one shots

crush | pt. 13

"I thought I told you to stop painting in my shirts," he bent down to kiss my forehead as I sat on the floor, painting.

"Sorry, babe. I just always feel so inspired mornings after we. . . you know," I smirked up at him with a modest shrug.
"You don't have to be inspired in my shirts though, baby. If I could have it my way, I'd rather you be inspired with nothing on at all," he smiled mischievously while sitting next to me.
I playfully rolled my eyes and scoffed as he chuckled.

"Don't you get tired of hasseling me about your shirts?" I asked.
"Don't you get tired of getting unwashable paint on my shirts?" he retorted as I stood up.
"Fine," I reluctantly said before beginning to take off the shirt.
"Nah, nah. I'll let it slide this time," he halted me.

I smiled slightly. "Really?"
"Yeah, but next time, I won't be so lenient," his hand ran up my thigh briefly before I swatted it away and made my way to the kitchen.

He chuckled, following behind me as I began making some tea. Genesis wasn't that much of a coffee guy, and only seemed to be such on Mondays, so I would often hook up some tea instead. His favorite was this lemony tea I learned how to make from my mother, and because of it, we were down to only two or three lemons in our kitchen inventory.

"What's the latest project anyway?" he inquired.
"Womanism, girl power, being strong and feminine at the same time," I shrugged at the explanation of my painting.
"I definitely see it," he glanced back at my painting and nodded.

"Do you really?" I raised an eyebrow.
"Of course. She's got her fist raised and has big hair. She's not afraid to stand for what's right and be seen. She's got flowers in her hair but also like war paint or like the lil' paint lines under her eyes. That's the strength and femininity you were talkin' about," he analyzed.

"Am I right?" he gazed down at me after a moment.
I scoffed and rolled my eyes.

He chuckled again, knowing that I both hated and loved how he was so in my head. He's learned a lot just by looking at my art and never misses a beat when it comes to interpreting it. . . I wouldn't expect him to. He's been mastering the skill of interpreting and internalizing my art since we were in high school.

As of now, we've been living together for about three years. In that time, I've gotten promoted due to my drive and non-stop initiative, at work. Meanwhile, G's moved his company into that building he'd been fantasizing about since we were out of college, and he was so so close to opening up shop in California, somewhere.

His work has been featured in Essence and Complex and so many more magazines that I lost count. He was really blowin' up, but this also made him begin the process of reconsidering relocating to Cali.

He's accomplished so much without moving, and it's honestly nothing for him to catch a few flights out there in order to get things done, if need be. Plus, he would rather be home-- where the heart is, according to him.

I explained to him that flights could get expensive, and with the rate of flights and hotel rooms being so high, he may as well move out there for business purposes. He could at least get a little place to stay while he's out there and just come home whenever he's done or not as busy. I should be able to hold down the loft anyway; I've been saving up for a while.

He didn't like the sound of that, and I hated even pointing it out to him because of our past complications with distance, but it had to be addressed. We couldn't act like distance wouldn't be an issue, if he was really weighing the options of relocating his company.

"G, it's not that big of a deal! We're more mature now, and we're perfectly capable of--"
"Nasira, long distance ain't us. It just isn't, baby girl. I'm good, right here. . . right here with you," I remember him interrupting me just a few days ago.