Only On Paper / JJK

Chapter 1

When morning hits, sunlight peeks through the curtains in your studio. The moment it sways into your eyes, you stir awake. You slowly lift your body off the couch and rub the drowsiness from your eyes. At the slight movement, you feel a jab of pain in your back. Though you slept like a baby, the consequences of crashing on the couch overshadow it.

You try to stretch the ache away but it makes the pain spread further. Fuck. With a grimace, you stand. One hand is at the small of you back and the other in the nape of your neck. You close your eyes tightly, willing the pain to go away, but it doesn't. Of course, it doesn't.

Despite losing yourself last night completely in your work and finally making something of your passion, you couldn't have the best of everything. And dang, did it make you feel old, even though you're only twenty-four.

You sigh and look over at your desk. Then it's like the pain completely disappears. Where your drawing should be is now nothing but a blank piece of paper.

You rush to the desk and flip the page forward and backward multiple times until the whiteness of the sketchpad is the only thing seared into your brain.

Had you dreamed the whole thing? Did you really not draw that man with a scar imprinted on a cheekbone? Or the several tattoos on one hand? You could've sworn... Your thoughts trail off.

Before you even think about whether you had made the whole thing up, you needed a cup of coffee. Surely, that would set things straight, and you'd would come to the proper conclusion that perhaps you had only dreamed of that man instead. What a bummer. You were hoping to admire your work this morning.

You shake the thought out of your head and walk to the kitchen, grabbing one of the small cups containing coffee grounds and popping it into your Keurig. Not much later, your coffee steams out of your mug. You're about to add the cream and sugar when you hear a noise from your bedroom.

Shit. It better not be another rat. Living in a rundown 2-bedroom apartment, with one room as your studio and the other as a sleeping space, was well worth the price the landlord offered to you. That was until you learned why it was so affordable.

You tiptoe to your bedroom, stopping at the closet in the hallway on your way to get the broom. It wasn't much for defense, but it would have to do, because there was no way in hell you were letting that rodent anywhere near you.

You take a deep breath before you budge your door open. You do so as quietly as possible, not wanting to scare the rat underneath your bed. That was not happening again. Last time was enough of a nightmare on its own.

You glimpse through the small opening, only being able to see your dresser on the adjacent wall and a corner of your bed. The floor near the two was clear. All right, so far, so good. You open the door just a little more. Still nothing. You push the door even further. Glancing at the floor first, your gaze travels up the end of your bed frame until you make contact with skin.

Bare, flushed skin of someone's ass. It definitely wasn't yours. Much too firm, much too round. Obviously it wasn't considering your ass was still attached to you. The one you were currently looking at was staring right at you, and the only time you ever got a really good look at yours was in the head-to-toe mirror in the bathroom.

But damn! This ass made yours look as flat as cardboard. Your eyes widened. In awe? Shock? Perhaps a bit of both. It didn't last very long when the grip on your broom loosened and fell to the floor with a clang.

You jump back at the sudden noise, and it knocks some sense back into you. At least enough of it so that when the ass turns around, your eyes immediately snap up so your face-to-face with a man that looks all too familiar. You don't really care about that though right then, because not only is this handsome man in your room, but you had just caught him sifting through your underwear drawer.

In his hands, are a pair of boxer briefs. The ones that say "I've been naughty" printed across the back. You're beyond horrified. Every fantasy you've ever had of a naked man was never this embarrassing. Or this pure for that matter.

Your brain can't process what's happening. At least not this early in the morning, so all you end up saying is, "What the fuck?!"

The underwear falls to the floor, and the man jolts in surprise. "Um, hi...?"

Not only does the man have a body perfectly sculpted by the Greek gods, but he also has a heavenly voice. He is the entire package, and he has the package to prove it.

No, now is not the time to ogle the sexy stranger, you chide. This man is an intruder. You swiftly pick up the broom from off the floor and shove the stick side in the man's face.

"Who are you, and what are you doing in my apartment?"

The man's lips upturn into a slight pout, and his eyes become doe-like.

No, no, no! Cute and sexy? What kind of mockery is this? The duality is a slap in the face, and you have to try hard to keep your composure. You cannot go and comfort him, no matter how big the urge is. Reverse psychology would not work on you, but damn was he making you wish it did.

"Hey, buddy!" Your voice becomes more stern and fervent. "I asked you a question! Who are you?"

Just like that, a tear rolls down one of his cheeks, and you have to do a double take. The tear settles for just a second on a crevice in the man's face. It's a scar.

Exactly like the one on the guy from your dreams.

You don't know how you know or whether to even believe it, but this man in front of you is the same guy you drew last night. It wasn't a dream, but it certainly feels like it.

Because how in the world did a drawing on a sketchpad become a real life person?

The realization overwhelms you, and you find yourself blacking out again, except this time you faint in the muscled arms of a man that shouldn't even be alive.