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No matter what I’m feeling, it’s soft, and dangerous, and it’s not hurting for once.

Damien took my hand as soon as we walked in. He's neither discreet nor cautious. It seems obvious to him that I can walk beside him, that what we could experience was worth all the hardships in the world.

It almost makes me laugh the way he’s taking care of me. It’s not funny, it’s pathetic how this small action means a lot to me coming from a man. And also because he's not like that. Not like I thought he'd be.

When I told him that there was a museum not so far from St. Ellesta he hesitated for a second before nodding like he was interested in it. I know he’s not. But he still sounded convinced as if he knew I loved this place and it was enough for him to love it too.

I do love museums. I always have. It's art in its saddest form. Everything is trying to stay upright without collapsing while you're looking at it.

It’s calm and filled with so much soul.

We stroll between the rooms, as if we had all the time in the world. I don't know why, but I end up speaking without really thinking.

“When I was younger, I used to come here alone a lot.”

I feel his hand tighten slightly on mine, without breaking stride. “Really?” He asks.

“Yeah. It’s not a big museum, but… it made me want to draw more than before.”

He doesn’t answer right away. He looks at the walls, the statues, then at me, as if he’s trying to connect the dots. “Is that why you draw on the tables in class? Even during my lessons?”

I look at him immediately. “You’re exaggerating.”

He smiles, not at all agreeing with me and sighs. “Eyes and lilies everywhere on those poor tables.”

I shake my head, a little amused despite myself. “That wasn't real drawing.”

“What was it then?”

I think for a second. “Artistic boredom.”

That makes him chuckle a bit. “That's also why you spend so much time staring at the statue in the main courtyard.”

The sad angel...

“Don’t you find that statue sad? I like looking at it, it’s kind of calming. And the details on that are insane.”

“I never looked at it enough.”

“Why is that? We sat there together a lot of times,” I ask, looking back at him.

“I was busy looking at something else that was just as sad as the statue is,” he says, taking my hand and bringing it near his mouth.

Then he lightly bites my hand.

My reaction makes him laugh as I pull back, with a gasp, noticing the mark he left on my skin.

“Asshole,” I whisper, and he laughs even harder.

He grabs my waist and pushes me forward, leaving a small kiss on my hair as we keep walking. And then he adds, more seriously, “You know, it turned out pretty well for you.”

I turn my head toward him. “What?”

“Drawing.”

I shrug, as if it doesn't really matter. “Trust me, back then they were awful.”

He looks at me immediately. “I think you're lying.”