Caught in the rain... {Juciy x female reader}

1. ᴀʀᴛ ʙʟᴏᴄᴋ

The grandfather clock in my apartment struck 2am as I finished another hour of being bored as shit, watching YouTube aimlessly with art block. I turn off the tv and head to my studio room, which had splatters of paint strewn about, wrap around counter tops that held everything I use to make my living with. From paint brushes to palettes it definitely looks like an artist lives here, which isn't far from the truth. The floor was a dark hard wood with more paint splatters. I cleaned it as much as I could, but art gets messy. At the front of the room was a huge window out looking the rest of Florida. I chose this room for my studio strictly because of the window. I'd look out, paint what I see most of the time. It would mostly be the same scene, different times, placements and styles. Still, every painting from my window was unique.

        Around the room, the only wall decor were paintings of mine, each and every one rejected by art galleries, dealers, and designers who thought my art was too 'traditional.' Modern art these days is all that catches the attention of the galleries, which I was content with. My specialty was landscape paintings, scenery. All it did was give the room a nice and relaxing feel.

        In the center of the room stood my easel, which was about as tall as I was. And resting on the easel was my unfinished painting. It was a landscape painting of my window in the room, but stained glass. I flip the switch to the right of me in the doorway, turning on the overhead fluorescent light, which wasn't blinding, but soothing. Normally, the only light I'd use was the natural light that spills in from my window, but it's pitch black. I went to the hook next to the light switch with my paint covered apron, lifting it off the hook and placing it around my neck, tying the strings in the back to fit my waist. I went up to my easel and examined my painting.

      I had the outline of the window done in black paint, and the shadows of my room around it in dark grays and more black. My vision was the stained glass of the window to be the most prominent in the painting, hence the dark shadows around it. I reach over to my cute little table that I got from hobby lobby shaped like an art palette, that held all of my materials I was using; an actual palette, a clear mason jar filled with tap water colored by paint from the brushes sticking out of it, tubes of red, blue, yellow, black, and white paint, more paint brushes that were unused, a palette knife a small cup of sketching pencils, a kneaded eraser, my bottle of refined linseed oil, and my paint rag.

      I looked at the table of materials and thought a minute. My linseed oil bottle was empty, and my cloth wasn't even a cloth anymore, but a crusty paint covered accidental sculpture. I sighed and took off my apron placing it back on the hook. I was putting off going to the store because I thought I'd last, but I guess not. I shut off the light to my studio, close the door and walk back out into the living room grabbing my keys  and putting on my black slides. I left my apartment, locking the door behind me and walking down the steps to leave the building. I wonder what convenient stores are open at this hour.

      I hopped in my little black car and drove to the nearest store. I ended up finding one with all its lights on, people inside, and actually looking alive. I parked in a safe spot with no cars next to mine, killed the engine and headed inside placing my keys and my wallet in my black crossbody bag. I had my list in my head; linseed oil, some sort of rag or cloth, and monster energy to keep me awake while I still have inspiration. I headed to the utilities shelf and instantly found the rags, which were 3 a pack. I scanned the shelf for my linseed oil.

     As I was looking, a man walked into the same isle as me, but strictly looking at the snacks next to the utilities. He had short shaggy brown hair, and subtle scruff on his jaw and his neck. He was wearing a cream white long sleeve with the sleeves rolled up, revealing the tattoos on his arms, and a chain bracelet on his right wrist. He was wearing loose fitted black jeans that were ripped at the knees, and white and black converse, that looked like to be his favorite shoes, seeing as they were so worn. I examined the artwork on his arms, fascinated with the ink. I didn't even realize I was staring when he looked back at me. He seemed like he was a nice guy, but my breath got caught in my throat the moment he spoke to me.