It's currently 3:11 AM and I'm only up bc I slept for eight hours in the middle of the day, but here. Have a long chapter since I missed Valentine's Day and went MIA :)

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"So when you said you wanted to paint me..."

Taz glanced up from setting up his paints at the big supply table, a creaky old thing coated to the max in acrylic and water stains. He'd discarded his jacket and backpack onto a vacant chair when we came in, now only in the underlying cerulean crewneck and dark jeans. The blue did wonders for his complexion.

"Yes?"

I gestured aimlessly to the room's set up. There were no canvases or papers set up for this, no formless lumps of clay to be molded, nothing but us. And since he's not painting himself, that really just leaves me.

"Dana?"

"Are you... I-is the paint going on me?"

Taz chuckled as he finally came over and sat on the stool opposite me. "Why, are you allergic?"

"Ha ha," I deadpanned.

"C'mon, lighten up. You'll just make things more awkward if you're tense." He dipped a thin brush into the swirl of crimson in the little dish then tested the color on a paper towel. Satisfied, his eyes turned to me. "Now, just sit still and... Dana, what's wrong?"

Damn, I hadn't meant to let it show.

"N-nothing."

His are so beautiful. So mesmerizing. Why did he paint mine when he's got those?

"You sure? You looked startled for a second there."

Such a simple hazel and still so unforgettable... It's crazy what long lashes and direct sunlight can do to an appearance. A minute ago I was completely fine, but now that our knees were brushing— Now that the sunlight coming through the big gothic windows lit him up like a flame, it was only natural for me to burn under the weight of his gaze.

"Danaaa." He waved the brush in my face.

It'd be a miracle if I ever recovered.

"If you don't blink in two seconds, I'll give you a mustache."

"Sorry." Was I really staring for that long? "Sorry, I was just caught off guard."

"By what, the paint?" His amusement couldn't be concealed.

"Your eyes," I found myself uttering.

All the humor washed out of his expression like a wave, smile falling and eyes remaining wide. Then he was still as ice. "Mine?"

"Yeah, they remind me of Saturn."

He actually blushed.

After a long awkward moment, his nostrils flared and he sat back some. Clearing his throat, he uttered, "That's some compliment." He got busy mixing colors, turning towards the table to do it when his ears continued to scorch.

I smirked. "Was that a thank you?"

"Maybe."

***

An hour later, I was still seated and nervous. Taz had said he'd go easy on me and just do a test run, a little design on my hand or arm so I'd be able to wash it off if I changed my mind about all this. Truthfully, it wasn't the paint that was making me so anxious. It wasn't the tickle of bristles on my skin or the chill of fresh colors gliding over my goosebumps. It was the the hand behind them.

"Is it finished?"

I felt a rush of warm air on my neck and stiffened. He must have noticed because he pulled back some and cleared his throat. "Almost. I think you'll like it."

"What makes you say that?" I would've looked at him if I weren't so afraid of brushing noses.

"You'll see."

Silence descended upon us once more. It had only been an hour since we'd started, but the afternoon light was burning out faster with each minute. The waxy rays of sunset that had pooled onto the aged studio floorboards were now as orange as the paint on Taz's brush, a sign that he needed to wrap this up before it got too late.

"So," I began, wanting to fill the air, "why Taz?"

Two short strokes of white kissed my shoulder. "What?"

"Taz isn't your real name, is it?" I glanced at him. Because he was positioned on a stool to my right and because he had to sit closely in order to get the details in, there wasn't a moment without physical contact. Before, his hand had rested on my shoulder to restrain the sleeve of my tee. Now I could feel his knee ghosting against the back of my jeans every time he moved; I could feel the heat in his wrist when it rested momentarily on my arm for another stroke. I can barely think with him so close. If this keeps up, I won't be able to even speak to him.

He chuckled lightly. "Why do you ask?"

I resisted a shrug. "Just making conversation."

Another moment passed. The sweet doo-wops of an old song I didn't recognize played from a speaker somewhere in a corner. They kept the silence from becoming too unbearable.

"It's a nickname." He paused. "I don't really like my name and this one kinda just stuck."

I gathered the courage to look at him. His eyes were focused on my shoulder, long lashes casting frail shadows down his cheekbones. "What's your name?"

He met my gaze and smirked. "I'm not telling you."

"Why?"

"I don't wanna."

I frowned and said defiantly, "Then you can't paint on me."

He quirked a dubious brow. "Are you serious?"

"No. But c'mon, you gotta give me something. I'm bored."

With a huff, he gave in. "You really wanna know?"

I nodded.

"Tien is my last name. Happy?"

"Tien?" I questioned. "That sounds kind of Hispanic."

"It was Vietnamese the last time I checked."

I didn't know what else to say at this point, so I kind of just twiddled my thumbs and looked around the room. A silence fell upon us again, and the only thing that made it awkward was my fidgeting. He must have noticed.

"Isn't there anything else you want to know instead?" He wasn't painting anymore, just leaning on his elbows and maintaining eye contact as he twirled a brush between his fingers. "My favorite color; where I'm from? When my birthday is?"

I thought on it. "Where's your family from?"

He smirked. "Are you asking because I'm Asian?"

"Maybe."

"Hm. My dad's Viet-American and my mom is from New York."

"Really?" He nodded, ignoring my impressed expression. "What's that like?"

Taz shrugged and got up. He went over to the paint table and restocked his pallet, hands moving efficiently. "It's alright I guess. My mom only speaks a little Vietnamese, but that's for my dad's sake, so most of the time we're all speaking English. We celebrate more holidays, too, so that's a bonus."

"What about your dad?"

"He's gotten good at hiding his accent." He chuckled. "Sometimes I forget he has it."

"Can you speak any Vietnamese?"

"Of course."

I didn't want to be the person that's like 'Oo! Say something in your language!' so I asked instead, "Where did you grow up?"

"New York. We just moved from there."

That explains the accent. "Oh. That's pretty cool."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

He strode back over to me, looking a bit more intrigued now that he'd changed the topic. Maybe he doesn't like talking about himself. "Got any stories? Any cool background I should know about?" He plopped down on the stool and it bounced under his weight. "Maybe a crazy ex-boyfriend?"

I couldn't help but chuckle. "Thankfully no."

"Ex-girlfriend?"

"Nope."

"Interesting."

"Why's that interesting? Do I come off as a lesbian?" I was only kidding, but he stumbled over his words as he tried to amend his words.

The conversation just rolled on from there. We talked about school and how he liked it so far, as well as college, aspirations and (of course) art. It took some more prying, but I finally got him to open up. His avoidance of some topics hadn't gone unnoticed, but if I was gonna be forced to be a statue every time he wanted to pick up a brush, then he was gonna have to be honest. It was only fair.

"Why do you want to know so badly?"

"Because if we're going to keep doing this, I'd like to know I can trust you."

Momentary hurt rippled in his eyes. "Dana, you can trust me."

I believed him, but still I asked, "How do I know that? Before last week, I didn't even know you could speak."

"So?"

"So you could switch up at any time," I argued. "I don't know you like that, so is it really wrong for me to ask you questions?"

For a long time, he didn't answer. Instead he pursed his lips, dabbed a few more spots of white onto my arm and gathered his things. The stool rolled backwards when he stood and he didn't bother to grab it. He just took his supplies to the big sink in the corner and started cleaning his tools. Watching his tense back, it was clear that I'd offended him.

"Taz—"

"I'm finished," he said shortly. "You can go, but it won't be dry for another ten minutes."

I hesitated this time. It was clear he didn't want to talk about it, but I couldn't just not apologize. What if he really got mad? I barely know this guy; he could blow up and start throwing things—

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Overthinking." He glanced briefly over his shoulder, still making himself busy with cleaning the brushes. "I'm not mad, Dana."

"Yes you are."

"No, just frustrated," he sighed. "There's a million other questions you could have asked me that I would've answered, but you chose the one I clearly didn't want to talk about. Like what the hell is that?"

I didn't answer.

He shook his head, back still turned to me as he said, "I know you're stubborn, but even you should know to respect someone's privacy."

"I didn't think it was that deep..." I facepalmed with a heavy sigh. Idiot. "You're right. I'm sorry, Taz."

There was a pause filled with running water and the clatter of art utensils. "It's okay."

I still felt like it wasn't.

***

We walked out together. Because of how guilty I felt for prying earlier, I offered repeatedly to help carry some of his things. All he had was his backpack and supply bin - which didn't look at all heavy, but I was determined to redeem myself by any means necessary. I think he only gave it to me so I'd shut up about it.

"Tell you what," he said as we made our way to his car. "If you do me a favor, I'll tell you my name."

"Seriously?"

"But you can't tell anyone." His tone became serious. "Ever."

"Fine. I'm good at keeping secrets."

"Even from Connie?"

"Yes."

He slowed his walking and turned to me. Because we'd been sitting for the last hour, I'd forgotten just how tall he is. I was easily reminded when I had to lift my chin to look him in the eye. Even in the fading light, just standing there, he was still effortlessly breathtaking.

Thump thump.

"Somebody important is having a party next month and I need a date," he said simply.

By brows jumped to my hairline. "A date? What kind of party is this? Just go by yourself, you'll be fi—"

"No no no," he chuckled and took a step closer, "that's not how it works. This guy doesn't talk to anyone who can't bring good company with them."

"What about your friends?"

"They're animals. And not nearly as pretty." He winked.

I facepalmed, more to hide my burning cheeks than out of exasperation.

"C'mon, Dana, please?" My hands were pulled from my face to reveal his big, pleading eyes and pouty expression. It was much too cute. "Pleeease? I'll forgive your intrusiveness if you do this for me."

I let lose the most frustrated groan I could muster. "I'll think about it."

"What?"

"You heard me! We just met, cut me a break, man!"

Taz scoffed. "You say it like I asked you to hook up. We'd just go as friends, nothing more, okay? And if I make a move on you, I promise you have every right to slug me." He made my hand into a fist and connected it to his jaw. "Like this, but harder."

I couldn't help but laugh. A week ago he was the mute new guy I barely noticed. Now he's too silly to ever take seriously, and I'm the only one who knows it. Funny how that worked out.

"Alright," I said. "I'll consider it."

He rolled his eyes, but didn't push it anymore. "Fine." Without my noticing, we'd already arrived in front of his car and he opened the passenger door for me. "Hop in."

"Don't even think about kidnapping me."

"I'm not that desperate, Dana."

***

As I stood in front of my bathroom mirror that night, waiting for the shower to get warm, I inspected the design. My fingers traced over the dry paint on my upper arm, outlining the edges of the flowers mindlessly. They were gorgeous undoubtedly, wonderfully colored and vivid against my medium brown skin, but I still didn't feel satisfied. I recalled the day's events and thought it was just because there was still guilt lingering for prying earlier, but that wasn't it.

Long lashes and warm eyes invaded my thoughts. All of a sudden, I could feel the cool touch of wet paintbrushes gliding across my skin and it gave me goosebumps. I remembered the weight of his gaze in the booth the other day, how his demeanor had gone from childlike wonder to mischievous and almost predatory... I remembered every encounter we'd had these last few days.

"I like her eyes."

My chest lurched.

I knew exactly where the lack of satisfaction was coming from. There was no question about it. The only question was:

"How long can I keep this up?"

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Hello to my Hope world (hehe)

I had intended to give this update last week, but school wouldn't let me 🙂

Found this online and thought it was perfect for Dana's arm art. What do you guys think?

Also, how did you like Taz's brief backstory? And the fact that he's Asian-American? Personally, I love it.

With the sudden spike in k-pop popularity, I've noticed more authors are making their characters Asian and just thought it was really cool. POC characters aren't just black or mixed, they're any person of color, so this change to the Wattpad community made me happy and figured I'd try it, too. Especially since a LOT of the most popular books on this site tend to have white MCs.

That's all, enjoy your day :)

Don't forget to vote if you liked it and comment your thoughts. I love to read what you guys have to say ☺️