You're a Masterpiece (BOOK 1)

Chapter 11

AN: please do not be ghost readers, loves! <3

The ride back home from Tagaytay City was uneventful and, above all else, dizzying. The winding roads were even worse when traveling downhill, and the white van snaked down the hillsides in a way that would rival the most extreme rides Art has ridden on. (They almost bid farewell to their breakfast at some point. The only thing that held them together was sniffing Chase's tiny bottle of White Flower.)

But, thankfully, Shade was a solid, steadying presence that Art slept on for a good amount of time. (Even when they had the window seat. He was just comfier than the glass.) He and Chase kept their voices down—miraculously—as Art drooled and slept and complained about small things like how cold it was.

Oh, and, they were wearing Shade's hoodie.

Not by choice.

No, they were forced. By Shay's... manipulatively charming... tactics.

And.

It was simply something done out of pure essential.

And born from the stubbornly surprising gentleness of stupid Shay.

Yes.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

Okay? Okay.

But, as far as hoodies went, his was... shit, comfy. And It smelled like Shade—and that was a glaring detail Art didn't know how to react to. His hoodie was also warm the same way he was—as an open hearth and fire. And Art might have been blushing for the first twenty minutes they wore it because Shade had the most self-satisfied smirk on his stupid fucking face.

"What?" Art yapped, pulling the hood above their head. "I'm cold, okay? Fuck off."

"I know that. It's just that..."

"What?"

Shade shrugged. "It suits you."

"Sorry?"

"It looks good on you," he said. And then, as he tried to backpedal, "What I mean is, well, you look good in it. In my hoodie. But, like, you always look good so I don't think my hoodie was a defining factor." He shut his eyes, too embarrassed to look at them. "I just meant that... it really, really, really suits you. Or, well, the hoodie looks really good on you."

Art was shivering, but they felt their cheeks ignite to fucking flame.

"Use your words, Shay."

"As you can see—I am struggling to do exactly that."

They stopped by a gas station at the halfway point from Tagaytay City and Makati City to buy food and go to the bathroom. Art wandered to the toilet, and when they came back to check on Chase and Shade they were lining up for Potato Corner. (Art supposed even Shade's sniveling, posh-boy ass couldn't resist greasy powder-flavored French fries every once in a while.)

Chase was holding Shade's wallet.

He beckoned Art closer with a smile.

"What flavor do you want?" Chase asked. He slung an arm around Art's shoulders. (He looked like the bringer of joy when bathed in the Philippine golden hour sun.)

Art shrugged. They wrapped an arm around his waist. "Barbecue."

"But that's spicy," Chase remarked.

"And?"

"It'll make you drink water. What happens when you need to piss?"

"Piss bottle." Art pretended to hold their dick and aim. "Pssssst."