Skin✄Brendon Urie Fanfiction

4. Kai

   Pulling into his driveway, I couldn't help but gasp.
   His house was huge.
  He grinned and said, "What?" 
"You know why I'm gasping," I said and his grin widened.
  "Yeah, the house is pretty big, my parents got well-paying jobs and know how to save money, I guess. I don't really know how much they had to play for this place..."

    If his parents could afford this house, there was a lot of space in it. And if there's space, there's room for a lot of artsy stuff. A studio possibly! My excitement grew.

      Yesterday, I wouldn't have thought that highschool senior hottie, Brendon Urie would invite me over.  If word gets out about this, especially to his ex, Mia Clarence, I would definitely get some new enemies.

    Thinking about it, girls are pretty horrible. We instantly get jealous if another girl even breathes the same air as a boy we like—it's pretty ridiculous.

   Mia Clarence hasn't come back to school since their break up.  No one has really heard from her. Not her cheer squad, not the boys who fawn over her, not even her parents.

      But, no ones too worried. She's probably able to take care of herself—that blondie definitely has an abundant amount of money to do so.

Getting out of the car, we walked up the smooth driveway and into his house—or rather, his freaking castle—and once more, I was blown away.

White marble staircase, expensive fur rugs, it was like Taylor Swift's Blank Space music video come to life. (Hot guy included!)

I whistled, the sound echoing throughout the house. "I must say, Urie, this is pretty impressive."
"Glad you like it, I'm sure you'll love the studio," he winked, and I basically died a little—a. Because of that wink and b. THERE'S A STUDIO.

    I glanced out the huge sliding glass door that framed the outside. A huge, manicured lawn and luxurious looking pool screamed, "I'm rich!"

As we went headed toward the stairs, we passed a large, white, grand piano.
"Do you know how to play? Because you have to play me something on that glamorous piece of ivory," I said, then cringed. 'Glamorous piece of ivory.' Yuck.

Brendon laughed at my choice of words, and said in a horribly done British accent, "Oh Darling! You must play me something on the glamorous piece of ivory, whilst I sip my tea!"
I laughed at him and myself, and he bumped my shoulder playfully. "Yeah, I can play you something later. Let's head upstairs."

   I followed him up the staircase, and we took a left turn, which led into a quite lengthy hallway. Then stopping nearly at the end, Brendon turned towards me and said, "I present to you," raising his voice he then exclaimed, "THE STUDIO!"  He thrusted the door open and I was amazed. It was a large room filled with possibly the best collection of art supplies that if ever seen. So many unfinished projects, and so many to be started! The room was messy—the ground was covered in sheets of plastic to keep the carpet clean—paint, clay, brushes, canvasses were just....EVERYWHERE. It was chaotic workspace, but I loved it.

   I turned to Brendon. "Holy...." then I trailed off. He looked at me, wanting to hear what I had to say. "....guacamole," I finished and he chuckled at me, once again, for my choice of words.
    "Don't you love it?" He asked, and I replied, "Do I, a student majoring in art, love this dream studio?!" 
   A grin tugged at his lips and he said,  "I'll take that as a yes."

-

   About half an hour into some sketching, Brendon asked, "Soo, what do you need most practice on?" I thought about it. What am I bad at? Well, probably a lot of things, but what about art? I was good at drawing faces, but not painting them, so let's go with that.  "Painting," I answered, "specifically watercolor."
    Brendon nodded his head in thought. "Alright, alright," he furrowed his brows. "Let me take a peek at your sketches," he leaned over me, very close to my face, might I add, to look. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, trying not to be obvious. But then my head shifted, and he peered at me through his lashes.
   I [mentally] face-palmed myself.  He shifted his head toward me as well, our faces inches apart.
 
      "Enjoying the view?" He chuckled. My face felt flushed and I laughed nervously, "Get outta here," and shoved him playfully. He chuckled again, a smug grin on his face. He leaned back in, not as close this time, and picked up a sketch of some eyes. "We can watercolor these."

    Reaching underneath the desk, he grabbed a small wooden box, and his hand brushed over my leg for a second. He opened the box with a small click, exposing many paint cakes. The colors were very vibrant, but I knew once they were put on paper the pigment would be softened.  Handing me a small, thin brush and a cup of water, he said, "So, show me what you can do first, and color in one of the eyes."

"Okay."
 
    I dipped the brush into the cup then dabbed it on its edge to get rid of excess water. I smoothed the damp brush onto a tan color and began.
Almost immediately, Brendon corrected me. 

"No, only put the lighter shades there," he said, pointing.

    I sighed. "Wasn't this supposed me doing my best first, then you teaching me?"
He hesitated. "Yeah."
"Okay," I said, then went back to painting. I looked at him, picked a darker brown and then touched it to the edge of the iris. He chewed on his thumb. I smiled. By painting the eye wrong, he got nervous. My smile growing, a placed more of the wrong colors in the wrong places of the sketch, looking for his reactions.