Ye Xuan's silver hair shone coldly in the sunlight leaking from the skylight of the studio. When he held my sketchbook and leaned over to guide me, the temperature of his breath brushing the tip of my ear was shockingly hot.
\"The perspective here needs to be adjusted again.\" His slender fingers crossed the paper, and his purple pupils reflected the wrinkled wisteria gallery I drew. I know that he deliberately keeps a distance of thirty centimeters, just like I know that every time I hand in an assignment, he will always stay for an extra five seconds to look at my sketch.
The rain came without warning. Under the eaves of the art room, when he opened the black umbrella, wisteria petals fell into the shadow of the umbrella ribs. I counted my heartbeats and took half a step into his arms. I heard the rolling sound of his Adam's apple mixed with the sound of rain: "Don't get the paint wet."
Later, he always appeared in the wisteria corridor during lunch breaks. That day, the wind blew the petals into my easel. He stretched out his hand to shield me from the falling rain of flowers, and the touch of his knuckles against his cheek caused the cobalt blue in the palette to suddenly overturn. I saw the curve of his throat swallowing, and the second button of his white shirt stained with my gouache paint.
\"There are stars in your eyes.\" That night when I finished the joint assignment on the starry sky theme, he suddenly held my right hand that was stained with ultramarine. The entangled star trails on the canvas are the Milky Way that we have modulated together. His silver eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings in the moonlight: "I thought observers should not get involved in the movement of stars."
I counted his sudden disordered breathing and our overlapping shadows on the seventh pillar of the wisteria trellis. When he finally lowered his head and kissed the corner of my lips, I tasted the melting moonlight.
Concept: Wisteria's instinctive protection when petals fall