Missed Calls (Grayson Dolan x James Charles)

Together

James is greeted by light brown paneling, a two-car garage open and holding his father's pick up. The bed is full of unopened paint cans and the necessary material needed to paint the entirety of the house. Skip had asked him to help, not speaking of any pay, but James more than happy to lend a hand.

His father steps out from the front door, waving James over with paint covered hands. He'd been there much longer than James, school cutting his work day in half. Some help was better than no help, his father had said. Hence why James had offered to help paint until he became tired. 

"I painted all the bedrooms, you can help me start on the living room," he said, wrapping an arm around James for a quick hug. James can already smell the paint, the potent scent hitting him full force. His father hands him a mask and a navy blue paint stained hoodie, James having worn a relatively new white one.

"You're a lifesaver," James said, clutching the hoodie close to him. He's met with a laugh, Skip pulling a can of paint out of the bed. They take the side door this time, a light cherry wood covering the floor. A soft gasp falls from red painted lips, James in awe over the newly renovated house.

"Gorgeous, ain't it? The people that bought it renovated just about the whole thing. That garage was new," he said, sparing a glance to the door they came in from. Manicured nails lightly run over the marble counter tops in the kitchen, James taking in all that he could.

"I wish I could see the finished product. Can you imagine the interior design possibilities? A soft white couch across from the fireplace? Love that," James said, finally stepping into the living room area. The room was spacious, plenty of natural light flowing in and brightening the room. Mixing the dark brown would make the room warm, but adding a pair of white couches would add a brilliant pop of color.

"Should have told them to hire you as their interior designer," his father jokes, popping open the paint can and holding his drill out for James to take. "You remember how to stir it, right? I'll go grab the rollers."

"It hasn't been that long," James said, rolling his eyes and taking hold of the drill. His father can't help but grin and shake his head, James not bothering to watch him leave. He begins the process of mixing, a soft smile creeping on his lips. He couldn't help but let his thoughts wander, not just to the design, but if the house was his own.

James can already hear the soft tap of nails upon the ground, the way a flawless white Samoyed would run into the room. He wouldn't choose the dark brown for the walls like this family had, rather stick with a lighter tone to keep the room open. Black leather is what he'd choose for the furniture, contemporary side tables to match.

The best part, though, is the sudden warmth he'd feel on his waist as he watches the dog take up home by the Christmas tree. Grayson would grin at him wide and goofy, the way he couldn't help but love and adore. A soft kiss would rest on his forehead, Grayson wrapping him in a hug before their laughter tangled like roots.

James would never admit to having such thoughts about the barista, too afraid of letting himself be so vulnerable. He just couldn't help but fall for him so quickly, hands sweating at just the thought of holding his.

"Looks good," Skip said, breaking a love struck James from his thoughts and pulling him back to reality. The paint was thoroughly mixed, rollers already put together. James can't help but blush, finger falling from the trigger before removing the stirring stick.

"Right, sorry," he said, setting the drill aside and replacing his hoodie with the one his father gave him. The mask is fixed to his face, picking up a roller and sighing. He was glad that his father had chosen to go with a large can of paint, knowing a few coats were going to be necessary. "I'll take the wall closest to the kitchen."