Untitled | KNJ

02

2021, autumn

The bell rings as Namjoon enters the building, an art gallery that he's been frequenting the past few months. There are new pieces, he's been told, and one of the curators that he's become friends with informed him that some of the artists are in town.

He nods in greeting at familiar faces - employees, artists, casual visitors. He walks around, taking in the new paintings and sculptures displayed. As he turns towards one of the smaller rooms, a piece catches his eye.

It's something he'd seen before, a piece of ceramic sculpted in such a way that it looks like a flower in one angle, a seashell in another. And, dare he say, a vulva from a little farther away.

He reads the label. Untitled 56, Samantha Lee.

Namjoon goes through the photos on his phone, knowing it was a trip to LA over 2 years ago where he'd encountered something similar.

And there it is. Untitled 48, Samantha Lee.

He took the photo from an angle that looked like flowers, thinking about the simplicity and beauty, the choice of colors, and how they hung on the wall as part of the installation. It was one of many pieces he documented, but was the only one he didn't get much story from. There was no description, no background. He wasn't quite sure what to feel.

"Find something that interests you?"

Mr. Hong is one of the founders of this gallery, and he spends much of his time getting to know the regular visitors and the artists. He's definitely someone who knows when something strikes Namjoon, like right now.

"Samantha Lee," Namjoon responds. "Are they a local artist? I think I saw their work in LA some time ago."

"Ah, yes Ms., uh, Ms. Lee. She's a local and has her pieces displayed in several galleries. She's here, actually," Mr. Hong excitedly shares, noting how important it is for the Kim Namjoon to meet one of the artists. "She was supposed to come yesterday but decided to drop by today instead. Would you like to meet her?"

"Ah, that would be great," Namjoon smiles back. "If she is fine with that, of course."

Mr. Hong is never sure if the said artist is, but Namjoon is a special guest, he thinks, so the older man nods. "I'll lead you to her."

Namjoon is led up a small flight of stairs and out to a patio with more installations displayed. He spots several people outside, and he tries to determine which one of them is the artist he wants to meet, perhaps ask why she'd untitled all her pieces, and why there's nothing of her at all that she chooses to share.

He stops in front of two women as instructed by Mr. Hong.

"He's a fucking asshole, that's what he is," a familiar voice spits out. "The next time he harasses you, I'm going to impale his dick with my heels and—"

"Ehem," Mr. Hong clears his throat, prompting both women to look at him. "Ms. Lee, one of our patrons would like to meet you."

He shares a look with the woman before she nods and smiles. She turns to Namjoon where he's met with familiar tender eyes, eyes he's been yearning to see since that cold winter night.

"Blue?" He asks, surprised.

"My favorite color, yes. How did you know?"

You look at the man in front of you, tall and broad with caramel skin and a smile that could melt even the coldest of hearts. You've seen this smile before. Even behind a mask, you could tell it's him, the man who'd saved your ass that one cold winter night with his extra hot packs and his calming voice.