I was overwhelmed at the venue I was promptly dropped off at. Sasha didn't have time to ensure I made it to Ymir since she up and left the coffee shop and had to interview the new employees when she got back.

"Bonjour," the front check-in smiled at me but then realized my casual attire compared to the formal patrons, "ah, are you lost?"

"Um, no," I felt embarrassed in a way, knowing very well how the rich and famous giggled at lackluster attendees. After all, her father and mother were the kind of people to partake in it. "I'm here for, um, Ymir."

Again, he gave a very obvious up-and-down look at me.

"I'm sorry, mademoiselle, but this is an invitation-only formal exhibit. May I see your invitation?" He did his best to remain professional even though he knew I didn't have one.

"I—I came to drop off Ymir's slacks!" I tried to reason bit as I showed him the freshly ironed pants. He stared at them and then at me.

"That's the first I heard this one," he muttered, unimpressed at my 'excuse' to try and get in, "but, I will have to refuse you regardless of your authentic stunt."

"Oh, what's this?"

I froze up and I jumped, seeing Jean approach my side, wearing a tuxedo with a swarm of ladies watching his every move.

"Have you lost your way, love?" He asked, smiling and tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. I almost recoiled but I showed him the slacks.

"I need to get in and give these to Ymir. They were dirty and she couldn't wear them. She left with jeans." I explained and he nearly snickered, too pleased at the idea of Ymir being a mess.

"Oh, that is a problem, then, isn't it? Alright, come with me," Jean glanced at the now bitter and cowering boy at the front. "You won't cause more problems for Ymir's girlfriend, will you?"

Now.

Now that made the whole crowd gasp, intrigued, and suddenly trying to rush inside, wondering what she had to show. I was about to race inside but Jean interlocked his arm with mine, languidly strolling inside.

"Why did you say that?!" I hissed, ducking my head as people kept glancing over me as the gossip began to spread like wildfire.

"What, I see how you two leer at each other when I visit." He smiled, pretending as if nothing was wrong—too used to the spotlight and glances. "Do you think I'm that oblivious?"

I didn't retort as he guided me through the different artist's corners and walls until I saw Ymir's familiar figure facing her artwork, holding a glass of wine and conversing with a group of attentive listeners.

"Ymir," Jean loudly called out as I felt my heart bolt up into my chest as the room turned their attention to us, "Historia came. Said she has something for you."

I scolded him as he gave me a cheeky smile, pressing a hand firmly against my back and scooting me towards Ymir. By the time I was inches from her she had turned, golden eyes warm with alcohol and pleasure, smile ghosting on her lips like a naughty child.

"So she has," it was obvious that she might've had a little too much to drink, but she was holding herself up better than at the apartment, "it's good to see you, Mon étoile."

She didn't help but spark more interesting excitement.

A bolder man stepped forward with her, examining me closer as I presented the slacks.

"I washed these for you," I told her, growing embarrassed by the second as people were murmuring, "I… I made sure the coffee didn't stain anything."

Ymir took the slacks, holding and pinching the fabric between her fingers, rubbing and analyzing the spot where the stain would've been.

"You're too sweet," she peered down at me through lidded eyes.

Oh, her and Jean were the worst. They knew what sort of attention they were bringing by toting me around. It only confused me because Ymir had never advanced on me beyond vocal flirting. Why did they want everyone to think otherwise?

"Come, come," Ymir took me under her arm, wrapping me close to her side as she brought me into the fold, "now, my loves, this is Historia Reiss—she lives with me in my apartment."

I elbowed her, red-faced.

All of them took me in very seriously, questioning and trying to pry answers out of me, but I couldn't tell what they were searching for. Anytime I about answered Ymir would do all the talking.

"Ah, Ymir," Jean was merely passing by, "how's your new art?"

That's when everything changed.

Ymir's grip tightened on me as her eyes narrowed on Jean.

"I have no idea what you're talking about? Oh, the art of you? Well, well, that ain't so new, is it?" The words rolled off her tongue with such honey.

"Oh, no, no, not that at all," Jean winked at her, sipping his martini as he began to walk away, "I meant about Miss Historia here…"

He didn't have to say more to get the rest of the crowd going as they bunched in close, curious.

"Oh, Ymir, is she your female model?" A bold man asked, eyeing me as if I was a juicy piece of steak.

"Oh, I'm sure you're only touching up on anatomy," a woman gently waved her hand at Ymir, trying to be understanding, "after all, we understand your affinity is for the masculine touch on the canvas."

"I remember when you did your first female study," another man held his cigar, playing with it, wishing he could light it, "it was very pretty but also very stiff. I find it awfully delightful to see how your emotions and lifestyle is portrayed through the canvas—your male work is by far your best. Your female is lonely and full of solitude—have you ever thought of doing male and female?"

"Her female work is just as lovely, but it definitely has a different vibe than her other work."

They were a drawl that I couldn't understand—Ymir's work was fantastic either way. It might've felt different for each gender but it was never less than beautiful.

However, as I peered up at Ymir's face, I saw how sour it was as they spoke of her art as if it was an object. I couldn't understand at that time, but Ymir was nice.

She had waited until we got home that evening after a day of being pried into.

"Could've gone worse," she muttered. "But, I at least sold enough."

I knew it wasn't about the money as she laid in her bed, smoking a blunt as I laid in my own bed. The darkness covered us like a blanket, protecting us from each other's presence. Maybe it was her or me but I felt if we saw each other in this blackness that I'd give myself to her.

"What's wrong?" I asked because the whole day was pin and needles and I was far too exhausted to continue to pretend I was oblivious to everything. "Why… why were you so upset today?"

It was quiet except for her puffing and loud exhales until the joint was no more.

"I only had one female model before. It was Sasha." She coughed a bit and I felt myself lightly smile as she cursed to herself.

"I thought I found my calling finally. No more male models, no more women praising me for delivering sex on a canvas. I thought I found something good," the weed and tiredness were getting the truth right out of her. "I had a subject that I loved and felt like I could paint forever, but, every time I did, I felt… alone, I guess."

"A very deep sense of loneliness. Something was missing every time I painted her and I couldn't understand. Maybe I didn't really want to."

I sat up, drawing my knees to my chest, listening to her think and talk so lightly like starlight.

"People don't like sad things. They are shallow and only search for what makes them happy—they do not have the discipline to take the good with the bad. And, Historia, my paintings were bad—they had people confessing to me that my female studies made them feel lonely, sad, and some felt too uncomfortable looking at them." She chuckled. "It wasn't nearly as graphic as my male paintings. Not even as bad. But, yet, they demanded more of that shameless stuff and 'politely' told me to not draw females again."

I felt my legs shaking as I bit my lip, nursing it as I fidgeted.

"There's something inside me that gnaws at night—a sense of anxiety? Maybe loneliness and sadness. Isn't that anxiety, though? And I want so much at that time but it's so overwhelming in the daylight. Enough to bring it all back in and to not want it at all. I guess I'm not making sense, shit. How I've fallen…"

I couldn't help it as I quietly stood, hugging myself.

"Maybe you understand me, though… You can tell me if I'm wrong—I'm a big girl and can handle it—but I sense a deep longing in you, too. You see me differently because you understand that part of me, don't you? That's why you're such an angel." She had shifted in her bed but I couldn't see her as I silently padded to her bed, kneeling on the edge of it.

"What is it—did I offend you?" She asked.

My hand sought her out into the dark until I felt warm skin and something hard underneath. I felt it bob and I realized I had touched the side of her neck as my fingers drifted up to her defined jawline.

"What is it," she said it softer, searching for something I knew was there.

"I don't care what they say," I hushed her, crawling closer and holding her cheek in my hand. I even felt her arm reach out and grab my shirt, pulling it closer to her until she had me trapped in her arms and tangled in her legs. "I don't care what they prefer."

She thought she had control—that I was some crying little girl who was trying to defend her crush who was being bullied, but I wasn't.

I took handfuls of her hair, holding her still as my lips went past her seeking lips and to her ear.

"I don't' care what they want from you," I whispered as my breath grew heavier as her hand kept circling my upper-thigh, "I want to only have you and your happiness."

My body was in heat and I couldn't resist her anymore as my mouth parted and I felt my own hot breath wash over her ear as I licked the shell of it, feeling her tense up as she audibly groaned, arching her back and pressing her chest into me.

"…Historia…"

"They are all trash. Everyone who doesn't understand. Don't think about them."

What were these words that were coming out of my mouth?

"Just think of me. Do what you want."

"I want you." Her palm pressed against my sex, rubbing it deeply as she tried to roll on top of me, but I forcefully pushed her down, causing her to gasp as I took control of her.

"I can't stop myself anymore now that I know the truth," I had my hands up her dirty shirt and she didn't fight my possessiveness. "Don't hurt yourself with your art anymore—use me."

It wasn't right to fuck her like this or to say those words but it came from my heart. Something defiled, something darker but she ate it up.

She ate it right up.

Maybe she was right—we did know each other's loneliness far too well.