—aka, don't put your vulnerabilities up your sleeve
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INT— THE LOUVRE.
PARIS, FRANCE — NIGHT.
SCENE I.
THE LOUVRE AT night had its own charm.
Fewer people in certain wings, tourists underestimating the amount of people filling up on the weekdays, much less the weekends. Especially in wings that contained the most notable works. You'd be surprise how much people just move past great masters and flock the ones that are of general knowledge.
The Mona Lisa's wing was impossible to even traverse during the afternoon on a Saturday. Packed like sardines was one thing, but what's the point of taking a picture of it when it's among a sea of sweaty heads, a rumbling conversation pit of yelps, children crying, and shoves? You can't even enjoy looking at it.
So I pulled Kristoff away, moving past a lot of the crowds. I walk with purpose, too aware of my biting shoes (heels the entire day is a pain, no matter how well verse you are in them) before finding a quiet enough spot, offered my hand, and silently walked hand in hand, aimless, letting the weight of the day settle behind us.
I didn't want to think; scheming the entire day with hostility at your front and centre can definitely burden the charm for a while.
So instead, I just wanted to be a woman walking hand in hand with a man in a museum. I didn't want to be who I was and who I needed to be. I just wanted to exist. Nameless, a portrait with its frame off the hooks, turned away, just another framed canvas.
After a while, despite feeling my toes pinch at every step I took, it felt nice. His own exhaustion was palpable, and being a usually silent person, I felt almost weightless in my own existence.
I liked it.
"I didn't know the Portrait of Marie Medici was here," he hummed, bringing me back to the present to where he was looking at the side.
I blinked at him. "Yes..." It wasn't new that the Rubens lived here. "Is this... is this your first time at the Louvre?"
I didn't know what I was expecting, but that simple nod flabbergasted me more than I thought it would.
