I woke up to the sound of Frank Sinatra blaring down the stairs. I glanced at the floor to see Ellie was not sleeping there, or even in the room. 

Great.

I hopped out of my bed, and walked down the stairs to the living room. I'm not sure what I expected, but what I saw certainly wasn't it.

Paint, everywhere. Ellie stood facing the wall with not one, but three paintbrushes in his hand. He was painting the wall as if it were a canvas.

On the floor were dozens of candy wrappers, and a rainbow of puddles that were, unfortunately, spilled paint. Yet, he would bend down on the floor, and dip the paintbrushes in the puddles, and resume painting whatever it was he were painting on the wall.

I was speechless.

I couldn't even process the site in front of me because of how loud the record player was. The first thing I did, was turn the music off.

He shot me a look as if asking why I turned off the music.

I walked over to his side, ready to unleash all hell on him, but I couldn't. Not when I saw what he was painting, anyway.

It was a portrait of a creature, a familiar creature that I found absurd that he'd even think to paint. It was a creature that I had secretly painted in my most recent paintings. He spent all night watching me pain it. Beside it was the outline of another creature that was in a different painting of mine.

Maybe it was because I have a soft spot for anyone who enjoys creating art, or because I finally have someone who shares the joy of painting along with myself. But I couldn't yell at him, I couldn't even find it within me to be mad. In fact, I was entranced.

So, instead of yelling, I said, "I didn't know you could paint."

"I didn't know you could paint." He replied.

"Don't copy me."

He glanced at me, and I swear I saw him grin.

I scoffed, ignoring his smart-ass attitude. "Of all things, why paint these creatures?"

"You hide them." Was his reply.

"Yeah, on purpose."

"I don't know why."

I raised my eyebrows, "Well why didn't you say something, instead of trashing my living room?"

He stopped painting, and returned his gaze to me. He spoke so seriously, I would almost assume he hinted passion in his tone, "You would have said no if I asked."

I was dumbfounded, "No I wouldn't." I said, but not as boldly as I meant to.

He gave me a look, as if saying, 'don't be stupid, I know you wouldn't have' because truth is, I wouldn't have believed him if he said he wanted to paint. I especially wouldn't have let him paint on the walls.

How odd it was that he was beginning to know me better than I know myself. I can't lie to him anymore, because he's too smart to fall for it.

I kicked a pile of candy wrappers that were lying on the floor, "I'm going to have to introduce you to vegetables."

He ignored me, and continued to paint. I sighed, and stood there in silence, watching him paint as if he were a professional. How did he learn how to paint by himself? He blended the colors and shades in a way that even I didn't know how to do.

What astonished me most is how easy he made it seem. As if anyone could paint the way he can.

"I can't believe this." I said mainly to myself, but he turned to me, as if interested in what I was thinking.

I continued, "You paint so well." I felt jealous, "How do you do it?"

He shrugged, unable to answer because, as always, he didn't have one.

"Surely you were shown how to do this somehow."

He shook his head.

I watched him paint for nearly half the day. Eventually, he inspired me to pick up a paintbrush and paint my own corner of the wall. I told him instead of painting the creatures I come up with, to come up with his own monsters. At first, he seemed hesitant, but eventually, he took a pencil, and began outlining a figure on a large empty space on the wall. It was almost as tall as me, but he acted as if he knew what he was doing. Like he had been waiting for me to tell him to paint freely this entire time.

I was so focused on my own creature, that for hours, I painted it, not bothering to look behind me to see what the figure he was painting would look like.

He can surprise me.

My creature's figure was shaped oddly. It was on its knees, as its hands were outstretched towards the ceiling. Its mouth was open showing hundreds of teeth, that took me hours to finish, and its hands had hands growing out of its palms. My creature's shoulders had symbols engraved on them. It wasn't my best, but it was definitely something different. To have it on the wall, nearly the size of myself, made me proud to see. I realized how cool it would be if all the walls of the house had creatures like him painted on them. My creatures, and Ellie's.

Remembering that Ellie was also painting, I glanced over my shoulder to look at his own art. I should have expected such a portrait, but looking at it, still surprised me.

It wasn't a creature at all. It was a being who looked just like him. Black veins covered its body like trails. Its eyes were wide, and black flooded them, drowning its pupils. Its fingernails were longer than Ellie's but they were black like his.

On the side of the figure he wrote the numbers '31113'.

Ellie.

"You drew yourself." I said, though it were obvious.

"Yes. Is it good?"

"Of course it is, it's fantastic," I say, "but I thought we were drawing monsters, not ourselves." I've never drew a portrait of myself before. I wondered if I could even do it.

His eyes rose from his painting, and met mine, "Does it not look like a monster?" He asked, with no emotion at all. Him saying so, bluntly pulled me out of my trance.

He thinks he's a monster.

"No," I tell him, and I'm no longer looking at the painting, but at him, "I think it looks human."

He looked back at the painting. The expression on his face was unreadable. I wondered what he was thinking, which certainly isn't the first time I have done so.

I spoke no more of the subject, and returned to my own wall. The rest of the day we painted in silence.