Chapter Ninteen

AIDEN

I don’t even hear the door open. One second, I’m completely focused on the painting in front of me, adding the last few strokes to a piece I’ve been working on for days. The next, I hear my name being shouted like I’ve just returned from war.

“Aiden!”

My head snaps up just in time to see a blur of black hair and pure chaos barreling toward me at full speed.

“Oh my Gosh, you’re alive!”

Before I can react—before I can even process what’s happening—Solana throws herself at me.

I freeze. Completely. Every muscle in my body locks up as she wraps her arms around me, pressing her face into my hoodie like she’s about to burst into tears.

“I thought I lost you,” she says, voice full of dramatic sorrow. “You were gone, Aiden. The universe was cruel. I suffered.”

What. The. Hell.

I have no idea what to do. My hands are just hovering in the air because I don’t know if I’m supposed to—hug her back? Pat her awkwardly? Call for help???

I open my mouth, but no sound comes out.

“I was alone,” she continues, squeezing me tighter. “Where were you? Why did you disappear? Do you have any idea how awful today has been?”

I am officially malfunctioning.

“I—I was just painting,” I manage to stutter out.

She pulls back just enough to glare up at me. “You were just painting?”

I swallow. “Yes?”

Her eyes narrow. “While I was out there suffering?”

“…Yes?”

She gasps, stepping back like I just insulted her entire existence. “Unbelievable.”

I rub the back of my neck, still completely lost. “I—I didn’t know you were suffering?”

“Well, now you do.” She crosses her arms, tapping her foot like she’s waiting for me to fix something.

I hesitate. “Do you… want a snack?”

She blinks. “A snack?”

“I—I have granola bars?” I offer weakly.

Solana stares at me for a long second. Then, out of nowhere, she bursts out laughing.

I freeze. Again.

She’s just standing there, laughing so hard she has to brace herself on a chair. My brain is still struggling to catch up.

“Oh my gosh,” she gasps between laughs. “Aiden. You should’ve seen your face.”

I feel my ears go red. “I—”

“No, seriously.” She wipes at her eyes, grinning. “You looked like you were about to pass out.”

I was about to pass out.

She shakes her head, finally catching her breath. “You know what? I’ll take the granola bar.”

I exhale way too hard, nodding quickly as I grab one from my bag and hand it to her.

She rips it open with a satisfied smile. “See? This is how you make it up to me. Food.”

I have no idea what just happened.

Solana takes a big bite of the granola bar, chewing like she hasn’t eaten in days. I just watch her, still trying to process the rollercoaster of emotions I’ve just been dragged through.

She sighs dramatically after swallowing. “Okay. Crisis averted. I am no longer on the verge of collapse.”

I blink. “…Good?”

She hums, taking in the shelves filled with supplies, the unfinished canvases, the organized chaos of my space.

Then, she turns back to me. “Aiden, I have an important question.”

I brace myself. “Okay?”

She points at me. “Do you ever get paint on your face?”

I stare at her. “What?”

“You know, like in those cheesy movies? Where the artist is all focused and has random paint smudges on his cheek, looking effortlessly cool?”

“…No?”

She squints. “Are you sure?”

I hesitate. “…Sometimes?”

Solana grins. “Knew it.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the small laugh that escapes me.

She finishes the granola bar, clapping her hands together. “Alright. What now?”

I shrug. “That’s… up to you?”

She gives me a look. “You’re supposed to entertain me, Aiden. You’re my emotional support person now.”

I choke. “What? Since when?”

“Since I declared it,” she says simply. “Now, do your job.”

I shake my head, fighting a smile. “Fine. Do you wanna just, uh, hang out here for a bit?”

She pretends to think about it, then nods. “Only if I get another granola bar.”

I sigh, handing her another one from my bag. “You’re so high-maintenance.”

She grins. “And don’t you forget it.”

Solana happily takes the granola bar and plops down on the old couch in the corner of my studio like she owns the place. I just stand there for a second, watching her get comfortable, still processing the fact that she’s here.

In my space.

Like it’s normal.

Like it’s not making my heart beat twice as fast.

She catches me staring and raises an eyebrow. “What? Never seen a girl enjoy a granola bar before?”

I shake my head, trying to snap out of it. “Not with this much enthusiasm.”

She hums, peeling the wrapper slowly. “Well, today is full of surprises.”

I huff a small laugh and lean against my desk. She stretches out, sighing like she’s finally relaxing, and for some reason, that makes me feel... good?

I clear my throat. “So… bad day?”

She groans, throwing her head back. “The worst.”

I hesitate. “Want to talk about it?”

She peeks at me through her lashes. “Are you gonna be weird about it?”

I frown. “I don’t even know what that means.”

She smirks. “Like—will you get all serious and broody? Because I don’t need a therapy session, Aiden. I just need a distraction.”

I nod. “Okay. No brooding.”

She hums in approval and takes another bite. For a moment, she just chews, staring at the paintings scattered around the room.

Then—out of nowhere—she gasps dramatically.

I tense. “What?”

She points at me. “Do you have music in here?”

I blink. “Uh. Yeah?”

Her eyes light up. “Put something on.”

I hesitate. “What kind of music?”

She waves a hand. “Something chill.”

I grab my phone, scrolling through my playlists. After a second, I put on something soft—just some indie acoustic stuff I usually listen to when I paint.

She hums in approval, tapping her fingers against her knee. “See? Now this is a vibe.”

I watch her for a second, completely captivated by how effortlessly she just—exists.

Then she looks at me again. “So. Are you actually gonna paint, or are you just gonna keep staring at me like a weirdo?”

My face heats. “I wasn’t—”

She snickers. “Mhm. Sure.”

I shake my head, but I move to grab a blank canvas anyway. I set it on the easel, picking up a brush.

I try to focus. Try to tune her out.

But she’s humming along to the music now, swaying slightly on the couch, and for some reason, it makes my pulse stutter.

I am so screwed.

I dip my brush into the paint, trying—really trying—not to focus on her. But it’s impossible when she’s right there, humming, tapping her fingers against her knee like she belongs here.

Like she’s always been here.

I press the brush to the canvas, letting my hand move on autopilot, but then—

“What are you painting?”

I freeze.

Because crap. I have no idea.

I swallow hard, not looking at her. “Nothing. Just—random stuff.”

She hums, but I can feel her staring. “Can I see?”

I panic. “No.”

She blinks. “Wow. Rude.”

I glance at her, already regretting my reaction. “It’s just—it’s not anything yet.”

She tilts her head, like she’s trying to read my face. “You always this secretive?”

I hesitate. “Depends.”

“On what?”

I shift uncomfortably. “On who’s asking.”

Her lips quirk. “And what do I get? The VIP treatment or the cold shoulder?”

I huff a laugh. “Somewhere in between.”

She grins, like she’s enjoying this, and leans back against the couch. “I’ll take it.”

I shake my head, forcing myself to focus.

But after a minute, she sighs.

I look up. “What?”

She stretches her arms above her head, groaning. “I feel so much better now.”

I blink. “Because of... the music?”

She nods. “And the granola bar.”

I snort. “Glad I could be of service.”

She gives me a look. “I wasn’t kidding about the emotional support thing. You’re kinda stuck with me now.”

I should not be really happy about that.

But I am.

I clear my throat, trying to play it cool. “Guess I’ll have to start charging.”

She gasps, placing a hand on her chest. “Are you saying my presence isn’t payment enough?”

I smirk. “Not even close.”

She throws a crumpled granola. wrapper at me.

I laugh. She's cute.

~~~~~~

I don’t know how long I sit there, painting her. It could be minutes, could be hours. Time bends, warps, fades into the background like the rest of the world.

All I know is her.

The shape of her. The colors that belong to her. The way the soft light of my studio falls over her skin, highlighting the delicate slope of her nose, the gentle part of her lips.

I add another stroke, blending the colours just right, when—

“You’re staring.”

My hand jerks, smearing paint across the canvas.

I look up.

She’s awake.

Her lips curl into a lazy, knowing smile, eyes half-lidded with sleep, but sharp enough to catch me in the act.

I panic. “I wasn’t staring.”

She hums, tilting her head, amusement flickering in her gaze. “Right. So what were you doing then?”

I grip my brush a little tighter. “Concentrating.”

She laughs, stretching her arms above her head. “On me?”

I look away, pretending to clean off my brush. “On my painting.”

Another hum. Then, “So let me see it.”

I freeze.

Crap.

I keep my expression neutral, casual. “It’s not finished.”

“All the more reason for me to see it now,” she teases. “So I can watch the genius at work.”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “It’s not genius.”

She pushes herself up from the couch, moving toward me. “Let me be the judge of that.”

Panic surges. If she sees what I’ve done—if she realizes I’ve been painting her—

I grab the nearest rag and smear it across the canvas.

She gasps. “Did you just—”

“It was terrible,” I say quickly, standing up and blocking her view. “Not worth looking at.”

She narrows her eyes. “You’re such a liar.”

I cross my arms. “And you’re nosy.”

She grins. “Guilty as charged.”

She tries to peek around me, but I shift, keeping the painting firmly out of sight.

After a moment, she sighs. “Fine. I’ll let it slide.”

I exhale, relieved.

But then she smirks. “For now.”

I groan. “You’re impossible.”

“And you are hiding something.”

I force a smirk, trying to throw her off. “Maybe.”

She gasps, scandalized. “You admit it?”

I shrug. “Guess you’ll have to stick around to find out.”

She stares at me for a second, like she wasn’t expecting that answer. Then, slowly, she smiles.

And my stomach does that weird thing I don’t want to name.

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