(A/N Sorry for all these filler kind-of chapters. I was planning to do the last one, last chapter, but then I realized it was too long, so I split it. 3 lots of love. Please review if you haven't it really does help.)
(Mitch's POV)
As we walk back to her apartment, I can't help but look at Hazel. She was emotionless, staring forward. She looked at me, and gave me a smile. But it quickly disappears. Once we get back to her apartment, she looks at me.
"Are we going to start now, then?" She asks.
"Yup!" I say, cheerfully, hoping that she'll become more happier.
"Alright, let's head in," she says, mocking the tone I was using. I let out a laugh. I put the paint bucket on the table, as Hazel grabs the newspaper from her desk. She throws a roll to me as I walk in the room, and surprisingly, I catch it. She spreads the newspaper under the bed, as I hold the frame up. As she puts the last piece of newspaper down, I let out a sigh, and drop the bedframe. It may not look heavy, but god, it is. She laughs, showing her teeth. She became happier.
I walk out of the room, to get the can from the table, and when I walk back in, a paintbrush is thrown in my face. I make a weird noise, resembling a moose dying, pooping, and puking at the same time.
"What the fuck was that noise?" Hazel said, laughing her head off.
"I don't know!? What sound would you make when someone throws a heavy ass paintbrush at your face?" I tell her.
"I don't know! Maybe a sound like this," She then proceeds to crunch her face up, and makes the same sound that I made, but the volume turned down a notch. We both laugh, as I set the paint on the desk. Once we finish laughing, we stare at the paint can.
"How do you open this?" She asks, with a confused look on her face.
"If I remember correctly," I say jokingly. "A sledgehammer?"
"Yup. That's definitely it," She says, smiling. "No, but seriously."
"Um…A can opener?" I say, trying to think.
"Like, the soup kind?" She asks.
"Yeah," I reply.
"Are you sure?" She asks, with a questioning look on her face.
"I don't know, let's Google it," I tell her, as she pulls out her phone.
"Yeah, you open it with a soup can opener," she says, scrolling through her phone.
"Alright, where do you keep yours?" I ask her.
"Um…Somewhere in the kitchen," she replies.
"That really helps. Thanks." I say, sarcastically.
"Fine, I'll get it myself," She says, standing up, putting her phone back in her pocket. She walks out of the room, and comes back shortly with one in her hand. "I told you, somewhere in the kitchen." She waves the can opener around.
"Alright, fine. You got me. Now, are we going to start or what?" I ask her, teasing her. She opens the can, and I pick up the brushes from the ground. "One for each?" She nods, looking up. The can was now open, but we still had to mix it. Crap. I forgot about that. The brushes were too short for mixing.
"Um, Hazel?" I ask her, catching her attention.
"Yeah?" She replies.
"Do you have anything, stick like? You know, to mix it," I tell her.
"Um…I have a pair of disposable chopsticks and duct tape," She replies. I laugh, hoping she was joking. I look at her face. She was serious. "What's so funny?" She asks.
"Nothing," I tell her. She walks out of the room again, and comes back with 2 chopsticks duct taped together.
"Will it be strong enough?" She asks, covering the exposed wood with duct tape.
"Probably," I tell her. She cuts the duct tape, and hands the chopsticks to me.
"You mix it, I'm tired," She says.
"Tired from what? Walking around your apartment?" I tease her.
"Yeah. It's like a workout," She tells me.
"Mhm," I tell her, grabbing the chopsticks. I start mixing the color. Soon it becomes smooth, and the color it was meant to be. "It's good."
"Alright, let's start painting then," She says, holding up her paintbrush. She passes me mine, and we dip the brushes into the paint. I put the bucket on the ground, and sit cross-legged next to it. Hazel does the same, and we paint the wood. We move around the frame, painting one part at a time. I put my paintbrush in the bucket, getting more paint. Doing this, I accidently put some paint on Hazel's hand. She looks at me, and I look at her. She then, paints my forehead.
"Wow, you're just asking for it," I say, painting her nose. We do this, until we have more paint on ourselves then the bed.
"ALRIGHT! CAN WE STOP NOW PLEASE?" She asks, pleadingly. Her entire face was covered with paint. "I SURRENDER!" She says, putting up her face.
"We done? Are we done?" I ask, nudging her.
"Yeah. We done," She says, mocking my tone. We continue painting the bed. After an hour, we finished. The bed has been transformed. I stand up, admiring the bed from all angles. I put my hand on her wall, leaning against it.
"Oh, um," Hazel said. "I think you kind-of also just painted my wall." I look at my hand, and take it off. She was right. A light blue-green handprint was imprinted on her white wall.
"Oh!" I exclaim, surprised. "Sorry!"
"It's alright," she says, putting her hand next to the handprint. "I needed something on my wall anyway." She takes her hand off, and her handprint is next to mine. She smiles at me, I smile back.
"Want to go out for lunch?" I ask her. I stop myself. Was I asking her out? "You know, with Jerome and them." Mitch. What the hell was wrong with you.
"Sure," She says, a little disappointed. Did she want to go out with me and me only-? Maybe.
"Alright then, let's go." I tell her. "But, I think you have a little something on your face," I joke around and point at an area on her face.
"You too," She says, smudging all the paint on my face. We both laugh.
"I'll meet you outside in the hallway," I tell her, as I leave her apartment.
"Alright!" She replies. I close the door behind me, and open my door.
