Teal.

“You look tired, again,” she commented as she let the door swing open to a room that already smelled of paint. He could see it, too, one wall already partially shaded a deep purple. There was a streak of paint down her forearm, a dab above her left eye, and her fingers were dyed a rich plum, not to mention the splattered dots covering her arms like mis-colored freckles; obviously not the most careful—or skilled with a paintbrush and roller.

“I don’t sleep well on planes,” Julian replied while hanging his coat next to hers on a rack that previously hadn’t been there.

Teal stepped ahead of him through a maze of furniture and bookshelves towards the wall she had been working on. She looked back at him briefly, a few curls falling from the messy bun atop her head.

“When did you get in?” she asked. Her voice was barely heard over the stream of music that swam through the room.

“An hour ago, give or take.”

The girl stopped, turning to survey him curiously. He gave her a light, amused half-smile as he tilted his head back slightly, hands in his jean pockets.

“Shouldn’t you be catching up on your sleep right now?”

“Well, I had someone hold off on their painting project until I was back from my audition, and from the looks of things you’re getting more paint on yourself than the walls,” Julian noted.

“Ha. Aren’t you sweet,” she deadpanned. “So how did that audition go, anyways?”

“It…went.” he said. “Needless to say, they were expecting me.”

They had all nodded and smiled expectantly at the announcement of his name; the director’s stare had said nothing less than ‘you better be worth our time’ as the casting director had scribbled furiously on the pad before her. So he had performed, playing Alex with a biting self-loathing and stinging naiveté as he recalled the lines, and tried to process just how the character had thought. The room held it’s silence, and once he was over they gave the typical “we’ll call you” and set him free.

He had seen the others auditioning, mostly well-known names in Hollywood, young heartthrobs as well as one or two mostly unknowns, like himself. One of the better-known faces—and in his opinion the one most likely to land the roll—Gaspard Ulliel had exchanged a few words with him during the wait. They had met once or twice before, Gaspard a French fellow who specialized in modeling with a few movies here or there. Not only did he have the build for the character, he also seemed to naturally radiate the air that Julian imagined Alex would have. After that, he had left and headed straight for the airport, and after a delay caught a flight back to London.

“What about your agent?” she asked lightly.

“As soon as I gave him word I was going to the audition we were more or less back to normal,” Julian said. “Now, shall I grab a roller or start tackling some of these corners and edges with a paintbrush?”

Julian was eager to change the subject off of his audition or anything to do with his career. That was why he had come so quickly back in the first place, because he knew she didn’t care—at least not in the way his fans did—about himself as an actor. She treated him like a person.

“I hope you’re not planning on painting in that. I know a fifty dollar shirt when I see one.” Teal crossed her arms over her chest, as Julian glanced down at the shirt in question. He offered a shrug; she rolled her eyes. “Down the hall, second room on the left, there’s a box of t-shirts by the door. Grab one; I imagine a small would fit you, but there are a few mediums in there, just in case.”

He followed her instructions with a sigh; it wasn’t so much he didn’t care if he got the shirt he wore dirty, it was he hadn’t even thought to change once he arrived. He’d barely set foot in his apartment, only long enough to toss his bags down before he had found his way up the stairs and to Teal’s apartment. Just inside the white-walled room he found the box next too a dresser and directly across from a rather large bed. It was a bit of a dig, as he could fit in smalls if he wanted, but he preferred the loose comfort of a medium. There were two stacked together; a plain white one and a black one with RHCP scrawled across it’s front. He had no desire to ruin the latter; clearly a band shirt—at the girl’s age he knew how precious those could be. The white shirt was clean, but old, as it lacked the vibrancy of something newer, and seemed more or less dull. But that wasn’t all; it had a faint scent to it, one that didn’t seem to ring in with the rest of the clothes, a bit muskier perhaps. He shrugged his shirt off; what did it matter, anyways? After a quick switch he made his way back out to the living area.

“That was quick, okay the—“ Teal stopped speaking, face becoming strangely hard as she caught sight of him. Her eyes were fixed, not on his, but lower; his torso. “Ah, alright then. Going to assume that was in the box, know for a fact I didn’t pack it. Could you do me a favor, Julian?”

“You alright?” he asked carefully, noting the thin line her lips were pressed into, the stony and unusual gleam in her eyes as she stood on the stepladder.

She squeezed her eyes shut, pinching the bridge of her nose with her free hand. “If you really want a medium there should be a black shirt and a green one somewhere in the box, take one of those and I honestly don’t care which. Just, do me a favor and throw the one you’re wearing in the trash out here when you’re done. Sorry.”

The room would have lapsed into an uncomfortable silence had it not been for the music pouring from the speakers of the laptop that sat atop the kitchen counter. Julian’s forehead creased as he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. Teal turned back to her wall, slowly sweeping another streak of plum across the wall. He wasn’t sure, but there seemed to be a slight tremor in her motions.

“Um, sorry, did I do something wrong?” Julian’s voice carried to her, riddled with confusion.

There was a pause in her motions before a sigh pulled at her figure. Carefully the girl stepped down, avoiding eye contact as she dipped the roller into the paint again.

“No,” she said levelly. “You haven’t done anything, really. I’ve just got to have a few words with my editor. Unluckily for her we’ve got a little conference call in half an hour. Just go change and come on back out here.”

Julian didn’t press it any further, stepping back down the hall and into her room once again. He found the green shirt and changed once again. He hadn’t expected that; such a strange and sudden behavior change over a t-shirt. Of course he shouldn’t be surprised, not really, not what he had seen of her so far. Strange; strange and unpredictable, that was what she was.

He came back for a second time; white shirt balled up in his hand and threw it in the half-full trashcan beside the counter. Teal didn’t look at him as she pointed to a new roller sitting on the counter close to the wall. He grabbed it, noting the kettle setting on the stove as the red eye beneath it glowed. There were two mugs on the counter that hadn’t been there before, next to a glass teapot prepped with tealeaves, waiting for the hot water.

“You’re making tea?” he asked in an attempt to break the stale quiet between them that was filled with 90’s music he vaguely recognized.

Teal nodded. “The least I could do for you coming to help. Irish Breakfast, but I’ve got Earl Grey if you’d prefer.”

“No, no,” he replied hastily. “That’s fine, thank you.”

With that, Julian started painting on the next section of the wall, a window separating him and the suddenly stoic girl. The minutes passed as they worked without a word. He began to recognize more clearly some of the songs that filled the room, some by Oasis, Coldplay, even a few by Civil Twilight and The Doves. Teal hummed along for the most part, and when an old Seal song he hadn’t heard in ages came on she seemed to forget he was there, belting out the lyrics with an amusing familiarity. Julian couldn’t help but laugh, and she cast him a sideways look before turning red in the face and winding back down to a hum.

Whatever uncomfortable air there had been vanished as the atmosphere again became comfortable. Julian tried to wipe a drop of the paint that had splattered onto his arm, only managing to smear it. He frowned, wondering how long it would take to remove the deep purple stain.

“Why this color?” he asked, looking towards her.

Teal was back on the ground, standing over the half-used can, swirling her brush around in it. She stopped though, letting the paint drip off the brush and back into the bucket.

“I’ve never been fond of pastels, or bright colors, and deep purple isn’t horrible, is it?”

He paused for a moment, considering a response. Of course, she hadn’t lied to him when he had asked her things before, so why shouldn’t he be frank with her as well? “Most people don’t paint their living rooms such a dark shade, honestly.”

She straightened up, pushing a few strands of hair back as she met his eyes, amused. “Do I seem like most people?”

Undoubtedly, she had him there.

“No.” he smiled, shaking his head. “I don’t think that’s possible for you.”

“And that’s where you’re wrong, Julian,” She replied, wiping a thick coat of plum over the wall. “I bet your fans think the same of you, that you’re not normal—that you can’t possibly be normal, you’re something different, something special, something unique. But look at you, helping me paint my living room like a normal, every day person. Oh, if they could see you right now, what would they say? It goes for me as well. I am average, indistinguishable; you should have seen me back in Florida before the explosion with the novel. I was like any other Florida girl, and honestly, for the most part, I still am. I am normal; except I’ve lost the filters most people keep so carefully in place. Like for you, doesn’t it get boring sometimes, being everyone’s idol, this seemingly perfect dreamboat everyone adores? Don’t you just want to toss that mask aside sometimes, be who you want to really be? I mean, that’s why you’re here helping me paint my living room isn’t it? Because you’re kind, and you’re lonely, and you want someone who isn’t just going to look at you as the radiant actor, you want to just be Julian, a normal average person, far more than you’re willing to let on.”

“Fascinating how easily you speak your mind, Teal,” Julian muttered, mulling her words over. It was scary—horrifying how easily she had hit the nail on the head as though it was nothing, as though he was a transparent sheet of glass and everything was on display and at her disposal. What a brilliant, annoying girl.

“You’re not here for me to bullshit you. You’re here because of exactly that; I speak my mind and you crave it,” she stated. “You know why I know that? Because I want it too. It’s wonderful, having these fans that praise you, think the world of you, and tell you what you like to hear. But that’s not always what you need. Sometimes you need someone who isn’t afraid to be honest with you, even if its something that’s not flattering or kind.”

Julian clenched his jaw as he ran the roller up and down the wall. It was all spot on; and he knew it just as well as she did. Impressed and irritated, he noted; that didn’t happen often.

A strange ringing echoed through the room suddenly, sounding much like a phone except muffled, and its sound completely cut off the music. Teal was off her stepladder and on the opposite side of the counter where the laptop was open within a matter of seconds; the ringing he realized was accompanied by the whistle of the teakettle behind her. But she paid it no heed as she narrowed her eyes at the screen, peeking over the top of the computer at him momentarily.

“Oh, look, it’s Liz, my editor. Give me just a minute. I’ve got a bone to pick with her,” Teal growled. Julian stopped painting as he watched her; she pressed something, before turning briefly to look at the steaming teakettle on the stove. “Well hello Liz, guess what I fou—“

She froze as she turned back to the screen; eyes locked, mouth open as her sentence ran short. There was a twitch of her right eye as her forehead creased and she inhaled sharply, stepping back from the computer. Julian lowered the paint roller without a thought; something was wrong. In the depths of her green irises a resonation of terror glistened, radiating out over the rest of her features and slowly morphing into some strange, bitter pain.

“Teal? It’s really you, oh, Teal, I’ve been trying so hard to get in contact with you and—“

“No, shut up. No conversation, ever. Tell Liz I’m informing the company about this. Her job as my editor is done. This isn’t happening; not again.” Teal’s voice was quivering steel as she cut the other one off, one Julian hadn’t expected. Whoever that was, wasn’t her editor, and certainly wasn’t a female.

In one swift motion, Teal whirled around to the stove and grabbed the kettle, before continuing her circle back around. He watched as she stopped, again facing the laptop before suddenly pouring the hissing water all over the laptop’s keypad. Steam or smoke one rolled into the air around it as he heard her yelp along with the clang of metal against the kitchen floor. He dropped the roller into the paint-covered pan and rushed in confusion around the bar to where she stood, clutching her left arm.

“Oh bloody hell,” he muttered, grabbing her shoulder and steering her to the sink, away from the sizzling laptop and empty kettle rolling in the floor. From her hand, halfway to her elbow was bright pink skin, where the boiling water had splashed off the laptop and onto her. She let out a hiss of her own as he turned on the faucet and stuck her arm under the cold flow of water.

“Ow, shit.” she tried jerking back, but he held her steadily in place.

Julian frowned. “No, don’t move. This is going to help. Still may need to go to the doctor, but right now just keep it under the faucet. What the bullocks was that just now? Did you go mental? You dumped a kettle of boiling water onto your laptop.”

Her lips pressed into a hard line as she ducked her head, gripping onto the edge of the sink. “That was my editor getting fired.”

“Well, pardon me, but from what I gathered that wasn’t your editor on the other end of that call, now was it?”

“Nope. You’re right. That was my past and I’d very much like to keep it there,” She replied coldly. “But if Liz has her way it certainly won’t. So Liz is fired and I need a new Skype account. Happy?”

Julian sighed. “Happy? You just badly scalded your arm destroying an expensive laptop with water because of your ‘past.’ I don’t think I really follow.”

“And let’s keep it that way. It’s something I don’t want to talk about.” her voice was low and even, almost scarily calm. Almost like he was when he was thoroughly upset, he realized.

They stood silently in front of the sink for a while, letting the water rinse over her arm as what had just happened replayed over and over through his mind. Nothing with her was typical, or simple. It was twisted and confusing. Twice that day he had seen her visibly bothered, if not upset; once with a shirt, once with someone on the other end of a video-call. This was different from her outburst on Claire a few days earlier; that had been a brief snap to a bitter anger because of a situation that rubbed her the wrong way. What happened within the past little while was more reflective of something unresolved; something that upset her to a level he was unfamiliar with.

“Any first aid in your washroom?” he asked, examining her still-red arm.

“Ah, nope, haven’t done much shopping aside from food and some room décor.” she gave him a pained smile. “Probably should have gotten some stuff, though.”

“I’ve got some gauze and aloe down in my apartment, keep your arm under this until I get back. I must say, certainly wasn’t expecting to return to this.”

“At least it isn’t boring,” she scoffed.

No, he shook his head, he couldn’t say it was. He felt much more alive than he had in months, even if it was under an array of absurd, unusual, and sometimes stressful sequences and situations. Julian gave her uninjured arm a squeeze as he stepped away. “Be right back.”

The smell of paint was still strong has he headed for the door, not bothering to grab his coat off the rack as he passed it. Going down one flight of stairs and then coming right back up didn’t seem like it required that much effort. It was a quick trip.

“Oh, hey, Julian?”

His fingers stopped short of the doorknob as he turned back, looking around the corner to where he could catch sight of her behind the bar of the counter. She was leaning back to see him, arm still beneath the faucet. “Could I borrow your laptop? I need to email the editor-in-chief.”

Julian stared at her for a moment, and then blinked, nodding at the steaming heap of computer settled in a puddle of water on the island counter. “Only if you promise not to pour boiling water on it.”

Teal smiled. “Ice-water it is, then.”