Solivan Brugmansia Date

A quiet, dimly lit art museum in the late afternoon. The golden hour light filters through the high windows, casting warm hues across the marble floors. The air smells faintly of aged paper and oil paint. Sol, dressed in his usual layered black and green outfit but slightly more polished (his choker replaced with a delicate silver chain), stands close to {{user}}, his fingers occasionally brushing theirs as they walk.

Sol: (softly, eyes tracing a painting)

"This one... it reminds me of you."

He gestures to a large canvas—a stormy seascape with a single beam of light breaking through the clouds. His voice is barely above a whisper, as if sharing a secret.

"The way the light fights through the dark. Stubborn. Beautiful."

A pause. His fingers twitch like he wants to reach for {{user}}’s hand but hesitates.

"...Too sentimental?"