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As Luca pours milk into a bowl of cereal, already dressed in a button up and slacks, I crumple a piece of paper in my hands. Then, I throw it at his head. Sadly, he doesn't flinch from the impact. He just simply looks at the ball on the floor.

He raises an eyebrow, "Are you trying to get into the WNBA?"

"God, no," I smile bitterly, "I'm trying to find some inspiration."

Since I've been cooped up in his house, I've been struggling to sketch painting orders. Or even just drawing some linearts have been difficult. It was easier to just make something up on the spot when I was surrounded by other paintings.

It's like a piece of myself was lost when we had to trash all of the canvases in my apartment.

I tap my pencil to my sketchbook, simultaneously marking dots around the new blank page. Then, I hear tiny footsteps making their way into the kitchen.

"Hi, Hana-banana!" Carina greets me as soon as she sees me sitting at the kitchen counter. I smile at my new nickname that she coined. I've become very fond of the little three year old with lopsided pigtails.

She hasn't asked much about why I'm here, which I'm thankful for. Luca has already told her that I'd be staying here for a while as a guest, and she never questioned how long. All she knows is that I'm so cool, and that I like to paint.

But right now, I really hate painting. It's scary, y'know? Hating the thing you thought you would always love.

"Hey Han?" Luca asks, making me jump out of my thoughts. "I need to head to the office for a little bit. Are you okay staying home with Carina?"

Oh shit.

He looks at me, saying, if you're not okay with it, you can say no. 

But I shake my head, plastering a smile on my face, "I'm fine with that. It'll be a 'Girl's Only' day." I look at Carina, who's standing by her father. She stares back at me with awe in her eyes. Then she breaks out into a bright smile, and nods at the idea.

He finishes his last bite of cereal and drops the bowl into the sink. He kneels down to whisper something to Carina, and when he's done, she runs back upstairs with a giddy smile on her face.

After she's gone, he walks over to me, "That gives me enough time to do this."

And he kisses me again.

It's light and easy, like a brush against a canvas.

We've kissed three times since my apartment. The first time was the night of my breakdown, when we were laying down in bed. We didn't do anything more, just kissing. No tongue either. That's too big of a step to be doing right now.

The second time was when we left the facility when I found out that Dean had lied to me about basically his whole identity. We walked onto his front porch, and he kissed me. I really needed it then.

And the third time is right now. With his head dipped down to reach my lips, and his hands on the back of my head, and my arms wrapped around his waist to pull him closer to me. It almost feels too good to be true. It all ends too soon, and his face pulls away, staying inches apart from mine.

"Call me if you need anything," he whispers, his breath hot against my lips.

I got my phone and bag back from the team. Nothing was missing, which I'm grateful for. I want another kiss, I think to myself.

"Got it. Call you instead of the fire department," I grin up at him.

He smiles ever so slightly, then kisses the grin off my face. I think he can read minds.

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