Addicted » Malik AU

one

Addicted || one 

The green colour poured out of the spray bottle and covered almost the whole brickwall. Black lines escaped from it, raining down the paint. He reached down, picking up another bottle. His finger pressed down the cap, letting the pink paint spread out along the lines. His face turned into a concentrating frown as he moved it from one spot to another. The cold air hitting his bare chest was calming down his nerves, making him focus better. He slowly bit down onto his lip, keeping a smile from showing on his violet lips.

"Quite the artist, aren't you?"

A dainty red haired girl, leaning against the brickwall behind him, wearing a white tank top-- lazily thrown onto her thin figure-- and a pair of black tights, caught his eye. Her shoes were out worn and plain black. Her small hands were tugged into her hoodie pockets as she slowly walked over to him.

He didn't have the urge to answer. Her curious eyes were annoying him, so was the sound of her tounge, flicking behind her pearl teeth. He turned back to the painting, breathing out in utter frustration. He could feel her eyes piercing into his sides.

His flawless skin, deep eyes and colorful tattoos, covering his arms and chest, dragged her closer. She wanted to look; she wanted to study his face. She wanted to touch him. She didn't know why, but she really wanted to.

"Do you want something?" he asked in a half-breath whisper, keeping his eyes on the wall.

"I'm just admiring." she replied lightly and took a few step closer to get a better view of the painting.

He wanted to tell her to back off, to stop talking and go away, but something stopped him. She might have been obnoxious, but he was still fascinated by her.

The way the skin around her eyes creaked when she studied his actions. The way her eyelashes swept over her cheeks when she closed her eyes in tiresome. And the way her cheeks glowed from excitement and from the nightly cold.

He felt odd. He never noticed these such things. Something made him shiver, it might've been the wind but it might as well have been her.

The paintings along the walls were his. He used to come there to enchant his feelings. To create and to think. No one never even stole a glance at it. The alley was hidden; hidden beneath the dust and smoke. It was close to his flat so it became his hiding place. He came there when he needed to hide from the word. But the world didn't seem to mind right now because he was being watched.

He dropped the bottle to the ground before reaching after the familiar package in his backpack. He felt it connect with his palm and dragged it out. He opened it and felt slightly disappointed when he realized that it was only a few cigarettes left. He took one out and placed it between his sore lips. It was almost sad how perfectly the stick fitted in it's current position. He inhaled slowly, narrowing his eyes while doing it, and then puffed the smoke out as white clouds.

She wanted to taste his breath on her lips. She wanted to feel the smoke in her veins. 

"Honestly," she breathed. "I think I'm addicted." 

"To what?" he asked bluntly, smoke billowing from his parted lips. 

"You."