Painting Flowers // Ashton Irwin [au]

Seven

***Please read A/N***

Emilia's POV

I stand on the tip of my toes, scanning the perimeter of the art studio until I spot the curly locks that I've been searching for hidden behind a canvas. I weave through the rows of easels, checking out the work left behind as I pass each one, and find myself right behind the tall Aussie. The contours of his shoulder blades are prominent through his grey t-shirt as he moves the paint brush around the canvas. I never see him work out so it's still a mystery as to how he has such a defined body.

"So this is what you look like in your natural habitat," I say, startling Ashton.   

His head moves from left to right, searching for the sound of my voice before he turns around and finds me. He stares at me expressionless for a few seconds. It's almost as if he's not even staring at me, but rather through me.

"What are you doing here?" he asks flatly.

My eyebrows knit together at the sound of his tone. "Are you okay? You seem angry."

Ashton continues to stare, almost as if he's processing my words at a slow pace. His dull eyes finally fixate on mine and a smile surfaces. "I'm great, Emmie," he says and puts down the paintbrush. "What are you doing here?" he asks again in a lighter tone.

"I got off work early and my professor cancelled class today so I thought I'd come by and see you before your next class," I explain, still wary of his odd behavior. "I sent you a text telling you I was coming but you never replied."

He sifts through his pocket and pulls out his phone. "It's off. I guess it must have died."

"Oh, okay." He has been acting so strange ever since his mom called last weekend and I don't know why. I'm worried something may have happened and I've tried asking if anything is wrong but Ashton always assures me that everything is fine. It's sad to say but I'd believe him more if he didn't lie to me at the beginning of the year. "What are you working on?"    

He moves to the side, no longer blockading the canvas and letting it stand in full view. Four red roses and one rosebud interlocking from the stems are painted on the white canvas, looking more and more real by the second as I stare intently. I've seen drawings of roses in his sketchbook, but they always looked as if they were withering. However, these look lively. The only issue that I have with it is its lack of vibrancy. Roses are supposed to be rich and bright in color and these are rather dull.

I glance over to the paint pallet in his hand and notice the black paint that has been mixed into the red and green acrylics. I haven't seen him use black in a while unless it's for detailing. I'm not sure if this is just the style that he chose to paint them in or if there's something behind it. Even so, I won't deny that this piece is still beautiful.  

"It's pretty," I say, giving him a smile in approval of his work.     

"You think?" he asks, eyeing his work. "I don't really like it."

"Why not?"

"Because it's just a duplicate."

"What are you t-" Before I can finish, I am cutoff by an older female voice.

"Potato Head, it's almost time for class!" she shouts for the opposite side of the room before walking towards us. Her jet black hair is high up in a ponytail and a maroon apron covered in paint, chalk, and whatever else is stained on it is tied around her waist. If it weren't for the subtle wrinkles forming by her eyes and mouth, I could have mistaken her for a student. "Oh, who's this?" she asks, pointing to me.

"This is my girlfriend, Emilia," Ashton introduces. "This is Ms. Waters, one of my professors."

She holds her hand out to shake and I briefly contemplate touching it only because there is paint smeared on it and I don't know if it's wet or dry, but I do so anyway. "It's nice to meet you."