Sometimes Fantasy is Better Than Reality || Slow Updates

Chapter 4: To a Song

It had been a week since John had started the painting. Every night once he got home from work, he would go to his studio and work on it. After a few hours, he'd head to bed. When he woke up the next morning, he worked on it some more until Alexander knocked on the door and told him he was going to be late for work.

Despite all the sleep deprivation and deep exhaustion, John was enjoying painting the portrait. He was pretty pleased with how it was turning out, but he was certain he could do better. But considering he was going off a sketch, he was happy with the outcome.

"John," Alexander peeked inside the studio, an annoyed look on his face. "This is the fourth time this week. It's time for you to go to work."

"Oops. Sorry, Alex."

Alexander rolled his eyes. "So, what're you working on?"

John tensed and moved his body in front of the portrait. "Nothing you need to see." He said.

Alexander put his hands up in surrender. "Mkay. Whatever buddy. I know I'll see it sooner or later."

John snorted. "Keep telling yourself that. Now go away!"

Alexander backed away and shut the door. John let out a huff, before carefully backing away from the painting to inspect it. He pursed his lips, before deciding he'd done enough today and he took his apron off. He carefully cleaned his paintbrushes, before leaving the small closet and going to his room to get ready for work.

A few minutes later, he returned to the studio and carefully put a cloth over the portrait. The paint he used dried relatively quickly, so he figured it would be fine.

He washed his hands in the bathroom then went to the kitchen.

"Alexander, why is the fridge empty?" He asked, frowning when he saw nothing inside. He knew for sure that yesterday they'd had a couple of pieces of fruit left...

"The fruit was spoiled so I threw them out," Alexander responded.

John groaned before glancing at the clock.

"Fuck." He muttered. There was no time left. He had five-ten minutes to get to work. "Goddammit." He growled as he snatched his jacket and grabbed his keys.

"I'm going to work Alex." He shouted before slamming the door shut and stomping his way downstairs. Thankfully, by the time he made it to the cafe, he had cooled off enough to seem professional.

"Morning John." Peggy greeted, far too cheerful for the morning.

"'Ello," John grumbled, holding back a yawn and rubbing his eyes.

Peggy sighed and put her hands on her hips. "Don't tell me you pulled an all-nighter last night."

John gave her a sheepish grin.

"Are you kidding me?" She cried. She glared at him and poked him firmly in the chest. "You." Poke. "Are so." Poke. "Irresponsible!"

Another harsh poke and John winced, stumbling back.

"I got a few hours of sleep." He protested.

Peggy rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "You need to take care of yourself, dammit." She scolded.

"I know, I know. But I've been working on a new project." John said, putting his apron on. He'd put his hair up when he'd been painting.

"That's no excuse!" Peggy said.

"Sorry, sorry. I'll do better."

Peggy snorted. "Somehow I doubt that."

John smiled.