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Seventeen days before it happened, they spoke. They always spoke. After all, one just couldn’t seem to get rid of the other.
They always only spoke about little things. “How was your day?”, “Have you eaten?”, “I like the song you wrote”,
“I like you, Till”....Little things.
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He could see how his intentions could be misunderstood. His
desperationsearch for a muse could be seen as infatuation. Especially with Mizi, with fair skin and pink hair, who he had hoped would be the one.But nothing ever went his way. He had seen her with another, the pair clearly in love. While that hadn't bothered him much—a relationship with such intimacy wasn't what he was after—what had made him leave was the look of contempt from the black-haired girl she had been with. It filled him with a feeling he was familiar with—being unwanted. And so he left.
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Till didn't even like coffee. But he spent hours at cafes, pouring over architecture and people, searching for a muse, anything to further his art. His passion. Nothing more, nothing less. So what happens while, in a last ditch effort for a muse, he find more than just 'the one' he was looking for?