It couldn't have felt more like home. Nostalgia settled down, much like the drops of water that clung to the window and magnified the lights shining from a land of skyscrapers. It was easy to drift off with the soft-spoken end of the thunderstorm. For anyone but Kim Namjoon. He was too curious, and needed to count the seconds between each clash of clouds. He was too sentimental, and needed to lean his head against the cool window pane. He was too friendly, and needed to wave at the woman walking on the sidewalk below. She wore a yellow poncho that had a high contrast against the gloomy air. For the longest time, he sat leaned against the window, and he watched the small world outside. Yes, it was small, but it moved so quickly. In the blink of an eye, a child was born, a business was built, a love one had passed, a new trend had surfaced, a crime was committed. And all of the noise, all of the chaos, created art.

     The small studio was flooded with the scent of creativity, which consisted of chemicals and wistful thoughts. To the man who owned this little space, it was a lovely aroma, redolent in the archaic sense. It wrapped itself around the torn boxes of clay that waited to be shaped. It s around the jars holding various brushes and it skated across the pale wooden floor stained with years of paint and chalk. The clouds had finally cleared and sunlight spilled in through large windows to illuminate the room.

     Namjoon now sat in the center of this light. He stared straight ahead, just as blank as the canvas sitting tauntingly on the easel in front of him. He wore a beige apron, which was spotted with the colors of past projects. It usually did not take him this long to find his inspiration; he had a beautiful mind. Of course, he had never had this amount of pressure hanging over his shoulder either. This might, just might, have been his opportunity to be recognized. He didn't do what he did for the approval of others, but there was no denying that it felt great to have it.

     The Rose Garden wasn't a huge gallery in size, but it proved to be huge in popularity. It attracted tourists from every which way, who would come to see the famous exhibits that only the best artists could contribute to. Namjoon wanted to be one of these artists. To do so would make his mother, who supported him wholeheartedly, proud; and his father, who criticised his every move, would be proven wrong. Not long before he locked himself away in his studio, he had met with a representative of Rose Garden who (quite harshly) told him how he could be apart of their upcoming event.

     "Portraits is our newest  project that will showcase the standard of beauty set forth by our great ancestors and carried into modern day. It will show how precisely the human hand can recreate what the eye has seen. Artists will create their works, and if they are chosen they will appear at the Rose Garden alongside their muses on the opening day of the exhibit. If you wish to even be considered  to have your name at the bottom of the list of acceptants, you'll have to come out of your.... cave- and find someone who meets the standard. Not only that, but you'll have to find the talent to paint to that standard. Best of luck, Mr. Kim. From what I've seen, you're going to need it."

     A pamphlet was pushed into his hands and he was sent on his way.

     By no means was Namjoon shy. At the same time, he spoke to next to no one, and knew of no one he could ask for help. The longer he sat in front of the blank canvas, the more it seemed to mock him. He was given a measly twenty days to perfect his piece and he had yet to find his muse.

     1 pm. He could barely keep his eyes open. Waking up early that morning seemed like a good idea the night before. He would go out and turn on the charms, then hopefully be able to make a friend. Now, all he wanted was a cup of coffee. He pulled off his apron and draped it over the metal stool sitting in front of the easel. Surely something would come to him.

 

° ° °

 

     "A caramel macchiato. Strong, please." Namjoon sat ₩5,000 on the counter and waited for the receipt. It was a noisy little cafe, packed with a harsh smell of coffee beans that could choke anyone who walked in without expecting it. Wooden round tables and their matching chairs were scattered about in a sort of organised chaos, occupied by people carrying on with their friends and dates. It was a wonder how those who brought laptops could focus on their work in such an atmosphere.

     He rested his arm on the counter and pulled out his phone to keep him busy during the few minutes of waiting time. As much as he loved caffeine, he rarely visited coffee shops. He rarely went out to eat at all; time just never allowed for it. He mostly bought his quick meals from the convenience store so he could quickly return to his work.

     "Namjoon? One caramel macchiato, strong?" A lilting voice called from the other side of the counter. Namjoon slipped his phone in his pocket and looked up, ready to retrieve his drink and leave. "Right here-" His voice cut off mid-sentence, and his hand stopped mid-reach. His eyes met with the stunning barista, and he was suddenly rendered speechless. The barista seemed to have the same reaction upon seeing him, because the hot coffee slipped out of her hand and crashed onto the counter between them, splashing onto Namjoon's shirt and her own apron. It took a few seconds for her to snap out the trance and begin frantically apologizing and offering to make another. Namjoon was too deep in awe to notice the burns that would probably mark his stomach.

     This barista couldn't have been real. She had the most alluring features he had ever seen, with her plump lips and shapely jaw. Her hair was a lovely sandy shade of brown to complement her dark eyes, which stared dreamily behind a pair of rounded specs. It was a wonder how she ended up in a coffee shop rather than on a runway. He needed to know her name. The barista had returned quickly with napkins to clean up the mess. It took a moment, but Namjoon finally came to his senses. He could feel the coffee seeping through his shirt, making it stick to him. He still didn't care. He could barely remember that he had even bought a drink. This was his chance to get his name into the gallery of his dreams.

     "Are you okay? Sir?" The barista presented him with a new drink, deeply bowing in apology.

     Almost without thinking, Namjoon grabbed her wrist instead of the drink. Her eyes widened with surprise as she squeezed the cup to avoid dropping it again. Is this guy crazy?  was the initial thought that rolled through her mind, and probably through the minds of her co-workers who were witnessing the uncoordinated exchange take place. 

     Namjoon was silent, realizing that he had probably startled the stranger. He let his hand slip away from her wrist and tilted his head down to excuse his action. The barista cautiously set the cup down and mumbled for him to have a good day, trying to maintain a polite expression.

     "Wait..." He started, stopping her as she was about to return to her job. "How much longer do you have to work?"

 

° ° °

     "The Rose Garden? That's amazing! Do you know how many famous artists got their start there?"

     The barista was surprisingly understanding of their awkward encounter, and had agreed to meet him once her shift was over. She even seemed happy to do so. She had told Namjoon her name, although it was engraved into the silver tag attached to her apron. Min Haru. It was cute. He wondered how fate could be so kind, letting them meet like this. The universe must have gotten tired of him moping around in his studio. 

     "I do, that's why I need your help." Namjoon replied. "If you have the time, of course. I know you have a job."

     Haru was a seemingly completely different person outside of her job. The meek and hesitant barista had turned talkative and giddy. To Namjoon, she even came  across as purposelessly reckless- reckless enough to not question a thing when a man she just met asked her to come to his apartment. He chuckled, and playfully scolded her for being so quick to agree to such things. Life wasn't always as nice as the dramas. However, he wouldn't turn down her enthusiasm. He didn't have enough time to search for someone else.

     "It's a part time job, I have plenty of time."

     "Good to know."

     They walked side by side along the damp sidewalk. It seemed strangely quiet outside as they strolled towards his apartments. It was most likely due to the heavy rains that cancelled all plans. The sky had turned a dim and dull blue, marking the beginning of early evening. A light roll of thunder sounded in the distance. 

     Namjoon opened the door for her. He was a bit hesitant in doing so, as he'd never let anyone see his studio. There was no one interested in seeing it, and he never cared to make it fitting for anyone but himself. He moved stacks of sketchbooks from a plastic chair and offered for Haru to sit after apologizing for the mess.

     "I'll just take a picture of you right quick. I won't keep you here too long." Namjoon told her. He scurried around for a good five minutes, clearing the clutter from behind and around her to ensure nothing unnecessary was in the picture. Haru pulled off her apron and hat, setting them aside. Two bright studio lights illuminated the space, letting Namjoon capture every detail with his black Polaroid. He didn't have to give any instructions on how to pose, his muse was beyond photogenic.

     It wasn't so much that she was photogenic, she just couldn't avert her gaze from Namjoon. She sat with her eyes fixed perfectly on him, her dreaming expression unchanging. She felt as if she should be taking the photo of him rather than the other way around. The camera gave a bright flash and made her blink a few times after it went off.

"Thank you so much." Namjoon looked down at the picture he had taken. If he didn't know any better, he could fall in love with a face like that. Well, if that was something he had the time for. "I'll call when I finish the portrait." He offered her his hand to stand up and led her back to the door. He quietly dismissed her with a polite bow.

     Haru sighed, clearly unsatisfied with their short meeting. "You know how they say a picture's worth a thousand words?" She spoke up in a soft voice. Namjoon nodded in response, taking the freshly developed photo between his fingertips and waving it back and forth. "Well, maybe it's worth more to see the real thing, you know?" Namjoon clipped the photo to the side of his easel. "Are you asking to stay?" He questioned. Haru's cheeks fell pink and her gaze dropped to the floor. "I mean, I've followed a stranger into his apartment just so he could take a picture of me and send me home? Doesn't seem like much of an adventure." She looked back up with  bit of a grin. "If I'm gonna be your muse, then let me be your muse."

     Namjoon couldn't help but return the smile, it was contagious. "Alright, fine. But it's gonna take some time."

"I've got time, remember?"