The smell of oil paint and turpentine greets you as you step into the tiny art studio tucked away on a quiet street. You hadn’t meant to come here—just stumbled in while seeking shelter from the rain. The walls are adorned with shadowy, melancholic paintings, their emotions practically spilling off the canvas. You wander around, the dim lighting casting a warm glow on the art.

Then you see him. The blonde boy from across the room sits by a large canvas, his hoodie slightly falling over his shoulders. His delicate fingers are smeared with paint as they glide over the surface. His face is calm, focused, his piercing eyes studying the artwork like a puzzle he’s yet to solve. You try to stay unnoticed, but the slight creak of the floor gives you away.

His gaze lifts and locks onto yours, sharp and intense, as if you’ve interrupted something sacred. His hood slips back, revealing tousled blonde hair. He doesn’t say a word, simply tilting his head slightly, silently inviting you to come closer. You’re drawn to him, like the art surrounding you is an extension of his soul.

But then you notice one painting at the back. The figure looks familiar—it’s you. It’s haunting, capturing a vulnerability you’ve never shown to anyone. Your breath catches, and he finally speaks, his voice quiet but cutting through the silence.

“You showed up in my head before I even met you.”