"Get dressed and come with me."
You broke out of his hold and rushed into the room, shedding your robe and looking around for some clothes. He followed behind both confused and slightly frustrated, but then picked up his own stuff to get dressed. When you were both done, you grabbed his arm and led him outside.
Once the two of you hit the sidewalk, you took his hand, and he used his other to tighten the ballcap on his head that he truly believed would help cover his identity. He wasn't as known in France as he is in America, but you knew if someone had seen his picture before, they'd be able to recognize him now. The beard helped, but it wasn't a miracle worker.
The streets were busy, but they had a warmth that radiated from them, and you felt at home with him by your side. Like in another life, you'd walk down these streets without a care in the world, and the two of you would go on dates and laugh the days away just eating, dancing, and shopping. You've been wanting to dance the nights away more often here, sleep in late, and eat chocolates in bed around noon, sipping on wine, and just being completely happy, but your heart hasn't been in it.
"Bonjour, Pierre!" You called to the little boy who helps his father run a bakery down the block from where you're staying, and his entire face lit up when he spotted you.
He quickly crossed the street, making sure to look both ways beforehand, and ran up to you.
"Salut, Alice," He cheered, hugging you as you bent over to receive it, "Comme ca va?"
"Je vais bien, merci, comment vas-tu?"
"Je vais bien aussi!" He smiled brightly and then eyed Steve before adding, "Qui est-ce?"
"Je m'appelle Steve."
"I forgot you know French." You smirked and the little boy peered up at you both curiously, trying to figure something out.
Before Steve could respond, the little boy leaned closer to him, putting a hand up to whisper,
"Saviez-vous qu'elle c'est un ange?"
"He thinks you're an angel?" Steve mumbled, but you only laughed.
The little boy's father yelled for him, giving you a wave at the same time that you returned, and Pierre barely said goodbye before running back to the bakery.
"His dad fell off the roof a few months back," You explained with a hint of a smile, watching them as Steve watched you, "He broke his arm and twisted his ankle horribly," You continued as you both started walking again, "They were going to lose the business because he couldn't bake for two months, so for a free chocolate éclair now and then I healed his wounds with some bone and tissue manipulation," You shrugged casually, "And if anyone comes poking around, he steers them clear of me."
"I get it, I do, but-"
"I'm not trying to prove anything to you," You shook your head, "I'm just telling you what I've been up to, I promise."
"Okay," He nodded with a small smile, squeezing your hand once, "Lead the way then."
The two of you walked for a while more, enjoying the city's atmosphere and introducing him to some people you've met in the last months you've been here. Nobody had a soft spot in your heart like Pierre did, but they were all friendly and didn't react when you introduced him. One might've thought he looked familiar, but they didn't suggest anything.
You finally arrived at a small art gallery and stopped to face him.
"This is stupid," You prefaced in warning, gesturing to the purple door of the white building, "But...well, let's just go in."
He chuckled, letting you take his hand again, and he couldn't help but enjoy seeing you get flustered as it didn't happen that often before you left.
The gallery's walls were white, the floors gray, but the simplicity of the plain room was only to contrast against the brilliant art lining the walls. There were landscape paintings, full portraits drawn taller than him, and some interpretive art that he didn't understand in passing but given more time he might've been able to crack something from them. He wasn't given the time though because you were dragging him through, making him laugh, and then stopping short at one display in particular.
He recognized it right away because it was the same drawing all those nights ago that he caught you sketching on the windowsill when you couldn't sleep, your mind being on your brother's passing. But it was brighter, and it wasn't just the city, but somehow you got it to look exactly as if someone was looking out a window. He immediately noticed your vague reflection upon further glance and then his own next to it. Even in the dark, the city never looked more alive and he didn't see sadness in your eyes like he had that night, but this was a pleasant surprise to the soldier.
"Well?" You asked impatiently and he smiled to himself, amused by your behavior.
"It's beautiful."
"Stop looking at yourself." You teased and he laughed loudly, drawing some eyes.
"It's amazing, really," He looked closer, taking in every detail as he discovered them, "Did you finish it here? In Paris?"
"Yes."
"From memory?" He raised his eyebrows, glancing over at you.
"For the first two or three months all I did was draw," You nodded, "I wanted to keep all my memories."
"Then why is it here?" He furrowed his eyebrows, "Are you selling it?"
"No," You smiled at how he sounded worried, like he'd be hurt if you were, "It's just to display artists in case someone wants to hire them to make something for a private buyer. Simple advertisement, really."
He seemed unsettled by the answer, but he understood.
You promised you were just showing him what you've been up to, and that's what you were doing, but he couldn't help but think maybe he was trying to take you away from a life you built.
One full of freedoms you never had before.
