"Who died and made you famous?" she muttered after he went back to his drawing. He immediately looked up again. That lousy half smile played on his lips again.
"Maybe I am famous already." Ava raised an eyebrow in doubt. "You must be," she told him, "There is no point in wearing sunglasses at night." The phrase 'wear sunglasses at night' reminded her of an old hit song by DJ Ferry Corsten called Punk. She used to dance to it when she was much younger. She could hear the song in her mind as she reminisced.
"Well, maybe I just want to hide my true identity. For all I know, you might be one of my obsessive fans." Ava smiled. "Yeah, I might be, who knows." He smiled back at her.
"Are you a writer?" he asked pointing his pencil at her notebook. "iie," she answered. "Not really. I just write what comes to mind." No sense in telling people that she wrote fan fiction which was pretty spicy at some points. Lately her obsession had taken her mind through the depths of what fans refer to as 'skin ship' the love and touching amongst idols. True it was fan service of the highest order, but it was enough to make any sane girl feel jealous of the intimate friendships between guys who accepted that into their lifestyle. Because sometimes it seemed so natural it was hard to imagine it was all just an act.
"what do you write about?"
Ava smiled. "Just stuff. I love to create worlds and just let my imagination run wild." She felt her cheeks redden by the admittance. "Are you an artist?" she replied taking the focus of off her. "I am," he said as he held up his sketch pad. There was an intricate drawing of lines every where, little details which seemed to shift every time she focused on some thing new in his picture. But the whole seemed to be a cat. She felt weird asking 'Is it a cat?' so she didn't. What was it you were supposed to say to artists? Ava didn't really know anything about art, just that a lot of things like today's modern art she didn't really like. As she stayed silent he looked like he seemed to enjoy her expression.
"You don't like it?" he asked. As she seemed to weigh her words she shook her head.
"Ah, sugoi," she said. "It's amazing, but I can't say if it's good or not. He frowned. "I didn't ask if it was good. I asked if you like it."
She looked pained as she shook her head once more. "I don't, gomen."
The guy laughed. "Don't apologize. If you like it, you like it, if you don't you don't. It's art, there is no right or wrong." She nodded slightly relieved. Ava didn't like criticizing people. She didn't let other read her work, because criticism would haunt her for days to come. She'd actually quite writing all together a few times.
"Do you write about me?"
"Eh?" she replied at his question, which made his smile broader.
"You must be, you were staring at me like you were studying me. Am I in your story now?"
Ava blinked. How could he even guess? Was it something an artist picks up on? "I let you see my drawing how about you let me read what you wrote."
A hot flash flooded her senses for a moment.
"What?" Come one, Ava! You are not deaf. Get a grip! "No," she replied. "It's private!" Very! Very private! Right now, he was already shirtless in her story which wasn't even 500 words long. Just a random hot scene in a train.
He laughed. "Is it that bad or that good?"
She shook her head unable to stop the flush going to her cheeks which would tip him off and the realization made the color that much deeper.
He just watched her and turned over a new page on his pad.
"Stay still," he said as he drew a couple of lines. "Kawaii da."
