Work Text:
Outside the window, the typical gray autumn sky began to blanket the city, turning the incoming light into shades of silver. [Name] was just about to brush charcoal onto the corner of her canvas when a firm pat landed on her shoulder. Her hand slipped. A thin blue line now ran right across her painting of the clouds.
"Ouch!" The girl turned, her brow furrowed, ready to snap at whoever did it.
She looked up and found Crowe standing there with his warm smile, the kind that could melt the stiff atmosphere in this freezing room.
"Sorry, bad timing, huh?" said the blue-eyed man. He then stood behind her, the scent of his perfume teasing [Name]'s nose and making her heart pound.
"See," Crowe pointed at the smudge with his index finger, not touching it. "If you pull it down a little and add some shading detail, it'll make a perfect oak tree trunk. Trust me."
[Name] squinted, studying the smudge, then glanced at Crowe. "You're just lucky this time that your idea makes sense."
"I'm not lucky. I was just watching you paint from the door for two minutes before I came in," he replied.
Crowe reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a chocolate bar wrapped in pink foil, and placed it next to [Name]'s palette.
"This is for you, [Name]. As an apology for ruining your painting."
[Name] was about to nod when suddenly Crowe reached out and tucked a few strands of hair that behind her ear. Then, without warning, Crowe leaned down. A warm, lingering kiss landed on [Name]'s forehead.
[Name] froze. She could feel Crowe's warm breath and the masculine scent of sandalwood surrounding her senses. Her heart felt like it stopped for a second before racing wildly.
The dark-haired man straightened up and patted [Name] on the top of her head. "I'll wait for you at the gate in ten minutes, okay?"
The woman stared at the chocolate, then shifted her gaze to Crowe's back as he walked away, greeting another friend at the classroom door. That man always knew when to step into her personal space, and when to pull back into the outside world.
After making sure her sling bag was fastened properly, [Name] half-ran down the hallway that was growing quiet. As soon as she pushed open the college gate, the cold air hit her, but her heart felt warm when she saw the figure standing under the streetlamp.
Crowe was there, leaning against the iron railing, staring at his own breath in the cold air. The moment he saw [Name], his face lit up.
"Right on time," Crowe said, straightening up.
Without needing many words, he extended his right hand. [Name] took it, letting his long fingers slip between hers, holding them tightly and firmly. They started walking away from the college grounds toward the hill on the outskirts of town, famous for its view.
They reached the railing that looked directly out over the city center. From that height, the building lights looked like scattered diamonds on a stretch of black fabric. The wind blew quite hard, making [Name] edge a little closer to him. Crowe didn't let go of her hand. Instead, he slipped their intertwined hands into his jacket pocket.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Crowe murmured, his eyes fixed on the twinkling lights in the distance.
"Thank you for picking me up earlier," [Name] said softly.
Crowe turned his head, giving her a smile. He tightened his grip on her hand inside his pocket. "Thank you for agreeing to come out. I know you're the type who could get stuck in front of a canvas until morning if no one pulls you home."
They stood there for a long time in comfortable silence. There was no sound except the roar of the wind and the faint noise of the city below. For [Name], the best painting she saw that day was the view of the city in front of her.
Crowe turned to face [Name], their hands still linked inside his jacket pocket.
"Starlight," he called. His voice was a little hoarse, barely audible above the wind.
The woman looked up, and this time there was no distance left. Under the dim, yellowish streetlight, the blue-eyed man's face looked so calm yet intense.
Crowe raised his left hand, gently cupping [Name]'s cheek. His thumb traced her jawline. "Sometimes I'm confused," he whispered, their faces only inches apart. "Which is more beautiful—the paintings you make, or the person who paints them."
Slowly, Crowe leaned down. He placed a soft, very long kiss on [Name]'s forehead. He pulled back slightly but kept his forehead resting against hers. He smiled a little, his thumb stroking the girl's cheek, now flushed from the cold.
END