Nathan Moore arrived in Capital City, and Titus Zane’s mood brightened considerably.
No longer sullen all day as before, he even found himself humming tunes involuntarily while painting in his room.
"What’s got you in such a good mood? Share it so I can be happy too!"
Alder Locke asked with a smile as he pushed open the room’s door.
Titus turned his head, "Do you always enter someone’s room without knocking?"
Alder Locke strolled into the room, hands in the pockets of his trousers, and sat down on Titus’s bed, "You’re not just anyone to me, don’t forget, we’re now in a romantic relationship."
Titus glanced at him indifferently and didn’t respond further, turning back to continue his painting.
"What are you painting that’s got you so engrossed?" Alder Locke asked casually, rising to stand behind Titus.
"Still life," Titus answered blandly, still seriously mixing his oil paints and sketching on the canvas, his wavy hair loosely tied behind his head, and his floral smock stained with various colors of paint.
Looking at the still unformed pattern on the canvas, Alder Locke frowned.
To a man who didn’t understand oil painting, the chaotic array of paints on canvas did not coalesce into anything aesthetically pleasing.
"This is also called an oil painting?" ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭·𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮·𝙣𝙚𝙩
"Of course," Titus continued painting, her two-word reply barely concealing her pride. Once, her still life had won an award at an exhibition in Paris, selling for hundreds of thousands.
"Why does it feel like scribbling to me?" Alder Locke crouched behind Titus, scrutinizing the canvas; it wasn’t his lack of appreciation—he truly found it less appealing than the graffiti on the walls.
"What do you know." Alder Locke’s comment elicited an eye roll from Titus as she turned her head to look at him with annoyance, "If you don’t understand, don’t pretend you do, you’re disturbing my painting."
Having said that, she turned back to her work. Any artist would take no pleasure in someone who questioned their artwork, especially a layman.
Seeing that Titus was truly annoyed, Alder Locke found it amusing. Watching her clearly unhappy profile, a mischievous impulse struck him, and he smeared some paint on Titus’s nose with his finger.
"What are you doing?" Holding the palette in one hand and a brush in the other, Titus shouted at him immediately, while Alder Locke, on one knee on the floor, spread his hands innocently, "You can see."
Her chest under the smock rose and fell with irritation. Painting required inspiration, and this man not only disturbed her, but he had also come over to create a mess.
Seeing the self-satisfied expression on the man before her, she acted before thinking and flipped the palette in her hand right onto Alder Locke’s handsome face.
Alder Locke, unprepared, was too late to dodge when he realized what was happening; sticky paint smeared over his forehead, perfectly straight nose, and lips. Viewing his flower-like face, Titus burst into unseemly laughter.
Having never been treated this way before, Alder Locke was initially very angry, but seeing Titus laughing uncontrollably, he somehow felt the anger dissipate. He casually smeared some paint with his hand and gave Titus’s cheek a fierce rub, "Little rascal, that’ll teach you to laugh."
Titus’s laughter abruptly stopped. Without even looking, she knew exactly how she must appear and, feeling angry, swung her paintbrush at Alder Locke again. The two of them, one on the offensive and the other on the defensive, started a ruckus on the floor.
"What on earth are you two doing that’s taking so long for dinner?"
Alder Locke had initially come up to call Titus down for dinner, but when they didn’t show up for a long while, Abigail Zimmerman personally came up to fetch them.
Upon pushing open the door, the scene before her left Abigail stunned.