Everything was supposed to be in order.

The Writer got all the research the materials she needed. The references she could use. She even has sample works from several authors about it. It would be easy; like baking a cake.

But it was given that the Writer can’t cook or even bake.

The Writer was in gloom and doom over the fact that she had one major factor missing. A factor that she always considered when writing her stories.

Emotions.

It was easy to get the emotion-part of her novel. All she had to do is to visit a certain shop, ask and observe, and take notes. Not like she haven’t done it before; the on-site research. Last time she did an extensive research on a subject, the zoo she visited practically kicked her out for going inside the wolves’ den for ‘observing their mating behavior’.

But this one…

“What shall I do…” the Writer groaned softly and slumped her head on her table.

Eyeing the items on her messy table in a bored manner, the Writer saw a certain pen that she rarely use.

A sleek plastic pen with a metal nib that’s filled with engravings. The same pen she used to scare the Artist’s friend at some point. ‘Was his name Marvin? Martin? Marlou?’ she scrunched her nose, disregarding the idea of remembering the man who tried to flirt with her.

Shaking the thought of the Spanish artist, the Writer reached for the said item and stared at it with a nostalgic smile.

It was a gift from the her flatmate on their first month living together. A ‘truce’ gift after three weeks of arguing about the living arrangements that resembled a skirmish between Allied and Axis powers during World War II. And in return, she gave the Artist a sketchbook.

“I wonder where’s that sketchbook…” the Writer mused, twirling the pen skillfully in between her fingers. “Did she use it already? I wonder what she draws in it…”

Twirling the pen, a sudden realization hit the Writer’s brain. One that could help her with the current project she has. ‘How could I be stupid?!’ she reprimanded herself, carefully placing the pen back on the table and went straight to her flatmate’s room.

Ignoring the surroundings, the Writer barged inside the Artist’s room without knocking or any warning. Instantly, her sights went straight to the Artist who was seated on a computer chair and busy sketching on a sketchpad. She noted how serious the ‘happy-go-lucky’ Artist was; the furrowed brows and tight hold on a generic sketchbook gave her that impression.

“Hey, I need your help,” the Writer snapped her fingers, calling for the Artist’s attention.

The Artist looked away from her sketchpad and turned to the Writer with a surprised expression on her face; cracking the seriousness that she held since she started sketching. She then looked to her right and smiled wryly. “Could we take five?”

With curiosity, the Writer turned to her left where the Artist was looking at. The moment her eyes laid upon the subject of the Artist’s dry smile, she instantaneously turned to the other way; cheeks with a tint of pink.

A naked ‘naturally’ blonde woman that was seated like Cleopatra on the Artist’s bed. Despite being a writer, having read a few dozens of erotic novels and keeping a pokerface while reading them, it was a different story when she actually seeing somebody naked in front of her.

“Why, pray tell, is there a naked woman in your room?!” her voice was shaken upon asking about the other occupant room. The reason for the Writer’s sudden flushed was the naked woman on the Artist’s bed.

“It’s ‘nude’ not ‘naked’, there’s a difference.” The Artist simply laughed at the Writer’s reaction while the blonde sultrily placed her clothes back on. It was evident on the blonde’s pout that she wasn’t happy about the sudden intrusion. “She’s clothed. You can turn around now,” she said with a grin.

The Writer turned around with a sour look on her face and her arms crossed. She eyed the blonde who slid off the Artist’s bed and noted how she had a predatory grin on her face directed at her flatmate. It didn’t sit well within her.

The blonde approached the Artist and placed a finger under the Artist’s chin. She then tilted the Artist’s head a bit to the side and placed a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll see you later, ma chére,” she said with a heavy French accent. With a flirtatious wink, she left the room without even acknowledging the Writer.