They worked quietly for a while, with Ophelia humming to herself. After a while, she spoke. "Abel, how much do you like that shirt?"
"That shirt you're wearing," she said casually, reaching up and missing a high spot. "How much do you like it?"
She tilted her head, looking over her shoulder with a frown. "Because we're working with paint and I don't want you to get paint on it if you like it...?"
He still seemed suspicious. "Hm.. No, I don't care too much for this shirt. I'm fine it gets paint on it."
She frowned, looking insulted. "What? No. I wanted to ask if I could hug you. I'm really grateful for you."
Her brush hung limply at her side and she sighed before turning back to the wall, starting to paint again, her shoulders slumped.
She shrugged slightly, not looking at him. "I wanted to give you a hug and you don't trust me. It's fine. I get it, Abel, really, I do."
"Well, here I stand," she said dramatically, painting the wall in broad strokes. "Here I stand. Hugless. Without my friend. My good friend."
"It's very difficult, yes Abel, thank you for noticing," she said sadly, sighing in despair. "I just wanted to prove to my good friend how glad I was to know him."
