Episode 3 . ︎ᡣ𐭩 ݁˖

The studio slowly fell into a comfortable silence after that interrupted moment.

Not an awkward silence. Not tense. Just quiet.

The kind of silence that naturally settled between two people who had already become used to each other’s presence.

Only the faint scratching of brushes against canvas and the soft rustling of paper filled the room from time to time.

Sunlight streamed through the tall studio windows, spilling warm golden light across the wooden floor beneath them. Dust particles floated lazily through the air, glowing every time they crossed the sunlight.

The familiar scent of paint, charcoal, and coffee lingered around the room.

Leroy sat near his easel with his usual calm concentration, one hand resting lightly against the edge of the canvas while the other guided his brush with careful precision. His expression had returned to normal—or at least, normal enough.

But every now and then, his eyes unfocused slightly. As if his thoughts kept drifting back to something. Or someone.

Across from him, however, Alina looked anything but focused. She sat with one leg tucked beneath her chair, paintbrush spinning lazily between her fingers while she stared at her blank canvas like it had personally offended her.

Every few seconds, her attention wandered elsewhere. Sometimes toward the shelves lined with old paint jars. Sometimes toward the ceiling beams above them. Sometimes toward the large studio windows. And far too often—

Toward Leroy.

The end of her paintbrush rested between her lips thoughtfully as she leaned back in her chair.

Her teeth lightly bit against the wooden handle while she thought deeply, and every few seconds, her soft lips brushed against it absentmindedly while searching for inspiration.

Leroy looked up once. Only once. And instantly regretted it. His hand froze mid-stroke.

A crooked black smear dragged sharply across his canvas, ruining the clean line he had been painting. For a second, he stared at the mistake silently.

Then he quietly cleared his throat and forced himself to look away from her mouth before she noticed his reaction.

“Just draw whatever you want,” Leroy said while pretending to focus on fixing the ruined paint stroke. “You think too much before starting.”

The moment those words left his mouth, Alina’s eyes lit up brightly. Almost suspiciously brightly. Leroy noticed immediately.

“…Why do I suddenly regret saying that?” he muttered under his breath.

“Really?” Alina asked innocently while lowering the brush from her lips.

“Yes,” Leroy replied carefully.

A slow smile spread across her face as she reached for her color palette.

“Then don’t peek,” Alina warned lightly.

Leroy narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously.

“That warning alone makes me concerned,” Leroy said.

Alina only laughed softly in response before shifting her canvas farther away from him.

That somehow made him even more suspicious. From then on, she painted with surprising seriousness.

The playful expression gradually disappeared from her face, replaced instead with pure concentration. Her brows furrowed slightly while she mixed colors carefully on the palette, occasionally stepping back to study the canvas before continuing again.

Every now and then, she glanced toward Leroy briefly. Very briefly. Then immediately returned to painting. Leroy noticed every single glance. He simply pretended not to.

Still, the strange feeling in his chest only grew stronger the longer she painted.

Because Alina looked far too confident for someone supposedly painting randomly.

Nearly an hour and a half passed before she finally leaned back in her chair with a satisfied sigh.

“I’m done,” Alina announced proudly.

Then she looked at her finished painting—

And instantly blushed. That reaction alone made Leroy nervous. Very nervous.

Slowly, he placed his brush down and stood from his chair.

“What did you—” Leroy started while walking toward her.

But the words died in his throat the second he saw the canvas. Silence. His eyes locked onto the painting immediately.

It was a male figure. Broad shoulders. A soaked black shirt clinging tightly against defined muscles. Drops of water trailing slowly down the exposed neck and collarbone. The posture. The build. The atmosphere.

The face wasn’t painted. But it didn’t need to be.

Leroy recognized himself instantly.

His expression hardened slightly as he continued staring at the painting much longer than he probably should have. And somehow, that only made things worse. Because the details were far too accurate. Painfully accurate. Finally, Leroy exhaled slowly.

“…Are you serious?” Leroy asked quietly.

Alina immediately looked away from him and became very interested in cleaning her brushes.

“You told me to draw what I wanted,” Alina replied innocently.

“I meant an object,” Leroy said flatly. “Or scenery. Or literally anything else.”

“But this is what I wanted to draw,” Alina replied without hesitation.

Leroy closed his eyes briefly before rubbing a hand over his face in frustration. And then it hit him. "Draw what you want." Those had been his exact words.

A terrible. Terrible choice of words. Because Alina never did anything halfway. Ever.

When Leroy looked back at the painting again, his jaw tightened slightly.

The wet shirt. The posture. Even the subtle curve of the neck and shoulders. Every detail looked far too familiar. Which meant—

She had been staring at him much more than he realized. The realization sent another strange tension through him.

“You’re impossible,” Leroy muttered quietly.

At that, Alina finally looked up at him again. Her cheeks were still lightly pink from embarrassment. But her eyes remained stubbornly confident.

“And yet,” Alina said softly, “you still haven’t told me to stop.”

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