Requested by wineisredder 

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Crackling of the dawn or intrusion of the dusk, an apex where they amalgamate, a dulcet where they part – reverie from the empyrean itself or visions from beneath the eyelids, they all constituting to the hues and tints smeared in fashioning the piece of visual arts. The epoch of the fifties wrapped by the course of her miniature besom on the coarse swathed board.

Another evening of her passion stalking route ceased, and the brushes of acceptable variants were laved and preserved in the small crate of their kind. A reluctant, subdued sigh partially released, when in a trice, she jolted up to her feet post a light pat on her thigh to wrap up her little art gallery. It wasn't too far from her sister's florist-profession store and it salaried her enough to render them a healthy lifestyle.

Maybe someday... I will.

Navy shades allured the murkiness and Cecilia placed her last completed canvas behind the translucent glass, similar to an exhibition, and put on a hefty lock to its doors. Flipping over the quadrilateral sign, reflecting upon the current status of her shop ― closed ― she was done for the day and headed home.

・●・

His footsteps at this stage were transposing to sheer irksomeness and his assistant's prime anxiety cause. Clicks from the chukka boots, abutting the wooden flooring, alone resonated within the tranquility of quad walls. Even his mind had picked up the peal, putting out the crucial notions to be addressed.

"I cannot continue without it Anthony," He, at last, enunciated his bothersome bells.

"But Sir, we already have the best artist in our department, he shall definitely create a marvelous piece as per your liking," Anthony was right but he just could not clasp onto his senior's sentiments.

He heaved the sleeves back, neatly folding them to reside in their spot, his oxford cerulean vest atop the white dress shirt and the colored pair coat was satisfied being mounted on the leather seat, "No, Anthony. You don't get it. I need something different, something which articulates a fine, enormous, vivacious taste yet subtle strokes in its maneuver. Something that stands out and is not fashioned to be the exact molded piece for my script. Something that is unfathomable and authentic, deep-rooted yet apprehended by the common man. Something unique... this time."

"Well, Sir we shall try our lev..." But his voice was overpowered by another.

"Jungkook! You won't mind slackening your work ethic for your brother for a while, would you?"

His suspiration was proof of his mithering, he could not make out a fair imagination of his pending work but out of unblotched respect and unremitting love, he listened to the elderly's talk, "Of course, I wouldn't. Tell me brother, what is it?"

"You work harder than a revving engine, Jungkook, and blend perfection in every task you perform. I was wondering if you could just tone it down a few levels and go on a stroll with your brother. Hmm?" His elated smile had the potency to directly manifest his natural feature at the crest of his flawless cheek – his dimples.

"Oh, it is nothing compared to you," All the glorious adulation was set just for a meager stroll rather the bond it strengthens is precious and Namjoon had always adored his younger sibling, "And sure, I shall deal with the stacks on my table at once, grab my coat and meet you straight outside the workplace."

・●・

"What lovely weather! I'm glad that I joined you," Jungkook placed each foot leisurely, a fedora hat embellished on both their righteous heads.

The duo had their arms behind their built torse in savoir-faire, "Yes, besides who knows you may get an inspiring twist, an extra flavor to the script you have been toiling on for a while now."

Multiple sequels of his head dipping and retrieving the origin stance, played a doubtful symphony on Namjoon's belief. Would he really discover a different seasoning?

"Stay put, I'll get some flowers for mother. Orchids – her favorite," That was all that was heard before Namjoon ebbed away, camouflaging his way to the florists.

"But I..." He was the only entity in the midst of that alley and all the citizens were too engrossed to pay heed to their vicinity consisting of another individual.

September arcade in the London venue of nineteen fifties era reigned that society. Jungkook was idled amongst the bridled hustle but unexpectedly, he made out a painting that stood on a carved easel. He effortlessly drifted in its direction, deprived of any haste being manufactured in his movements.

It seemed he had been cast upon a spell of enchanting sorcery that he could not cut down on his perpetual gaze. Fingers cautiously in proximal with the canvas when his trance shattered by a woman's squall, "Keep out! The paint has not dried yet!"

He was taken aback, his conscience releveling the production scheme of his deportment, and mumbled "Oh yes, right." As if coherent affirmatives had been crossed out from his vocabulary, "Beautiful..."

She smiled, "Thank you."

"Uh," Jungkook had settled with the wrong hypothesis, "I mean the painting, it's ethereal."

"Well," She slapped away her powder-wreathed hands, "as far as my knowledge extends, I believe it is the artist's responsibility to respond to the compliments they receive on their piece."

"You painted this fine art?" He might have been beyond incredulity.

"Indeed, Mister...?"

"Jeon, Jeon Jungkook, and I apologize for not recognizing you as its creator," He turned clemently keyed up.

"That is fine Mr. Jeon, are you willing you buy it?"

The young fella apparently, was far more interested than just purchasing, "What is your good name Mistress?"

"You did not answer my question," She sternly maintained the boundary betwixt the alluring lad and her.

He produced a sleek business card, "Actually, I'm planning more than just owning this art."

"Cecilia," she slipped away the card from his proffered hand, comprehending the cue alongside straightening her bell skirt.

Jungkook concocted an agenda to meet Cecilia again, he had found the uniqueness he had been searching for, the flavor his brother mentioned as well. Namjoon on the other hand made his way to the child who'd never be old enough in his eyes, who once again stood upright with no one to accompany him. Orchids in his hands yet the satin handkerchief was a new article around his finger with a lassie's name embroidered on its fringe with intricacy.

"You sure brother you were in there for just flowers?" His tone utterly taunting.

He thwacked the jet-haired guy's shoulder with a playful hint, and a blush impacted his conduct, "Oh come on, Jungkook."

"Well, well, I definitely do not see the name Rhyna on that white satin material you are clutching so hard."

・●・

"So, the onset of this play is from this damsel composing a song. Its characteristics sound serene with the details you have explicitly rendered. The divisions and the slow pace I have asked you to move forward with, I think, mauve would be the base shade I shall use for this painting," Cecilia was emphatic of this decision and Jungkook didn't mind at all, after all, she knew better.

"Whatever you find is the best," He glanced at her fabrication, the creation for his scripted play and the relishing brushes that daubed the tints from the pallet and onto the perched terminus.

Portion by portion, inchmeal, his writings with the swift current of phrases went by from his mouth, rustling past the days now. Each criterion was elucidated to her with the most sedate tempo and a quinary scene had also passed, marking that evening as their sixth day together, operating the wont routine.

The last segment, the cessation of his drama would end his enthralling narrative and her aeon workpiece. Their working days were over for its inception and would be staged the next day, in a hall saturated with a modest audience.

"Cynthia reconciled with Hwangnang even though things that trapped them in the bitter coldness of the afflicting Korean War were beyond tremendous torture, but they did not give up just yet. In the dead of night, when silence screeched the haunting, deadly and nasty deaths of innocents, Hwangnang was with his love for the last time," Jungkook was seated next to the progressing artistic lady, she was close to hitting pause with just a few highlights.

An interrogation emerged, effacing the concentration from where it should be rooted, "So, they would never encounter each other after that night?"

"No."

"And they were aware of this treacherous fate?"

"Partially, yes," Cecilia wanted to be enlightened more of this ambivalent answer, her countenance spoke well for her that he read, "He adored and loved Cynthia so much that letting her know of the truth that instance would ruin their last memory they weaved together," Jungkook gradually was giving in to his fascination and dimension of desires, he leaned in with every quadruple of words that exuded from his lips, "She had hoped to see him again soon but Hwangnang knew his return was out of question hence, the night," His hand took a leap to caress her face and divest of any protest from Cecilia he felt vitalized to continue, "It was spent in addressing their dote for another."

An inch more and their intoxicated pupils would fully blow out with tenderness, tapping and chaffing the sensory-pigmented dots on their lips.

"Sir, your brother is here with the finalized coordination for tomorrow. Says, he wanted to help you," That knock and Anthony's declaration left the couplet with unfinished business.

・●・

Soughs and whirs gathered an amused air from the spectators, speculating the consummate and proficient actors on stage. Every turn and dramatic dialogue had them conceptualizing the very raw sentiments of the plot and its creator. Cecilia assumed her vast painting to be just an aid to the public's imagination but little did she know it had been the center of attention.

"Cecilia..."

"Yes?" She observed his jittery hands collecting the important items from off his shelf and into a box, "Are you planning to head somewhere?"

"Uh... No, I umm... I shall meet you after the play is successful, but don't wait for me if I take too long."

The assemblage blared into immutable applause, bestowing their appreciation over the labor put into the show they undeniably enjoyed. Cecilia was caught off guard at the bombarding chime, part of her brain trying to gather Jungkook's mien, his aver, and what it implied. She parted ways from the suffocating mob and ventured out to look for a specific gentleman.

Backstage, green rooms, stalls, galleries – nowhere on the premises of the whole auditorium.

But I did see him entering the theatre.

"Ms. Wright! There you are," It was Anthony, "Ms. Wright, people have been waiting to meet you. They all are wonderstruck by your alembicated painting. Even a handful of eminent authorities have something to offer you too."

"I umm..." Erected on the staircase leading to London's cold and stygian streets, Cecilia should have been delighted with her life's dream and aim invigorating to verisimilitude. Yet its antonym stirred in her bearing.

Another bellow of her name, followed by several others mingling in the same toing and froing to know more about Cecilia Wright. She peered at each individual for something or the other they had to opine and avow. This was her opportunity and fortune's call but the already loss of something inestimably valuable balanced out her satisfactory exhilaration. Maybe a sign of how the twain shall never meet, maybe Cecilia then acknowledged Cynthia's unscripted vehemence if Hwangnang never returned home.

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Glimpse into the request:

Prompt―
Set in 1950, female protagonist is a artist but is having difficulty finding an exhibition to display her works.Male protagonist is a famous by lowkey scriptwriter. And is currently working on a new play but it is centred around a painting that is still needed.Hence, the two work together to create this painting. With the male protagonist telling her the storyline and giving her inspiration and moral support while the female protagonist paints from her heart. The two forms a mutual and intimate bond.

After the painting is completed and the play has been shown to countless people, the male protagonist disappears and the female protagonist is unable to find him especially after being bombarded by influential people who's seen her painting in the play.
The male protagonist most suited would be either Taehyung or Jungkook, you can pick either one <3

Written on: 𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝟐𝟔, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟐

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