𝓂𝒾𝒹𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 (𝒶 𝓀𝑜𝓉𝓁𝒸 𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓉𝓈 𝒷𝑜𝑜𝓀)

~It's Nothing (Sokeefe)~

I've been writing a lot of LGBTQ+ oneshots lately, so I have decided to dial it down a bit with a few straight ones...for now. Here's a Sokeefe one.

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✩Sophie's POV✩

"Hey, Ro!" I exclaimed to the sarcastic ogre bodyguard, her muscular build leaning against Keefe's closed bedroom door with obvious boredom. Her eyes narrowed with amusement as they landed on me, and she smiled a toothy grin.

"Hey, Blondie," she said with a smirk. "Come to see your boyfriend?"

I felt my face burn with flusteredness. "He's not my-"

"Hey, Lord Hunkyhair! Your girlfriend's here to see you!" Ro yelled at the closed door. Keefe groaned with irritation from inside the room, and after a few seconds of quiet shuffling, opened the door. He smiled sweetly at me, doing his best to ignore Ro's presence.

"Hey, Foster," he said with a grin. "I was just painting. Come on in." He closed the door behind me, shooting Ro one last glare as he shut it behind him.

At the foot of his bed was a small stool in front of an easel, surrounded by a messy sea of painting supplies on the floor. I carefully stepped over to a small patch of carpet that wasn't littered with paintbrushes, and watched Keefe sit back down onto the stool.

I peered over his shoulder to peek at the unfinished painting. It was barely started, just a small patch of golden yellow in the corner of the otherwise blank canvas.

"Tell me if it's boring just to watch me paint," Keefe said as he dipped his paintbrush into a cup of water and applied a light yellow to the edges of the golden patch. He dabbed the yellow onto the white surface in circular motions, slowly travelling down the side as the color gradually became less bold, until he dabbed his brush into the yellow paint again. His dabs were intentionally messy and filled with sincerity and care, each stab at the canvas only showcasing just how passionate he was about his hobby.

Without thinking, I dug my nails into his shoulders from behind him. His body tensed up, but slowly relaxed into the touch as he continued painting.

"Are you sure this isn't boring for you?" Keefe said quietly as he started applying dark red paint to the center of the canvas in smooth strokes.

"No, it isn't," I told him with a small chuckle. Keefe turned his head, and smiled, sending butterflies to flock around in my stomach. I mentally shut them down, pushing them out as hard as I could with one deep breath.

"At least let me get you a canvas of your own," he offered me. I thought for a moment, before nodding in agreement. He got up from his stool and heaved a wooden easel and canvas from the closet. He set the supplies down and handed me a small paintbrush, his hand brushing slightly against mine as I took it while wondering why that made me blush as much as it did. He didn't seem to notice, instead training his ice blue gaze intently on his canvas.

I sat down on the floor and dipped my brush in a cool, soothing icy shade of blue paint. The relaxing color reminded me of Keefe's frosted blue eyes, and the way they sparkled whenever he made me laugh. I found myself tilting my head sideways to stare at Keefe's eyes, which he noticed within a few seconds. He blushed a soft pink as I turned bright red with embarrassment.

"Sorry," I said quickly, tearing my eyes away from his and fighting the urge to gravitate towards his gaze. "I just wanted to see what color your eyes were."

"Oh," he said quietly, before his eyes lit up. "You're drawing me?"

I blushed nuclear red again. "Um, yeah. Yeah, I am."

He chuckled softly, tilting his painting to show his continued canvas. "I was drawing you, actually."

"Really?" I said, ready to slap myself in the face as my words came out a lot more hopeful than I intended them to be.

"Of course," he chuckled sweetly, opening his crinkled eyes and staring into mine. I didn't pull my gaze away, not like I could. Our pupils were stuck together than conjoined magnets: easy to stick to, hard to break apart. The eye contact lasted just long enough for a pink blush to creep up to my face and for my heartbeat to accelerate rapidly.

"Foster?" he asked me after what felt like only several seconds of staring.

"Yes?"

Keefe opened his mouth, but nothing seemed to come out. His eyes, still trained on mine, widened to the size of tennis balls. He tore his gaze away, leaving me subconsciously reaching my hand out at his turned back. I pulled my hand away just before he turned to face me again, but couldn't seem to stomp out the hurt look on my face.

"It's nothing, Foster," he reassured me unsuccessfully as he managed a sad smile.

"Are you sure?" I asked him skeptically, raising one eyebrow. He chuckled, his laughter not quite reaching his eyes.

"I'm sure."

Yet as he tore his gaze away yet again and tried to focus on his painting, his smile drooping into a hopeless frown, I couldn't seem to get his unasked question out of my head. In the evening, while gazing into the sunken golden sun outside my window in the distance, his sad smile appeared again and again in my head. His faked chuckle replaying over and over.

I shook my head at myself, keeping my eyes locked on the sunset and not trailing to the left where my Imparter was. Surely Keefe shouldn't be hogging this much of my headspace, I thought to myself. But as my eyelids drooped and the calming waves of sleep washed against me, the only thing I could think about was him.