“ Hey. It’s pretty windy out here, you’ll catch cold. ”
Fruits Basket Starters || Last one! || @uluire
Gloved fingers knead together uselessly as his gaze stretched out across the gently rolling waves of the winding river laid out before him. His breath was visible against the chilly air as he inhaled sharply against the breeze, and tried to warm himself up by the steam still pumping out from the small, handful of boats that had gathered in the town’s less than impressive dock. And the few stragglers hunched up around the ships were dressed in thick coats as they sipped at hot coffee and warm tea, waiting for the heavy winds to die down before they could set sail once again. Casimir, on the other hand, had taken pity on a traveler who had been aware of the city’s somewhat rough wind, and had offered them his coat, leaving him in little more than a long-sleeved shirt that did little to shelter him from the cold. He’d like to think he was used to it by now, and, truth be told, he hadn’t actually noticed how cold it had gotten until he noticed his nimble fingers were shaking against the bright canvas he had laid out before himself. Ahh, a few lines here and there and he would have the base finished. After that, he could add color once he returned home.
Tugging up the collar of his shirt, he leaned closer to the canvas to seek out what little warmth it could offer before settling his fingers back around his brush. It was rare for him to have time to himself, but he had managed to finish his current project early, and he had always desired to paint the scenery about the town he now called home to set up in his studio for those who came to visit him to look at. He couldn’t exactly let this chance go to waste, even if it was cold and he was fairly certain his nose and ears were brighter than the deep red of the sailboat bobbing uselessly in the water nearby. He’s so absorbed in his work that he fails to notice the sound of footsteps nearby (even if he had, he would have written them off - most of the locals are aware that he seems to go to another planet when he paints and isn’t likely to pay them any mind). And he nearly jumps out of his skin when the stranger’s voice reaches his ears, promptly dropping his pallet and coating his white shirt a deep black where it slammed against his chest.
A sheepish smile tugged its way onto his lips as he peeled the pallet from the soft fabric, and tucked it into the crux of his elbow to keep it from escaping him again. Ah, well, he can’t say this is an uncommon occurrence. He had more shirts covered in paint than not, and he couldn’t say he much minded aside from the brief heat of embarrassment that washed over his face over his clumsiness. And, For a moment, he could only stare at the other as he processed what had been said before he manages to gather enough courage to cough ip a response.
“O-Oh, thank...you,” he forces out, his voice cracking in the cold as he struggles to keep the pallet from tipping and the canvas from being snatched up by the breeze. “I-I’ll be o-okay, though...I-I’m grateful y-you’re worried about me....though. Um...y-you should be careful y-yourself. It would be bad if y-you got sick.” He’d more or less expected this little venture to end with him stuck in the house for a few days while Aeron complained about his stupidity while having to take care of him. Catching a cold was more or less expected from him at this point, but it was too good a chance for him to pass up, even with the consequences.
