The Singapore Art Museum was in the Downtown Core district; Australia followed Singapore as he led him around, telling him about various works of art. Australia listened to every word—and tried his best to not get distracted. Singapore listened to him ramble on about reptiles for minutes on end; the least he could do was return the favor and listen now.
Besides, it was interesting.
Australia had shown Singapore art from his place before; it was exciting to see some of the art from Singapore’s place.
Though Australia had brought a book from his own place to give Singapore—but hadn’t gotten around to giving it to him yet.
He would; it wasn’t like he was nervous or anything. Singapore had given him literature from Singapore’s place before. So, even though they hadn’t been dating for that long (and this was Australia’s first time dating anyone), there was no need for him to be nervous. Clearly.
The official reason for Australia’s visit to Singapore was to review the free trade agreement. Though really, they were using it as an excuse to go on a date after the reviewing was done.
A landscape painting of a riverfront caught his eye. As someone who spent a lot of time outdoors, landscape paintings were something Australia had a soft spot for—and a lot of artists from his place created them. Australia headed towards it.
“Elijah!” Australia called.
Singapore came over.
“What is it, Jett?” he said. “You shouldn’t go shouting in here like that, you know. Do it again and I might have to fine you.”
He said the last part with a smile, showing he was joking.
“Nah, you won’t, mate,” Australia said, grinning. “You love me.”
Singapore didn’t dignify that with an answer, and simply gave him a fond eye roll—but Australia didn’t miss the way his face went slightly pink.
“Can you tell me about this?” Australia asked, gesturing to the painting of the white flowers.
“Of course!” Singapore said cheerfully, giving Australia a smile—the same one he used on tourists, the same one Australia found adorable. “This is Singapore Waterfront, painted by Georgette Chen in 1958. She has other pieces in here, if you want to see them.”
“Yeah, of course,” Australia said. “Lead the way.”
Singapore did—and as they visited Georgette Chen’s other works in the museum, Singapore told Australia about Georgette Chen.
“She taught at the Nanyang Academy of Fine Arts for twenty-seven years, shortly after moving to my place,” Singapore said.
“Wait, she’s not originally from here?” Australia asked, slightly surprised.
Singapore shook his head.
“No. She was born in China,” he said. “She moved here in 1953, and was important in pioneering modern art here.”
And with that, Singapore fell quiet, but continued to show Australia around the museum. The day ended far too quickly for Australia’s liking.
When they returned to Singapore’s apartment, the sun was setting. Australia had yet to give Singapore the book. Given that he had to go back home tomorrow, it was now or never.
“Elijah,” Australia said. Singapore looked at him. “I uh—brought you something.”
Singapore looked at him; Australia pulled a book out of his bag.
“It’s Picnic at Hanging Rock, by Joan Lindsay,” Australia said. “She was a writer from my place. She also wrote plays and essays, and painted a few watercolors, but this book is what she’s most famous for.”
When Singapore didn’t take the book right away, Australia’s heart sank—he should have just brought a souvenir from home, like a stuffed dingo. Singapore liked plushies.
Still, Australia tried to play it off.
“It’s fine if you don’t want it,” he said. “You’ve given me some of your books, so I thought—”
“Will you give me a chance to react?” Singapore asked. “I want it.”
Singapore took the book.
“You do?” the question fell from Australia’s mouth before he had a chance to stop it.
“Of course I do,” Singapore said, sounding equal parts exasperated and fond. “It’s yours.”
Something warm in Australia fluttered; it was quite possibly the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to him.
Australia pecked Singapore on the cheek.
Singapore smiled.
“If that gets you this excited, I kind of wish you’d given it to me earlier,” he teased. “Besides,” Singapore added, laying a hand on Australia’s cheek. “If you’re going to kiss me, kiss me right.”
Australia complied, pressing his lips against Singapore’s.
Outside, the setting sun seemed to glow a little brighter.
