The Boy Next Door (Everlark)[Discontinued]

Chapter 7- Blank

Katniss' POV
Date: 10:00 pm

Peeta and I decided to go on a nice moonlight picnic for our date. It's to celebrate the great things in our relationship. He's so sweet and loving and caring. When we walked into the meadow in the moonlight. He stopped and smiled at me. "What?" I finally ask. "Nothing, just trying to get a clear picture of what I should paint," he responds. "Me?" I ask shocked. Nobody paints a portrait of me. I like myself not being painted a carbon copy. "You seemed surprised," he says. "Duh," I say. "I've never been painted idiot." I'm laughing right now and he just laughs along because we're playing with each other and enjoying company. We ate, laughed, and yes kissed. The best part is that we can communicate in thought.

K: Bold
P: Italics

Katniss
What?
I love you
I love you baby way more
No.
Yess
Fine
Okay.

"I lose from you again, Katniss," Peeta told me. "I know." I had to tell him. I'm the boss bitches. Kidding. I'm not. But the one thing is that sometimes our minds have to be completley blank to communicate. That's because it make it easier. We both have that power. I got that power from my mom and Peeta from his dad. One of the things I love about our relationship is that we connect so deeply. "So," he starts as he leans in. "So," I mimic leaning in. "I want this to never end." And then after that sentence, we kiss. It felt so right, our mouths colliding for that first time. He seems to enjoy it the way I do but the way he holding on to me shows he's desperate. Yes I always hated boys. But this one is so completley different and blessed that I can't ever thank him for being this nice. "I don't ever want this end either," he told me after pulling away. "Come on, I want to paint that portrait."

And he does. And I let him paint me in a position of me sitting snuzzling on a flower. I feel beautiful with him no matter what. I never felt this with anyone else and I wouldn't want to. After getting on this position, I let him start painting me. He must be talent because he uses the paintbrush so well not even the pro artists can use that brush the way he can. After he paints me, he lets me see it and I can't believe my eyes. To me, there's no perfect but for his paints to me, perfect is how I would describe it. He puts every single detail in perfect form. "Beautiful," I describe. "Thanks," he responds. "I may be talented but there's one last part of our date."