He bursts out into laughter, nearly spilling his drink all over. “You’re funny.”
“I’m serious.”
“She was looking for someone at the Phantom Society party. I guess maybe she was looking for you … and Levi.” He wriggles his brows and glances around the room until he finds Levi himself. “I’m gonna go chat him up until he gives me all the deets. I need all the good stuff.”
“I’m not telling you shit, so you’re all out of luck with me,” I say, grinning. “Go write your novel about someone else.”
“Party-pooper,” he says smugly, before walking off.
I snort and take a sip of my drink, only to be distracted by a certain brother admiring Melody painting from afar. I smirk as Atlas rubs his chin while gazing at the strokes she applies to the canvas, meticulously creating a still life of all the people here. I tilt my head as he walks into the hallway, a little closer, but still too far to talk.
She puts down her brush for a second and walks off to grab a drink from the kitchen, completely oblivious to the fact that someone was watching.
Atlas closes in on the painting, and his fingers reach for the speck of paint near his own face, and then hers.
“Oh, it’s not finished yet!” Melody says.
He abruptly pulls his fingers away. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I just hate it when people look at my unfinished works,” she says.
“Why?” he asks.
“I don’t know … I just think it’s still … awful.”
He sucks in a breath, still staring at the partially faceless people on the canvas, muttering. “It’s beautiful.”
Her chest rises and falls. “W-what?”
He turns, eyes widened. “Huh?”
I snigger and take another sip of my drink. Guess he forgot he said that out loud.
“How long do you think it’ll take?” he asks.
“I don’t know … weeks, months? It depends on the size.” She sighs out loud and grabs her chest, pausing for a second. “I’m just happy I can finish a painting at all, at this rate.”
He clears his throat. “I’ll definitely check it out when it’s finished.” And he walks off swiftly.
“Nicely done,” I mutter as he passes me.
“Shut up,” he growls back, sticking up his middle finger.
Elliot grabs a cookie off the table and munches on it while he gazes at the painting. “I don’t know what he saw. Do you?”
“I’m not really into arts and crafts, but whatever makes her happy,” I reply.
“I just think she’s not pulling out her true potential,” he says, observing her paint. “I feel like she can do much better than this. It’s just that she’s not given the same opportunities as us.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“You know …” He takes a bite out of his cookie. “With all the sickness and stuff.”
“Oh…”
“She’s going to join us at Spine Ridge next year, though,” Xavier says, stealing Elliot’s cookie right when he was about to take another bite.
“Hey!”
