Time for dinner

Because his boyfriend was an artist, he had become used to a few different things. Like paint, ending up somehow on the table. Calling out into a house he knew wasn’t empty, for no answer. Deciding to clean up the paint this time, then go check and make sure the artist was not lost in thought, not passed out on the floor.

“When did you last eat?”

This room was a disaster, but this room was allowed. Even if the artist needed the occasional reminder to clean up.

Being this close grabbed the other man’s attention. He sat back, looking over his shoulder. “Once after the last time you asked!”

Well, that was better than yesterday. The artist was very absorbed. With a smile and a shake of his head, he went to get dinner.

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