He spotted her in the Renaissance room of the art gallery, gazing silently at a painting. Her straight hair was lazily thrown over her shoulders in a low ponytail, flowing smoothly down her back. As time went on, her brows furrowed and she found herself leaning closer and closer to the canvas, as he did to her.

The girl did not say a word or have wires stuck to her ears. Only a small bag hung on one shoulder and held a booklet and pencil in her hands. She was so quiet yet her thoughts were so loud in the room, so evident in the way she gazed, reluctant to look down at her page b with words and swift sketches. Something in the way she walked, slowly from heel to toe before coyly pausing for another ten minutes at a piece worthy of her attention, captured his breath and refused to return it. Oh how much did he now crave her attention?

He followed her from Durer to Rubens, from Cezanne to Dali, Duchamp and Freud. He was just as enticed by her as she was to the art; both drawn in slowly, hesitantly, then all at once to the point it became difficult to tear their attention and walk away. Her eyes were fixed on the paintings as his were to her. Gazes never left their subject and only yearned more.

His quiet footsteps fell like soft rain on an umbrella, waiting for the sun to hopefully turn around and look his way. When it did, the clouds in his sight faded and waves tumbled in his stomach. Why become so nervous just by a look? Then she smiled and he felt his chest give in, finally letting out a breath.

Author's Note: I tried adding 'Father Louis Williams Suga Adams the Third' as a tag but it was too long.

I'll hopefully get a poster and such soon. Just like Hold Me Tight, this is kind of an impulse write so I may or may not have an idea what I'm writing about...