Paint A Picture On Me

Veintitres

{A/N: this is late, I'm sowy, I had pwobwems! xoxo}

We scramble, searching for our clothes in his mound of fabric. I toss him his shirt and he tosses me mine. We then go for jeans, but it doesn't exactly pan out and I end up wearing his track pants. Not that I mind.

"Why is this door locked? Kellin? What is going on in there? Is Vic here? I heard voices. When Vic is here this door stays open." She mumbles this last part quietly, but I still catch it, Kellin and I freezing, staring at each other with wide eyes. "He shouldn't be here this late anyway."

"Get in the closet," Kell hisses, pushing me by my chest. I obey his commands and back into the cramped space.

"Kellin?" I hear his mom's voice.

"Come in."

"I can't. It's locked."

"Oh. Right, silly me," he jokes, sounding nervous. Damn him and wearing his emotions on his sleeve. I hear the door open and his mom probably steps inside. I peak through the crack in the door and see her looking around his room. I follow her gaze and my eyes practically pop out of my skull as I see my belt laying on the ground.

"Shit," I cuss under my breath. I cover my mouth, in fear of her hearing, but she's none the wiser. After a few minutes of checking around and my heart beating a thousand beats per minute. She finally walks to the door and turns on the spot, giving one last look around.

"Finish your essay. Lights out by eleven," she says definitively. Kell nods silently and she leaves the room, closing the door behind her. Kellin sighs and visibly relaxes. I burst from the closet and he closes his eyes, breathing heavily. His face contorts and I internally freak out. Something's wrong. I walk behind him and slip my arms around his waist. He shivers and places his hands over mine, leaning against me.

"Craving?" I ask him. His fingers lace with mine and he squeezes my hand, giving me him answer. "How bad?" I ask, propping my chin on his shoulder.

"Medium," he replies. My heart sinks, but I ignore the feeling. I turn my head and kiss his neck affectionately. My mind starts searching for solutions as I guide him to the bed. I figure comfort and relaxation should help.

We lay down and I scoop him up in my arms. I nuzzle my face in between his shoulder blades and press soft kisses along his t-shirtless back.

"Sing for me," I request softly.

"What? No," he replies, his voice shaking.

"Come on, sing me something. You told me you could sing, so don't even try faking it."

He groans slightly and snuggles closer to me, pulling the blanket over us. "I don't know what to sing," he whines.

"Your favourite song," I tell him.

"I don't have one."

"Then. . .what's your favourite movie?"

"Uh. . .City of Angels."

"Oh, a rom-com, you're cute. Anyway, sing that uh, that slow one, with the piano, by the Goo Goo Dolls. Um. . .shit, I forget the name."

"Iris?" he asks.

"Sure, let's go with that. Sing it!"

"I only remember the chorus," he points out."

"That's okay, just sing that then." I lace my fingers over his stomach and hug him tightly.

"And I don't want the world to see me," He starts, "'cause I don't think that they'd understand. When everything's made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am." I have fucking tears. Tears! His voice is sultry, soothing and just plain incredible.