When I finished the drawing, I handed the canvas over to Tate. "So?" I asked excitedly. I had finished doing the drawings outlines and they looked pretty good. Not gonna lie I was kind of fishing for a compliment.

He grabbed it from me and began walking over to his painting station with out a word. Frustration was clear on my face. "It's alright." He said finally with a teasing smile. I playfully rolled my eyes at him. He looked at me from head to toe and laughed. "Your covered in pencil shavings and charcoal." He said as he reached out a hand and began to move wipe my cheek.

My cheeks warmed at his sudden touch but I didn't shy away from it. His hand on my face felt natural. I looked up at him through my hooded eyes and his eyes met mine. They were filled with a desire had never seen before. It made me excited and scared. His cheek kept gently caressing my face. His hand suddenly guided over my lip and my breath caught. My eyes shot to his lips in anticipation. I looked back up at him and the desire in his eye were replaced by worry.

"What's wrong?" I asked hushedly.

"You breathing is off. You ok?" He said slowly dropping his hand. I hadn't realized. My heart was beating faster than a drum. I stepped away and began trying my best to steady my breathing and slow down my heart.

"Meloni?" He said with a worried look on his face. My heart almost started beating fast again. He called me by my name. I glanced I've to him with a smiley "The first time you call my name is when I'm having an episode. I should have more of these." I said with a breathy laugh. A small smile appeared on his lips but the worry didn't leave his eyes. "I'm fine, Tate."

He nodded and looked me over one more time before he moved back to his painting station. After got my self under control, I took the chair from the desk and pulled it up next to him.

"Since you did your part you can head home. I can finish the rest on my own." He said as he began to start the painting. A wave of calm came across his face as soon as he picked up his paint brush. His usual tough boy exterior completely melted away. His muscles were relaxed, and with every brush stroke he seemed to fall deeper and deeper into a trance like state. His usual guarded features were now soft and focused. If it weren't for the tattoos and the piercing, he'd look a lot younger and at peace.

He looked even more handsome when he painted.

His eyes shot to me and a grin was plastered in his face. "You think I'm handsome?"

My heart stopped. I hadn't realized I had said that out loud. I cleared my throat and tried to look unbothered, even though I'm screaming inside. "I have no clue what you're talking about." I said. I mentally faced palm myself. He had literally just heard me say that, me denying it looks even more suspicious.

He just chuckled in response. "Whatever you say, little owl. Is your dad coming back to pick you up or did you want to wait til I'm finished and I'll drop you off?" He said. I was relieved he didn't give me snarky comment for my previous slip up. I don't think I would've been able to come up with any good response.

"I'd like to stay. There something we need to discuss anyway." It's a question I'd been wanting to ask for awhile. He looked over at me with a questioning look but ended up nodding in agreement. He stopped what he was doing and left the room and then came back a few seconds later with a chair. He sat it down in front of me crossing his legs and arms, staring at me with such scrutiny.

I began to squirm under his gaze. He smirked in response. "You can paint while I ask you these questions." I said

He nodded. " I know. But I have to wait for the paint to dry so I can paint the hearts. We don't want the clots to blend. So while we air might as well get comfy." He said. I didn't think it took that long for paint to dry. I pushed the thought aside and began my interrogation.

"There are rumors around school saying that you are a under ground fighter, is that true?" I technically knew the answer but I wanted a good gate way question into what I really wanted to ask.

He tensed at the question. "Yes, but I'm trying to stay away. Especially, since my father is back in town. If he found out I was still doing matches...." a darkness began to shroud his eyes. The calm that was there when he was paint disappeared. His eyes met mine and looked at me curiously.

"Why do you want to know? Why are you curious about me?" He said with a smirk. But his eyes stayed the same.

"I want to get to know you better. Cause we're friends now, remember?" That was half true. I honestly just wanted to know more about the guy I liked. He was an enigma to me, a big flirty enigma.

"Ok. We'll then let's have a deal. You ask me a question, and I'll ask you one. Cool?" He said as he watched me cautiously.

I nodded in agreement. "How long have you been sick or whatever it is you are?" He asked.

"All my life." I said shortly. I figured he would've asked that. He just nodded and waited for my question.

"You said you were trying to stop underground fighting meaning you still do it, just once in awhile." I said more as a statement. I looked him in his eyes. "Can I come to one of you matches?" I asked. Ever since I found out he fought I wanted to see it up close. I wanted to see him in action.

His lips thinned and the muscles in hurts arms bulged. The muscles in his jaw tightened. "No." He said his tone seemed final almost like I couldn't even try to debate. It took me by surprise. He really hated the idea. I bowed my head in disappointment.

He must've noticed my disappointment because his whole demeanor softened. "I didn't mean to come off rude. It's not really place you should be going, especially, if you can't handle your self. It's a dangerous environment." He said. I just nodded my head. I could tell he wouldn't budge on the subject. But I will still find a way to go to at least one.

He got up and began painting again and sat back in my chair in silence. I guess the games over.

"Is it difficult?" He said in a whisper. I almost didn't hear it.

"Is what difficult?" I asked

"Dealing with it. Is it hard? You seem like you gotta good control on it, but does it ever get too hard to handle?" He said as he intently moved the brush across the half finished canvas.

I actually had to think about that. "That's a difficult question. No, because like you said I've got some type of control on it, but also yes cause there are days where my control isn't enough." I said honestly. My sickness is very strange and very annoying. And this was the only way I could honestly answer it.

He nodded. He took a breathe and murmured something to himself. "How about asking me something a little light? This deep shit is starting to get depressing." He said with a chuckle and I couldn't agree more.