#tenfluff

The art studio was supposed to be a peaceful, creative space. At least, that’s what the owner had told you when you and Ten arrived for your painting date. The dim lighting, soft jazz playing in the background, and the faint scent of acrylics in the air all set the perfect atmosphere. But, of course, with Ten involved, things were bound to go off track.

At first, everything was going well. He was focused on his canvas, lost in thought, his brush gliding effortlessly across the surface. You were trying your best to keep up, though your strokes weren’t nearly as fluid.

“Are you even painting, or are you just admiring me?” Ten asked without looking up, a teasing lilt in his voice.

You scoffed. “Excuse me, I am deeply immersed in my work.”

He leaned over to peek at your canvas. “Oh. Wow. That’s… something.”

“Hey!” You nudged him with your elbow, making him laugh.

That was your first mistake. Because when Ten laughed, his playful side took over. Before you could react, he swiped his paintbrush against your arm, leaving a streak of bright blue on your skin.

Your jaw dropped. “You did not just—”

“Oh, I did.” He grinned, holding the brush like a weapon. “And I’d do it again.”

Challenge accepted. You grabbed your own brush, dipped it into a random color—red, for dramatic effect—and swiped it across his cheek.

Ten gasped like you had personally betrayed him. “Oh, it’s on now.”

The next few minutes were absolute chaos. Brushes were abandoned as the battle escalated. You dipped your fingers in paint and smudged them across his forehead. He retaliated by grabbing a handful of paint and smearing it across your jaw. At some point, he even left a green handprint on your shirt. Laughter echoed through the studio as both of you tried to dodge and attack at the same time.

By the end of it, Ten looked like a walking abstract painting—streaks of red, blue, and yellow covering his arms, face, and clothes. You were no better, your hair probably stained in multiple places.

Panting slightly, Ten glanced at your ruined clothes, then at himself, and then at the mess you had made. The poor canvases were long forgotten. “You think we’re banned?” he asked, grinning.

You laughed, wiping some yellow paint from his chin—only to smudge it further. “I think we should leave before they kick us out.”

“Agreed.” He took your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, not even caring about the paint transferring between you. “But you have to admit… this was the best date ever.”

You shook your head, smiling. “Only because you’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” he said, winking.