Bridging Destinies

Chapter 2: Slanted Correlation

Days like this helped to keep him sane. He was happy for the respite of his regular life that was filled with writing lyrics, making music, dance practice, meetings, interviews and interacting with his band and their fans. Yet, despite its insanity and the need to disconnect from it at times, he was thankful to be getting back to his work soon.

He loved writing lyrics and making music and he loved his fans. They helped to keep him going. But everyone needed rest, right? Sometimes he felt guilty when he took breaks and it wasn't always easy to convince himself that taking a break was valid. He felt as if he had so much to return to his fans because of their love for him. But he knew rest was important, so he took it when he could. And the company was generous and gave them breaks, some longer than others, even as they worked them hard and demanded a lot from them.

He had already spent a day in the Louvre during this vacation, but wanted to return. A day in the Louvre was never enough to fully appreciate all the artwork within the museum. It needed to be savored, like a fine wine. He strolled with his group into a new room, looking to see how many people occupied it. They had specifically chosen this day, knowing it was less likely to be crowded.

Sitting in the room was a lone woman, wearing almost all black with the exception of her shirt, which blended into the black, with a navy hue. Her clothing was moderately well made, looking as if it were serviceable more than expensive or frivolous, the material sturdy, yet refined. Her long, auburn hair was braided away from her face and fell towards the small of her back, curls cascading from the end of the band that fastened it. Wisps of hair framed her face, hovering over the tops of her ears, half hiding them, while dark sunglasses sat, poised, on the top of her head, capturing the remaining fly away strands against her skull. Her posture was perfect, her body slender, and there was a grace to her that even in stillness radiated outward.

He was surprised by his immediate response to her presence in the room and faintly frowned. He did not glance at her as they moved past, but spoke with his associates quietly as they stopped in front of the painting. She did not appear to move or notice them at all, and he felt secure in the idea that he was either not recognized, or that the woman was allowing him his privacy.

With a sense of reassurance, he began to speak more freely, saying quietly to the man next to him, as they looked up at the paintings, "I read about these. They are the artists' depictions of the French revolution." He spoke quietly, then delved into the history behind the artists. He always wished to absorb information and learn as much as possible, so when he came across a guide book on the Louvre, he had devoured it in one of the quieter moments he was afforded.

His face itched under the mask and he moved to scratch it. The mask became somewhat displaced and he looked around, seeing if anyone else had come into the room. The woman he had seen earlier still sat there, appearing to ignore his group completely. He was struck again by her and his lips turned down in a faint, thoughtful pout as he turned away and took the mask off, rubbing his hand over his face. He adjusted his hat and wondered who she was.

She was beautiful in an ethereal way, with high cheekbones and alabaster skin that seemed to catch the light and reflect it back, as if she had an inner glow that radiated outward. He thought she could be a model, but he didn't recognize her. He hadn't fully been able to catch a glimpse of her eyes before, as she lowered them when they came into the room. He wondered at their color. 'Were they blue, to match the red in her hair?', he queried internally. Both wanting to gain her attention, but also afraid to garner it, he murmured absentmindedly as if poised between both wishes, as he returned his gaze back to the painting, speaking softly, "I'm glad there's not many people here today. Better than the first day we were here."

His companion startled a dimpled smile from him, as he retorted, glancing at the woman, then back at the painting, "Yeah. Your fans are raving today." At his friend's snarky comment, he peered back at the painting, replacing his mask, but felt more than heard her stand up, almost sensing that she was about to walk behind them. His skin prickled and he mildly tensed up, then half turned towards her approach.

She did not stop, but appeared to be intent on walking past his group, but as she did so, he could not help but look at her again. He was drawn to her irresistibly, the prickling along his back moving to rise up his spine as if tickling him in sensation. He was minutely conscious of her movements and how deeply graceful they were. 'Perhaps she was a dancer', he thought, pondering the striking woman.

His thoughts were suddenly arrested, and he found himself staring, as within the next few moments she passed him, just out of arm's reach, capturing his eyes. He forgot to breathe, as she smiled faintly, nodding just barely and raised her eyebrow at him, almost mockingly, but with a sense of connection he often found rare. Her eyes were such a light shade of blue, almost silver and they shone with a Light he could not place. Her eye lashes and brows matched her hair, but with an almost imperceptible darker shade, which caused her eyes to stand out even more, complimenting the color. She was also quite tall, maybe taller than he was, which would normally not appeal to him, but at this angle, he could not be sure.

He gave a slight nod in return, almost by instinct and watched her walk from the room. He blinked and turned away. 'That was,' he thought to himself... He could not finish the thought, but he was conscious of a desire to run after her and ask her name, to ask her out on a date, perhaps, or just to suggest they go for a stroll in the park. His heart swelled and then his friend spoke to him, breaking the spell, "Namjoon-ssi."

Namjoon licked his lips, as he turned from the doors the woman had used to exit and blankly considered the other man. "Huh?" He asked out loud.

The other man raised his brows and gestured toward the next painting, moving towards it, "Shall we keep going?" When Namjoon nodded in agreement, they continued on, perusing the artwork of the new painting they now stood in front of.

He gazed at the painting, but his thoughts were not on it. His companion spoke aloud and realizing he had missed the vocalization, he imperceptibly shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, deciding that he needed to try and put the woman out of his mind. The odds of not seeing her again were high and it was really nothing but a chance encounter, he decided. He didn't know her name, where she lived, if she was a native of Paris or a visitor like him, if they would be able to communicate, if they did meet, or if she would even agree to meet with him, if he saw her again. He also knew that he did not have a lot of time to date, and it would need to be kept secret if he did. His position made it almost impossible, and he was a very busy man.