All great art is born of the metropolis

[Eiji Almasy.]

Some times he did things like brush the hair from her face, or just gave looks across the room that were often unexplainable and indescribable. She was the writer out of the two of them, but he knew one day that he would probably end up writing a business journal, or something equally as mundane. He told her though, that some times he wrote more than just stupid things in the pocket notebook he kept around; some times it was the way she looked in the sun on a particular day, or the first time he saw her in the red dress after her father's death. It was always during his most contemplative moments, when he found himself thinking about the future, or other poignant things, but mostly just about her. He was lucky to have her, but he liked to think it had a little bit to do with fate as well, even if he didn't believe in it.

He tugged her hood back when she looked away, and couldn't help but grin at the sudden abundance of gold; he remembered when she'd dyed it black. It had reflected a period of her life and the way she had felt, but he had never completely disliked it; at the time, he'd just wanted her to be okay.

"Uhm, something's come up, and you should probably know about it," he answered, complete with pauses and hesitance. It was rare to find him at a loss of eloquence, and it wasn't because she often made him lose his words out of a combination of nervousness and earnestness.

"I guess we could walk to Central Park," he said, because as stilting as a full coffee shop was, the sidewalk was much worse. Eiji ran a hand through his hair, glancing out the window to see the state of the weather, making one side stand on end in his frustration at discovering the rain had worsened rather than lessen.

"I didn't bring my car," he explained, looking back at the girl. Driving around in his McLaren in New York was possibly the most douchest thing to ever do, plus the fuel consumption was not worth the distance he was able to cover in the time that it took to get from one place in the city to another; the traffic was the absolute worse and he wouldn't waste fuel by having to stay idle for most of the trip.

"But I do have an umbrella," he gestured to the umbrella that was left on the ground between the wall and his chair. It had been the only thing he'd carried outside that morning, refusing to take anything else aside from his wallet, keys and phone, in an effort to save him from using a man-bag; he'd have never lived it down. He made a visible effort to curb his unease, and though his returning grin was small, it was no different to all the ones he saved especially for her.

(I'm sorry it couldn't have been any better<3)

[Elliot is on the edge.]

He removed her hood and she could only smile as the gold enveloped them. She had never let anyone as close to her as her was, and the way he brightened at the sight of her curls was one of the reasons why. They still fell for all the little gestures and notions that the other wore, still spoke in that refined, silent language that encompassed just the pair of them. Looking at him as he wore his countenance of nerves and uncertainty, she thought back to the last withering weeks of their first affair. During all their first meetings, Elliot had been completely encapsulated and distracted by a confident, courageous and lively boy who effortlessly inspired the same vivaciousness in her until their hearts begun to grow closer and they forced themselves farther apart in retaliation. The last time he had looked at her before she went to Paris was somehow different and yet completely the same as it was now. She saw the same persistent need to tell her something, and the desperation to want to explain himself fully, but there was also a new element now, and that was how this time, it was no accident when his eyes caught hers.

It could be nothing, she rationalized, because Eiji did have an occasional habit of over-dramatizing. Like the time Kenneth and Noah put saran-wrap over the toilet seat one disastrous night and he left them each a dozen screaming messages the next morning demanding that they come clean up their mess and then kiss his ass. At the same time, she knew he could have been hiding a travesty behind those familiar green eyes. Eiji had always been so invested in protecting her that when he had bad news she often had trouble interpreting him because he tucked so much away.
Perhaps he was still in shock maybe. The news could have been so grave, so absolutely crushing and life-altering that he hadn't even been able to actually process it yet. What if something had happened to his mother? Oh god, she thought, and the stone sunk deeper into the dark nervousness of her stomach as she thought on this suddenly possible possibility.

Elliot had become a sad story in loosing her father, and she would never wish her particular plot on anyone else, especially not the one person left in the entire world that had come to mean everything to her. She exhaled slowly, ebbing away all the signs of panic as she slipped her hand inside his and smiled reassuringly, though it still wasn't clear exactly just who the gesture was meant to reaffirm.

"That sounds good." The blond was tempted to suggest that they just sneak off to the bathroom and teleport, because the weather was only growing worse and she was itching to find out what was on his mind and help him move past it, but in the end she decided against it because Eiji hadn't taken to his Gifts as enthusiastically as she always had, and he already seemed tired enough as it was. As he gestured toward them, Elliot leaned down and grabbed the umbrella and his jacket, offering the latter out to him with a genial grin before taking his hand and leading them through the lunch crowd and out the door.

She waited until they were completely outside with the door closed behind them before opening the umbrella, always the more superstitious between the two of them, and tucking her hand in the crook of his arm so they could start down the sidewalk.
(sorry :/)

[Eiji Almasy.]

There were moments where he thought he loved her too much, because that's what it felt like; a feeling so encompassing that it stretched beyond his bones and his skin, beyond all regular understanding and expression. It was stuttering, or she was stuttering, he could never be sure. It made things leap and bound in him, gave him revelations and burned his eyes until he discovered that there was no such thing; it would never be enough. She knew it too; he had made sure to tell her one day in the autumn, after that day out in the sun with their friends, and during that particularly turbulent change in their relationship where they found that they could lash out at each other without breaking entirely. It was in public, but that had mostly been unintentional, and she'd been annoyed at him for some stupid reason that he couldn't recall, except for that she'd put down whatever she'd been holding and made to walk out the store. He had grabbed her by the elbow and even now, it amazed him to know that he could always feel her through any layer of clothing.
'I love you,' he said, in place of an explanation or an excuse, or even something cutting, though it was everything. He remembered the firmness of her arm in his hand, her play of emotions and nothing about himself. Her hair had been blonde again but his infatuation with it had been cast aside in favor of memorizing the the exact lines on the planes of her face; he could trace them on paper if he had to, and sometimes he did. That first time was humbling, amongst other things, and it resonated something important in him because as great as it was, it would feel minute and all he had to do was just look at her.

Eiji let her take the lead, hiding a smile because they both knew the truth. He adored those small moments where she kept him in mind; those times where she made them breakfast because she knew he would only resort to cereal and maybe the previous night's Chinese takeout or worse, one of their roommates' night time snacks, or when she would let him read small excerpts of her writing because she knew that though he didn't need to read them, he always harbored the want to.

In his puffa jacket, he realized belatedly and not as offhandedly as he would have liked, that it was something both Draco and Andrew would have mercilessly teased him for; both for wearing puffa and for the way he regarded his girlfriend. He wanted to think it wasn't always this overwhelming, though it actually was; he would never get used to her and masochist that he was, he didn't want to either.

"I love you, you know," he said to her, and it became another moment that he would ingrain into his memory. The sky was overcast, a dark gray that was more miserable than foreboding, and parts of the rain blended into mist because of the humidity. He would remember things in lackluster hues and the only hints of color and vibrancy would be about her, in the white of her hand and face, the red of her cheeks and the blue of her eyes while his would be a particularly light shade of green.

He took her hand and kissed it, grinning in a way that didn't require him to move his mouth, half wishing he wasn't wearing puffa and the rest hoping he hadn't paved way for bad news. Because it wasn't bad news, despite his solemnity and prior beliefs, it was life, but she was here.