile lines and you just give a wide smile back to him. "Promise I won't hold it against you," You muse.
"Very well then, I'll let you see the art now."
Nodding you turn and begin to walk, shifting your tote up your shoulder once more with the hand that holds the open gallery map. Eyeing the front desk worker when you past by it, her eyes peeking over the top of the monitor, giving her the same wide smile you gave the doorman.
It seems the way the gallery floor plan is, is that the exhibit Jamie is apart of is in the very back of the gallery, or well wind of the gallery as the various rooms surround the off-centered outside courtyard. As you enter the first room of art displays you take in how quiet the gallery is, albeit it's weekday, but it's also a weekday that had an outburst of rain. Feeling a little pep in your still squishily damp sneaker knowing that you won't have to brush shoulder with anyone or have to get frustrated from getting caught behind someone who has no awareness that other people around them since you're the only person who took refuge in the gallery and the few other visitors who you sometimes cross paths with who were here prior to you.
Floating through the first few rooms, slow walking past each art piece. You occasionally stopped to read the artist descriptors next to pieces that piqued your interest until you felt bad for not reading every other's descriptors, all worthy art that deserves to be seen and known. When you finished reading the last descriptor of this specific exhibit you floated to the next, a noticeable shift upon entering the new room at all for walls are painted a navy blue, lights cascading upon a massive sculpture made of twisted, rusted metal in the center of the room. Eyes darting around only for the sculpture to be the only thing in the room, and you admire the galleries trust in it's visitors as the sculpture is only on a slightly raised podium that you can only assume it's bolted into so no accidents occur. But other than that, no protective measures of the art are made, no elegant rope fencing it off, just a small stand next to the sculpture that reads at the top in capitalized and bold wording, "PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH". And just below it is the title along with the author's name and descriptor, 'Despair' you read out loud, looking back up towards the sculpture and you can't help but chuckle. Because, yeah, it really does perfectly encapsulate the feeling of despair as you eyes rake over the twist and crooks of the metal, getting lost as you try to follow where the sculpture eventually becomes one.
You were staring at it, trying to find some deeper meaning, when a smooth, low voice startled you.
“It’s a bit much, isn’t it?” A smooth, low voice startles you from behind.
You flinch, shoulders raising to touch your ears as you turn around to see a man standing behind you, now facing him face to face. He was tall, with smooth jet black hair that looks both meticulously but carelessly styled from the glasses pushed on top of his dead, his stature is softened by a cream-colored buttoned up, the sleeve pushed up to his elbows and the length of the button up tucked into brown slacks. Brown almond eyes and a sense of knowing that he had just frazzle you pulling at the corners of his mouth. He smells like the ocean, not salty bad, but salty good, like you just ran along the beach, and something else, something cleaner and neutral. A beta.
“I, uh," Losing you train of thoughts when the man's eyes widen, waiting for your answer, but you can only shift back and forth on your heels as you try to straighten yourself out and not try to visibly cringe from your socks still being damp. "I was just trying to figure out if it was supposed to be a tree or a…" Turning around you look back to the sculpture, hands gesturing towards it, and now you're made very away the galleries map is still in your hand. "very abstract octopus,” you admitted, flustered. Turning back around to expect the man's eyes to be on the sculpture trying to also determine what it is, but instead when you do do his eyes are still on you, so you just wiggle your lips, trying to configure them into a small smile.
When he lets out a soft, airy laugh your shoulders deflate. "The artist said it represents the weight of modern existence, trying to do too many people in one body to please others." He pauses, now looking past you and to the sculpture, his eyes narrowing and eyebrows furrowing. "But personally," He begins, a quick peek of tongue swipes over his lips, his chin is now lifted, eyes no longer narrowed, but his eyebrows are still furrowed. Coming up with his own interpretation of the piece. "I think you're right. It looks like a depressed octopus. But it also looks like an elephant standing on it's hind legs if you look at it like this."
Now it's time for your eyebrows to furrow, looking over your shoulder before you get his hint and you move to stand beside him. A final look at him to note how he's standing and imitate your body to do the same, lifting you chin and look a the sculpture in its entirety. You eyebrows relax when you start to see the elephant take shape.
"Yeah, I can see it," You agree, taking the gallery map in the other hand of the side that your tote bag is on, so you're now free hand can trace the figure of the elephant. Laughing as you, because it constantly amazes you how art can take multiple shapes. "That actually makes me feel less stupid now, thanks."
Your arm falls to your side to take a look at the man once more, only to notice that he has a glimmering silver name tag like the doorman, Bernard. Only his reads "Taehyung".
a/n. be on the look out for chapter two's teaser tomorrow!
i know i lowkey have a bad habit of making empty and broken promises when it comes to my writing, so it won't be a shocker if no one ends up really tuning in when i do post. but omg this fic means everything to me and at this point i'm posting it for myself and myself only out of my love for it
genre. non-idol au, omegaverse (a/b/o), polyamory, red string theory, painful slow burn, a not so meet cute in this one
what does a promise, a rainy day, and a beta have in common? nothing. the universe just happened to be on your side for once.
word count. 2,169 (not beta read)
warnings. no major warnings, more world building, introductions to important background characters, lowkey the first like 5k words is just about m/c sorry not sorry, out of nowhere rain that could ruin anyone's mood, art curator!taehyung, again inaccuracies when describing stuff all i have i google <3, the forming of a friendship, this really can't be categorized as anything but i'm just putting fluff
SERIES MASTERLIST.
CHAPTER ONE. MOMENATRE
Just a few weeks ago you had gotten a random and surprising urge to purge your entire closet in the middle of the night. Not getting any sleep until the early morning when you had gone through and thoroughly thought through every piece of clothing. Pressing the fabrics up against your chest or doing the neck trick with a old pair of jeans from high school. And it always failed to do this because you always eventually ended up trying on the piece of clothing, then you had to go back and try to attempt to salvage the piece of clothing by seeing if you can create an absurd but wearable outfit with it. Because yes, a skirt from middle school does go with a random going out top. But the skirt just happens to no longer reach the ground but now it touches your mid calf from the growth spurt you had towards the end of middle school and you no longer have time to go out to parties like you did in college, so both pieces ended up getting thrown into the donate pile. This cycle continued until you had two distinct piles, no longer giving yourself the mercy of a third maybe-keep-maybe-donate pile, you're being cutthroat this time around.
That is exactly how you end up on the L with a stuffed trash bag, and end up carry said trash bag down and up steps and through city streets just to reach a Goodwill. And for an errand to be so quick it sure was treacherous having to stop and knee the bag up when it started slipping in your arms, or having to accept defeat when your tote bag slid down your shoulder and into the crook of your elbow just a few a block away from the Goodwill. And you really could've not been so adamant about donating your clothes to a Goodwill and instead to a local thrift store closer to your apartment. But those thrift stores always have an image to keep up with and just won't accept any piece of clothing that walks through their doors. You also had a hunch they would hate it if you come in with a trash bag of clothes, some that's a decade and some older and it isn't vintage galore. So the trek to Goodwill seems worth it.
And worth it is when your in and out with an errand done already. But just as quick as the errand was over, it also took no time for the clear skies to become muddle blob of grey as you continue walking. Thinking to yourself over and over that it better not start down pouring as you speed up your walking. Extending your arm to let a strap of your tote bag fall over your shoulder as you haphazardly scramble around the items in your tote, hoping that a random umbrella spawns inside of it. When it doesn't you grumble, you're usually the person with everything possible in your bag, you practically revel in being one of the most prepared person ever. But of course the self proclaimed 'most prepared person ever' isn't really who they say they are.
Excepting defeat you open up your phone before it does actually start raining and it'll be unusable to use and open up the Maps app and look up Momenatre Gallery, clicking the top suggesting and seeing the bright directions telling you where to go. Looking farther ahead on the directs to notice the street names and turns you turn your phone off, the gallery isn't too far away, and you're sure since it is a galley there will be indications of it when you get closer.
But the you get the darker it gets, and not even five minutes pass when you feel a warm droplet splash against your head. It's just a droplet you think, but then more droplets fall, and a steady drizzle picks up. Regretting the lack thereof a coverup, no cardigan, no nothing, because you said you wouldn't need it, deceived by the Weather app's prediction of perfect weather. And now you find your walking speed turning into a jog, because you're adamant to reach that gallery.
And almost on que, just as you round the corner there it is, Momenatre Gallery in it's glory and along with it, torrential downpour and the crosswalk signals turn to a little orange walking man. At this moment your only worry is about seeking shelter within the gallery as you run across the crosswalk clutching your tote bag and to the doors of the gallery, thankful to whoever designed the building for having a little ledge just above the entrance as you no longer feel the warm pellets against your skin as you open up the heavy door, trying your best to wipe off your feet and shake yourself off before entering the gallery.
You don't know what you expected as you walked into the gallery, but you almost expected it to be the size of an art museum naively, much like the Art Institute of Chicago. Standing in the lobby, taking in the tasteful decor and plum red accent wall you're met with you fist walk in.
"Would you like a map of the gallery, Ma'am?"
Turning around you're greeted with an doorman you can only assume from his attire, an older Beta you confirm from his mild basil scent as he steps forward to extended a map towards you from the small pile in his hand.
You take the map, looking down at it as your fingers stick to the glossy material of it from then still being damp from your encounter with the downpour. "Thank you-" Your eyes adverting to his silver name tag over his heart, "Bernard." Exchanging polite smiles, eyes shifting back down to open up the map to figure out where the exhibit Jamie is apart of is located.
"Sorry I wasn't there to open up open the door for you, Ma'am, I was a little distracted," Bernard apologizes and your head whips up at both the fact you are getting an apology right now and the abrupt cough the echos throughout the gallery. Looking over your shoulder to the front desk to see the coughing culprit, an older woman with bright copper hair and thin wire glasses who eyes the doorman, but looks back to her monitor screen when she catches you looking at her as well. And when you look back at Bernard, whose eyes are still on the front desk worker despite her trying to busy herself, your eyebrows raise, you interrupted workplace flirting.
When Bernard focuses on you again he gives you a shy smile that accentuates his wrinkles of his eyes and his smile lines and you just give a wide smile back to him. "Promise I won't hold it against you," You muse.
"Very well then, I'll let you see the art now."
Nodding you turn and begin to walk, shifting your tote up your shoulder once more with the hand that holds the open gallery map. Eyeing the front desk worker when you past by it, her eyes peeking over the top of the monitor, giving her the same wide smile you gave the doorman.
It seems the way the gallery floor plan is, is that the exhibit Jamie is apart of is in the very back of the gallery, or well wind of the gallery as the various rooms surround the off-centered outside courtyard. As you enter the first room of art displays you take in how quiet the gallery is, albeit it's weekday, but it's also a weekday that had an outburst of rain. Feeling a little pep in your still squishily damp sneaker knowing that you won't have to brush shoulder with anyone or have to get frustrated from getting caught behind someone who has no awareness that other people around them since you're the only person who took refuge in the gallery and the few other visitors who you sometimes cross paths with who were here prior to you.
Floating through the first few rooms, slow walking past each art piece. You occasionally stopped to read the artist descriptors next to pieces that piqued your interest until you felt bad for not reading every other's descriptors, all worthy art that deserves to be seen and known. When you finished reading the last descriptor of this specific exhibit you floated to the next, a noticeable shift upon entering the new room at all for walls are painted a navy blue, lights cascading upon a massive sculpture made of twisted, rusted metal in the center of the room. Eyes darting around only for the sculpture to be the only thing in the room, and you admire the galleries trust in it's visitors as the sculpture is only on a slightly raised podium that you can only assume it's bolted into so no accidents occur. But other than that, no protective measures of the art are made, no elegant rope fencing it off, just a small stand next to the sculpture that reads at the top in capitalized and bold wording, "PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH". And just below it is the title along with the author's name and descriptor, 'Despair' you read out loud, looking back up towards the sculpture and you can't help but chuckle. Because, yeah, it really does perfectly encapsulate the feeling of despair as you eyes rake over the twist and crooks of the metal, getting lost as you try to follow where the sculpture eventually becomes one.
You were staring at it, trying to find some deeper meaning, when a smooth, low voice startled you.
“It’s a bit much, isn’t it?” A smooth, low voice startles you from behind.
You flinch, shoulders raising to touch your ears as you turn around to see a man standing behind you, now facing him face to face. He was tall, with smooth jet black hair that looks both meticulously but carelessly styled from the glasses pushed on top of his head, his stature is softened by a cream-colored buttoned up, the sleeve pushed up to his elbows and the length of the button up tucked into brown slacks. Brown almond eyes and a sense of knowing that he had just frazzle you pulling at the corners of his mouth. He smells like the ocean, not salty bad, but salty good, like you just ran along the beach, and something else, something cleaner and neutral. A beta.
“I, uh," Losing you train of thoughts when the man's eyes widen, waiting for your answer, but you can only shift back and forth on your heels as you try to straighten yourself out and not try to visibly cringe from your socks still being damp. "I was just trying to figure out if it was supposed to be a tree or a…" Turning around you look back to the sculpture, hands gesturing towards it, and now you're made very away the galleries map is still in your hand. "very abstract octopus,” you admitted, flustered. Turning back around to expect the man's eyes to be on the sculpture trying to also determine what it is, but instead when you do do his eyes are still on you, so you just wiggle your lips, trying to configure them into a small smile.
When he lets out a soft, airy laugh your shoulders deflate. "The artist said it represents the weight of modern existence, trying to do too many people in one body to please others." He pauses, now looking past you and to the sculpture, his eyes narrowing and eyebrows furrowing. "But personally," He begins, a quick peek of tongue swipes over his lips, his chin is now lifted, eyes no longer narrowed, but his eyebrows are still furrowed. Coming up with his own interpretation of the piece. "I think you're right. It looks like a depressed octopus. But it also looks like an elephant standing on it's hind legs if you look at it like this."
Now it's time for your eyebrows to furrow, looking over your shoulder before you get his hint and you move to stand beside him. A final look at him to note how he's standing and imitate your body to do the same, lifting you chin and look a the sculpture in its entirety. You eyebrows relax when you start to see the elephant take shape.
"Yeah, I can see it," You agree, taking the gallery map in the other hand of the side that your tote bag is on, so you're now free hand can trace the figure of the elephant. Laughing as you, because it constantly amazes you how art can take multiple shapes. "That actually makes me feel less stupid now, thanks."
Your arm falls to your side to take a look at the man once more, only to notice that he has a glimmering silver name tag like the doorman, Bernard. Only his reads "Taehyung".
a/n. be on the look out for chapter two's teaser tomorrow!
i hope you guys love description and details 😭 because that is exactly what these two chapters are all about! just descriptions and details and so on... i enjoy writing it but i know readers can be split whether they enjoy every last description and detail while others just want to get to the meat 😭😭
I hope you will think back on this day and nothing but happiness, pride and joy will fill your soul....♡ I am so grateful you are in this world Yoongi..♡
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