Inna
Three days had passed since I had confined myself in his room. Well, he confined me in his room. Food was brought to me, and Olga took care of my every need. However, despite Sin's decision to keep his distance, I could sense his presence. Every night, I heard him sneaking into his room and taking a shower, followed by the faint glimpse of his shadow peering at me while he believed I was sleeping. Now, I found myself on a deeper level with Sin, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude to him.
But I don't understand how his mind was functioning. He stayed with me every night and haunted my nightmares. He stayed until I was calm then he would go and sit on his chair and watch me like a creep asleep on his bed. However, amidst my connection with him, I couldn't shake off the longing for the art room. Determined to see my artwork, I mustered up my strength, hissing at the pain from the wound on my leg, before slowly making my way toward the art room. Each step was a reminder of my resilience and determination.
With a mixture of anticipation and trepidation, I reached for the door handle and pulled it open, revealing the sight that awaited me. As the door swung open, I was immediately mesmerized by the scene unfolding before my eyes. There, in the center of the room, stood Sin with a paintbrush in his hands, fully engrossed in the act of painting. I was taken aback by the unexpected sight, yet a part of me couldn't deny the thrill of seeing him appreciating and engaging with my artistic expressions.
There wasn't just in the room. His piano was moved here too.
Why the fuck his piano was here?
As I approached Sin, I couldn't help but notice the gentle sway of his movements as he applied strokes of paint to one of my canvases. His focus was unwavering, his brow furrowed in concentration, and his entire being seemed captivated by the artistic process. It was a side of him I had never witnessed before, and it fascinated me.
But scared me at the same time.
Scared my heart.
As my gaze fell upon Sin, I couldn't help but be captivated by his presence. He stood there, donning a crisp white shirt that contrasted against his dark and tousled hair, which gracefully framed his forehead.
The strands cascaded down, partially obscuring his eyes, adding an air of mystery to his already enigmatic demeanor.
I can see his new scars on both of his arms, the same scars he got while he saving me. We were still fresh. And the fact that he just grew some beard on his face made me want to touch it and caress it.
Silently, I watched as Sin blended red with precision on the portrait, his movements revealing a hidden talent and passion. I couldn't help but wonder what drove him to explore my art. The thought stirred a mix of curiosity and vulnerability within me, a desire to understand the depths of his connection to my work.
But I must admit, He looked so handsomely fuckable.
Finally finding my voice, I broke the silence, my words laced with a combination of awe and gratitude. "I had no idea you were interested in art," I expressed, my voice tinged with genuine surprise.
Sin's concentration momentarily wavered as he turned his gaze toward mine, his eyes revealing a mix of emotions. There was a flicker of vulnerability beneath the surface, coupled with anger. He set his brush down, allowing the moment to hang in the air, a pause pregnant with unspoken thoughts.
"I'm not," Sin replied, his tone laced with an air of mystery.
My curiosity was piqued, and I couldn't help but take a step closer to him, my movements fluid and unguarded. However, as I drew nearer, a peculiar scent wafted into my nostrils, catching me off guard. The unfamiliar odor provoked a question from my lips, "What is this smell?"
