grey.

the beginning

she was never one to follow up on the news, or rather, dedicate her precious time to rummage around on today's crimes: arson, vandalism, robbery — the list could go on and on.

but what else was there to expect in the world's heinous city?

the city of valerian was a melting-pot of veneers and pandemonia, shrouded in the illusion of superficial riches and prosperity. drenched in the odor of heavy perfume and decadent opulence were enough to outcast the filth that lurked from the city's borders; but, so much gold could never outweigh the true bleakness of valerian that rosé had to laugh at the comparison.

perhaps it was why she held a love-and-hate relationship with the place.

she would even call herself a hypocrite, almost. a wealthy woman like her thrived; invitations and gifts made residence on her doorstep. digits in her bank account ascended like a skyrocket, expanding and sustaining. perhaps many people would think she really was no better than the other rich folks who flaunted their assets and 100k diamond earrings.

she was no saint, neither was she a sinner.

just as impartial was to jury, positive to negative, and acid to base, rosé found herself at the center of the spectrum. she wasn't oblivious to the poverty inhabited in the dark alleyways and whatever dirty deeds transpired. at the same time, she never succumbed to the 'rich-folk' disease. she never pretended. simply, she was there. she existed. in the center between black and white, walking and never leaning more on one side than the other.

so artificial. so perilous — yet, so dark and chaotic, she couldn't help but enjoy the treacherous adrenaline that pumped throughout this city's veins.

rosé slipped out a $100 tip and took her coffee on the way out. her hand reached for her sunglasses in routine. a surprised gasp behind her, shocked by the generous gift before a grateful shout.

the vibrant noises of valerian's traffic jam greeted her on its midday appearance. honks, yells, and the zooms of overspeeding vehicles followed by flashing police cars told a usual day. however, rosé paid no mind; eyes straight ahead and stubborn. she sipped her coffee, black and bitter, unfazed by the raucous disarrays but worried over whether her saint laurent blazer was gonna crinkle.

"stop right there!"

she hadn't searched around to discover where the voice came from or what caused the sudden commotion (probably because she was too occupied trying to find any piece of hair on her sleeve). she was forced to look up, though, when someone bumped into her shoulder; knocking drips of brew onto her blazer did rosé's mood flip to a 180. offended, seen by the unsatisfied wrinkle on her lip that became ready to snap a snarl, rosé extended out her leg.

the man (who reeked cigarettes that she clamped her mouth from coughing) tripped over to the cement ground with a loud plop. he flipped to prop himself on his elbows to see his opponent until he met the most spine-chilling eyes.

a grey worn-out beanie, black hoodie, and washed-out sweatpants. rosé studied him from head to toe; it took no genius to connect the dots after realizing the hot pink purse clutched in his right hand.

she hummed in thought, clicking her glossed stilettos towards the burglar. rosé crouched beside him and paid no notice to the potential threat of what could transpire at any given moment, except she hadn't cared — there was only one thing on her mind instead.

the burglar, who still had yet to budge from his vulnerable position, stiffened under the close approximation.

why — why was there a woman leaning over him as if he was a doll on display? her manicured nails sought for his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. she smelled good. jasmine with a hint of lavender grappled his smoky odor.