Separate names with a comma.
"Because it doesn't blend or lay down as easy. But it does make good details."
"I also don't climb trees that often," he pointed out.
"This place is older," he told her, moving down to her neck. "They don't have any."
"Water color, if pencils don't count." He smiled slightly. "Acrylic is a bit harder."
"I disagree," he said. "We might be even."
"They can't see us," he said quietly, kissing her jaw. "The counter isn't in view."
"No. There was a lot of art where I lived, and I wanted to do art like everyone else."
"That's true." He grinned. "What else?"
"I don't care," he murmured. "Reading can wake."
"I did," she answered. "I taught myself, mostly."
"What else would break the stereotype?" he asked, tilting his head.
"I love you too," he said, kissing her again. "A lot."
"Yeah," she said. "That's why I liked being alone."
"Not just that. I liked spending time by myself."
He raised an eyebrow at her. "But we are friends."
"Thank you," he said, his hand brushing her jaw. "Thank you."
"Not really," she admitted. "I didn't connect that well."
"Horror?" he asked. "Why horror?"
He returned her gaze. "Don't die any time soon."
"No," she answered. "Did you?"
