"Just give me the chalks, Connor" you huffed. You two were working on this "collaborative exercise" for art class. He was talented to say the least, but that didn't make him any kinder. Connor smirked, holding it over your head. Despite your evident struggles, you couldn't get anywhere near the pastels. No one else in the classroom seemed willing to help. One kid just sat and watched as he licked a pink bathbomb.
"Come onnnnn. This isn't funny!" You crossed your arms, pouting.
"It's kinda funny, princess." Connor shrugged with a smug face. You studied his angled face for a bit, admiring his dainty nose and cupid bow lips. Everything about him was very sharp and precise. His arms were covered in different colors and different mediums, his soft brown hair tied in a messy bun. Per usual, the lanky boy had a pencil tucked behind his ear.
"And don't call me princess." You demanded. Connor chuckled, fueled by your disdain.
"[Name], chill out." He sat on his stool, handing you the chalks. He disregarded you for a moment, staring at your piece mindlessly. It was a simple sunset, but the way he worked with colors, it was depicted as so much more. Art is a language of sorts, and Connor Murphy was bilingual.
Spinning his pencil between his long fingers, he looked up at you and met your gaze. You realize that his eyes were multicolored- he had heterocromia, and his pupils were blue that blended into brown. Damn, even his eyes were a masterpiece of their own design.
"Can you home over to my place tonight?" Connor asked suddenly, snapping you to attention. You rubbed the back of your neck, taken off guard by his question.
"O-oh, well, I should be able to..." you started. Opening your mouth to continue, he interrupted.
"Great. Seven. See you there, princess. Don't wear anything nice. We've got a project to do." He winked, taking off his apron as the bell rang. Before you could protest, the enigma you knew as Connor Murphy shuffled out the door to his next class.
What had you gotten yourself into?
____________
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6:58 PM. Punctual as ever. You knocked loudly on the door with a huff, pulling your bag closer to you uncomfortably. You couldn't help thinking to yourself,
C'mon, [name], this is strictly professional. You don't even like him. In fact, you kinda hate him. He's an asshole. Keep it together, man.
A girl opened the door, and you recognized her to be Connor's sister Zoe. You gave a slight nod and a small smile as a greeting, which she returned politely.
"Connor!" She yelled up the stairs, "Your friend is here!" She invited you in. "He'll be down in a sec." She reassured before giddily strolling into the kitchen. Sure enough, Connor came down the stairs seconds after. He seemed different than at school. Not just dressed in a peculiar way, but it was as if he carried himself as a separate person completely.
You observe him carefully. He had on baggy gray sweats, and a white tee shirt covered in various colored stains- assumably paint. The sleeves were cut off and his hair was pulled back, exposing his muscly shoulders and arms. It was like he was trying to sweep you off your feet, but it was simultaneously effortless. Your eyes lingered before looking up at him and his signature smile.
"Shall we?" Connor gestured upstairs, and you nodded silently as you followed him upstairs and into his room. It was a sight. The walls were a cool gray, and pictures covered the wall. A select few were framed, but most of them were halfheartedly taped to the wall. A plethora of pencil sketches and monochrome pieces were scattered around the room, but the works you found in color were breathtaking.
He caught you looking and rolled his eyes. "Oh, the paintings?" Connor bit the inside of his cheek and plopped on his blue bed. "They're nothing special. I was just told I needed to 'expand my horizons'" He said in a mocking voice, air quotes and everything. You chuckled lightly, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"I dunno, I like them." You admitted.
"That's because you're normal" He mumbled. You raised an eyebrow, not sure how to take such a phrase. Connor ran a hand through his hair. "Don't freak, princess. I'm not saying you're boring or vanilla. There's no need to get all defensive" he remedied, though his emotionless expression made you question the authenticity of his statement.
"Don't call me princess!" You ordered, though you caught yourself giggling. That even made Connor laugh, which you'd never really seen. His nose crinkled, and it was absolutely adorable.
"Princess doesn't mean dresses and animal sidekicks. It means purity and beauty and strong as hell" He explained, looking around the room. It was as if he was looking anywhere and everywhere but at you. You were grateful, too, because you were pink as the bathbomb that kid was eating earlier.
"Me? Strong?" you repeat slowly, and he nods.
"You've always been strong-willed, or at least I think so. I've seen you. You're even stubborn with yourself." he smiles a little. "I remember, this one time, you argued with yourself for almost ten minutes on whether to use cream or peach marker." He reminisced, sitting up and scooching next to you. You looked down, taking his bony fingers in yours. His hand was huge in contrast to yours. You kept looking. You noticed scars on his wrist, some faded from time.
"A-are you okay?" You examined, and he looked down in surprise, as if he hadn't known they were there.
"Oh, those? Yeah" Connor nodded. "Ya know, I don't think you have to be suffering to be an artist. I'm just an artist who happens to be suffering. I guess." He shrugs. "Listen, [name], I really want to kiss you, but if that isn't okay, I'm not going to. Okay?"
You were caught off guard by such a statement. You knew Connor Murphy, but you didn't really know Connor Murphy. You wanted to, though. Very much so. Maybe this was gonna be something beautiful. Leaning forward, you closed the space between you two. His lips were slightly chapped, but you hardly mind.
Connor smiled into your lips, playing with your hair with one hand and holding your cheek with the other. He was extremely gentle, like you were made of glass and you'd shatter into billions of pieces if he had been any rougher. You felt as if you were a shark kissing him, as if stopping would be fatal. As if not kissing Connor Murphy had meant your death.
"You're...wow" You smiled breathlessly. He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, pressing his lips to your forehead firmly.
"You, [name], are a masterpiece, and please don't ever forget that," Connor whispered softly.
