Mabel

11

I add another stroke to the canvas, hitting it too hard so that it splashes right back onto me.

The fourth-year student I'm half-friends with, Ayers Johnstone, who I started to talk to that day when I couldn't get the printer working, tells me I look kind of like the music video for Gotye's Somebody I Used to Know.

I let out a heaving sigh.

I knew I should've gone with chalk pastels. Though, I rarely come out totally clean with those either...

I try to add more yellow to my brown mixture for a little variation—balancing my palette on the inside of my elbow while I fight with the stubborn lid of the paint, brush wedged between my teeth—when Ayers lays a hard flurry of pats to my back and, curse my fragile body, I stumble and almost drop everything.

But no, I manage to catch it. Just ending up hugging it to my chest.

"Nice... print," The elder says, laughter teasing in his voice and I do nothing but huff.

This was my last clean shirt.

"What did you want, Ayers?" I ask bitterly (except not really because it's Ayers), peeling the palette off of my shirt to see all of my precious colours now staining the material.

Could I just use my chest as a palette?

I snap open the lid of the yellow, strongly considering just squeezing some on there when Ayers says, "Nothing, it's just that dude you've got a huge thing for just walked in."

I stare at him in shock.

"How do you know I've got a thing for him?"

The man looks towards my canvas, and then the rest of my work as well. Then, glances back at me without a word.

Right. That.

Wait...

He's here?

I swear I almost get whiplash from how fast my head snaps to the door, suppressing a scream.

Kai Adkins. Seeing me covered in paint like this. Nope. Not today Satan.

"Give me a towel, Ayers. Dudedudedude give me a towel—" I grab onto Ayers's sleeve, shaking him slightly and he looks severely startled, before rolling his eyes and handing me the towel he was using to clean his hands just moments ago.

I start viciously cleaning my face, draping the towel over my entire head and just rubbing in the hopes that it'll take something off and, if not, Kai won't know it's me.

"Mabel? Are you okay?"

Life is seriously unfair.

I slowly bring the towel down from my face, immediately making eye contact with Kai standing right there in front of me.

Ayers's nowhere to be seen.

Great. This is fucking great.

Kai smiles at me, the gesture illuminating his whole face as he lets out a breathy laugh and takes the towel from my hands saying, "You're so messy. Here, let me."

I watch him lean over the sink beside us and can't do anything but stare as he wets the towel and starts dabbing it carefully over my skin.

When he's done cleaning my face, he dampens the towel once more to clean my hands.

He takes my small hands in his large ones, individually cleaning each of my fingers while I try not to shiver from how warm and comforting his own are.

He flips the towel around to the dry end and starts to wipe off the blobs of paint on my chest when I push the towel away, face flaring up with heat as I stammer,  "I-it's acrylic, it'll dry and flake off."

Kai makes an 'ah' sound at the back of his throat, setting the towel down on my workstation and turning back to me with a small smile, which grows a little concerned as he does.

One of his hands reach out and poke at my face, and his brow furrows as he says, "I think I rubbed too much. You're all red now."

Fucking hell.

"...Sensitive skin," I lie, giving him an unconvincing grin that, thankfully, he seems to buy.

A month and a bit together, and now I'm the one blushing and stuttering. Go figure.

"So, why are you here?" I ask once I'm recovered, and Kai's expression is cloudy with confusion for a second before he seems to even remember and he says, "Oh. I need to talk to my photography professor about our assignment–but I can't find her. I was hoping yours would know."

I nod, ah okay, that makes sense.

I pick up my brush again, trying to scrape any paint off of my palette that hasn't been smeared to my shirt and finish the strand of hair I'd been working on, as I tell the subject of the picture, "I think they went out together for a staff break."

Kang's totally got a thing for that woman. They go out for lunch every day.

"Oh," Kai says quietly, though, not sounding too disheartened for whatever reason when he does.

In fact, he sits on the desk beside my canvas and says, "I'll just stay here and wait then."

"Great!" I enthuse, accidentally splattering more paint somewhere with the excited flick of my wrist, "You can model for me."

I reach for a blank page, leaving my earlier painting in the dust so I have an excuse to stare at Kai Adkins non-creepily for a while.

("You're a really great artist, Mabel..."

"...thanks, Adkins."

"Oh. Your face is red again. Are you allergic to paint?")