When Worlds Combine - A WWC Sequel

63; Yellow paint, cocktails, and tunnels

Violet

"What a beautiful colour. What's the plan for it?"

The lady behind the counter looks down at the yellow pot of paint I've chosen with a bright smile that doesn't really fool me. I can tell I've probably been the only person ever  to purchase a yellow pot of paint that wasn't for my kindergarten or play school. 

"I'm decorating my apartment walls," I tell her, her smile not letting mine die down any less. "I just moved in."

"Well, congratulations. This colour will certainly brighten the place up."

"That's what I'm hoping for."

I spent about an hour last night sitting staring at my plain white apartment walls until I eventually decided that I did not like them. I had lived with white walls my entire life, not allowed to change anything about them because they never belonged to me. Until now. I can do whatever I want to my walls. So I decided to paint them yellow, because why the hell not?

"That'll be forty pounds," the lady says and I hand over my money. "Would you like a bag?"

"Oh, no. I'm fine. I'll just ..." I go to lift up the pot and my arms feel like they're going to fall off. I try to not let the lady see my struggle though. "Thank you!"

"Do you need any help?"

"No, no!" I wheeze.

"Alright, dear. Enjoy your yellow walls!"

I try to say something back but I'm completely out of breath trying to hold this thing. I exit the hardware store, my back hunched as I carry the pot with both my arms. I try and walk quickly because I can feel it slipping from me. And slipping, and slipping, and, "No!"

Just as it falls from my arms I close my eyes, waiting for the sound of the tin to crash to the floor and paint to spill everywhere. But it never comes. I open my eyes again to find Zayn standing right in front of me, holding the pot with just one hand. 

He smiles at me sheepishly. "You, uh, dropped something."

I smile in relief. I'm somewhat shocked to see him here but then I remember that he lives here again. I'll be seeing him a lot. I laugh nervously. "Thanks."

"You need a hand carrying this to your car?" He asks. "It's pretty heavy."

"You're literally holding it with one hand."

He grins. "Heavy for you, love."

My heart flutters at the word 'love' and I try to pretend he never said it. "My car's just over here." I start walking.

"So what are you doing with this anyway?" Zayn asks as we start walking down the street.

"I'm painting my walls," I answer, holding my coat closer to myself to try and block out the cold. 

"Nice colour choice."

I just smile.

We reach my car and I open the back door for him. "Just put it in there."

He reaches in and places the pot on the back seat before standing back up straight. He rests his arm on the door. "You have a primer?"

"Sorry?" I blink.

"A primer. For the walls."

I blink again.

He laughs. "You need a primer. You'll ruin your walls otherwise. There's some at the bar, I can bring it to you? We don't use it. Trey bought it ages ago because he had some huge plan to repaint the walls and he never did. So now it just collects dust and holds up the broken lava lamp."