One Cup of Sugar || SashaxNiccolo *REWRITE*

Chapter Two: Are We Blooming or Dying?

AN: Hello and welcome to chapter two!! I really hope you guys enjoyed the new vibe this fic has as I have changed a lot to make it better!

Here's an extra long chapter since admittedly I was stuck writing one scene (Marco and Sasha's fight) for an entire week...

Thank you for tuning in again! Sending all my love <3

Picture above is what Mikasa has Sasha sketch! I plan to add a bunch of different art pieces into this fic.

**i do not claim that this piece is mine, the credit goes completely to the owner (who i don't know as i found this on pinterest)

- J <3
_________________________________
Sashas POV:

Marco ended up getting home before I did, which was fine by me since it meant that I could sit in my car for a second before going into the house without suspicion. The other three cars were home when I pulled in, meaning I'd have to park on the side of the driveway halfway on the grass. Marcos' gray car was off by the time I pulled up right behind it, meaning he'd already been inside for who knows how long.

I relax back in my seat, dropping my head back into the headrest behind me.

I don't want to go in right now. Knowing Marco, he'll pretend to be in a good mood if our roommates are home so there's no tension. He'll probably give me the cold shoulder until tomorrow whenever he gets a better grade in the class exhibit, and then drop any small grudge just because he won.

He's very competitive, I know that. We were "academic rivals" before we started dating just because it was a fun way to drive some motivation for the both of us. We'd both try really hard in all of our art classes, just to see who did better during the small class exhibits that happened every few weeks. It was fun at first, and got even more fun when our friendship started to become something a little more. However, after his last relationship...something just changed. The emotional toll of that past relationship took a toll on him and seriously affected his traditional style. All of our friends predicted that maybe he just got really serious about it all after how crushed he was, and used it as a means to escape from the pain, and the pieces that came from it were nothing short of incredible.

His pieces reflected intense emotions with dark colors, harsh shadings, and enough detailing to have anyone staring for hours. Themes and metaphors married together beautifully through color choices, precision of pencil strokes, and dedication to the almost personification of emotions. This pain lingered even after we started dating, which was to be expected since he was cheated on by someone he was with for years. Even though our relationship was fine and we were happy, his past got to him often. It reflected in his art as little remnants of his darker pieces lingered in the back of his newer ones. His pieces were no doubt becoming hits every time, and the rivalry was just him starting to one up me every few weeks.

I lost nearly every time. I couldn't keep up, no matter how much time and energy I put into each specific piece. Inspiration died quicker and quicker every time, resulting in blank sheets in my sketchbook with only a few lines or lead dabs from tapping the pages in aggravation. It felt like a chore I was obligated to, yet could never get quite right no matter how much time I spent on it.

He was always so much more skilled than me. He often tried to give me advice on how to do better, but half of a skill is passion. He'd give me techniques he uses, show me side by side comparisons for different tricks he used for different skills, but alas I can never put any of it into practice.

I sigh, pulling out the sketchbook from my bag, opening the black cover to reveal the first page full of different floral designs sketched with a lead pencil. Admittedly one of my best full pages, I trace my finger along each flower that I had strategically drawn to be slightly decaying with wilted petals and a less firm stem, allowing them to bend ever so slightly.