April 9th, 2013


[One-shot] All-nighter


Natasha rolled her shoulders a couple of times and arched her back, breathing deeply.

Until about two minutes ago, she hadn't realized how sore her shoulders were from hunching and leaning in close to the canvas all night. It was a habit she really should kick, but she honestly didn't see how: when she painted, she would forget about the world outside of the expanse of fabric and palette, and step away hours later to realize her tea's cold, sun has risen, and she needed to pee really badly. There was no helping the way her body took a backseat when she needed to paint.

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