He was an artist scout, with an eye for talent and potential.
She was a photographer, specializing in movement photography.
They had met while at a charity gala for ghetto artists, which was basically an auction of the works of some of the most promising artists that he had scouted from the streets himself. She had paid ten thousand dollars for a piece of work entitled Rage, mesmerized by the undulating shades of red splattered and slashed across the wide canvas. She had always imagined the motion of emotions, and the artwork had described in visual terms what she had always felt moving through her veins when she was livid.
Neji had eyed the woman who had paid so generously for Rage, the masterpiece of the artist whom he secretly felt would achieve critical and commercial success the soonest amongst his stable of talents. She definitely had a good eye; that painting would probably triple in the amount she was paying now in a year's time. Studying her from his vantage point beside and behind the stage, he noted the large expressive eyes in a slim, oval face. She had a pert nose, followed by a pair of rosebud lips. She wore a long, black maxi skirt almost incongruously paired with another loose, gold- threaded blouse cinched across a slim waist with a simple black belt. Her mahogany locks were piled haphazardly on top of her head and secured with a gold and white headband. Simple gold hoops hung from her ears, which glinted dully under the lights in the room. When she moved forward to the stage to receive her painting, Neji's eyes caught on the fluidness with which she navigated the rows of chairs and ascended the stage. The seemingly slouchy ensemble that she had on melded and flowed with a liquid grace with her body, the maxi skirt giving teasing views of her slim ankles with every step she took. The gold hoops swung lightly as her head tilted to acknowledge the auctioneer and the artist, who had bounded up the stage to give her his enthusiastic thanks. When she turned to give her attention to the artist, loose tendrils of hair fell from the bun. A few quick flicks of her fingers and she had them tucked behind her ear. She was like moving art on her own. Neji, being a man who recognized and appreciated beauty, made his move when the auction wrapped up an hour later.
Her name was Tenten.
Her eyes had widened slightly at the sight of the tall, lean man with the most arresting pair of silvery eyes she had ever seen. Those eyes were long and angled slightly at the ends, with surprisingly long lashes for a guy. Long black hair tied in a loose ponytail coupled with the slim face and angled jaw lent him an almost androgynous air, which would not be surprising in the art world that she was so familiar with. The way he held himself and spoke though clearly showed that he was a heterosexual, thank you very much. His dressing was very much masculine, a V- necked gray top paired with a well- cut charcoal blazer that was unbuttoned to show a hint of the broad chest beneath. They had spoken a little by her car after he had helped her to carry her newly- purchased painting. As the conversation had come to a draw, he had, not surprisingly, asked her out for dinner the coming weekend.
She had agreed, and the both of them went their separate ways after agreeing on the time and venue, each anticipating the weekend and the continuation of the magic, the sparks of which they had both felt from the first time they exchanged glances.
One date led to another, and before long, they were what others said, "together". Nonetheless, both were still equally involved in their work, with Neji seeking out the most promising artists from the streets and nurturing them with patience and resources, and Tenten embarking on a few incoming photography projects with several advertising companies as well as independent clients.
One day, Neji had called Tenten out of the blue, and had casually asked her out for dinner that night. She had been slightly confused, as he had said on their last night together that he would not be free the coming week. Shrugging, she had continued with her work, but with renewed vigour at the anticipation of seeing him so soon again. When Neji had picked her up in his silver Maserati and driven her to the warehouse area of the city, her curiosity and confusion had just increased. However, Neji refused to say anything, only that it was a surprise.
Well, to say that she had been surprised would have been the major understatement of the year. Neji had brought her into the first warehouse that they came to and blindfolded her. He had then guided her forwards, until he stopped her with a gentle pressure on her shoulder. He had then placed a set of earphones over her ears before removing her blindfold. Before she had had a chance to ask what in the world he was doing, the show had started. Large fountains of multi- coloured paint had bounded up from the array of amplifiers arranged in a circle with her in the middle, bouncing and pulsing according to the vibrations of the music. The setup was fully black and well- lit, such that the vibrant colours had arched and shot in such triumph that she knew that she would never forget the view. Her fingers had ached to capture the synesthesia and she had had a moment to mourn her camera's absence before Neji, oh bless him, had silently handed her the familiar DSLR with a knowing smirk on his face. She must have snapped a thousand photos that night, surrounded by dancing colours and pulsing music, creating the beauty in the paradox of frozen movement that had always been her artistic drive.
At the end of it, Tenten had turned with exhilaration in her eyes and kissed Neji full on the mouth as the artists behind the display had come out and applauded the couple standing in the middle of colourful chaos. It was the best night of her life, and was made even more unforgettable when Neji had brought her home to his apartment and proceeded to make sweet, tormenting love to her for the first time.
The collection of photos from that night had won her Best Motion Photography in the prestigious Canon AIPP Photography Awards that year. She had dedicated the collection to Neji and thanked him on national TV when she went on stage to receive her prize. The same year, the artists whose help Neji had enlisted (and paid) to create the show for Tenten had won international fame for their synesthetic art, and the planning and execution of the art shows had kept Neji busy for months on end.
A year after they had started going out together, Tenten had shyly presented him with an album of shots that she had secretly taken with her trusty DSLR. Titled Moving Love, the shots all displayed Neji as the subject in the midst of a wide range of actions. Her photographic eye had not only captured the beauty of each action, but also his natural grace and charisma. She had even blown up a few of her favourites and displayed them in their shared apartment. Neji had shown his appreciation in an entirely satisfactory manner, all involving movement, all too private for her to capture without blushing. Besides, she was too busy being one of the subjects.
He was a talent scout. She was a movement photographer. They were artists, and they had managed to create the canvas of life together.