➴ art studio。

@komatsu nana. It took only a single glance for Chanmi to realize that the owner of the video store she had stumbled upon was much like herself. They both seemed to be laying low, hiding from the prying eyes of society. Was it the way the owner carried herself? Or perhaps the glazed look in her eyes as she sat there, looking incredibly bored until Chanmi struck up a conversation. Chanmi, being a natural extrovert, found it easy to make friends with people from all walks of life. However, it was rare for her to extend an invitation to any of them, especially lately when her creative muse had been struggling. Unfinished paintings lay scattered in a disorganized pile in the corner of her workshop at the art studio. Chanmi had been painstakingly picking up each canvas, studying them to determine if they were even worth finishing. The burden of her artistic block weighed heavily on her, making every interaction feel like a potential spark to reignite her passion.

In most cases, the answer had been no. Especially when most of them were various close up drawings of someone she should not even be thinking about.

Her reverie was broken by a familiar voice calling out in the stillness of her studio. All day, her only companion had been the faint sound of music emanating from a small speaker—background noise to help with the ambiance, she told herself. Dressed simply in a breathable grey shirt dress and an apron, Chanmi had tried to get to work. Her hair was tied in a messy bun, but just like the previous day, she found herself unable to finish yet another painting. Frustration mounted, and it was palpable in the way she unceremoniously chucked her paintbrush across the room. One by one, she emptied her apron of all its contents, flinging them aside in exasperation until there was nothing left to throw. The stillness of her studio was interrupted by these small bursts of anger and frustration.

"Coming!" Chanmi yelled from where she sat on the floor. Eventually, she emerged from the back room to greet the woman standing there, looking around with curious eyes. The visitor was a vision, like a character straight out of one of those mangas Chanmi loved so much.

"Wow, darling, great choice," the woman said, motioning towards Nana's appearance before leading her deeper into the studio. They entered the painting room, which featured a plain white backdrop, strategic lighting to highlight the subject, and a chair for Nana to sit on comfortably. Chanmi smiled warmly as she assisted Nana to the chair, guiding her into a pose.

Standing behind her subject, Chanmi leaned in close, just enough to reach around and gently position Nana's arms. The proximity allowed her to adjust the latter’s posture with precision, ensuring the pose was exactly as she envisioned. The intimate moment between artist and muse set the stage for the creative process to unfold.

"I hope you don't mind." Chanmi murmurs softly as she posed Nana like a pretty doll, making her place both her hands on her lap before placing one hand on her back ever so gently as if to urge her to sit up straight.

"Can you hold this pose long enough, or do I have to pose you some other way?" Chanmi asked, a teasing lilt in her tone. She walked around to the front so Nana could see the amused expression on her face.

@kim chanmi. Nana knows that she should not be doing this.

The agreement has been to stay low, never let herself reach the radar of any media. What would father dearest say, if her face and name have somehow reached social media? It is why even her filmmaker alias is not at all connected to her name, and it is why no matter how many times people have asked her—both strangers and friends alike—to model for them, she has turned down. The moment her face and name reach the media—the moment her face gets linked to Japan's Prime Minister—then what?

(What is she doing, taking a needless risk? She has lived her life so peacefully like this, hiding in the shadows, linking herself with those that would definitely get frowns from the society. She has lived her life so well, hasn't she? Lived like a rat.

Is that so bad? Living like a rat?

There is a traitorous voice in the back of her head, one that is telling her thoughts that she would rather not dare even entertain. An unwanted presence like her, after all, is much better living like a rat.)

But here she is, standing in front of the entrance of the art studio, clad in a simple black dress that falls just by her thighs, with a corset tightly hugging around her chest. Dark ripped stockings, with a pair of dark ankle boots—a rather toned down version of her usual style, though the colors remain the same with her usual. Her hair, slightly messily let down just a little bit past her shoulders. She doesn't know what Chanmi would've preferred, even if the lady *did* say that she enjoyed a challenge, but for now, she supposes she'll show this version of herself.

With a soft sigh, she enters the studio, looking around to find Kim Chanmi. There is a slight discomfort to her movements, as though she's still uncertain with what she's decided to do. But she does not show it on her visage, no. Instead, she tightens her hold on her shoulder bag instead, and calls out softly, albeit hesitantly, "Chanmi? I'm here."