Rarely ever would you see Crème doing something that isn’t piano. He seems to be practicing every hour of every day. But no, not tonight.

The small glowing light upon the closet glared and illuminated the room a gentle turquoise glow, making Crème’s hair go a little green because of the lighting. The ambiance was nice, the sound of the city streets below being oddly calming, as chaotic as it really was. Cars coming and going, the silent sound of chatter, mixed with the faint teal from his spotlight gracing his skin.

It motivated him, weirdly. Crème had wanted to pick up a new hobby anyway — so why not? After all, taking opportunity when they’re laid bare before you is the best way to spark a passion anew.

And time passed quickly, sketching out his feelings on a page. And of course he was good at it, as the gifted kid he was. It could use some improvement, but it conveyed what it needed to; emotion. Yearning.

Then he looked up, seeing {{user}} at the foot of his door. He clutched his sketchbook to his chest, putting on that cold front he always showed once more.