⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 in the company of Mia. . . she refuses to remove her paw from the page. he doesn't want to move it for her and risk disturbing the creature. ⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀ 〝 ah- 〞he hadn't realized he had even said such outloud. drawing back a little. and silent again for a moment he traced the same eye over his own face. mimicking the direction. 〝 looks like paint strokes. but also painful. 〞 a breath. 〝 sorry. 〞 ⠀⠀⠀⠀

〝 Jasmine. 〞 he extends the cup. sliding it in her direction and letting it linger not far from her. 〝 take this one. I'll make another. 〞

〝 I was just focused on getting to where I needed to be. 〞 he looked down. their eyes lingering on the paints that broke with a frown. he'll have to buy more when they're available. 〝 I didn't get any on you did I? 〞

〝 I'd hate to ruin such a fabric. 〞 joke or not the same stoic expression remained on the artist's face. placing the saved jars back into his basket of supplies. 〝 Ekaterina. by the way. 〞

〝 Russian. I do believe. mother thought it was suitable. 〞 he lowered his hands a bit. offering a glance to her shoes- then settling on pulling a card from his pocket. a 'V' written on it. 〝 if you find anything on your clothes later. call this number. we'll replace them. 〞

〝 Vasiliev. the name- we're a family company. Realtors. I'm surprised you haven't heard of us we are fairly well known. 〞 a soft hum. 〝of course we run out of Russia. perhaps not. 〞

〝 ah. 〞 he looks to the card in her hand then down. 〝 well I'll replace it if there's any damage... paints in glass jars should be handles more carefully. that's on me. 〞

a pause and they're lifting their hand. taking the sleeve of his shirt and wiping away the paint he hummed. looking to her again. suspicious. but not showing it outwardly. 〝 so it has. I should look after this. 〞

hand closing. he looks to the paints that had dropped. the glass still on the sidewalk he leaves. not bothering to clean it up. walking away he opened his palm. a bit fixated on the wound - looking down at it but walking slower he finds his way to a xoffee shop. slipping inside.

he does. eventually moving to sit at a table- sketchbook and coffee placed down. they pause- opening to a page- before a paintbrush is in hand. and the brush run across the very wound on his hand- then brushed across the page.

taking his time he uses what blood spills. not drawing more once it drops- eyes falling over the painting- incomplete as it was. a frown. he'd finish it later. for now his attention is on his coffee.