Violeta gave a slight shrug, finally lifting her head from its position. "Would you care if I slept right now?" she asked, her words jumping together as she flattened down her messy hair. Her eyes, which were underlined by dark circles, blinked dazedly, trying to focus on their surroundings, and her lips were parted slightly. No mascara or lip gloss adorned her face, for once, but overall… her appearance was cute. Worrisome, but cute.
Gray stared at her, unblinking, still as a rock.
Shit. Goddamn it. She looked absolutely beautiful, her eyes half-shut from sleep, her lips parted slightly. For the first time, Gray saw those lips and her eyes without any makeup. He found his face turning pink before he covered his mouth, looking away. Not good. Not good at all.
“Ye—yeah,” he cleared his throat. “I mean, go ahead. I don’t mind.”
Violeta gave him a funny look, baffled by his actions. If she had seen them through clear eyes unblurred from her lack of sleep, she might have been frustrated or anxious. But, luckily for him, her vision only cleared once she glanced down at her hands, only to see them flecked and splattered with dried paint. "Whoops…"
Gray looked back at her, noticing her hands. A smile made its way towards his lips.
“You should wash them,” he said, though he knew she would on her own. Was he actually holding a conversation with her without either of them (Violeta) losing their tempers? “And then you can take a nap.”
"Eh, I'll be fine…." Violeta murmured, squinting closely at a splatter of red paint that looked oddly similar to blood. Had she accidentally cut herself while slicing up her canvas paper?
“All right,” Gray hummed in agreement. She looked so damn adorable when she was sleepy, Gray decided. He could never get enough of this. “I suppose I should say ‘goodnight’?”
After deciding that the red splatter was, in fact, paint and not dried blood, Violeta nodded. Not noticing when her loose blouse slipped slightly down one shoulder, she mumbled a thank-you and sank back down against the table. Slowly, she drifted off, gratefully accepting the snug embrace of sleep, but, finding the hard surface too uncomfortable, she subconsciously leaned to the side….. and against Gray.
Gray stiffened immediately when he felt something against his shoulder. He slowly looked to his side, finding Violeta leaning against his shoulder, eyes closed and mouth shut. His own mouth suddenly felt too dry. Violeta was sleeping on him. She was sleeping on him.
He didn’t dare move even an inch. So he stayed in that same position, glaring at anyone who so much as made a sound. She needed sleep, so she’d get some.
Violeta didn't quite know what was happening in her barely-awake, mostly-asleep state, but she did know that she was comfortable. And whoever she was leaning against was soft. And warm. And smelled really nice.
Gray bit down on his lip, trying to calm his heart. Everything else just began to disappear until the only thing Gray was aware of was Violeta and her head on his shoulder.
Which was not good. His reaction was not good at all.
Minutes (hours? She didn't know) passed, and eventually, Violeta stirred. It took a while, but she awoke fully, coming to her senses before looking around. The first thing she noticed was her hand, which was hanging down her side and brushing up against another person's. The second was the fact that Gray was right next to her. The third? She was leaning against him.
Violeta slept against him for about thirty minutes. Halfway through, her arm slid off and brushed against his own, and it took everything out of him to not link their fingers together.
Finally, the girl stirred. Gray held his breath, waiting for what was about to come.
Violeta straightened abruptly, eyes round and disbelieving as they found Gray's. How long had she spent like this, in such a place? Sleeping in front of him in such a vulnerable position? "I'm sorry—" she breathed, horrified at both herself and the prospect of what he might do to her. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to–"
Gray shook his head, running a hand through his hair.
“It’s okay,” he replied. “You were just sleepy. I’m not upset or irritated.”
If I was, I would have pushed you off.
No. Stop lying to me. I'm not going to lower my guard again.
She pressed her lips into a hard line and looked away, clearly distrusting of his statement. "Why didn't you push me off?"
“You were tired,” Gray responded, finally moving to stretch, raising his arms above him. “Like I said, I didn’t mind.”
Couldn’t you have slept for a little while longer?
Violeta tore her eyes, which had flickered briefly to the stretch of bare skin above his waist line visible when he stretched, away from the young man in front of her. Abruptly, she stood, swinging her bag over one shoulder. "I have to go."
Gray quirked an eyebrow at her.
“We still have fifteen minutes left of class,” he reminded her, disappointed that she was leaving. He missed her warmth.
She just shook her head, clearly desperate to get away. "I–I have to—" Get away from you. "Run an errand. That I forgot to do."
Her mind was still struggling to piece together a vague recollection of the steps leading up to her fatal mistake—something about paint?
“You’ll be marked tardy,” Gray crossed his arms over his chest. “Is this errand worth getting one?”
Yes, yes, yes. Anything to get away from your twisted game. Why won't you stop lying?
"Yes," Violeta said shakily, taking another, subtle step away.
Gray sighed, knowing why she wanted to get away. He would be an idiot to not realize.
“Okay,” he murmured. “We’ll talk about the project next time.”
Violeta slapped her forehead. The project. "I forgot about that," she muttered, half to herself as the memory resurfaced. "Crap. I—I'll text you later."
I don't have your number. Please don't give me your number.
"And please, let's not meet at your house to work on this."
“After school, then,” Gray said, looking away as if he was uninterested. In reality, it was just so he’d stop wanting to touch her again. “Library. Are you free till then?”
"I get off work at seven," she said automatically, referring to the art studio she worked at. "I'll meet you at seven-thirty. Which–Which library?"