✾ Daffodil ✾

"This is it?" The annoyance was clear in my voice. "You're really an artistic genius," I deadpanned.

Ren smiled and walked up to the canvas. "Thank you. It's not much now, I know. But it will be. Trust me. It's a work in progress."

"In progress?" I asked, walking up beside Ren and touching the canvas. "It's literally blank."

He nodded. "Full of potential."

I frowned. "That's one way to look at it. The other is that it's full of absolutely nothing."

Ren crossed his tattooed arms over his chest. "I like my way more."

"But seriously," I said, "why did you bring me here?"

Ren smirked. "Is 'I didn't want you to die' a good enough answer for you?"

I sighed. "It should be."

"Fine, then," Ren said. "I brought you here to ask you a question."

"What?" I asked, but Ren mimicked zipping his lips and throwing away a key. I groaned. "What is it this time?"

"Let me make you coffee," he said.

"It's seven at night."

"Tea?"

"I hate tea."

Ren grimaced. "But you're underage. I can't just..."

"Doesn't matter," I said, walking away and letting myself fall down onto Ren's couch. "Not like anyone's looking." The words no doubt meant more to me than they did to him. No one was looking at me, out for me. I doubted anyone ever would be again.

Ren nodded and disappeared for a moment. When he came back, he had two beers in his hand. "So," he said, plopping down beside me, "what's your story, Copper?"

I grabbed the cool beer and took a sip. I'd never liked the taste of beer, but I needed something to distract me. One, from everything that was going wrong in my life. And two, from how intoxicating the feeling of Ren's leg touching mine was. Both were hard to ignore. "My story?"

"Well first, where are you from?" he asked, staring at me. I shifted under his gaze.

"Florida. Next question." I hadn't had much alcohol before, besides a few sips of mom's beer or wine on special occasions. So, needless to say, I was a lightweight. I'd barely started and I felt different...or maybe it was psychological. I wanted to feel different so badly that I did.

"I lived in Florida once," Ren said with a grin. "What's your last name?"

"Bryant. And my middle name is Oscar."

"Bryant!" Ren said. "That's horrible. Your initials are literally BOB." I nodded and frowned.

"Like I said, my mom was crazy," I answered. Was. I got it right that time, but apparently the alcohol was already making me drop my guard. I couldn't keep a straight face. He noticed.

"Was?" he asked. He'd leaned forward. I stiffened. This man was practically a stranger. No, actually he was a stranger, despite how comfortable I felt next to him, waltzing into his apartment.

But I could blame it on the drink. Quiet relief. He was listening. "She died two weeks ago."

Silence. I was almost afraid to look at Ren and to see that pitying look I got from people. But when I finally worked up the courage to turn my head, I didn't sense that slimy false sorrow most people displayed. There was a spark in his dark eyes that made it seem like he had a secret. "What?" I asked. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Ren shook his head and dragged his hat off of his head, shaking his hair out with one hand. It was messy and hung down a little bit in front of his eyes. His hat hair almost made me smile. "And your dad?"

"Died when I was a kid," I said, nodding. "Don't really remember him all that well. Vague, fuzzy pictures."

"Well, if we're sharing sob stories..." Ren said and then stood up. He, without hesitation, ripped his shirt off. I pressed my back into the couch and looked at him like he was insane.

"You did bring me here to—"

"Calm down, Copper. Jesus," he said. "I thought we established that I'm not a creep." I stared maybe a bit too intensely at Ren's dark eyes, fighting the urge to look farther down for more than the precious few seconds I already had. Ren was absurdly muscled for an artist. Didn't he just sit around in this room and...paint? 

"Look," Ren said, turning around. I hesitated only a moment before setting my beer down on the coffee table and standing up. I saw immediately what he wanted me to.

His entire back was covered in tattoos of all types, small and large, different colors and designs. But that wasn't what I was meant to notice.

On Ren's right shoulder blade was a cluster of scars, little round ones that marred the perfectly smooth surface. I didn't think before I touched my fingertips to the line of soft, sad craters. "They're..." I began, but I felt my voice catch. Realization sank in like mud drifting to the bottom of a jar after it's been shaken.

"My dad used to put his cigarettes out on me," he said. I pressed my palm against the scars as if hiding them would make Ren's pain disappear. He looked at me over his shoulder.

"I'm..." I began, but then he realized that he probably didn't care about apologies. I didn't know what it had been for him, what pain he'd gone through. So instead I said, "Some sob story."

Ren chuckled and turned around, looking down at me. "Same to you."

My smile faltered. "You haven't even heard it all."

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," Ren said, throwing his shirt back over his head. "We all have our secrets. Maybe eventually there won't be any between us."

I nodded absently, trying again to ignore the shot of adrenaline that coursed through me when I realized that this might not be the last night I'd ever see this remarkable person. "I'm guessing you have more than most people."

Ren smirked that casual smirk that he always seemed to do. Maybe he wasn't even aware he was doing it. "Sort of."

He fell back onto the couch and picked up his beer again, throwing back his head to drink it. I stared at him again before dropping down beside him. "So..." I said, feeling awkward.

"My next question: what's your favorite color?"

"Are you serious?" I asked. "Isn't that something you'd ask a five-year-old?"

"Wait, you're not five?" Ren said, feigning seriousness.

"Shut up," I mumbled, annoyed. "And I don't have a favorite color. Do you?"

Ren grinned. "I do now."

I raised an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"

But Ren didn't use words to answer. He didn't need them, I guess. He seemed like the kind of person who only used words superfluously. If he really wanted to communicate something, he'd do it with his eyes, with his expression, or with his body. He would speak silently.

He reached out and wove his fingers into my hair, resting his cool palm on my cheek. He looked calm as he did it, like he'd been thinking about doing it the entire time. Like he was scratching an itch. He twisted one of my loose curls around his finger, staring at me. This is it, he was saying. This is my favorite color.

Unlike him, I was anything but calm. Despite how badly I tried to fight it, I felt a deep blush spread across my cheeks. I was glad for my skin color because it effectively hid the heat on my cheeks. But electricity still sparked across my skin where he touched me, and my butterflies returned to harass me. They were stampeding around in there, blasting trumpets and banging pans together. 

"The question I brought you here to ask..." Ren finally said, "Copper, can I paint you?"

I blinked. Ren was a surprise around every corner. "Before you say no," he said hurriedly, "know that I'll pay you back. And know that—and I'm completely serious when I say this—I need to paint you."

I didn't move. I didn't speak. I was still flustered that Ren was touching me so gently. No one had ever really touched me like that, barely a brush but one that caused mini lightning strikes along my skin. He frowned. "You look like you're going to say no. But listen, ok? My masterpiece, that blank canvas...it's been sitting there for a long time. I've been looking for someone to fill it with, and-"

"Ok." I didn't even think. I simply agreed.

Ren dropped his hand and I stared at it where it rested on his lap. I sort of missed the cool feeling it brought me. No, I definitely did. "Ok?" Ren asked. "So you'll do it?"

His eyes were brighter than I had seen them yet, like he'd suddenly been given life. Instead of secrets, it was childish joy that lit up his face, a burning sun instead of a quiet moon. But then I felt my heart thud to the ground. "I...would."

Ren's joy faltered. "Would?" he repeated.

"I don't have a place to live. I'm literally homeless right now," I explained. "I think I need to get my life in order before I-"

"That's a problem that's easily solvable." Ren didn't ask questions. He just shrugged. 

"What? You have money lying around or something?" I asked jokingly.

Ren laughed and shook his head. "Hell no. I'm an artist. But I do have an apartment and an extra room."

I raised an eyebrow. "You want me to stay here with you? Are you serious?"

"I want to paint you. If that means a roommate, so be it," Ren said. "I don't think you understand how important this is to me."

I found myself smiling and staring at my feet like an idiot. I took another drink from my beer, feeling a wave of dizziness wash over me. Maybe it was exhaustion or the alcohol or my relief, but I felt like I was floating. I fell back against the cushions, shocked.

"Just, hey," Ren said, tapping my arm lightly, "you've got to promise me one thing, ok?"

"Anything," I said, smiling still.

"Don't try and ruin yourself again?" he said. "You're perfect as you are. I can't paint you if you're dead."

I nodded slowly. "Ok. Sorry."

"Don't apologize," he said, ruffling my hair as he stood up. My breath caught. "Just, if you find yourself thinking that way again, think of me, ok? And my masterpiece. Or come talk to me or something, but...I need you in one piece to paint you, Copper."

I nodded more confidently this time and brought my knees closer so that I could hug them. "Promise."