Intrigue becomes fascination and fascination becomes art. And when the feeble line is crossed, when the muse becomes reality, art becomes the air you breathe in to survive. Where without a muse, would the artist be really living?
It only takes mere...
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The day is grey and I stare up at the clouds. The sun is completely hidden behind, the dark thick clouds masking its beautiful rays. No silver lining here for me today.
The last of the snowflakes, which landed on my scarf, melted hours ago. It's mesmerising, watching as each flake lands on the frozen concrete of the street. The whole city is glistening, as if it's been dipped in diamonds. Maybe there's my silver lining? The entire city is silver after all.
The damp scarf around my neck start to feel heavier and colder against my skin, although the coffee shop is warm and welcoming.
So my ink stained fingers pull on the material, folding it into a not so neat pile of cloth.
The soft, familiar thudding against the wooden floors caresses my ears and I finally peel my eyes off of the scarf and look up. My lungs cease to comply with the action they are accustomed to. The exhale that needed to escape, was now trapped within them.
It was he. My graceful and mysterious stranger. Doc marten's and black Americanos. Yet he wasn't standing by the check out counter.
He was standing right beside my infamous table for two.
I looked at him in awe. Mouth dropped open, I gaped at him. That was all that I was capable of. Dumbfounded. Very much resembling an idiot. Perhaps that's what I was, I didn't want to believe that however.
His hand clutched the back of my unoccupied chair and his crimson lips parted and he spoke with his deep voice. "May I?"
I nodded mutely.
The chair creaked, perhaps voicing its own bewilderment to being occupied after all these weeks. And the brown eyes that I had been admiring all this time were only a breath away.
A breath that ceased to escape my lips that were parted in awe, because he's just so breath-taking. Up so close. So touchable. Right there.
He held starlight in his eyes, big and brown and glistening as if they held the universe within them. He was ethereal. He must have been. For a mere human couldn't possibly hold so much beauty within them.
He leaned forward, disturbing the stale air around us. And I took a deep and much needed breath.
And oh how I wish I could draw scents.
He smelt of pinewood and leather, fresh cotton and orange, coffee and warm tobacco all at once.
I felt dizzy. I wasn't sure of the cause. Was it the lack of oxygen or the man in front of me? I will never know.
"You're not smoking today." The question that had been on repeats in my brain, left my lips as a statement before it could be stopped.
His elegant eyebrows arched in the slightest and the corner of his lips lifted in an urbane smile. "I gathered on a day like this, it would be more sensible if I stayed in the warmth."
He let out a breathy chuckle and eying me cautiously from beneath his thick lashes, " And I also thought you would appreciate having the subject of your drawings here, for a closer inspection. Was I mistaken?"
He knew.
He had known all this time, yet sat there, willing for me to capture him.
"You knew?" The words escaped my lips without my consent, yet again.
A sweet smile crept up his lips and his eyes scanned my features delicately. His head bowed in a barely there nod and he leaned back in his chair. Long legs parted slightly. Eyes still glued to mine.
" Not at first." He confessed.
" Yet it became apparent after some time. Why else would you stare at me for hours at a time and scribble in that notebook of yours?"
"I'm sorry. That must have been..." I bit my lip hard, as I begged my brain to comply. To find the right words to say. And then it dawned on me. Creepy. That's what it was. It was creepy to stare at a stranger for hours on end.
"...Creepy."
An amused laughter erupted from his lips. It was gentle. Like a breath of fresh air. I could sit here watch him laugh for an eternity.
"I would never call it that. It was endearing more than anything."
His gaze left mine and travelled to the leather bound sketchbook of mine that was settled on the table. "May I?"
Oh, but how I wish he didn't. I could feel the warmth stinging my cheeks and travelling to my ears and neck. Did I want him to see? It was too late now.
With shaking hands, I pushed the object towards him.
Starting from the first page, long before I laid eyes on him, his eyes scanned every single page. His expression remained the same, yet I could tell when a sketch peaked his interest, as he would spend a little more time analysing it.
"These are beautiful." He whispered, eyes still glued on to the pages of the notebook.
My heart swelled at his words. Yet sank as each page he was unfolding, meant he was getting closer.
" At last." He whispered, once again. Eyes never leaving his drawn portrait. The first ever drawing of him. Portraying the letters, which read, Taehyung and black Americano, on the top of the page.
His beautiful long fingers traced over the words, then the sketch, before his eyes lifted for a split second to look at me. He unfolded each page with so much care. Until the last.
I needed to draw them. I needed to draw each finger, long and perfect just the way they were. He was art himself. Every inch of him.
"You haven't drawn anything else since you met me." He breathed. It's a statement and not a question.
So I didn't answer. How could I answer? To say yes, you've made everything and everyone else unworthy of my attention? To confess that it has been him that my hands are willing draw, for all these months? Of course I couldn't. So I remained silenced.
"Are there anymore?" He asked, with an expectant look in his eyes. Almost hopeful.
Where was my head at when I nodded yes?
His face lit up.
"Can I see them?"
"No." I mumbled. Clearing my throat with a cough, I clarified. " I don't have them with me."
"Maybe you can show me next time?"
Next time? Meaning he wanted more of this awkward interaction?
"They're much bigger you see? Oil paintings."
"Oh, so I'll be awaiting an invitation to your studio." He answered with a playful wink. My heart... My poor heart must have stopped beating. My head was fuzzy at the gesture. I nodded mutely again.
Studio? My studio? Meaning my apartment? What was I thinking? My body doesn't seem to comply when this man is around. But I had already established that, what else was new?
Glancing at his watch, he took a deep breath in. "It was wonderful finally talking to you. But I'm afraid it's getting late."
Taking a last sip from his almost empty cup, he flashed yet another urbane smile. "I look forward to meeting you again. Maybe then you'll be less nervous and I can actually get your name." He added almost playfully.
