Asher was walking down the isle of a lonely art store at the end of the block. The morning rain had made the atmosphere outside quite cold and he fixed the scarf wrapped around his neck, quietly cursing out whoever cursed him with such a weak immune system against colds.

He reached out a hand, his muscles wrinkling up the sleeve of his thick coat covering his arm before his hand bumped against someone else's hovering above the paintbrush he was about to grab.