Love-Love || OLD DRAFT

game!

A picture of Cherik to the top because a) it's CANON, no force in the world can convince me otherwise, b) they're the MVP of heroxvillain ships!!!

Oof.

....

“I think that’s too much blue,” I informed.

“I think we have the right quantity of blue,” Aspen replied, as he dumped yet another can of blue paint in the cart.

“I think you’re wrong,” I deadpanned.

He pretended to think for a second. “No, I think I’m right.”

I rolled my eyes at him and, instead of replying, turned to pick up two cans of black paint.

Aspen took a few steps towards me and snatched them from my hands. “I’m sorry, but who’s the Fine Arts guy here?”

I put my hands on my hips and pretended to think. “From what it looks like, that guy probably cheated his way into –” I broke off as a sudden thought hit me like a bullet train. I dropped my act and stood up straight, facing my enemy. “You cheat in tennis!”

Aspen’s smile did not falter. The audacity! “What?” he asked.

I raised a finger at him accusingly. “You fucking cheat in tennis. Holy Satan!” I let out a laugh. “This city’s beloved,” I paused slightly to look around me. The shop was deserted except for a few people far away in the food aisles. Still, I dropped my voice to a whisper as I continued, “hero, the great, the mighty, the all-powerful Super Storm, the guy on children’s tiffin boxes and bags and cereal covers, cheats in tennis!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he grinned, then stepped closer and put his arms around me. “But if you did sense any foul play in any of our games,” he whispered in my ear, “you know you can always... punish me.”

I could not believe that guy! He was on children’s cereal boxes for fuck’s sake!

I stepped out of his hold. “Aspen,” I said seriously, “you need Jesus.” I patted his shoulder solemnly, took the two cans from his hands and walked over to the cart. I randomly threw in a few more cans of paint – ones that were not blue – then pushed the cart towards the cash register.

Aspen followed close behind, still chuckling to himself. I beautifully ignored him.

“Looks like someone’s redecorating,” the cashier commented as she scanned the scores of paint cans and the dozen paint brushes.

“Kind of,” Aspen replied cheerfully.

“So, who likes blue?” she added.

“See, I told you that’s too much blue,” I said off-handedly.

“Oh come on, darling,” he put an arm around my shoulder. “You don’t have to be embarrassed by how much you love Super Storm and thus want to paint our house in blue.”

I swear I would’ve punched him right then and there had it not been for the annoying fact that we had to stay low and off the radar. So I smiled at him instead and reached out to touch his arm, my fingers tingling with sparks.