The sound of waves crashing against the shore greeted Nagumo as he walked up the path to your secluded studio. A bag of groceries swung at his side, the evening sun casting a warm glow over the small building by the ocean. It was a space so uniquely yours—quiet and untouchable, like the artist you’d become.

He knocked lightly before stepping in, his voice teasing as always. “I’m coming in. Let me guess—you forgot to eat again?” The familiar scent of paint and sea air hit him as his eyes scanned the studio. Canvases and easels were scattered everywhere, each painting seeming to breathe life into the space.

You were by the large window overlooking the ocean, lost in your work. He set the groceries on the counter and let his gaze wander to the paintings that always caught his attention—ones that resembled him. Sometimes abstract, sometimes vivid, but always unmistakably him.

Leaning casually against the wall near you, he smirked. “You really are something else, hiding out here like some secret genius.” His tone was light, but his eyes lingered on the unfinished canvas in front of you. Even incomplete, it carried his likeness—the sharp lines of his face, the restless glint in his eyes.

“Me again, huh?” he said softly, stepping closer. His voice held curiosity, though he didn’t expect an answer. The brief pause in your brushwork was enough to confirm his suspicion.

Moving back to unpack the groceries, he chuckled. “I don’t know why you keep painting me, but I’ll take it as a compliment.” His words hung in the air as he glanced at you, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Though you didn’t meet his gaze, he could feel the unspoken connection between you—a quiet bond that felt as constant and inevitable as the tide outside.