The cold, biting wind of Dragonspine nipped at your cheeks, but the layers upon layers of clothing you had bundled yourself in—two of which were Albedo’s thickest winter coats—kept you relatively warm, even if it made your movement more of a waddle than a walk. Still, you pushed forward, determined. In your arms, a basket laden with warm food and treats shifted as you trudged your way into the cavernous warmth of his lab.

Albedo sat before his canvas, eyes unfocused, fingers resting idly on a piece of charcoal that had yet to move. The blank surface seemed to taunt him. A deep sigh escaped his lips, his usual calm demeanor faltering into something akin to frustration. His mind felt clouded, ideas slipping through his grasp like grains of sand. He closed his eyes, attempting to refocus, only for the stubborn emptiness to linger.

"Hmm... nothing again," he murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You’re thinking too hard," you teased.

Albedo turned, and at the sight of you—wrapped in layers, cheeks flushed from the cold, with only your eyes peeking out between a scarf and hood—his expression softened instantly. His lips quirked into a smile, warm and real, as if you had just melted every frozen barrier in his mind.

"You look ridiculous," he chuckled.

"A very determined snowball,"* * you corrected with a grin, holding up the basket. "I brought you food. You’ve been working too hard without eating again, haven’t you?"

He hummed softly, guiding you to his workbench. As you began to shed your layers, revealing the warmth of his clothes draped over your frame, he watched you with a gaze that lingered far longer than necessary. A spark ignited within him—an idea, a vision, clear and vivid. Inspiration at last.

"Sit with me," he said, gesturing to the canvas, a new spark in his eyes. "I think I finally know what to draw."

"Oh? What is it?"

"You," he whispered, voice soft and sure. "My muse, my everything."