Joohyun shields her from the cameras.

People have gathered around them by the time Seulgi’s managed to grasp weakly at her receding sanity, phones beginning to creep out of pockets and slip into eager fingers, and lights flashing to capture the moments of her vulnerability, no doubt to be posted on social media later on for the viewing of millions.

But there’s a hand with familiarly delicate fingers that comes up to drape over her eyes, its counterpart wrapping around her arm in a protective stance, and she feels a gentle tug towards the direction of the restaurant, guiding her to safety.

She hears the jingle of bells, signalling their entrance, and then the hand over her eyes drop away to allow her to see again, blinking at the fluorescent lighting and adjusting to the brightness after sudden dark.

There are customers still perched in their seats, curious gazes aimed for her, but no phones, and before she can do anymore scanning, she’s being led to the back of the restaurant, Joohyun’s sure steps and gentle hands a reassurance.

They pause in the hallway that leads to the back door, Joohyun finally releasing her and turning to look at her instead.

“Are you hurt?”

There are no prying questions, only genuine worry that spills from between parted lips and pools of dark, dark chocolate.

Joohyun’s hair, a black that almost looks purple in the light, cascades down slim slopes of shoulders, a sleeveless white t-shirt replacing the button up she’d seen her in two days ago, and ripped black jeans. Her shoes stay the same, and they’re simple black converse sneakers, scuffed and a little dirty, but not unpresentable.

The black and white concept compliments the contrast between the darkness of her hair and eyes, and the lightness of her skin and teeth that peek from between ruby red lips, the only color that isn’t monochromatic.

It’s Joohyun’s appearance that reminds Seulgi of the black mask that continues to shield the lower half of her face, and she rips it off, suddenly desperate for the air that she needs to calm the beating of her heart.

“I’m okay,” she finally says, stowing away the mask into the pocket of her jeans. She’s not going to need it anytime soon, anyway.

Joohyun’s brows crease in the middle just a bit and Seulgi barely manages to make out the frown threatening its descent over otherwise calm features that don’t betray her like the slopes of her eyebrows do.

“Your arm, may I see it?”

Seulgi’s reminded of the crushing grip and domineering attitude, the ache she’d briefly forgotten returning in zaps and tingles that tell her that it’ll need icing and a good deal of concealer for her shoot tomorrow.

She tenderly removes her jacket, slipping her arms out of the sleeves and surrendering her injured limb to the woman once she meets her steady gaze, promising no harm, feeling a hand cradle her injury, the touch barely there as fingers ghost along the outlines of red fast approaching purple, gross imprints of the man’s fingers that stain nearly the whole length of her forearm.

“Who was he?”

Her voice isn’t as steady as Seulgi’s used to, there’s a tint of something there, but she can’t quite make out what it is.

“Crazy fan. It happens.”

Seulgi hates the fact that her short sentences and unnaturally jerky tone has made its comeback, sounding like some sort of illiterate caveman in the twenty-first century, communicating in grunts and barks in place of coherent words.

“You’re famous,” Joohyun states, nothing coloring her voice even as she says it, almost sounding uninterested.

She knows it’s useless to deny. “My name is Kang Seulgi. Model of Star Agency.”

Joohyun’s expression is impassive, eyes remaining steady on the bruises stark against her arm, her fingers still brushing lightly over them as if her skin was porcelain and the lesions were cracks in the otherwise flawless surface.

“I’m aware.”

Joohyun looks up then, heavy eyelashes curling upwards to unveil the mystifying pools of black underneath, unwavering when they meet Seulgi’s lighter ones - the color that’s fawned on by photographers who scramble to capture the golden flecks that dot her uniquely bright irises.

But she thinks Joohyun’s are far more beautiful, deep and captivating, seemingly shuttered even as they pierce straight through her own, looking to be shifting through the pages of her soul as if it were an open book and leaving her entangled and defenseless within the darkness of her own.

“Y-You are?”

“Yes, I didn’t recognize you when I first approached you, but I came to the conclusion when I went to get the owner. He said your name and I realized who you were.”

Seulgi’s already scrambling for the right words to express her gratitude, everything she comes up with sounding weak, and lacking the sincerity she feels and knows is there, unwilling to come off as just another shallow celebrity who puts themselves above everyone else.

She’s not sure why she feels this way when she’s only just met Joohyun.

Her eyes drop to the floor, unable to hold the woman’s intense gaze, and she gets a closer look at Joohyun’s shoes instead, realizing that what she’d initially thought was dirt are actually specks of paint of myriads of colors.

The question spills from between her lips like water. “The easel outside. Is it yours?”

Joohyun nods, a light hum accompanying the movement, and it’s only then that Seulgi notices the flecks of yellow and orange dotting the inside of her right arm and the front of her t-shirt, wondering how she’d managed to miss them before.

“The street is beautiful. I wanted to capture it tonight, but clearly, the night had something else planned for me.”

Joohyun’s voice is gentle despite the words that could scathe and burn, a lilt that tints the edges so that Seulgi can be sure she doesn’t mean anything detrimental by it, a small smile curling at the corners of red lips and a softness to mysterious eyes.

“Thank you for saving me,” Seulgi blurts out, not unlike the way an impatient child would when told to be quiet.

Joohyun doesn’t miss a beat.

“Of course.”

A booming voice, deep and resounding against wooden walls, makes Seulgi jolt in unmasked surprise, swiveling around to see Mr. Choi taking long strides down the hallway that seems much too small for his frame.

“Seulgi, are you alright? That bastard’s being taken up to the station right now. Did he hurt you?”

“I’m okay, Mr. Choi. Thank you. For helping me.”

The man is far accustomed to her short sentences and awkward pauses, and Seulgi knows well enough that he understands her sincerity behind them, allowing that thought to soothe her frayed nerves, afraid that anything more will send her over the edge of the mental cliff she’s currently balanced on.

His height stands at twice her own and his width is up to par, but his heart is larger than any of his physical attributes, evident through his kind eyes and the laugh lines around his mouth, deep crevices that soften around the edges that strike familiarity in Seulgi.

“Damn animals, I swear on it! I got a hit in, though. No less than he deserves,” he mutters, large hands brushing at invisible lint across the sleeves of his shirt that pull against bulging muscle, a grumble rumbling in his chest as if replaying the scene in his head. Then, his eyes flicker behind her, recognition coloring his gaze, and Seulgi knows he’s caught sight of Joohyun, a pleased smile replacing his frown. “Ah, the young lady! Thank you for getting me in time. I wouldn’t have forgiven myself if something happened to Seulgi in front of my restaurant out of all places.”

Seulgi feels a telling whisper of wind brush against her bared arms, the pleasantly sweet scent of vanilla wafting to greet her as warmth settles beside her, not too close to be uncomfortable for two apparent strangers, but not too far, either.

“Anyone would have done it.”

And Seulgi can tell she means it in the way pride doesn’t rear its head in the tune of her voice, the melody as even as she’s noticed it to be, and her overall demeanor politely reserved.

“Are you two hungry? You must be! I’ll have my specialties out for you on the house. Go on, go get a seat.”

Seulgi has no choice but to allow herself to be ushered forward out of the hallway and into the seat closest to the kitchen, Mr. Choi gently patting down her shoulder, promising a quick and delicious dinner before bustling off as Joohyun takes the chair across from her.

She doesn’t miss the furtive glance thrown in the direction of the easel she knows is propped up and awaiting its owner, Joohyun’s paint-stained forearms and shirt an indication of her ownership, following the memory of a brown satchel.

“Do you not have your bag today?”

There’s a flash of realization that briefly hardens delicate features, and then Joohyun’s abruptly pushing out of her seat and all but running out the door, returning much too quickly for Seulgi to even begin to toy with the idea of the woman leaving her behind.

The bag is clasped in her hand as she makes a bee-line towards their table, and Seulgi thinks she can see a pink hue tint snowy skin; although by the time Joohyun’s reclaiming her abandoned seat, there’s no trace of color and Joohyun looks as put together as before.

“Thank you. I tend to be forgetful at the best of times.”

There’s embarrassment weaving through the duality of grateful and apologetic, the words curiously formal, as if she were making a speech, or speaking to an authoritative figure. It’s something Seulgi’s noticed since they’d met, but isn’t comfortable to pose a question for.

“No problem.”

She’s long since become resigned to the fact that she’ll never be able to be as witty or graceful with words as others are, choosing to keep shut and not make a fool of herself and communicate with the sharpness of her eyes and the ramrod stiffness of her posture instead.

She hasn’t felt the urge to become a master of words for years now, her short sentences and sharp retorts having worked well with the fast paced world of entertainment, and the lack of people she felt the need to please, but Joohyun has the tranquility of nature at its finest, and Seulgi feels the need to show something more.

“So, as far as first dates go, I doubt this hardly makes it in your top twenty,” Joohyun says, a smile brushing at her lips and smoothing the natural intensity of her eyes.

Her retort leaves her lips before she can process it. “I haven’t had enough for a list of top twenty.”

Joohyun chuckles and Seulgi can’t help but think that it sounds better when they’re face-to-face and not just voices over the phone. She can’t help the smile of her own that flutters briefly over her lips and pull at her cheeks, catching a momentary look of surprise in Joohyun’s expression that has her quickly rearranging her features back to mute.

“Your smile is beautiful.”

The phrase isn’t foreign to her, but the way it’s said is. There’s no underlying meaning behind the words, a coaxing melody to the tune that Seulgi’s so accustomed to hearing from the male models she works with, who mistakes the fleeting touches and flirtatious gazes executed purely for the entertainment of the public to be invitation to her bed.

Joohyun’s eyes don’t wander like theirs do, remaining firmly locked with her own pools of brown and conveying nothing but sincerity. Seulgi feels unexpected heat color her cheeks red and set her ears on fire, breaking the eye contact and fiddling with the hem of her shirt as a means of comfort from whatever it was that was fluttering in her stomach and beating at her chest like a drum.

“And here’s the specialty of the night!”

Interruption has never been more appreciated, Seulgi’s hands moving items around on the table, making room for the food of their own accord, relief spilling from every muscle in her body, when there’s a large hand taking a hold of her own, freezing her in her tracks.

“He did hurt you!” Mr. Choi growls, placing down the dish in his left hand and bending down to scrutinize the bruise that looks far worse under brighter lights. “Jaeyoung, get me an icepack!” he calls out, a boy that couldn’t be any older than eighteen nodding in their direction, before disappearing behind the staff door.

“It’s not as bad as it - .”

“Don’t lie to me, Seulgi. I’ve seen my fair share of bruises. This one isn’t one of the prettier ones.”

The boy comes back with an icepack, his expression curious; though to his credit he doesn’t pry. At least, up to the point when their gazes lock briefly and his eyes widen in an almost comedic way, traveling up and down her body and resting on her face again.

“Y-You’re - .”

“None of your business,” Mr. Choi cuts in sharply. “I don’t pay you to ogle my customers, Jaeyoung.”

The boy flushes red, murmuring apologies before retreating behind the door he’d come out of, an expression of dejection plain on his face. Seulgi’s grateful for the intervention.

She can’t help the hiss that makes it through her teeth when the ice pack touches her skin, the bruises pulsing in protest, and almost immediately regretting the sound of pain she’d uttered when she sees the concern etched along Joohyun’s furrowed brows.

“Keep that there, alright? I’m sure your friend won’t mind helping you out with the food.”

Seulgi sees Joohyun nod in consensus, and in no time, all the dishes are put into place in their designated spots on the table and Mr. Choi’s going back through the door again, bidding them a good meal.

There’s momentary silence afterwards, both she and Joohyun not moving a muscle, before the woman’s tilting her head to the side and picking up her spoon.

“I suppose we eat now?”

~

Sooyoung calls near the end of dinner.

Seulgi has to excuse herself from the table, clasping the vibrating cellphone to her chest and murmuring an apologetic phrase to Joohyun before heading out the door. She answers the call and murmurs a greeting.

“Where are you, Unnie?”

Seulgi knows she’s in trouble because Sooyoung only calls her ‘unnie’ for few specific occasions: when she wants something, when she’s done something wrong, or when Seulgi does something wrong; and Sooyoung’s voice, almost a growl, hints at the latter option.

“I’m fine, Sooyoung.”

Seulgi has to jerk the phone away from her ear in fear of losing her hearing, as Sooyoung roars, “Well social media tells me otherwise! Why aren’t you home?!”

“Mr. Choi took care of me, it’s okay.”

Sooyoung’s frustrated growl is audible over the line and Seulgi can picture the younger woman pushing back locks of scarlet from her face.

“You’re lucky you don’t have a lot of scandals, Unnie. Manager oppa’s not too angry about it. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Her voice is calmer now, though still a bit tense, and Seulgi knows she’s out of the danger zone that had been blaring red alarms in her mind since she’d received the call, worry dribbling into tender words.

“I just have a bruise. I’m okay.”

“Mentally?”

“I’m fine. I swear.”

“Are you still at the restaurant? Do you need me to pick you up?”

Seulgi’s thoughts flash to midnight eyes and paint-flecked shoes, her eyes darting to the easel standing only a foot away from her.

“No, it’s okay.”

“Are you with someone?”

Seulgi knows that it would be futile to deny the truth, so she tells it how it is, even then drawing closer and closer to the artist’s stand as if it were a magnet and she was trapped in its pull.

“Yes.”

“You don’t have friends. Who are you with?”

Seulgi allows the low jab (although truthful) to enter through one ear and flee out the other, far too used to Sooyoung’s crass words to have them cut her like they do others.

“It’s technically a first date and I think she’s an artist. I have to go.”

“Wait, what are you talking - .”

Seulgi ends the call before the question can be completed, pocketing the device in her jeans and offering a mental apology to the younger woman who was no doubt cursing her at the very moment.

It’s the colors that enamour her, the greys and yellows, the woody browns and the purples that border on black to represent the night sky, an unfinished piece that still manages to mystify, clearly the beginnings of a masterpiece.

“Ah, I haven’t quite been able to complete that one yet.”

Seulgi stumbles back a few steps, feeling like a child who’d been caught with their hand in the cookie jar, her heart fluttering a few beats and her limbs uncertain as she makes room for the painting’s rightful owner.

There’s a hand steadying her, gentle on the small of her back, that has Seulgi comparing it to the man’s far rougher manhandling, a stark difference despite the similar motions and placement, and Seulgi knows the memory should be triggering roots of fear and anxiety, consuming her whole and announcing her vulnerable, but there’s no such thing.

“It’s alright. Art is created to be viewed by the world. I don’t mind. Here. Your icepack.”

It’s clear that Joohyun’s adamant in keeping her comfortable and well-treated, her considerate actions an outlet for evidence of her thoughts, and Seulgi can’t help but wonder why she’s treating her so kindly.

Trust isn’t a strong suit for her when it comes to people, but Joohyun’s already managed to build the base of it between them.

It makes her want to run.

“If you didn’t want it, you could have simply said so.”

“No, that’s not - I was thinking. About something, I - .”

The curl of fingers ever so careful against the back of her hand and the cool chill of the ice pack against her forearm effectively stutters her lips to a pause, suddenly breathing in vanilla instead of night air.

“You must be tired. I could drive you home, it wouldn’t be a problem.”

Joohyun’s moving away, allowing her to breathe freely again, the canvas being tucked under one arm as she folds the easel in a swift, practiced motion that Seulgi follows with her eyes; enamoured at the seeming professionalism of it all.

She’s swiveling around before Seulgi has the chance to at least pretend like she hadn’t been staring, but there’s no smug smirk to cause a flush of shame to paint her cheeks, only a small smile and a nod towards the street ahead of them.

Seulgi’s only just met this woman, and she doesn’t know much about her, but she does know that there’s something about the woman’s odd choice of vocabulary, the intensity of her eyes, her gentle movements, and the shrouding mystery that won’t sate her curiosity anytime soon.

And the scary part is, she doesn’t think she cares.

-

A/N: I wasn't expecting so many upvotes nor subscribers from the first chapter, so I want to thank those who took the time to do so. Comments are infinitely appreciated and I would be grateful for even the smallest of words. I hope you enjoyed!