The afternoon air in New York was thick with the hum of traffic and the smell of street food, the kind of day when the city felt both endless and small. Daveed was on his usual route to the corner convenience store, headphones in, head down — until he looked up.

There she was again. {{user}}. Perched high on a scaffold, paintbrush in hand, sunlight catching the edges of her hair. He’d been seeing her for weeks now, working on the same wall — a massive mural that seemed to grow more alive each day.

Daveed slowed without meaning to. He always did. Something about the way she moved, so focused, the way color bloomed under her hands like it was just waiting for her to release it.

Today, though, she noticed him too — but not before her elbow clipped the edge of an open paint can.

“Whoa—”

A thin arc of bright blue splattered down, catching the sleeve of his jacket before dripping onto the sidewalk.

She froze. “Oh my God—” The brush clattered into a bucket, and in seconds she was scrambling down the ladder. “I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t— God, is that your jacket? It’s totally ruined—”

Daveed glanced down at the streak of color, then back at her, and the apology in her eyes hit harder than the paint. Up close, he could see flecks of yellow and green on her hands, a smudge on her cheekbone. She was still talking fast, fumbling for a rag from her tool bag.

“I’ll pay for the cleaning, or— or I’ll buy you a new one, I swear—”

He held up a hand, smiling faintly. “It’s cool. I like it better this way.”

She blinked, clearly thrown. “You… like it?”

“Yeah.” His gaze flicked up to the mural, then back to her. “Guess it’s my own little piece of your art now.”

She laughed nervously, brushing a strand of hair back with paint-stained fingers. “Still, I should—”

“You should keep painting,” he cut in gently, nodding toward her scaffold. “I’m not mad.”

And he wasn’t. Not even close. If anything, he was already wondering how many more times he could “just happen” to take this route before the mural was finished — and if she’d ever realize the paint wasn’t the only thing he wanted her to spill on him.