Unhinged

Chapter Fifteen

After you guys ate the food back at his apartment next to one of the only lamps he had in the place, you had already discussed a plan. So, you both moved what you needed to before laying down the newspaper and getting to work on painting. It was a pretty spacious studio apartment and he kept smiling over at you as you guys worked, so you knew this was a good idea – a part of you thought you were overstepping in the beginning, but he didn't seem to think so.

While you guys had ate, you also helped him do some online shopping for a new comforter set – since he was really just living with old sheets and a couple of throw blankets – some pillows, lamps, and a few other odds and ends.

You had both changed into some of his old clothes that he didn't mind getting paint on and this way you didn't have to go all the way back to your place for some sweats. You did tie the shirt he gave you up so that it didn't hang down and you rolled the sweats more than a few times, but they smelt like him and that made you smile.

"It's not a shithole," You told him when there was a lull in the conversation, flicking your brush so the white paint speckled his face and he flinched, shutting his eyes before he opened them to see you giving him a shit eating grin, "I actually think it's quite charming. Just dark. Kind of like you."

"So, you thought I was a piece of shit when you first met me?" He flicked his brush back and you gasped, your jaw dropping before you composed yourself, stepping closer to him.

"It's no offense, but I figured you were just a pretty face." You taunted jokingly before you swiped your brush over his nose, giggling behind your fist when you stepped back.

Before you could get too far, he wrapped an arm around your waist and brought you into him, using his brush to swipe all over your face as you squirmed and fought against him.

"No!" You shouted around a laugh, losing your breath, "Buck – stop!" You couldn't stop laughing and he was starting to tickle you, making you drop your brush to try to grab his hand as your other one held onto his arm, afraid you'd lose your balance, "I'm going to kill you – oh wait, you don't even have utensils in this place, how the hell am I supposed to find a decent weapon?"

That made him snort a laugh before he buried his face in your freshly painted neck, dipping you back a little, and you ran your painted hand through his hair, cringing for a moment when you realized. He didn't seem to notice though as his arms wrapped around your waist and his breath on your neck sent a shiver through you.

"I want to kiss you so bad." He groaned with frustration against you, and you smiled so wide your cheeks hurt, peering up at the ceiling as you tried to control the butterflies swarming into chaos in your middle.

"Not like you haven't before." You smirked and he huffed.

"I was told only a good night kiss was going to happen on the first date," He groaned as he pulled away, kissing your forehead when you made a face of realization, "And I'm trying to follow the rules."

"Good boy." You smirked again and he shook his head with his eyes closed, smiling.

It was nearly midnight by the time you finished painting with a few brush wars in between and you guys laid back on the floor next to each other, exhausted.

"There's something I have to ask you about." He spoke up and you turned to face him.

"Yeah, anything."

"You know how I've been going to therapy?" He asked, sounding insecure, and you hummed, "Uh, well, my therapist actually um...asked if you'd come to a session some time. She wants to meet you."

"Really?" You raised your eyebrows, not having expected that, and then you realized, "Wait, does that mean you talk about me?" You nudged his shoulder with yours teasing him, "Aw, James, do you like me?"