My Art Freak

Chapter Eight

Janis' POV

"Do you think... that keys were invented by some guy who wanted to get into their house... but sucked at lock picking?" I asked, staring up at the ceiling of Damien's room.

"Janis it's-" he paused to find his phone and look at the time. "4:17am, go to bed. I need my beauty sleep,"

"But I wanna pull an all-nighter," I whined huskily, ignoring the heaviness of my eyelids and limbs that were splayed out around my body awkwardly. He groaned.

"Then do it quietly, we only have another hour or so anyway. Go be useful and make some coffee if you're gonna be up," he trailed off, falling asleep once again. I decided I might as well get some caffeine in my system anyway and start making Damien's fancy coffee, which I knew the routine for by heart. We typically went to Starbucks after sleepovers, but this would be fine.

My limbs ached from lying in a weird position for hours as I got up, plugging in my phone on the way. I wasn't letting it die during the school day, there was no way. I quietly padded down the stairs, careful not to trip and fall.

I somehow succeeded and quietly tip-toed my way to the kitchen, which was all white and pale brown and open plan, so I could see if anyone was coming to murder me.

Okay so maybe I was a bit scared of the dark, sue me.

I walked up to the familiar coffee maker and fiddled with it to prepare everything. My fingers moved awkwardly, my motor skills always a bit less sharp with sleep deprivation, but I couldn't sleep.

A strange mixture of thoughts about (y/n) and the questions nobody ever seemed to ask out loud were haunting me, making sleep seem absolutely impossible. Every two hours or so I decided to bother Damien with them, but he wasn't quite fond of it per say.

Eventually, the coffee was brewing and I was left to think, standing in the middle of the pristine house, alone, at 4:23am. The shadows fell in ominous ways and the sun wasn't even starting to come up yet. I wished I wasn't alone down there, because empty houses at night were creepier than anything. What if a serial killer snuck in and stabbed me and I bled out before anyone even opened their eyes?

I kinda wished (y/n) was here, so we could whisper our stupid night thoughts, struggling to stay quiet for everyone else's sake. We'd get to know each other better and I'd see her pretty face, illuminated only by the moon's dim light streaming through the large windows.

I was brought out of my thoughts by the coffee being ready, and I realized I'd been staring off into space for quite a while.

I quickly grabbed a mug and poured the hot brown love of my life into it. I smiled in satisfaction before grabbing a metric fuckton of sugar and creamer into it to make the taste bearable, and promptly got to making Dame's iced coffee.

I nursed my coffee between my hands, sipping gently to not burn my tongue. Normally I wouldn't  particularly care, but I wanted to show off to (y/n) that I watched Newsies LIVE and make conversation about it, since it was actually quite moving and interesting. Not that I expect any less from (y/n)'s taste, but normally neither musicals nor historical fiction was my cup of steaming hot coffee.

I looked down, realizing I had drank it all very quickly, despite my tiny sips. And I was still tired.

I needed more.

But the sun was starting to come up and I heard creaking from upstairs, so I knew I should get dressed before I downed another mug full of the stuff.

I reluctantly set the mug down on a sleek white counter before pummeling upstairs, nearly slipping and face-planting on the neatly polished wood. But I DIDN'T!

Janis 1, stairs 0.

I opened Damien's door to see him already sitting up, rubbing his eyes like a Disney princess. He glanced over and smiled a bit, nodding to his dresser. I slept over so much a had one drawer in it dedicated to my stuff, which was useful.

"You can get dressed first, I'm gonna drink my coffee," he yawned, throwing the blankets off of him. I nodded and went straight to the drawer, picking a soft black t-shirt with pink and green triangles in lines traveling across the chest, and light-wash ripped skinny jeans. I also picked up a change of fishnets, underwear, and a pair of neon blue socks.

Satisfied with my selections, I scooped up the pile of clothes and went into the bathroom attached to Damien's room, because he was a lucky bitch with one of those. So did (y/n), I remembered from one of the times we'd hung out at her place.

I decided I looked relatively nice today, and smiled a bit as I brushed out my hair and put my dark lipstick on.

"You done?" I heard Dame call from right outside the door. I smiled, satisfied at my work, and scooped up my dirty clothes and other makeup left to do and unlocked the door, signaling him to quit pressing his body against it.

I then swung it open dramatically and grinned, stepping out. Damien took my place and I heard the lock click shut. I walked over to his mirror on this dresser, not before tossing my clothes onto my backpack, and did my eyeliner. I shockingly didn't poke myself in the eye or make the wings super uneven today, which was an absolute win.

I completed the look by going over to my stuff and grabbing my crumpled up denim jacket from the floor and slipping it on. I had to say, I looked better than normal somehow. And I also looked like I was definitely going to overheat but that's just a part of the fashion statement, or so I told everyone. One of these days I was totally gonna have a heat stroke for the aesthetic, and it would surprise absolutely no one.

Anyway, time to wait on Dame so we could head out to my own personal hell.

Yippee.

(1059 words)