Gosh, this is a oneshot I wrote about a year ago, but was pushed back due to commissions and other stories taking priority in being posted. I honestly had almost forgotten about this story, but I'm relieved that I didn't! As you can see, it's a long one, and I worked hard on it.

I'm dedicating this to the amazing artist rwbyballpointpen for doing a trade with me! They also decided on the name of Blake's pet cat in this AU ahah.

I call this Artists AU.

If you like my work, please consider supporting me on P-a-t-r-e-o-n as Kiria Alice!

Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY.

The Painter And The Writer

When the mornings were glum and dreary, Blake wouldn't always rush to get out of bed.

Lying bundled up in bed through her three alarms was a habit she'd yet to find the strength and motivation to break.

If she could avoid being stepped on and woken by the cat, with claws affectionately kneading her chest, she'd sometimes manage to sleep past 10AM, especially if there was no sunlight to greet her past the blinds. If the room was a little brighter when she woke, she might've felt more compelled to get going, to "seize the day" as they said.

But when it rained and the bushes outside were dark with dampness and burdened with tiny puddles, she opted to simply roll back over and bury her face into the soft whiteness of her pillow.

That particular morning, she was lucky enough to find that there was no construction being done near the apartment complex – only the buzz of a neighbor's distant lawn mower could be faintly heard.

With a small sound somewhere between a moan and a sigh, Blake rolled over onto her back once more, just barely lifting her eyelids to look up at the ceiling.

A soft bounce added a bit of pressure onto the queen-sized mattress, and it was only a few seconds later before a greeting mew reached her ears. Tiny, cruel paws suddenly pressed down onto her stomach, causing it to cave in beneath the cat's weight. Blake coughed, groaning as she freed her arms from the blankets and reached out to grab the animal, bringing him up to her face to bonk their noses together.

"You..." she growled by means of chastisement. "Why can't you just sleep by my feet like a normal cat and not get up until I do?"

Gambol wriggled away, stepping over her head and directly onto her hair, his weight causing the strands to pull at her roots. With a groan, Blake rolled over once more in an effort to shoo him away.

But when her eyes caught sight of the alarm clock, she knew her fate was imminent.

While the accomplishments of a writer who worked from home rarely required her to leave the house other than to make an occasional trip to the grocery store for food, Blake didn't like the idea of being a total shut-in.

With a long yawn and a stretch of her arms to pop her shoulders, she pushed herself up, shaking her head as black, curly locks spilled over her shoulders. Gambol meowed eagerly and jumped off the bed, streaking for the door. Blake moved her legs over the edge until her bare feet brushed the carpet.

"I know, I'm coming. Geez, give me a minute..."

She took a moment more to stretch and get the feeling back into her limbs before she found her slippers and attempted standing.

Eventually, she managed to follow the cat into the kitchen, then rummage about in the cabinet drawers for a can of his food. A chorus of meows rose up from the floor as Blake opened the can, then bent down to dump its contents into his dish. Only then was the kitchen quiet again as he gobbled his meal.

Blake then washed her hands, but she didn't get started on her own breakfast. Long ago, she'd discovered that she couldn't typically eat first thing in the morning, and usually it took about an hour or so for her stomach to register the fact that it needed sustenance.

In the past, she'd attempted to get some of her writing done instead, but she'd found she couldn't work on an empty stomach, either. Hence why she tended to sleep in until food was a necessity, and then she'd get to writing shortly afterward.

But she didn't like the idea of wasting too much daylight, so oftentimes, she'd spend her morning hours completing chores or running errands, tasks that didn't require too much energy, and weren't exactly strenuous.

However, in recent years, she'd discovered a better way to start her days. Weather permitting, she liked to get some fresh air.

Blake padded across the floor in her slippers to peer out the window. It was a morning that seemed to debate rain, but when she glanced up, the clouds overhead were thinning enough to start showing specks of blue. It was a warm day with a cool breeze to it, and she knew then and there that it'd be a waste not to enjoy it.

So she retreated to her bedroom to grab a change of clothes, then headed to the bathroom. She woke herself up a bit by splashing cool water onto her face, running her wet fingers through her bangs and all down her hair to her neck.

It was never pleasant to change clothes during cold winter months when the frigid air met with her raw skin, but thankfully she wouldn't have to deal with that again for another eight months or so.

Wrestling her pajama shirt away, Blake slipped her arms instead into a purple blouse fringed with small ruffles, a shirt she usually only wore when venturing into the outside world. After pulling up her jean shorts, she brushed her teeth and then her hair, making herself appear somewhat presentable.

At last, she headed for the main door to the apartment, calling a brief goodbye to the cat as she unhooked her key from its place on the wall and dropped it into her pocket.

Upon opening the door, a fresh gust of air met her, filling her lungs with a swirling breath to chase out the stagnant oxygen that had gathered there in the night. Her eyes traveled around the apartment complex, where small decorative bushes were beginning to sprout pink flowers, the clean-cut grass swaying in the light wind.

She followed the sidewalk to the left. She avoided the right side for now because that direction would take her toward town.

To the left of her building was a humble neighborhood, skirted by patches of forest and even a small lake, which was very convenient during the summertime for someone like Blake who had no car. Everything she needed was within walking distance, hence her selection of living area.

She followed the sidewalk, pleased to find that the sun really was breaking overhead, its light starting to stream down through the leaves to dapple her footprints with shadows.

She wasn't hungry yet, but she knew from experience that the little shockwaves produced by walking that traveled up from her feet would make her hungrier by the minute. When she got back home, she'd be more than ready to start cooking.

Blake set her course for the neighborhood, keeping her eyes and ears open to absorb the sights and sounds of nature. Most walkers tended to saunter with a partner, and most solo joggers preferred listening to music. But Blake enjoyed the tranquility of the little town just as it was, needing no distractions for herself.

She let her eyes follow the cracked concrete of the sidewalk for a time, her boots scuffing lightly against the hard surface. She was mindful not to step on any of the traveling caterpillars making their way across.

She found that being mindful of her surroundings was often rewarding. She'd seen many rare sights in her years walking here.

She'd once found a praying mantis in her path and carried it to the forest for safety. Amongst the trees there, she'd once witnessed a family of foxes playing together. When she neared the lake, she'd often see birds fishing, and once even witnessed a snake slipping through the reeds.

It all fascinated her, and Blake found she drew a lot of inspiration from the world around her, material she more often than not used in her writing.

She followed the sidewalk away from the apartment buildings, cutting into the neighborhood where the standalone houses stood. She'd committed the map of this place to memory by now. She knew who lived in which house, what pets they had if any at all, and the kinds of flowers and foods they grew in their gardens.

There was a lot one person could pick up on if they were truly paying attention.

She passed a small blue house, and Blake knew for a fact this couple's dog had recently given birth to a litter of puppies. In the white house across the street, the balloons on the mailbox suggested a daughter's birthday party. The next house was red, and the old woman there grew exotic flowers, her yard covered in giant, colorful petals.

Blake knew this little town like the backs of her hands, which was really saying something – as a writer, she spent an awful lot of time looking at those.

Her typical walk was about half an hour long, only lengthened if she stopped to chat with someone or made an effort to pet one of the outdoor cats.

Soon, she found herself approaching the lake, the breeze cooling down a few degrees as she neared the water. A small blacktop road lined with the sidewalk on either side created a bridge of sorts over the water.

Blake kept to the sidewalk near the small guardrail and began to make her way across.

Grassy hills sloped downward on either side until they met the water, but even from this distance, Blake could make out the little turtles sunbathing on logs, and the birds diving in for a meal beneath the surface.

After having walked this path so many times before, everything had fallen into place in Blake's mind. If she closed her eyes, she could easily paint a mental map of this place, even taking into account the changes made by each season.

Everything around here was a common sight to her, and everything was in its place.

Only after she'd crossed the little bridge and the scent of water had faded behind her did she notice one strange thing that didn't belong in her memory of the view.

Beside the lake, to the right side of the bridge, the land climbed up into a small forest of sorts. There was a brief section of reeds, bushes, and small trees, but the top of the hill was mostly open and clear of any shrubbery.

It was at the top of that hill where Blake discovered the anomaly.

The usually-vacant spot was now occupied.

From what she could tell from this distance, someone had set up a small structure of sorts, a tall wooden plank the size of a person. A white square sat at the center, its sides protruding all around. It didn't take long for Blake to realize it was a canvas on an easel.

The person had brought along a small folding chair as well, though right now they were standing, leaning in toward their canvas probably to paint a smaller, more precise part of the picture.

Blake couldn't help but smile. It was certainly nice to find something new around here for a change.

They must have a lovely view to paint, she thought. Right above the water like that, they can probably see a thousand different angles of this place. That spot is certainly perfect for an artist who'd like to work in peace.

She didn't want to be nosy, but Blake couldn't ignore the spark of curiosity that flared in her chest. She couldn't see what the person looked like, and she wanted to know if perhaps it was someone she was familiar with.

She veered off the sidewalk and into the grass to try and see past the canvas, but the trees of the forest blocked the artist out from Blake's standpoint. At best, she could only see that the person had long golden hair and was most likely female.

Maybe it's better this way, though, she thought. It gives a bit of mystery to things.

Content with just that, Blake returned to the sidewalk and continued on her way. Her stomach was really starting to feel the effects of the walk now, and she jogged the rest of the way home.

Once there, she fished out her key from her pocket, pushed through the door, and then hurried to the kitchen to start making breakfast.

The following day, Blake's alarm went off as per usual.

But miraculously, she didn't roll over and put it on snooze two or three times before actually getting up. This time, she actually got up on the first alarm.

And it wasn't because she was particularly eager to get started on her work for the day.

Rather, it was because she was curious about the painter girl, and Blake wanted to see if she'd be in the same spot again today.

That was what motivated her out of bed today, and she made quick work of changing into a nice pair of clothes, brushing her hair, and then heading off.

The morning was sunny and warm, and the instant Blake stepped outside, her ears were met with the sounds of a lively neighborhood. Children were riding their bikes and playing tag in their lawns, parents were tending to small gardens or doing yard work, dogs were barking excitedly at the couples that passed by on their walks.

Blake was proud of herself for joining in the activities today, but she wasn't intending to linger long in this area.

Instead, she set out on her usual path, heading out of the apartment building's complex and into the small neighborhood beyond.

She passed all the familiar landmarks – the oddly-colored houses, the gardens, the trailers – until at last she came to the lake. She'd been jogging at a bit of a quicker pace than usual until now, but as she neared the bridge, she slowed her pace and caught her breath a little.

After composing herself for a moment, Blake straightened up, smoothed out her clothes, and then continued onward toward the bridge.

She cast her gaze down to the banks below, where water birds were hiding in the reeds or wading through the shallows to pluck up unsuspecting fish. Shining turtle shells caught in the gleaming sunlight, and at one point, a fish actually jumped clean out of the water before disappearing in bubbles once again.

Blake enjoyed the liveliness of nature as she often did, but when she neared the middle of the bridge, she tore her gaze away from the wildlife and looked up toward the distant hill.

Sure enough, she spotted a shape at the top, something that was only familiar to her now after one day, rather than many months of walking here.

From afar, she gazed upon the easel and the small, orange folding chair the other person had brought along with them. The white square of the canvas blocked the painter themselves from view for the most part, but when Blake squinted a bit, she could tell those yellow locks of hair were still peeking around the edges. The person seemed to be wearing shorts much like herself, as Blake took note of the white skin of bare legs.

Blake simply watched for a moment, not wanting to appear nosy, but simply curious about this new person in town who had placed herself in Blake's peripheral vision with the intention to blend into her map of the landscape.

Well, perhaps that wasn't their intention specifically, but that's what was beginning to happen from Blake's perspective.

For a few minutes, she stood there on the side of the road, until she decided to take a seat on one of the benches nearby instead.

Blake flicked her gaze down to the water, and then occasionally back up to the mysterious painter across the way. The person was very still aside from a few necessary moves of their arm to dab a brush at an unseen pallet.

A few times, Blake saw the other person shift, bobbing their head up over the easel to one side of it, likely to get a glimpse at the landscape they were presently painting.

But Blake didn't want to pry or intrude on this person's business too much more, so she simply leaned herself back against the support of the bench and closed her eyes for a moment.

She absorbed the sounds of the world around her – the hiss of passing cars down the distant streets, the motor of a far-off neighbor's lawnmower or weed whacker, the sounds of voices coming from nearby yards...

But once she got past listening for all of those manmade things, there were much more pleasant, organic sounds to focus on, such as the croaking of a toad somewhere down below, the slight splashes of the tiny waves lapping against the shore, the plop of water when a turtle dove under, or simply the breeze whispering through the grass.

Blake rested for a few minutes, enjoying the beams of sunlight as they soaked into her skin and hair.

But she could only ignore her rumbling stomach for so long, and once the heat of sitting in one spot started getting to her, she forced herself to move once more.

Standing, she stretched her arms briefly before casting one last glance up at the hill top, where the painter was working diligently on their soon-to-be-masterpiece.

Blake smiled at the thought, and stepped back onto the bridge to continue home.

For the next several days, Blake's routine went just like it had the previous mornings. Only now, she was lingering by the lake a bit longer in order to glimpse a certain artist.

The other girl was there every day without fail, and was always at her usual spot even long before Blake had come along on her usual path. She would rest on the bench there for a few minutes, appreciate the usual scenery, and then continue on her way.

Once home, she would prepare her breakfast, take care of chores and errands, and then begin her writing work to produce some form of income for herself.

Several days after the first time she'd encountered the new painter on the hill, Blake found herself with a free evening after having successfully completed all of her work for the day. So she set out on another walk, curious as to whether or not she might find the painter at this later hour of the day.

But upon her arrival at the bridge, she found the hill top vacant in the fading orange sunlight.

Had she not known any better and seen it for herself that morning, Blake probably never would have even known there'd been a person standing there for hours earlier that day. It seemed the painter only did her work in the early mornings, unlike Blake who tended to need the earlier hours to wake herself up, and then worked in the afternoons and evenings.

It was a little amusing to Blake how their schedules decided to oppose one another's.

It wasn't long afterward when she realized she'd started to fantasize about all of this, and even went so far as to start making up scenarios in her head about this girl.

Blake forged a little story about where she might've come from, why she might be here in this town, what her interests and goals were.

She did all of this by herself, without any other influence or knowledge of the girl other than that she was a blonde painter who liked to work in the mornings.

Blake couldn't help it; she was a writer, and inventing stories was what she did - for fun, and for a living.

This girl just happened to be the perfect source of inspiration.

When she got home one evening, Blake found herself typing away at her current story and was brought to a point where she incorporated a small tidbit about a painter, entirely based off of the one in her real life.

She went on tangent after tangent, describing the girl's life and appearance, her goals and her failures, her hardships and her triumphs.

Eventually, it got to the point where Blake felt it necessary to omit that part of her main story and simply created another story entirely about the mysterious painter.

It was initially meant to be a bit of work to do on the side, when her main story ideas were blocked and unable to progress.

But after several days and many hours of productivity like she'd never experienced before, Blake realized she'd written over thirty pages on this girl, everything fabricated from her own mind aside from the fact that the blonde had a hobby of artistic representation.

Blake was both majorly amazed and slightly appalled at herself that she'd managed to be so productive with a short story that wasn't even her main work. But she seriously considered bumping up its priority in her line-up of stories.

After a little over a week of this new interest of hers, Blake decided to turn her side story into a light novel of its own, transforming it into a little autobiography of sorts.

The lazy girl who'd often found it difficult to roll out of bed in the morning was now jumping up at the sound of her first alarm and hurrying to get herself dressed, merely so she could go to the lake and see a companion she didn't even know the name of.

The same was the case for this morning, though when Blake opened her eyes, she wondered if she'd woken up too early. Her phone said it was just after 8AM, but the world outside seemed rather dark and misty.

It was a drearier day – the first one of its kind that had come around since the painter had arrived in town.

Typically, Blake wouldn't go out for a walk on these kinds of mornings and would merely go back to sleep until hunger – or the cat – drove her to get up.

But that morning, she was on her feet, curious to see how the painter would react to the poor weather.

After feeding Gambol, Blake grabbed a purple umbrella as she stepped into a pair of boots, then stuffed her keys into her pocket and headed out the door.

Upon stepping outside, she discovered it wasn't a muggy day at the very least, and a cooler breeze was on the air this morning. Blake was thankful for the lack of sticky, clammy heat as she walked, twirling her closed umbrella at her side for now.

Understandably, there weren't many other people out and about today – no dog-walkers or lawn-mowers, no children riding bikes or couples jogging.

But to Blake's surprise, there was still a certain someone up on the hilltop.

By the time Blake had reached the lake, she'd opened her umbrella and ducked underneath it, seeing the rings on the surface of the water from where tiny rain droplets were beginning to fall down.

When she cast her gaze up over the damp grass, Blake was honestly surprised to find the same girl standing on the hilltop with her canvas and orange folding chair.

"Is she nuts?" Blake uttered. "Doesn't she know it's going to really start coming down soon? I hope she has an umbrella or something, or else her painting's going to get ruined..."

But try as she might, she couldn't see an umbrella or any kind of protective covering in the other girl's possession. She could tell that the blonde was moving a bit frantically, a contrast to her usual stillness. She was hurrying to pack her painting supplies into a small bag, and removed her canvas in order to lean it up against the easel.

Blake realized that was the first time she'd ever seen the painter without part of her body blocked off by the canvas.

There was – in fact – an entire person behind it.

She was wearing shorts today – perhaps a poor choice with this weather – and a pale yellow tank top with a small brown jacket covering her shoulders and arms. Her long, blonde hair was down as per usual, but rather frazzled as she tried to move quickly.

Blake was rooting silently for her, praying she'd be able to pack everything up in time.

But just as the blonde girl had picked up her bag of paints and brushes, her foot slipped in the slick grass. She stumbled, and Blake gasped as she feared witnessing the girl crash into her easel and painting – or worse – taking a tumble down the side of the hill.

But luckily, she only dropped her bag of supplies again, though everything went rolling and scattering into the tall grass and surrounding bushes.

Blake heard a distressed cry echo over the water, and she noticed that the rain had started to pick up, tapping a bit more harshly against her umbrella.

She didn't waste another second debating her thoughts before she tore off across the grass, bound for the painter's hill.

She too, slipped a few times in the wet grass, being mindful not to trample any flowers or small animals in the process.

By the time she neared the foot of the hill, the rain had picked up even more, and she could now clearly hear the frustrated cries of the other girl.

"No, no, no! Aw man! Why today? I was almost finished with this! Damn it, where the hell's my brush?"

Blake wasted no time in beginning her ascent on the hill. It wasn't steep, but the slippery grass wasn't helping her all that much.

It was a bit of a struggle to bump her way through the branches and brambles, but Blake eventually made it to the top, standing about ten feet away form the frantic girl. The blonde was presently kneeling in the grass, too focused on her task of searching for lost items to recognize Blake's arrival.

The writer hurried forward and called out softly.

"Um, hi-"

Instantly, the other girl straightened her back and whipped around, not unlike a prairie dog.

"Huh? Oh, um, h-hey there!" she stammered, her hair already soaked by this point. "S-Sorry, I'm just leaving! Or- trying to!"

"No, it's all right," Blake reassured her. Her eyes caught sight of the canvas leaning against the easel, and she could tell the rain was getting to it. She hurried over and knelt in the grass beside it, covering it with her umbrella.

The painter was only a few feet away from her now. She looked up at Blake with stunning lavender eyes, and their gazes locked for a moment.

But the wet reality served to remind them both of the matters at hand, and the blonde quickly shook her head, dislodging water in the process.

"Oh, wow," she said. "Thanks a ton. Guess I was the only one stupid enough to come out here without an umbrella."

"Not at all," Blake reassured her. "This rain did kind of sneak up on us. Can I help?" she offered.

The blonde ran a hand through her wet hair, then gave a bright grin.

"Nah, you're fine where you are! You're helping plenty just by being right there. So if you could just... keep covering my canvas as I get my things together here, I'd really appreciate it."

Blake smiled back and nodded to her.

"Sure thing. Don't worry."

She leaned more of her umbrella over the painting to ensure it remained as dry as possible. Blake even reached her hand out to hold onto the wood on the back of the canvas, ensuring it wouldn't fall or blow over into the wet grass.

There was evident relief in the other girl's eyes, and she hastily continued to crawl through the grass to gather her fallen supplies. She dropped various multi-colored paint bottles and brushes into a small bag. Once she'd taken a quick inventory to ensure everything was accounted for, she zipped it up and slung the strap over her shoulder.

After that, she stood and folded up her orange chair, slinging the metal bar over one of her shoulders. She picked up the easel with one hand, and at last nodded down to Blake.

Carefully, the writer stood, holding onto the painting and ensuring that her umbrella was shielding it from the wind and water.

She was about to offer to carry it, as the blonde girl seemed to literally have her hands full.

But Blake realized that the canvas was the main prize out of this girl's work, and she likely didn't fancy the idea of a stranger holding onto it.

So Blake handed it to her, leaving the last of the girl's free hands to be occupied.

The blonde released a sigh once everything was in order.

"Phew! Thanks again! I owe you," she said.

Blake took her words as a cue to leave, but she hesitated, her golden eyes once more seeking out lavender.

"Do you need some help with all of that?"

"Nah, I'm fine. I live just down the hill and a few houses over," she informed her. "But... well, it is still, kinda raining and uh... it might be nice to stay a little dry..."

Blake perked up at the offer and gave a nod.

"I'll walk back with you," she said. "That is, if it's okay."

"Okay? That'd be more than okay, trust me. I'd be super grateful."

"All right then."

Blake stepped closer to the girl, leaning her umbrella over her, trying to let it encompass them both as well as the canvas and easel. For that outcome to be achieved, a rather intimate proximity was necessary, and Blake found her arm brushing against that of the other girl's.

They maintained a steady pace together as they started down the side of the hill, taking it slowly as not to slip on the incline.

The rain pattered onto the umbrella and the canopy of leaves overhead, but Blake didn't let the urgency overcome her. She stuck close to the painter, letting her lead the way through the small forest until the ground leveled out.

Before them now was a stretch of small houses, and the blonde set out for them. Blake followed, and together they passed two homes before coming to a stop at the third.

Blake shadowed the girl up to her doorstep, but paused once the blonde fished out her key to unlock the door.

"Well," Blake said. "I'm glad I could help you out this morning. It was nice meeting you, uh...?"

"Huh?" The other girl looked up at her, and Blake noticed than there'd been a smile on her lips that was now fading. "You're just gonna leave now? You're gonna walk back home in this weather?"

"I've got an umbrella," Blake reminded her.

"Well, yeah-" the blonde laughed. "But I mean, like... wouldn't you like to come in for a bit? You've got my official invitation."

Blake hesitated for a minute. But taking one good look at this girl clearly showed that she wasn't dangerous or suspicious. The house seemed small, so Blake could assume she lived alone as well.

She considered for a moment, looking to the painter, then to the rain behind them, and back again.

"Just for a minute then," she decided.

Instantly, the blonde girl perked up again and smiled.

"Great! Lemme get the door."

She fumbled around her easel and canvas to fit the key into the door, then with a twist and a push kicked it open. She stepped into the shelter, and Blake shook her umbrella out and closed it before following suit. She closed the door behind herself, shutting out the hiss of the rain as she surveyed her new surroundings.

It was evident that she was in the kitchen area of the house right now, and she wiped her boots dry on a small rug underfoot. The other girl wiped her shoes as well, then hurried off into another room to put her supplies down beside a couch.

During her brief moment of absence, Blake looked around the kitchen. It was a very simple set-up, consisting of several counters, cabinets, a sink, and a trash can. There was a medium-sized table at the center with a vase of springtime wildflowers in the middle. Four wooden chairs sat around it, though there was only a place mat in front of one, further implication that this girl lived alone.

There were a few paintings hanging on the walls here, some of birds and some of landscapes and oceans, and on the far wall sat an old-fashioned grandfather clock with flowers and vines painted all around it.

Blake was busy absorbing it all when the other girl came back into the room and shook herself off a bit.

"Oh, you can have a seat anywhere! Can I get you a towel?" she offered.

"Uh, yes. If you wouldn't mind."

"'Course not! I'll be right back!"

As the girl tore off in the direction Blake could assume the bathroom was in, the writer leaned her umbrella upside-down against the nearest wall, and then stepped forward a bit. She peered into the living room where the wooden floor turned to tan carpets. From what she could see, there was a single couch seated across from a television, as well as a small, decorative coffee table, and a bookshelf.

But other than those few pieces of furniture, there was nothing else on the floor.

The rest of the things were on the walls.

Paintings hung all around the room, all framed, some small and some large. There were tiny squares with tiny purple flowers painted onto them, and then there were canvases as tall as Blake's torso depicting grassy fields and pastel meadows.

Simply from looking at the paintings in the living room and in the kitchen, Blake could determine this girl's unique style.

She tended to paint landscapes and natural scenes – plants, forests, skies, and bodies of water.

But she didn't always paint with the conventional colors.

Some paintings had blue grass and pink skies, while others had brown leaves and green water. They were all just slightly off from the imagined reality, but not glaring enough to be unsettling.

It was an odd, but highly appealing style for Blake, and she found herself taking another step toward the living room.

But a minute later, the blonde girl reappeared carrying two dry towels.

"Here!" she said, handing one to Blake. Feeling as though she'd been caught doing something intrusive, Blake took a step back and sheepishly accepted the towel.

"Thanks... um..."

"Oh, geez!" the other girl laughed. "Where are my manners? You were trying to get my name outta me before and I totally blew you off. Sorry about that. I'm Yang!"

"Oh," Blake murmured, drawing the towel through her hair. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Blake."

"Pleasure!" Yang held out her hand with a grin. Blake found she couldn't help but smile back as she accepted the handshake.

For a moment, the two girls dried themselves off, padding their shirts and shorts dry, then wrapping the towels around their arms and legs. Once they were as dry as they were going to get, Yang invited Blake to have a seat at the kitchen table.

"It's not often I get guests! Especially ones who aren't related to me. Can I get you something to drink?"

Blake hesitated with her answer, shuffling her feet a little.

"If you have any tea..."

"Oh, perfect!" Yang clapped. "What better to help us warm up on a cold, rainy day like today rather than tea?" She sauntered over to a cabinet and opened it up to reveal a few small tins. "What kind would you like? I've got Jasmine, Darjeeling, Green tea, Chamomile, and regular!"

"Jasmine would be wonderful."

"Got it!"

Yang selected a bag of Jasmine for Blake and Chamomile for herself. She pulled a kettle out of the cupboards and started to boil some water.

Once that was ready, she prepared two mugs – one black and one yellow – and then sat down at the table in the chair opposite Blake's. Yang let out a long sigh, grabbing the towel from her shoulders and ruffling it through her own lengthy hair once more.

"Thanks again for helping me out this morning, Blake."

The dark-haired girl instantly perked up at the sound of her name being said by a new voice. She liked it.

"It was no problem," she replied. "I just happened to notice you were having some trouble. Did your painting get damaged at all?"

Yang shrugged a bit.

"Well it ran a bit and some of the colors bled together, but it was a watercolor anyway. Now it's just a bit more literal!"

She laughed at her own joke, and even Blake cracked a smile. Whatever nervousness had been threatening to build since she'd stepped foot inside the house was already dissipating thanks to Yang's casual, almost carefree attitude and the tranquil atmosphere of the house in general.

"Well, it's a relief that it wasn't ruined."

"There's no such thing as a ruined painting!" Yang declared. "I mean, if you don't like it, you can always just paint over it again, y'know?"

Blake nodded, the smile never fading from her lips.

"So... did you paint all of these, then?" she wondered, her eyes flashing around the room.

"Pretty much," Yang nodded. "I sell a few of 'em and then use the money to buy more supplies. And occasionally food and clothes." Blake laughed lightly, and Yang grinned before continuing. "Yeah, every room of the house looks like this. Even the attic and the bathroom. It's kinda messy."

"I don't think so," Blake said. "It's expressive. And besides, it's your house, right? It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks about it."

Yang's smile only widened at her words.

"I hope I'm not comin' off too strongly when I say this, but I like you, Blake. I like you a lot."

By then, the kettle started to screech, and Yang got up to silence it. She poured their tea into the two mugs, then handed Blake the yellow one, keeping the black one for herself. Blake thanked her and dipped her head.

Yang retreated to her refrigerator to pull out a carton of milk, then placed a sugar shaker on the table along with a small container of honey. Blake mixed some milk into her tea and added just a spoonful of honey. Yang put a little bit of everything into hers before finally sitting down once again to start sipping her drink.

For a moment, only the sounds of the pattering rain filled the house, the two girls each content to keep quiet and enjoy it all.

The second Blake felt that warm tea trickling down her throat to settle in her stomach, she sighed blissfully.

Usually, she drank tea at the end of the day as a reward for finishing her work that evening. It served to calm her down and relax her into a sleepy state.

But she wasn't at all opposed to having it be the first flavorful thing she tasted that morning, aside from her toothpaste.

Yang took a sip herself, and then looked up curiously over the rim of her mug.

"How is it?"

Blake swallowed again before pulling the mug away from her lips.

"It's delicious. Thank you so much, Yang."

"Don't mention it! It's the least I can do after you saved me from the weather."

For a while longer, the two girls enjoyed their tea together. But Blake couldn't keep down her bubbling curiosity on a few matters. So she tentatively posed one of many questions that was presently buzzing around in her mind.

"So you paint every morning on that hill, right?"

Yang put her mug down and nodded.

"Yeah! Or at least I have been for the past few weeks. Before then, I'd just sit on my porch or in the back yard. I just moved here a few months ago, so it was great for the change in environment. There's a lot to look at from a lot of new perspectives, so there's a lot I want to paint.

"But man, when I found that hill, I counted my lucky stars! It's got a perfect view of the lake, the bridge, the neighborhood, the forest, the sky – everything! And it's only a five-minute walk from here! That place is gonna keep me busy painting for a while."

As she spoke, Blake had noticed the little glimmer in her eyes as Yang was imagining all the new pictures she could produce. She imagined that the inspiration Yang drew from the hilltop scenery was akin to the inspiration Blake drew from discovering Yang.

"It's a really nice spot," the writer agreed. "And it's usually very quiet up there. The forest isn't big enough for people to want to hike there, and it isn't too close to any streets or the town."

"Yeah! It's really great," Yang went on. "The trees keep it cool and shady, and the breeze from the lake is so refreshing. You swing by there a lot too, don't you?"

Blake blinked quickly, a little confused at first until she realized that Yang was probably able to see everything from that vantage point. Of course she would have noticed the people who walked the bridge daily, Blake included.

"Yeah," she nodded. "I usually go for walks in the morning to wake myself up. I really like the lake. It's calming."

"I hear ya," Yang agreed. "To be totally honest, I'd always see you walking there every day. Of all the people that passed by, you were the only one who came every single day without fail, usually at the same time, too." She paused suddenly, her smile turning into a frown. "B-But I wasn't stalking you or anything! Don't worry! I hope you don't think it's creepy or anything. I just happened to notice you came by a lot, that's all."

"It's all right," Blake chuckled. "To be honest... I noticed you a lot, too. Since the first day you started going up onto that hill, I'd stop and look for you. I couldn't help but notice the little addition to my map of the neighborhood. I'm so used to seeing you up there by now, it'd probably feel wrong to view that scene from the bridge without you on that hill."

Blake thought she actually saw a small pink tint cover Yang's cheeks then.

"Really?" she mumbled. "I'm not intruding or anything?"

"Not at all," Blake reassured her. "In fact, I think you really belong there on top of that hill."

Yang was quiet for a moment, and Blake wondered if perhaps she'd misspoken. She took another sip at her mug to hide her mouth, using it as an excuse to stop talking, fearful she'd upset Yang. But the other girl soon broke out into another smile.

"Thanks, Blake. I'd never really felt like I belonged anywhere, so it made me really happy you said that."

Relieved that she'd helped rather than hurt Yang, Blake put the mug down and smiled again.

"No problem. I was just saying what I really think. You've definitely become a part of my world, Yang. Until today, it was just in a peripheral sense. You were kind of like a mystery for a while. But now that I've met you and gotten to talk to you like this..."

She trailed off, not knowing exactly where she'd been going with all of this. Awkwardly, Blake cleared her throat and tried again.

"What I mean is... before, you were just a distant person to me... but now... well, it was really nice to meet you this morning, Yang. It was nice to talk to you so personally. It's almost like we've known each other for a long time or something. You're very easy to be around."

Yang promptly pressed her towel onto her face again.

"Gosh, you're flattering me, Blake," she chuckled. "But I'm glad you think of me that way! I guess it might've been a little unnerving to come into a stranger's house like this. Thanks for trusting me and keeping me company!" She gave a lopsided grin, took another sip of her tea, and then continued. "Since you're here, I kinda wanna show you something..."

Blake blinked up at her in surprise.

"Me? We've only just formally met and you've got something for me?"

"Well, kind of!" Yang said rather ambiguously. "But I also realize how weird that sounds now that you've said it out loud. So maybe it's best we hold off for now. If you're not busy though, you're more than welcome to come back tomorrow! I mean if the weather holds out, I'll be up there painting as usual, and I bet you'll be walking too, right?"

"Right," Blake confirmed. "I usually don't start my work until noon or so."

"Oh... Well, that's usually when I tend to stop working," Yang mumbled. "So... looks like I'm free when you're working and you're free when I'm working, huh?"

"But this is fine, isn't it?" Blake proposed. "How about noon tomorrow then? You end a little early and I'll start a little late."

Yang considered it for a moment before nodding.

"Yeah! That sounds perfect! To be honest, I've always been kinda curious about you, Blake. And now that I've met you like this, I wanna know even more about you!"

"It's the same for me," Blake confessed.

"So, tomorrow at noon, then?"

"Tomorrow at noon."

Blake took her final sip of tea and then stood. She left her yellow mug and towel on the table and thanked Yang again for her hospitality. Yang returned the gratitude tenfold, thanking Blake for saving her from the rain.

The downpour had since slowed to a mere drizzle by now, so Blake was content to open up her umbrella and head out with one final wave back to Yang. Yang waved back and watched her go.

And it was exciting for the both of them to know that they really had something to look forward to tomorrow.

Blake had thought that after meeting Yang formally and shattering the mystery behind the painter on the hill, her writing inspiration might dwindle a little bit.

But to her pleasant surprise, when she sat down at her desk the rainy afternoon after she'd returned home from Yang's place, her fingers flew easily over the keyboard.

She wrote all about her morning, telling of how she had offered her assistance to Yang and been taken back to the blonde's home and given tea for her troubles. She was making it more like a personal journal, but still giving it that story-like atmosphere and wording.

She wrote for hours that afternoon, describing Yang and her home, her fluid painting style and her hospitality, the sound of her voice and the appearance of her smile, how she'd given Blake the yellow mug instead of the black one, probably due to some internal artistic aesthetic.

Blake wrote until it grew dark out, and only when the cat began to cry out of hunger did she save her work, shake out her hands, and stand from her chair. She prepared her own dinner after dumping Gambol's food into his bowl, then headed to bed shortly afterward, knowing she'd need the rest for tomorrow.

And tomorrow certainly didn't disappoint.

By the morning's light, she was up and about, waves of energy and excitement wafting off of her. She couldn't remember the last time she'd made arrangements to meet with a friend.

Well... Yang isn't really a friend, is she? Blake debated with herself. I only just met her yesterday. But then again... she showed me her house, told me about herself, told me her name, and invited me back... Calling her an acquaintance would sound a little weird...

As her thoughts buzzed around her head, she dressed herself nicely, fed the cat, and pulled on a pair of black boots. She could tell that today was going to be a rather toasty one, so she gathered all of her hair up after brushing it and tied it into a high ponytail.

But after checking the clock, she found it was only 10AM. Remembering that she was supposed to meet Yang at noon, Blake now found herself with two entire hours to kill.

So she played with Gambol for a while, tossing his toy paper balls across the floor and chasing after him when he went streaking off. Once the cat was exhausted and couldn't stand to play anymore, Blake kissed his head and let him be.

Heading out the door, she decided to take a longer walk today, and set out for a slightly different path than usual. It took her all around the neighborhood rather than having her simply cut through part of it. She stuck to the shadiest parts of the sidewalk, as it really was a blistering day, particularly at this hour.

As she went on her way, Blake cursed herself for not having brought along a cold bottle of water or even a face rag. Heaving a sigh, she fished out her cell phone to check the time, discovering she still had over an hour to waste.

She took her time walking, admiring the surrounding flowers that were blossoming fully on such a warm day. There wasn't much of a breeze to keep her cool, but she found that simply looking up at the blue sky served to make her feel a little cooler.

She paused to greet fellow walkers and hold brief conversations with them, then would continue weaving her way through the streets and sidewalks. She was sweating rather profusely by the time she could see the lake in the distance.

I wonder if Yang is out here in this heat...

Her thoughts naturally traveled back to the blonde girl, and Blake quickened her pace just a little.

She arrived at the bridge and peered out across the water and through the few trees toward the hill. Sure enough, there was an easel and an orange folding chair set up, and a person moving about behind the stationary objects.

Blake didn't really know why, but it was comforting to see Yang there again. She knew she would've felt apprehensive or uncomfortable if she ever found that hilltop vacant on a nice day without any prior warning from Yang that she wouldn't be there.

It had only been a few weeks, but Blake realized that the painter had already worked her way into Blake's life, having started at a distance and only recently gotten closer.

Blake dipped her face to her shoulder and wiped her forehead on her shirt, sighing again at the beating sun overhead for its merciless assault on her.

Limping over to the bench, Blake sat down heavily and slouched back, panting from the heat. She closed her eyes against the blinding sunlight and wiped her forehead again. She decided to rest there until noon and wait for Yang.

But it only felt like a few minutes before Blake was compelled to open her eyes again. There was a soft touch on her shoulder, tapping her, and a familiar voice sounded lightly nearby.

"Blake?"

The writer's eyes snapped open at the sound of Yang's voice. She straightened up and quickly turned to the side, finding a blonde girl in a light orange tank-top and white shorts standing beside the bench.

"Y-Yang?"

"Whoa, easy!" Yang chuckled, withdrawing her hand and putting both of them up defensively. "I didn't mean to startle you. It's just... Well, I noticed when you got here a little while ago, but I thought it was weird how you were sitting. When you didn't move for a while, I got a little worried about you, sitting out in this ungodly heat. So I came over to check on you.

"Sorry if it's none of my business, but you look like you could use a drink. It's an easy day for heat stroke, that's for sure." Yang picked up a water bottle she'd previously placed on the ground and offered it to Blake. "I drank about half while I was painting. It's okay if you don't wanna use it, I understand."

There was a lot for Blake to take in at the moment. Ignoring the intense heat wafting off of herself, she had to recognize how her chest was heaving a bit, as well as the fact that her entire body was coated in sweat.

But most of all, she had to appreciate Yang's concern for her.

She stopped painting and left all of her supplies up there unattended just to come down here and see if I was okay... And now she's offering me water... Is she an angel?

Blake's eyes went to the half-full water bottle Yang was presenting to her. She certainly wasn't in any position to refuse it, and she didn't mind sharing water with friends.

Yang's a friend, isn't she?

Blake nodded, both to answer her own silent question and to accept Yang's generous offer.

"Thank you so much..."

The blonde seemed more than happy to give Blake the water, so Blake knew she probably looked like she needed it.

Unscrewing the cap, she laid her index finger along her lip, then rested the bottle's top on that rather than directly on her mouth. The liquid fell neatly onto her tongue, a little lukewarm, but certainly better than nothing.

She only swallowed a mouthful, not wanting to be greedy and guzzle it all down. The wetness rejuvenated her throat and her energy, and Blake soon pulled the bottle away and put the cap back on. She wiped the back of her hand over her mouth and sighed.

"Really, Yang. Thank you."

"Don't mention it!" With a grin, the painter accepted her water bottle back. But as her lavender eyes traveled over Blake, she still seemed a little concerned. "Hey, uh... I don't wanna sound pushy or anything, but I think you should come in the shade or something. I was actually just about to pack up anyway, and it's almost noon, so we can just start our rendezvous a little early! Sound good?"

Blake was rather grateful for the offer, and she nodded.

"That sounds wonderful."

"Good, good! Just lemme get all my stuff together."

"I'll help."

Blake stood from the bench, shaking her head slightly, her ponytail swaying behind her. She noted that Yang had also put her hair up in a similar fashion today.

Together, the two girls treaded through the tall grass around the lake, bound for the little forested hill on the far side.

"Geez!" Yang exclaimed. "Today's a hot one, huh?"

"It really is," Blake agreed. "I don't like the cold, but this much heat is even worse than that."

"I feel ya," Yang sighed. "At least when you're cold, you can keep piling blankets on yourself! But when it's hot, you can only take off so much before it becomes illegal."

Blake laughed out loud.

She followed Yang into the forest and up the side of the hill. Once at the top, Yang began folding her chair and putting away her paints.

Blake felt bad seeing the blonde picking everything up onto her arms and shoulders like a pack mule. At least yesterday Blake had been in charge of the umbrella, but today she had nothing.

"I can carry something," she offered. Yang perked up at her offer.

"No kidding? Then could you take this bag for me, please?"

"Sure."

It was the smallest of Yang's four items, but Blake accepted the bag full of paints and brushes nonetheless. She understood Yang's choice, though; had their positions been reversed, Blake never would have let a girl who had nearly passed out from heat stroke carry a folding chair, let alone an easel.

So Blake took good care of that little baggie as they started down the hill, holding onto it with both hands. She went slowly to accommodate for Yang's delayed gait.

Once they were off the hill and back onto level ground, they started moving a little quicker, just to avoid the heat.

When at last they arrived at Yang's door, Blake released a sigh of relief. She held onto the blonde's water bottle for her as Yang pulled out her key and opened the door. Stepping inside, Blake felt an instant blast of cool, conditioned air blast past her.

"Oh gosh, this is wonderful..."

"Right?" Yang sighed blissfully as she put everything down in the living room, just as she had yesterday. "I always crank up the AC on hot days like these before I leave so it'll be nice and cool when I come back! Can I get you something to drink? Not tea today, I'd guess."

"Ice water would be just fine."

"Say no more!"

As Yang went into the kitchen, Blake removed her boots before padding into the carpeted living room and placing the bag of paints down next to Yang's canvas.

Yesterday, the painting side had always been facing away from Blake – she assumed Yang had turned it toward her own body to shield it from the rain at the time.

But today too, the picture wasn't in sight.

Blake was curious as to what Yang had been working on, but she didn't want to be nosy and peek without permission. She left everything untouched as she retreated to the kitchen.

Yang happily invited her to take the same seat she had yesterday, and Blake humbly accepted. The same yellow mug was placed before her, now filled with water and ice cubes.

Yang didn't sit right away. She hurried back into the living room, likely to clean up her things.

So Blake waited until she had returned and sat down as well before swallowing a mouthful of water. Blake couldn't help but sigh again, and the blonde made a similar sound of satisfaction.

"Mm~" the painter hummed. "That really hits the spot. Nothing beats ice water on a day like today. Except maybe ice cream! Which I'm sorry I can't offer you 'cuz I'm fresh out."

"It's fine," Blake reassured her. "I don't think I'd be able to eat ice cream for breakfast anyway."

"Breakfast?" Yang parroted, glancing at the flower clock. "Isn't it noon?"

Blake shrugged in response.

"Yeah. But I don't usually eat until noon or after. I'm never hungry in the mornings. That's why I go for walks, to wake myself up and to make myself hungry. Then I work the rest of the afternoon until evening, and usually into the night, and I tend to sleep in."

"Ooh, I got'cha." Yang nodded comprehensively. "So you're more of a night owl, huh? I'm an early bird! I get up and eat breakfast with the sunrise, then do my work right away. I laze around in the afternoon and evenings, and usually go to bed super early."

"Wow," Blake murmured. "I wish I had a sleep schedule like that."

"It's best for the summertime, so I can go outside early-on in the day when it's not too hot, then stay inside in the afternoon when it's blazing.

"I see. Good plan."

For a moment, they both simply sat there and drank, closing their eyes and enjoying the blasts of cool air settling around them. Yang popped an ice cube into her mouth and sucked on it until it was thin enough to chew. After crunching on it a bit, she swallowed and cleared her throat.

"So, I'm sorry if this is too nosy of me, but what do you do for work, Blake?"

The dark-haired girl paused for a minute, somewhat hesitant. In the past, telling people she was a writer had often earned her strange looks or comments about how that "wasn't a real job". But she didn't want to lie to Yang.

"I write."

She waited for the disapproving reaction, the turned-off expression.

But Yang did the complete opposite of what she was anticipating. The blonde lit up, her eyes sparkling with interest.

"Writing? As in books?"

Blake blinked and put her mug down.

"Yeah. I've got a few light novels on the shelves."

"Whoa, that's freakin' awesome!" Yang praised her. "I'd love to read one sometime, if that's okay."

"Actually," Blake said before she could think to stop herself. "I've recently been working on one... about you."

Dumbfounded, it was evident Yang thought she'd misheard Blake's statement. Her eyes went wide and her jaw hung open slightly, and she fumbled for words.

"Wh- Huh? About me?"

"Yeah..." Blake admitted. "I know it probably sounds a little strange... but since I started seeing you up on the hill painting, I got inspired. I got the idea to write about you, and so I did. I wrote half a light novel about you. But now I realize that since I know you a bit more personally, that might be a little weird for you. I can get rid of it, if you'd like."

"No way!" Yang blurted out. "I mean, you wrote about me! That's so cool! I've never had anyone write about me before! What kinda things did you write?"

Her eyes were sparkling eagerly, and she leaned slightly forward over the table in her excitement.

Blake hid a small laugh behind her knuckles.

"Well... I can remember a certain part I wrote, because I really liked how it came out. 'She was a pleasant addition to the landscape that had since become commonplace – pretty, but uninteresting. Her presence was that of a tiny blossom among a field of uniform grass. Unexpected, but not unwelcome. She brings a smile to my face, even before I've seen hers.'"

Blake finished, feeling a faint warmth in her cheeks at having just recited some of her writing out loud. Her eyes flicked up to Yang, finding the blonde's jaw agape with shock and flattery.

"Holy cow..." she mumbled. "You really... wrote something like that about me?"

"Like I said, I know it must sound strange. But as a writer, it's just how I make things sound. Lots of euphemisms and things like that. Again, if it's too weird now that we know each other personally, I can scrap it."

"No need!" Yang grinned. "I really like the idea of there being a piece of writing about me! That's really neat!" She took another sip of water from her black mug and then shook her head a bit, possibly from brain freeze. "Wow! I still can't believe you really wrote about me! That's so cool..."

She trailed off for a minute, running a hand through her hair. Yang released her tresses from the ponytail, letting the golden locks fall all down her back. She flashed her gaze up to Blake and chuckled softly. "Actually... remember what I said yesterday? About wanting to show you something?"

Blake nodded slowly.

"Yeah."

"Well, come with me."

Leaving her mug behind, Yang stood, and Blake followed suit.

She'd only been in the kitchen of the small house before, and while she'd seen glances into the living room and a few others, this would be her first time entering another room.

Yang led her around a few corners and past a few open doors, and Blake couldn't help but notice the tranquil paintings on the walls inside every single one of them. Those paintings all had a familiar signature in the bottom righthand corner – the name "Yang" with a unique whip-like spiral branching off the "Y".

She'd been looking so intently at some of the pieces they passed that she failed to notice when Yang stopped walking. Blake bumped softly into her back and mumbled a quick apology.

"That's all right. We're here!" Yang stepped into a large room and flicked on the lights.

When Blake peered over her shoulder, she noticed the entire room was filled with canvases.

Some sat on easels, some hung on the wall, some leaned against one another in piles on the floor. Some were finished and colorful, others were entirely blank aside from sketch marks and outlines, and others were somewhere in between.

There were all different kinds of scenes – oceans, valleys, mountains, forests, seaside towns, rural and suburban areas, trite neighborhoods, and big cities. They were all fairly large canvases, meant to encompass a big scene or a lot of space with intentions of humbling the observer.

For a long moment, Blake simply marveled from the doorway, her eyes wide and unblinking as they traveled about the room. Yang had stepped inside, spreading her arms wide and invitingly.

"Blake, welcome to my studio! When I'm not outside on the hill there, I'm spending my time in here!"

Blake could tell that Yang certainly spent a lot of time in here. Aside from the copious amounts of paintings everywhere, there was also a rolling chair, a few stools, and a radio. There was newspaper covering the floor in one corner. Splattered paint streaked the paper and a wide, multi-colored canvas, as well as painted sheets covering the wall behind it.

There was a single plant on the window sill that also had some accidental paint dots on its leaves. Little bottles of paints could be found everywhere, almost like eggs in an Easter hunt, and there were a few cups of old, murky paint water sitting here or there as well.

Yang must've noticed Blake staring a bit excessively, because she put a hand to the back of her head and chuckled sheepishly.

"Ah, yeah it's kinda messy. Sorry about that. I guess it just looks normal to me, but to others it's kinda chaotic."

Blake shook her head, finally tearing her gaze away from the various paintings and bringing it back to Yang.

"Not at all. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare or be rude. I was just trying to... absorb everything. There's so much here. It's incredible..."

"Aw, shucks," Yang grinned. "You can come in, if you'd like!"

Blake realized she was still standing in the doorway. It felt almost wrong to be invading an artist's studio. Something told her these floors weren't all that used to foreign feet, and she didn't want to damage anything. Going inside felt like intruding on another world she had no business being in.

But when Yang offered her invitation, that let Blake know she was welcomed there.

Cautiously, as though she were frightened of breaking something, Blake entered the room. She turned around to find even more paintings hanging above and around the doorway, the frame painted with pink swirls and purple vines.

She knew she easily could have stayed in here for hours simply staring, marveling, tracing her eyes over every sketch line and brush stroke.

But a wave of Yang's hand reminded the writer that she'd been brought here to be shown something specifically.

She followed Yang's silent instruction, crossing the room to a wall where several canvases were facing away from them. The blonde seemed a little flustered or uncertain of herself, and her voice stammered a bit when she next spoke.

"Well, haha, I-I hope you don't think it's too weird or anything... But I wanted to show you this one."

She pulled a particular canvas away from the wall. It was a size Blake recognized, and she assumed it was the one Yang had been working on from the hilltop for about a week now. Yang must've picked it up from the living room earlier and brought it here.

Sure enough, when she flipped it over to reveal the results, Blake was astounded.

She'd never really looked down at the lake and bridge from that hill before, but the perspective of the painting made her feel as though she were really there.

It was painted with the feeling of looking through someone else's eyes.

Yang had painted leaves and branches around the edges, giving off the impression the viewer was peering through the forest. Down below was the yellowish grass that dipped into a blue-green lake. To the right side was the little street and the bridge.

The colors of the piece overall were very summery – light and bright and full of life. Blake was dazzled by the sheer beauty of it all, even the reflective details in the shimmering water.

After a moment of silently staring, she realized Yang must've been waiting for a reaction of sorts. Blake cleared her throat and straightened her posture.

"Yang... it's beautiful. I really love it."

The girl's lavender eyes flashed a little bit at the praise.

"Really? You don't think it's weird?"

"Why would I think-" Blake stopped when she followed the direction of Yang's finger, pointing to a particular part of the piece.

Beside the bridge sat a small bench, just like in real life. And on the bench sat a girl with long, black hair.

Blake hadn't noticed it the first time, but now she blinked her eyes wide open.

"Is that... me?"

Yang bit her lip.

"Yeah... Or, well it's supposed to be. To anyone else, it's just a girl on a bench but... I wanted it to be you. Even before I knew you personally, I saw you every day. Like I said, you were the only person to consistently come by, no matter what. So I wanted to put you into the painting. It didn't feel right without you in it."

Blake was at a loss for words.

"Wow... Yang, I... don't know what to say. No one's ever drawn or painted me before."

"And no one's ever written a story about me before! So we're even."

"I guess we are," Blake chuckled.

She found it curious but meaningful that the two of them had incorporated one another into their respective works, even before they'd learned one another's names. It was almost as though they'd been drawn to one another somehow, like the universe had pulled them together.

Blake lost herself in the painting for a moment longer, until she heard Yang's voice again.

"Hey, Blake. Why don't you take it?"

The writer blinked again and looked up at her.

"Pardon?"

"The painting. Why don't you take it?"

Instantly, Blake took a step back and put her hands up.

"Oh, n-no thank you, Yang. I really appreciate the offer. I really do. It's a gorgeous painting. But I wouldn't be able to pay for it."

"Silly," Yang laughed. "I didn't say buy it. I said take it." Yang held the canvas out toward her expectantly. Blake stared blankly at the other girl, keeping her hands still.

"Yang, no. You could sell it for a lot. It'd be a waste to give it away for free."

"I can always make another one," Yang shrugged. "I've got plenty of others I can sell. But... I don't know, it just wouldn't feel right giving this one to anyone else. I want you to have it, Blake. It's how we met and well... I think our meeting is going to be really important or something. That's the kind of feeling I get. I don't want anyone else to have that. No one else would understand this painting like you do. So please."

She took another step forward and held the canvas out.

After the heartfelt speech Yang had just given, Blake didn't have many other options left other than to accept the painting. She held out her hands, and Yang passed it over to her with a smile.

"There. That feels better already just putting it into your hands."

Blake was still astounded at this generous gift.

"Yang... thank you so much. I mean I... no one's ever..." She cut herself off from the nonsensical babbling and shook her head to clear it. "Then... if this painting of our meeting is going to stay between us, I'll do my part. I'll publish my story about you and share it with the entire world."

Yang was baffled by the declaration, and she took a step back.

"Whoa... you really mean it?"

"If it's all right with you."

"I mean... wow, yeah! Of course it is!"

"I don't use your name or anything. To everyone else, it'll just be a story about two random girls. But only we'll know the real thing. Just us. Like with this painting. No one else will ever know the whole story, or the big picture. It'll be our secret."

There was something about all of this that appealed to the both of them.

Blake's writing had often just been personal, and a lot of it was kept for herself. And Yang's paintings typically were always shared and looked upon by others.

But now, Blake was going to put her story out for the world to see, and Yang's painting was going to be kept hidden from the rest of the world.

Their story was only a few weeks old, and yet it was already transforming their lives to such an extent.

By the time they'd struck up their deal, it was already past noon, and Blake was starting to get hungry. But she'd already been given one of Yang's precious paintings, and she didn't want to take lunch as well.

So after giving many more words of thanks to the blonde, Blake decided to take her leave with the painting under her arm. Yang bid her farewell with a wide grin on her face.

"I'll see you tomorrow!"

Blake nodded and reflected the smile.

"See you tomorrow."

Blake found a special spot for the painting.

She hung it up in her bedroom, where she often did her writing, making sure it was in plain sight from her desk. She knew that anytime she became unfocused or stuck on a piece of her work, she'd be able to look up at that painting and remember the inspiring girl who'd created it.

She worked many hours on her story that evening, and got a full night's rest.

She took her walk as per usual the next day, and once she arrived at the bridge, she sat on the bench and relaxed until noon. Yang would come down to meet her, and then Blake would help her carry everything back to the blonde girl's house.

Their routine became apparent within just a few days, and it wasn't something either of them had to think about. It just happened, and they both accepted it.

After only a week or so of doing things this way, Yang started to prepare breakfast for Blake at her house at noon, rather than make the girl walk all the way home before she ate. This way, they got to spend time together, and Blake didn't have to waste time cooking when she got home; she could get right into writing.

It wasn't long before Yang was telling Blake about her childhood and high school years, and the other girl did the same for her. They'd both struck out on their own after college, and though their families still offered support, what the girls had truly needed was a friend.

And now they'd found her.

Their friendship hadn't started with them as anything closer than strangers, but then again, that was how all friendships began.

The events by which they'd come together – be it circumstance or fate, no one could discern – but whatever it was, they both viewed it as a blessing.

It wasn't long before Yang could open her arms up and Blake would happily embrace her.

After a few weeks, Yang took Blake into her studio, gave her an apron, turned on some music, and asked her to splatter paint with her. That day, Blake didn't go home at her usual time, but rather she stayed with Yang until the evening, laughing and dancing and covered in paint.

The final product of their canvas was a kaleidoscope of colors, streaks and splotches and splatters of every mix imaginable.

Yang didn't sign it with her usual artist's signature though. Instead, she dipped her hand into some black paint and then coaxed Blake to do the same with yellow. They placed their handprints side by side in one corner of the painting, and only then did Yang declare it complete.

"No way am I ever selling this one," she said. "This one's ours."

For all the time Blake spent at Yang's place and for all the meals she'd eaten there, she felt it only fair to invite Yang back to her apartment as well.

The first time Yang came over, it was a cloudy afternoon, but despite the weather, she was bright and bubbling with excitement as she followed Blake down the sidewalk. Once they'd reached the building and Blake let her in, Yang was in awe of the place. It was small, but had all the necessities – a couch, a fridge, a bathroom, and a bedroom.

Blake prepared her lunch that day, and they sat at the kitchen table together to eat. Blake was thrilled to finally have someone to fill that extra chair.

Since Yang had invited her into her studio, Blake did the same, showing the blonde her bedroom and her work station. Yang instantly took note of the painting on the wall there and smiled.

They played with Gambol in the living room together, sitting on the floor and rolling little paper balls back and forth. Blake got up to use the bathroom, and when she returned, she found Yang asleep on the floor with the cat pawing at her feet. Blake helped her to the couch and let her rest while she herself set to work on her writing.

After only a few more weeks of diligence on Blake's part, the story was finished. Editing was taken care of, and then it was published and hit the shelves.

Of course, Blake was given her own two copies for free. She signed one and gave it to Yang.

The cover had been painted by none other than Yang herself.

The story was titled "The Painter's Hill" and the artwork on the front cover was of a grassy yellow hill, a blue-green lake, and a rosy pink sky painted in Yang's unique and notable style.

Their names were right beside one another's with Blake's being in the "Author"'s spot and Yang's being under "Illustrator".

Their book spread far and wide, picked up by groups of teenagers and added onto summer reading lists. It wasn't a huge sensation, but it was certainly noticeable enough to hold a spot on the best-seller's list for a few days.

Soon, the entire town knew about the painter and the writer, though there were many more things that only Blake and Yang would ever know.

The book drew more attention to Yang and her other paintings, as well as Blake's other works of writing.

In the following weeks, they each got a little more business and a slightly larger paycheck.

And they'd find it wouldn't be the last time they partnered up to work on a joint project.

Sometimes, Yang painted the covers of Blake's books.

Sometimes, Blake wrote a story about one of Yang's paintings.

When Yang couldn't describe a scene with paint, Blake did it with words.

And when Blake couldn't paint a picture well enough with words, Yang did it with colors.

It was all a colorful, creative, symbiotic cycle with the two close friends at the center.

But even throughout their more hectic days, Blake always woke early to go for her walk, and Yang always got up to start her paintings on the hill.

They'd embrace at noon, wander back to someone's house by one, and start working again together by two.

Even on the days one or both of them were busy, they'd still call or find some evening hour to meet up and have dinner.

No matter the season, no matter the weather, they always found time for each other.

Their relationship that had begun as a friendship had also melted into the professional workplace, and the profits they made together helped them afford every day necessities.

There was love between them, but it wasn't the kind people expected of them. They didn't need romance in order to love one another.

Perhaps one day they'd strive for that.

But for now, they simply enjoyed life as it was – going for walks together, visiting each other's places, seeing her working diligently enough to motivate the other.

They worked hard, played harder, and always ended the days with a hug.

They were inseparable, two lost kindred spirits who'd finally been found.

And so, their colorful days together continued.

And they would keep continuing for many, many days to come.

A/N: This was just meant to be its own little oneshot. It was mainly a way for me to express my love of my own neighborhood through Blake's eyes, while adding in a little bit of fun with a mysterious blonde girl haha

Maybe they can become girlfriends in the future if you want to think of it that way. But I'm going to have it end like this, because not every relationship has to be romantic in order to be happy and full of love c:

If you like my work, you can support me on P-a-t-r-e-o-n as Kiria Alice!

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