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Rainbow, streaky skin. Scrape and brush on a canvas. One star in the sky, gone, as millions take its place. Your knees burn and your ankles are sore. You have been sitting on the wooden floor for hours, not bothering to look up as the light from the windows changed.

You change the way you're sitting again, adjusting the canvas in front of you too. That's when you hear the rattle and click of the front door opening. You know who it is. You don’t look up or speak as the creaks of aging wood get louder, closer to you. The Russell of fabric also greets your ear. The tussle of a tie being pulled over head, and a suit jacket being tugged off of arms.

“Why are you still up?” Shin asks. His voice is groaning, tired.

You hum. “I wanted to paint.”

Shin lightly chuckles out, “at such an ungodly hour..?”

You glance back at him, grinning a little. “It’s the best time.”

“Sure it is,” He nods as he responds. Shin laughs lightly, sitting down on the couch just a few feet behind you.

You turn your head back to look at the canvas in front of you, reaching for the cup of paint water to duck your paint-covered brush. Shin groans lightly as he gets comfortable, shifting in the cushion he always sits on. He spreads his legs just barely. His eyes have a light sting from the draining day. As his eye lids flutter just slightly, his gaze goes to you. Back facing him, shoulders barely moving from the movement of your arms and hands, a slow nod of your head; either from being tired yourself or from a song you have playing in your head.

Shin lets out a light sigh before asking, “What are you painting?”

Your back straightens a little, “Something…” you mutter out just loud enough for him to hear.

“Something..?” Shin echos back, leaning his head against his arm that stretches over the back of the couch.

“Mhm,” you hum to confirm.

Then you get to asking him questions. Simple, everyday ones, “How was work?”

“It was alright,” Shin grumbles.

You smile to yourself. You and Shin don’t get to talk a lot during his all-day work rendezvous with Noi.

“A bit messy, but you know, the usual happened. Nothing special.”

“Right..” You give a short response, leaning in closer to the canvas, making one of the last final strokes. “Did you eat?”

Shin feels too exhausted to actually talk, making a short half hum of a yes.

Grumbling some more, Shin talks slowly, voice almost gravelly, “Come to bed.”

It wasn’t a demand. It wasn’t a question. It was just a plea. He wants to go to bed, but only after you.

You turn your head to look at him again, glancing at his slouched back. His things were thrown carelessly on the couch on the cushions next to him. Shin’s eyes were barely even open. Gosh, he was tired. He kind of… looked nice like this.

It didn’t remind you of this, but you couldn't help comparing it to one of those renaissance paintings of men throwing themselves at a practically naked woman.

“Shin, I promise I’m almost done,” you whisper out.

It was quiet in your apartment. That kind of quiet that only felt right to whisper in. A kind of quiet that reminded you what time it was, but certain people didn’t care too much about it. A kind of quiet that, it didn’t matter how tired you were before, you couldn’t help but feel tired now.

Shin rolls his head back against the top of the couch. His legs stretch just a little bit farther. His eyes close just a little bit more.

“Then let me know when you’re finished,” Shin says with a straining yawn.

Still looking at your painting, one stroke closer to finishing, the corners of your mouth turn up just a bit. A small smile on your face as your quiet voice tells Shin, “I will.” You perk up just a bit, “Though,” your hands still moving and your eyes still on the self-appointed task at hand, “You could go to bed before me? You don’t have to wait.”

Shin’s eyes open when you finish your last words, “but I want to,” he admits, staring at the ceiling.

That’s sweet. Endearing, in his own way. He just wants to know how late you stay up. Maybe put pressure on you to go to sleep earlier than you would’ve if he didn’t stay up with you. It’s still sweet.

“Whatever,” you throw back at him.

One of the final strokes. Maybe you could get away with keeping it like this. It looks finished enough. Maybe your brain will be fooled until the afternoon, tomorrow, thinking it really is finished until a small (unfinished) detail shows itself.

Shin. A stubborn man, but you will love him, even beyond the bounds and spells that death offers. He is practically falling asleep already, sitting up on the couch.

You push yourself away from the canvas, standing up. Your ankles and calves feel stiff, and the tacky, creaky sound from the floor from where you were sitting makes your movements all too well known. Bending over to pick up the still kind of wet painting, you walk over to the coffee table, placing it down oh-so gently.

Before you even turn back to pick up the palette, brushes, paper towels, and your go-to paint cup, Shin is already squatting to get them himself.

“How domestic of you,” you tease, going down to help him.

Shin huffs out a laugh, teasing you back, “Are you saying I would be a good husband?”

You look up at him, pretending to think. Innocent of any crime. “... Maybe.. We’ll know when the day comes.” You couldn’t stop the grin from stretching across your lips.

There is a small pause in the air.

Shin grabs your face, his index finger on your chin and his thumb on your cheek. He swipes his thumb across your cheek before saying in a low tone, “You have paint on your face.”

You blink, silent for a moment, before laughing. You punch his shoulder, “Let’s just go to bed.”

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