As they made their way through the Louvre, Nathanaël noticed that Chloe lagged farther and farther behind their group, her face pinched in a way that was less 'foul temper' and more 'this hurts'. Even Sabrina had given up on staying back with her, though, which suggested that perhaps there was some foul temper there, too. He sighed, knowing he was probably wasting his time, but he stopped to wait for her to catch up.

"What do you want?" She demanded when she saw what he was doing.

He ignored her question, and cocked his head curiously. "Are you tired?"

"No, of course not," Chloe snapped petulantly, glaring at him. "My feet hurt."

He looked pointedly at her feet, which were encased in lemon-yellow patent leather peep-toe pumps with ludicrously high heels, and raised a brow.

"What? They're gorgeous."

"Oh, well then. Come here, I'll carry you the rest of the way."

She looked at him doubt and hope warring on her lovely face. "Really?"

"No," he scoffed. "You should have known better than to wear four inch heels on a field trip, Chloe."

"Ugh! As if I would let you touch me, anyway." She stuck her nose in the air and attempted to flounce off, but the effect was ruined when she whimpered.

Nathanaël rolled his eyes. "Chloe, wait." He lightly caught her wrist and she froze, her spine stiff. "Come sit at this bench, and I will see if there's a first aid station somewhere. You probably have blisters or something."

She huffed. "Fine. But be quick about it."

He rolled his eyes again, and mentally berated himself for even trying. He spoke briefly to their art history professor, and discovered that not only was there a first aid station, but that it was nearby.

He followed the directions and found the small office easily. Inside, there was a kindly middle-aged man behind the desk who smiled knowingly when he heard Nathanaël's request, but handed over a stack of Band-Aids without comment. He thanked the man, and took his bounty back to Chloe.

To his surprise, he found her sitting on the bench with her shoes off, her heels perched on the edge of the bench, and her forehead resting on her raised knees. She had nasty-looking blisters on the foot closest to him, so it was a good bet that she had a matching set on the other foot. It was strange; she looked vulnerable in a way that he'd never seen before, and it made him glad that he'd braved her sharp tongue to help her. She must have heard him approaching, though, because her head snapped up and her feet dropped to the ground.

"Finally!" She huffed, flushing not with anger, but embarrassment. The anger was just a cover for her embarrassment at having been caught in a position of weakness.

He blinked at the sudden insight, and wondered if there were more such insights to uncover. His mouth curled into a smile, and she huffed again. He held the Band-Aids out to her, and she snatched them from his hand. His smile didn't waver. "Do you want me to wait with you?"

"Of course not, I—" She cut herself off, blinking as she looked around and realized that the rest of their group had moved on to another section of the museum. "Perhaps you should wait here. Sabrina is gone, and I will need someone to dispose of the trash when I'm done."

Nathanaël's eyebrows climbed almost to his hairline. "Oh, can I, please?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "You're welcome for getting the Band-Aids that you so clearly needed, and you're welcome for staying to keep you company until we can catch up with the group."

She stared at him in confusion. "Who the hell are you, and what have you done with Nathanaël Kurtzberg?"

His laughter rang through the gallery, followed by another indignant huff.