These Stories Are Reasonable

Painting (OneShot)

Stephen Ahn had been painting more nowadays, claiming that art was a better outlet than studying. I wasn't every too sure that he was telling the truth, but when he drew or thoughtfully ran a paintbrush over thick paper, he always smiled. Not just any smile, but real, genuine smiles that were created by true happiness.

I think I can pretend to believe him if it makes him happy.

I don't mind looking over his shoulder as he paints, or picking colors when he asks. I've come to like getting one-of-a-kind pieces from him as a gift. Despite there being many now, I still laminate each and every one to put on the, not so bare now, walls of my bedroom. Or, for the smaller ones, as a bookmark for whatever textbook I'm reading.

Even now, when usually it would just be me reading and him scrolling aimlessly on his phone, I studied and he painted. The TV was rambling on about something, it didn't really matter, the white noise seemed to help both us work. We always sat in silence, him and I, when we worked. Until, of course, he decided we'd been stagnant for too long and needed to go do something else. I don't think I could ever get bored of sitting next to him on the couch, no matter what he's doing, if we're actively chatting or not, as long as he's there and I'm just in his presence I couldn't be bored. 

I'm pretty sure my attention span is longer than his.

"Gray?" He asked, requiring my attention as per the usual. 

"Hmm." I hummed turning to him, only to be met with a paintbrush and a swipe of cold paint across my cheek. I wasn't sure what color exactly, but I sent him a glare anyway. It was probably orange, because I hate the color orange with a passion and that would make sense.

Stephen's eyes were gleaming with amusement as he laughed at me, "You're adorable Gray." His gaze was warm, warmer than mine. Perhaps, it melted mine a bit, since I could feel my features softening. "I'm sorry," He calmed his laughter, "It's a pretty color on you though." 

And just like that, he had just the right words, poof my annoyance had dissipated, "I think that counts as emotional manipulation." I muttered, focusing back on my studies, it was some type of advanced math we wouldn't start learning until probably junior year. Who cares? Might as well get ahead. A few moments passed, with only the soft humming of the TV in the background filling the air between us.

"Gray?" Stephen asked again.

Out of habit, and like a fool, I turned my head again to acknowledge him. I was met with another swipe of paint across my cheek, the same one. Immediately, I sighed.

"That's twice in a row!" He exclaimed in a fit of laughter, "I'm sorry, I had too!" His shaggy bangs fell in front of his face from all the movement, covering his pretty eyes. 

"You need a haircut." I noted to him, then turning back to my math. As much as I hate to admit it, it's really hard to be annoyed at someone so sweet and childish. Which does NOT mean that I don't get annoyed at him, I don't think anyone would believe that, It's just hard to stay that way I suppose.

He pushed his hair from in front of his face, "Yep, I really do." I can't help but wonder if he's just noticed this, or if he'd just been putting it off.

I sighed, eyes tearing away from my book. For a moment, I tried to think of the last time I'd eaten, struggling to come up with a proper answer. Oh well, my attention then drifted, from out of focus nothing, over to Stephen's painting. It was a bouquet of flowers, a few I recognized: two roses, a few lilacs, a vine of honeysuckle, lavender with forget-me-nots and a couple smaller flowers I was unsure of. I'm not exactly an expert in flowers. 

The painting was done in entirely blue and purple, though each elaborate aspect was obvious and almost a replica of what the real one looked like. The canvas was small, but not tiny, if that makes sense, I'm not exactly an expert in canvas size either.

One of the most impressive things, was the clear vase the flowers sat in. It seems as if it would be difficult to make such a simple thing readable. As each stem would intertwine and nearly braid like strands used to form a rope. Which, in all honesty, could become a muddled mess of green-tinted blues. 

But it didn't, it was clear.

"Does it look alright?" He asked. I thought my wonder and fascination with his skills was obvious. My admiration for him should've been strong enough that even he could feel it.

"I like it, it looks good." My eyes left his hands and paintbrush for only a moment to meet his to offer assurance of my praise, but I guess that's what he wanted. He quickly ran his thumb across my forehead, leaving a cold and damp feeling behind. I blinked at him, "You are exasperating." Another streak of paint had now been added to my face.

He smiled, "Oh, but you love me." Taking a napkin and wiping the navy blue paint off of his finger, of course not offering the same napkin to me, since he likes to watch me suffer.

I rolled my eyes in response.

Stephen raised an eyebrow, moving his paints and canvas to the coffee table that was three or so feet from the couch. "You love me though, don't you?" He wore a playful smirk and reached for my hand that held my pencil, holding it, then slipping the pencil from a hand that had already let go of it in anticipation. I kept quiet, holding in laughter. My math book, which I'd failed to focus on anyway, was also discarded and banished to the coffee table.

"You do?" He asked again, close, and now without distractions.

I quickly wiped the wet paint from my forehead with my finger, then booping it onto his nose. It was like a second grade girl's "cat costume" nose from Halloween, but blue. I giggled as his hand cupped the side of my face that didn't have any paint, but didn't say another word. Stephen's tilted his head similar to that of a dog who'd heard something confusing, but I knew exactly what he was waiting for. 

"I do love you Stephen Ahn." I smiled, as more laughter from both of us bubbled up. 

With that, he kissed me. Tilted heads deepened the kiss, as hands roamed. He'd practically pushed me over by this point, one hand was by my head propping himself up as to not crush me, the other was running down my side, towards the bottom of my black t-shirt. Both of my arms were wrapped around his neck. 

We pulled away, both taking huge breaths of air.

"You have paint on your face." I smiled at him.

For a moment, we both locked eyes, then couldn't hold it in any longer and exploded into laughter. Stephen pushed his face into my shirt, specifically my chest area, "Stop, you're getting paint on me!" I giggled, though couldn't exactly find it in me to be angry with him. I pressed a kiss to the top of his head, stifling laughter, and moved my arms enough to pull him closer. Carefully, he moved from propping himself up with his hand, to his elbow, laying his head on my chest anyway. He looked as he planned to sleep there, head to my heart, carefully laying as to not crush me. "I'm a mess." I lovingly hummed, laying back myself as I stroked his hair with one hand.

"You're welcome." He mumbled into my chest with a smile.

A moment passed, I wasn't studying, he wasn't painting. Instead Stephen Ahn slept, as I thought of nothing but him, until I fell asleep with his soft image in my mind and his taste still vaguely on my tongue.

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Hi :D

Let's call this a GrayxStephen Saga, as that is the theme of the next couple chapters.

Hope you enjoy.

Love you <3