Body Art

5 | saturn

"Is it finished?"

I felt a rush of warm air on my neck and stiffened. He must have noticed because he pulled back some and cleared his throat. "Almost. I think you'll like it."

"What makes you say that?" I would've looked at him if I weren't so afraid of brushing noses.

"You'll see."

Silence descended upon us once more. It had only been an hour since we'd started, but the afternoon light was burning out faster with each minute. The waxy rays of sunset that had pooled onto the aged studio floorboards were now as orange as the paint on Taz's brush, a sign that he needed to wrap this up before it got too late.

"So," I began, wanting to fill the air, "why Taz?"

Two short strokes of white kissed my shoulder. "What?"

"Taz isn't your real name, is it?" I glanced at him. Because he was positioned on a stool to my right and because he had to sit closely in order to get the details in, there wasn't a moment without physical contact. Before, his hand had rested on my shoulder to restrain the sleeve of my tee. Now I could feel his knee ghosting against the back of my jeans every time he moved; I could feel the heat in his wrist when it rested momentarily on my arm for another stroke. I can barely think with him so close. If this keeps up, I won't be able to even speak to him.

He chuckled lightly. "Why do you ask?"

I resisted a shrug. "Just making conversation."

Another moment passed. The sweet doo-wops of an old song I didn't recognize played from a speaker somewhere in a corner. They kept the silence from becoming too unbearable.

"It's a nickname." He paused. "I don't really like my name and this one kinda just stuck."

I gathered the courage to look at him. His eyes were focused on my shoulder, long lashes casting frail shadows down his cheekbones. "What's your name?"

He met my gaze and smirked. "I'm not telling you."

"Why?"

"I don't wanna."

I frowned and said defiantly, "Then you can't paint on me."

He quirked a dubious brow. "Are you serious?"

"No. But c'mon, you gotta give me something. I'm bored."

With a huff, he gave in. "You really wanna know?"

I nodded.

"Tien is my last name. Happy?"

"Tien?" I questioned. "That sounds kind of Hispanic."

"It was Vietnamese the last time I checked."

I didn't know what else to say at this point, so I kind of just twiddled my thumbs and looked around the room. A silence fell upon us again, and the only thing that made it awkward was my fidgeting. He must have noticed.

"Isn't there anything else you want to know instead?" He wasn't painting anymore, just leaning on his elbows and maintaining eye contact as he twirled a brush between his fingers. "My favorite color; where I'm from? When my birthday is?"

I thought on it. "Where's your family from?"

He smirked. "Are you asking because I'm Asian?"

"Maybe."

"Hm. My dad's Viet-American and my mom is from New York."