Insomniacs (#1)

2. luring

Aria.

The only art I've ever attempted in my seventeen years of living was that middle finger on the lining of Everest's converse. Malik, however, was extraordinary.

Everything about him was poetic and creative. From his fashion sense that I adored and envied to the kindliness of his character. Malik Harris constantly had a sketchbook to hand, wore a smile true to his nature and flecks of paint tainted most of his clothes.

We were opposites. Even when standing next to each other, it was blatant in the brightness and light he exudes to my lack thereof. There is a light to him, the same way there's a light to Everest.

"Sit there." He pointed to a black bar stool as he scurried around.

Yes. I failed. I ran out of excuses pretty quick.

"How long is this gonna take? You should force Everest to do this instead." I took a seat, already feeling my restlessness surge.

He peered back at me with a raised eyebrow from one of the cupboards he was in the midst of rummaging.

"I can't sit still." I rubbed my palms up and down my thighs.

"Trust me, I know." He emphasised and I narrowed my eyes, despite the fact that I'd said the same thing, "You think Everest could—"

"He'd just fall asleep if you bored him enough and then-"

"Aria." He turned around to face me, leaning back against the cupboard door, "Painting anyone else would be nothing compared to painting you. Its like your beauty is made for art, for fame and film." He said non-chalantly, going back to his scavenging.

I opened my mouth to speak but shut it again.

"If I cramp and die, know that it was your fault." I said instead quietly and he looked at me with a gentle smile as if he knew that was my thank you. I sent him a small smile back.

The school's art studio was clearly where Malik dwelled best. Art pieces all along the walls; boundless pieces all from boundless ideas.

The ceiling was by far my favourite piece. It was tiled with small mosaics in a checkered pattern, creating an astonishing ocean. Schools of fish, lapping waves and a sunset. My gaze was pinned to it for a long while.

"What do I need to do?" I asked him, bouncing my leg.

"Sit." He answered simply with a hint of a smile. He sat himself in front of me, on one of his own bar stools with a dauntingly large canvas in front of him.

"You should wear a berét." I remarked as I plucked out a cigarette from my box, "You'd look hot." I added, bringing up my lighter and watching the end burn orange.

"Really?" He cocked an accusing eyebrow at the cigarette.

"You instructed nothing other than sit and that I am doing. Specificity next time, darling." My lips pulled up into a smirk as I took the first long drag. My eyelashes fluttered shut as I tilted my head back, letting the smoke escape into the air above me.

He eyed me, "I could use the cigarette." He lit up a little as if he was envisioning something.

"With that, I have no problem." I smiled and Malik's eyes narrowed at me slightly.

He'd been wanting me to quit for the longest time, and I've also been wanting to quit for the longest time but it's too difficult, and every attempt fails since I was fifteen. I'll try again eventually. Will fail again most likely.

I watched him get all his things in his order, mainly sets of pencils and erasers. He informed me that he was to accomplish the outline today.

"How have you been sleeping?" He asked me gently, biting off the plastic wrapper of an eraser.