It had been two weeks since the Writer accepted an Artist as her flatmate.

For two weeks, the Writer had been at war with the Artist. From how the artist always leaves a mess in the kitchen or the living area, to the paint on the wall of the artist's room – not to mention how messy the said room was as well. Both of them had been bickering about cleanliness for the past two weeks and none of them were giving up in annoying each other.

They argued.

And argued.

And threw everything except the kitchen sink at each other.

So far, it was not a good two weeks for both creative-minded people.

Early morning, around 8AM, the Writer woke up earlier than usual and decided to brew herself a cup of coffee. Her deadline was coming up and she needed all the extra energy and time to finish it. Dressed in her pajamas and with a wild bed hair – resembling a lion's mane – she went out of her room and noticed something usual within her apartment.

There was an unfamiliar scent. One that reminded her of fresh mountain river with a hint of mint.

Curious by nature, the Writer sought out the source of such scent and it led her towards the direction of the bathroom.

Just before the bathroom door, a woman dressed in a black sports bra and black shorts stood idly by and seemed like she just got out of the showers. The wet short black with red highlights hair that's being dried with a white towel was a dead giveaway of the recent water activity. 

The Writer carefully scanned the woman and noted how she had an ivory toned skin that accentuated the inks on the woman's bare shoulders – feather-like patterns – and a slender body that bragged her athletic physique.

The Writer froze on her spot upon seeing the unfamiliar, yet should be familiar, woman. 

She had to blink a few times, trying to reel in her thoughts to why someone somehow got inside her apartment and used her bathroom to take a bath.

She was supposed to be alone in the apartment but here that woman was, looking fresh early in the morning.

Deciding on calling the building security, she was on her way towards her room when she heard a familiar voice.

"Oh! Hey!" said the woman cheerfully, draping her towel on her shoulders and waving her right hand. "Morning!"

Slowly turning around, the Writer faced the shirtless woman and scrutinized the woman from head to toe. The raven-like colored hair was currently brushed back, showing the woman's onyx eyes. Those eyes of the woman reminded her of—

"What are you looking at?" the woman questioned, approaching the writer with a quizzical gaze.

Standing a good few inches shorter than her, the Writer finally got a better look on the mysterious intruder and realized that she was none other than her flatmate.

The usual messy-spiky hairstyle and quirky clothing were replaced by some athletic gear and wet flat hair. But the smile and the perky attitude was the icing on the cake.

It was the Artist.

"Well?" the Artist asked again with right brow raised. She was now a foot away from the Writer who seemed to be staring at something – or someone.

The closeness of the Artist made the writer looked away from her. Gathering her wits, she cleared her throat and hoped she wouldn't croak. 

"You bathe... and have tattoos..." She trailed off, avoiding eye contact with the shirtless woman.

The Artist nodded. "Well yeah. I did bathe and yes I have tattoos though just a henna one." She began scratching her shoulders. "I'm allergic to it but it's an experimental one so... yeah."

"I thought Artists don't bathe," said the Writer casually. "Since you mostly lock yourself inside your room 24/7. Are you sure you're an artist?"

The Artist nodded. "Of course, I ba—" but then she realized what the Writer implied about her hygiene. 

"Wait... Hey!" her usual cheery demeanor was replaced by an insulted one. 

"I bathe every morning!" she defended.

'I really thought she doesn't bathe... with all the paint and mess in her room, clothes and even her skin... though those inks... interesting,' She thought as she made her way to get her cup of coffee. The Writer shrugged and turned to the direction of the kitchen. She needed coffee to process everything she just saw.

All of the new things she found out after two weeks of accepting an artist as her flatmate, it had to be that the Artist has a hot body.

####

"Out!" the Writer shouted angrily at the artist, pushing her outside the steamy bathroom.

With a loud slam, the Artist was kicked out of the bathroom that she didn't know was already occupied. The Artist didn't expect to walk-in her flatmate the moment the Writer stepped out of the showers; with only a towel covering her body.

'It's not my fault that the bathroom door wasn't locked and I need to brush my teeth,' the artist thought with a satisfied grin.

'It's not my fault that I saw her slender body, clad only in a thick towel, and wolf-whistled.' The artist nodded approvingly, remembering how the towel clung on the writer's body like a second skin. It hugged the writer's body well, showing the vivacious curves of her flatmate that's usually hidden under baggy clothes.

'It's not my fault that she didn't notice me because her hair was blocking her vision.' The artist remembered how those long dark-brown tresses framed the Writer's face and clung on her exposed skin and towel-clothed body.

'And it's definitely NOT my fault that I openly gawked at those cold brown eyes that did nothing but glare at me.' The artist shivered upon remembering those haunting scowl directed at her. Those eyes that glared at her threateningly yet akin to a kitten's predatory glare.

"Hey, can you give me my toothbrush and toothpaste?" the Artist cried out, hoping she could continue brushing her teeth in the kitchen sink. Her grin became wider when she heard some grumbling from the bathroom, thinking it was one of the Writer's moody cursing.

A few seconds after, the Artist felt the items she requested hitting her at the back of her head. Instead of yelping in pain, the Artist laughed louder and picked up her belongings "Thanks!"

"Don't go walking in the bathroom when someone's using it!" shouted the Writer from the bathroom.

"Next time, lock the bathroom door! You have a flatmate now, hence we share one bathroom!" the Artist shouted, laughing when she heard the incoherent curses coming from the bathroom.