Take The Night Away 2

- You're amazing, - he sighed heavily, when she rolled off him.

- Thanks, - she smirked, catching her breath. - You aren't that bad either.

She smiled contentedly, upon covering herself with a thin blue blanket. He hummed, dropping its other end over his bottom half.

- Are all artists so good at sex? - he asked playfully.

She leaned her head on his shoulder, spreading her black hair over his chest.

- Maybe. It comes from practice, though.

- Assumes you had a lot of practice than, - he mused, picking at her hair absentmindedly.

- Yeah, you could say that, - she said through a yawn. He looked down at her and patted her head.

- Go to sleep, sweetheart.

She laughed quietly and pinched his stomach.

- Nicknames, Miles. Don't go all affectionate on me.

He just smiled, hugging her shoulders. Long after she fell asleep, he was looking at the ceiling above them that had phosphoric stars painted on its dark surface and thinking about the one he used to call 'my soul' and mean it. Like, bloody mean it.

***

They were at the studio, right there at her apartment. She finally gathered up the courage to ask him to pose for her. And just maybe she has a thing for his hands since their first meeting.

- You could've asked earlier, you know, - he said nonchalantly, sitting in the leather armchair by the window.

- But where would be my manners? Drawing someone I've only met? - she asked, while rummaging through her supplies scattered all over the table in the far corner.

- Fucking me at the first date wasn't too ethic either, - he smiled, resting his head on his hand. - Damn, it wasn't even a date, - he said in a sudden realization.

- Right, - she rolled her eyes, glancing at him. - You just showed up at my porch like some creepy stalker.

- Considering my profession I know a lot about stalkers. And what I did wasn't creepy or stalker-like in the slightest.

- It was, - she said plainly.

- But you fucked me either way, - he said, considering this thought for a moment.

- Stop repeating it! - she cried out, throwing a piece of crumpled paper at him. - Sounds like I'm the one with a dick here!

He was shaking with laughter by now. And it was also one of the reasons he keeps choosing her over other girls. The way they always joke around, the way their conversations never go too serious or personal. The way they never talk about their past or even present, for that matter. It's like the world outside doesn't exist.

- And maybe I have a soft spot for creepy stalkers? You could never know,- she said, preparing the canvas now.

- That's where the practice came from, I guess.

They smiled at each other.

- Okay, - she announced,- enough of crap-talking. We got some work to do.

***

And when she said 'work' he didn't realize it would be work for him as well. Admittedly, sitting in the same fucking pose for what seemed like years is a work. A hard one.

At least, they still had a small talk over it. He told her about how annoying journalists could be and how he's getting tired of their unoriginal questions. She listened humming here and there.

When she finally announced they're done, he might have exploded from all the pent up energy he had.

- May I see? - he asked, standing up eagerly.

- No, - she answered, hastily covering the canvas with a cloth. - Not yet, Miles, - she added more calmly.

She looked somehow tensed up and exhausted so he decided to ask her out for a dinner.

- Is there any chance of it being displayed at the gallery? - he asked, when she accepted his offer.

- Only if we both will like it in the end. And...if you're giving a permission, of course.

- But why wouldn't you like it? - he asked once they were out of the studio.

She glanced at him, measuring the amount of seriousness in his eyes.

- Well, you're an artist yourself, Miles. Musician, but the artist all the same. Do you always feel satisfied with what you write?

They were walking through a corridor towards her bedroom.

- Of course not.

- See. You should be pleased with your own work, so you could handle other people judging it,- she said, opening the door.

He looked around her room. In the light of the day it looked slightly different.

- I need to change and then we could go, - she warned him, walking to her wardrobe.

- Should I...- he gestured to the door.

She shrugged, turning her back to him.

- It's not necessary though.

So he stayed.

- Aren't you afraid of someone seeing us together? - she asked, linking their arms.

They decided for walk to the nearest restaurant where she was a regular.

- There's nothing to be afraid of, - he answered nonchalantly. - You should feel lucky though. It might boost your popularity. Get you more followers on twitter.

- Oh! - she exclaimed dramatically. - I could never thank you enough.

He laughed, noticing a few people across the street taking photos of them already. And it goes like this.

***

―Songs are one of a few creations that could be perfect. Sometimes you would hear one and…that’s it. It strikes you to the bones. You just know that it’s perfect. Each pitch, every word and every pause is in its own place. And you wouldn’t change a single note in it, cause you can’t make it better.

Her unfittingly enthused voice echoed through almost empty bedroom. They lay on the mattress in the middle, discarded earlier clothes scattered around them. She usually gets talkative after sex, he got to notice that. Talking to her was almost as pleasant as having sex.

He didn’t say anything this time. Not because he wasn’t paying attention or didn’t want to share his own thoughts on the subject. But he felt, that this time, something important was about to be said. So he just hummed approvingly while kissing her knuckles.

―Some people could be perfect too, - her voice was tinged with melancholy. ―Sometimes they could be songs. Or books. Or paintings. Perfect in their own sufficiency.

―But only something you love could be perfect. Or someone, for that matter,- she added after a short pause.

Though he couldn’t see her eyes at the moment, he knew they were sparkling with the shadows of past.

―Who’s that person? - he asked after a few seconds of silence.

―Hmm? - she turned her head to him.

―The one that was perfect for you.

She closed her eyes, smiling a little.

― The boy with red hair, tattooed arms and the most charming smile ever.

He smirked.

―They all have charming smiles, aren’t they?

She gave him that knowing look again and shifted closer, wrapping her arms around his middle.

―Sure they do, - she breathed out unevenly.