"Maybe it's because you're not used to expressing yourself? All that cold, stoic energy—you probably have no idea how to let loose, do you?"
Astron froze for a moment, his sharp gray eyes narrowing slightly. "Not used to expressing myself?" he repeated, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge.
Irina smirked, oblivious to the shift in his tone. "Exactly. That's probably why your painting feels so… rigid. You're always so focused, so in control. You don't know how to just let go and be free, do you?"
Astron turned to her fully, setting his brush aside. His expression remained composed, but there was a flicker of something sharper beneath the surface. "And you think chaotic brushstrokes are the epitome of freedom?" he asked, his voice deceptively mild. "Perhaps you should look a little closer. There's a fine line between freedom and a lack of direction."
