𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑⁰¹ʰᵉᵐᵐⁱⁿᵍˢ✓

⁴³one drink too many

clementine

From Monday to Friday, he spent his evenings with me in the studio, squatted on the floor with a mini easel in front of him and a brush in his hand while I taught him how to paint decently.

I lent him some acrylic tubes, paper canvases, and a palette. For whatever he wanted to paint, he scoured his phone for the perfect photo or would just paint whatever was in front of him.

I'll be honest and say that he isn't the best, I didn't expect him to be one either as he did mention a handful of times that the last time he'd probably painted, besides that once in tour, was a few years back.

So he painted a few pages of clouds which weren't at all that bad, a water bottle that didn't seem to have any reflections, and a butchered rendition of what was meant to be my face.

I brought an embarrassing shade of crimson to his cheeks when I snorted at the first sight of the painting, and he profusely defended that he had never painted a face before mine.

From the many times he lost hope, I countered back with something to motivate him, often a promise we'd paint together if he learnt the basics, or maybe make a better portrait of Petunia than what Ashton had made.

All he seemed to want was to stay, and I couldn't complain, I'd take any chance I can get if it meant I'd be there with him.

Helene didn't have too much of a problem with this, she seemed to have been really amused with what Luke would finish by the time my shift would end.

I'd spotted certain times she'd give a slight smile. She knows I was talking about Luke that day I called her, but all she can share are side-glances and fonding smirks.

By the time Saturday had arrived once again, I was surprised Luke still hadn't found himself sick of my presence when he invited me to a birthday party somewhere in the upper east side, hosted in a penthouse, he mentioned so casually.

Never having been to a penthouse and always being intimidated by that side of New York, I made sure he was sure with bringing me along, seeing as I hadn't been invited.

He reassured me that the host wouldn't mind, as they're great friends and have produced a couple of songs together.

By eight pm, I'd dressed up the best I could - a simple white turtleneck under a yellow strapped sundress that reaches my ankles

"Should I wear heels? I don't want to wear heels. But I feel like this is a heels kind of occasion," I hold a pair of cobalt blue block heels in my hands, looking between them and my boots.

For a good five minutes, I've sat on my bed contemplating about what to wear for footwear. Though a birthday party in upper east New York screams "wear heels or don't go at all", I'm afraid my comfort zone is restricted between the run-down soles of my beloved boots.

Mara, who's squatted on the floor, shakes her head furiously.

She pushes my boots underneath my bed with her feet, hiding them from my sight. "No boots tonight, Clem. You wear them, like, every day. Give them a break," She tsks before resting her head on my knees, looking at the heels a few inches before her eyes. "I know you're not sick of your boots yet, but have you ever thought that they're sick of you?"

I snort, gently pushing her off me to put on the blue heels. "Ah, yes. I didn't consider how my boots felt," I answer before strapping the tiny buckle around my ankles. "Heels it is,"

Mara does a small clap in celebration before standing up and grabbing my stick of lipstick from my desk, handing it to me before pressing a kiss to my cheek. "Prince Charming awaits," She teases.