Troye's pov
Stuff That Is So Miserably Us.
Bees.
Paint.
Flowers.
Stolen Cars. (Ferraris? Ferraris.)
River Thames.
Politics.
Cigarettes.
Black Licorice.
River Thames.
The Eiffel Tower.
So Miserably Us.
"I can't do it! I give up!" Jacob shrieks, throwing his hands up and splattering paint up on the ceiling.
"Oops." We whisper at the same time, looking to each other and giggling.
"Come on, don't give up. I think you're doing just fine." I bump my shoulder into his, leaning against him as we sit on the floor of our empty extra room. White. Everything is as white and sterile as you could imagine. All except for the floors, they're wood with creaky panels in them that I would hate if I had to sneak around. We're sat on the floor with huge pieces of construction paper, me trying to teach Mr Temper over here how to paint. Well, not how to paint, just how to have fun.
But someone just isn't having it today.
"It looks like someone threw up watercolour on here and decided to roll around in it." He whinges, cringing at his work.
"Hey, that's what makes it pretty. It doesn't have to be perfect." I mumble, wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling him closer to me.
He pouts, "You're just saying that because you gotta. You're my boyfriend."
"Fiancé," I correct, "And no I'm not, I'm being serious. Doesn't gotta be perfect. Nothing is perfect."
"Says the one who can slap paint onto a canvas and make it art. Everything you do is perfect." He continues whining like an old fuss.
"Mhm, watch then." I murmur, using my free hand to dip it into my bucket of yellow paint.
With the fairly large amount in my hand, I retract it and fling my hand forward, watching as I splatter paint across my mostly blank paper.
"Art, aye?" I question.
"Yes!" He gestures to the paper, "You only proved my point!"
"Oh, hush."
"It's perfect." He shakes his head.
"You're perfect." I retort, taking him for a spin and wiping my hand coated in paint across his cheek.
He breathes in sharply and quickly narrows his eyes at me, "You little-"
"Love you!" I cut him off, grinning at him and kissing him before he could possibly get me back.
He tilts his head back, letting me crawl on his lap and draw my paint covered hand around his neck and to the back of him. Quite literally, I'm painting him.
"Don't... don't think you're getting away w-with that." He mumbles against my lips between breaks for air, making sure to give me a stern look every time I peek my eyes open at him. I ignore him, pecking his lips again and smiling at him.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk." He shakes his head, rolling me onto my back and pinning my arms above my head. I tap my fingers against his wrist and make more of a mess, getting paint all over his hands.
"What am I going to do with you?" He asks, looking up and down my body as if it were the first time he's ever seen me. As if he'll never see me again.
