AN: I might have gone a bit into the depth. Dang! I think I will write a non-harem story in the future.
Words: 2.5k.
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[Bathroom]
Scarlett gripped the edges of the sink, staring at her reflection.
Her heart pounded.
She had expected a simple dinner tonight. Good food, some playful banter, and a little kiss, maybe? Then home. But now, she was standing in Alex's penthouse, about to let him paint her.
Not the version of her the world knew. No makeup, no filters, no Hollywood polish. Just her.
She exhaled, reaching for a makeup wipe. As she dragged it across her cheek, the foundation faded, revealing freckles she usually concealed. Another wipe swept away the eyeliner, softening her features, and making her look… more like herself.
It felt different. Raw. Vulnerable.
She had been in front of cameras most of her life, but those moments were carefully curated—perfect angles, controlled lighting, an image sculpted for the world. But this? This was real.
Would he see her differently?
She shook her head. 'Stop overthinking, Scarlett. It's just paint on a canvas. Nothing more. It's not like he's painting you.'
And yet, a small part of her was excited. No scripts, no expectations. Just her and Alex in a quiet room, creating something honest.
She ran a hand through her hair, then took one last look in the mirror before stepping out.
[Bedroom]
Near the windows, Alex adjusted the canvas near the open balcony. Then he set up the stool, tweaking the angle of the light before stepping back to assess the space.
Then he heard the door open.
Scarlett stepped in, her face bare, her hair slightly tousled. She hesitated for half a second before meeting his gaze.
'God, help me.' That was Alex's first thought when he saw her.
Alex's lips curved into a slow smile. "There you are."
Scarlett huffed a soft laugh. "You make it sound like I was lost."
He tilted his head, studying her. "Not lost. Just… different."
She rolled her eyes. "Translation: I look weird without makeup."
Alex shook his head. "No. You look real."
Scarlett stilled.
She wasn't sure how to respond to that. He wasn't looking at her like people in Hollywood did—searching for angles, flaws, and perfection. He was seeing her, taking her in like she was something worth remembering.
She let out an awkward chuckle. "Okay, seriously. You staring this hard… good thing or bad thing?"
Alex exhaled, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Good. Definitely good." Then something shifted in his expression, an idea clicking into place. "Actually… change of plans."
Scarlett blinked. "What?"
He stepped past the stool, moving toward the bed. He patted the mattress lightly. "Lie down."
Her brows lifted. "Excuse me?"
His lips twitched. "Relax. I meant for the painting."
She crossed her arms. "Uh-huh. And this sudden creative shift?"
Alex shrugged, already adjusting the canvas. "The way the light's hitting you right now—it's different. This will look better."
Scarlett hesitated, glancing at the bed. There was something about lying down that felt… more intimate. More exposed.
But she wasn't about to back out now.
With a dramatic sigh, she sat on the edge before shifting onto her side. She stared up at the ceiling before turning toward him. "Like this?"
Alex studied her for a moment, then shook his head. "No. Keep your eyes on me."
Scarlett's breath caught slightly.
He wasn't smiling now. His voice was softer, steadier, like he wasn't just talking about the pose.
She swallowed, meeting his gaze.
"Like this?" she asked again, her voice quieter.
Alex nodded, picking up his brush. "Perfect."
Scarlett lay still, her head resting on her arm, her eyes locked on Alex's. The air between them had shifted. Gone was the usual playful energy, replaced by something quieter, heavier.
Alex didn't speak at first. He lifted his brush, fingers steady as he dipped it into a deep, rich color. His eyes flicked between her face and the canvas, his expression unreadable. But the way he looked at her... it was different.
Not like a co-star. Not like a Hollywood starlet. Not like a fleeting fantasy on a movie screen.
Like her.
Scarlett's breath remained even, but inside, her heart pounded. She felt seen in a way she hadn't before, and it unsettled her more than she expected.
Alex's gaze softened as his brush moved, each stroke slow, deliberate, as if every detail mattered more than the last. The usual cocky smirks and teasing remarks were gone. This was something else. Something raw. Devoted.
Scarlett swallowed, warmth creeping into her chest.
"What are you thinking?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Alex hesitated, studying her for a moment longer before looking back at the canvas. "I don't think I've ever painted like this before."
Scarlett tilted her head slightly. "Like what?"
His fingers tightened slightly around the brush. He exhaled, voice quieter now.
"Like I'm afraid to mess it up."
Scarlett's chest tightened.
She knew Alex. He was confident... always. He never second-guessed himself, never hesitated, whether in front of a camera or behind one, always so sure of every move.
But now?
Now he was careful. Almost reverent.
Scarlett's fingers curled slightly against the sheets. "Why?" she asked, her voice quieter than before.
Alex let out a slow breath, his eyes flicking between her and the canvas once more. His voice was lower this time, more raw.
"Because it's you."
Scarlett's lips parted slightly, a sharp inhale catching in her throat.
It wasn't a line. It wasn't flirtation.
It was the truth.
For the first time in her life, someone wasn't trying to mold her into an image, wasn't trying to capture a version of her they wanted to see. Alex wasn't painting Scarlett Johansson, Hollywood's leading actress. He was painting Scarlett, the woman lying in front of him, bare-faced, unguarded.
Real.
And suddenly, she felt something shift inside her.
A warmth, slow and steady, curling deep in her chest. A feeling she couldn't name.
This was the first time she felt… cherished.
She exhaled shakily, her fingers brushing against the soft sheets.
Alex didn't look away from his canvas, but she knew—she knew—he felt it too.
The shift.
The unspoken thing between them.
And for the first time, Scarlett wasn't sure if she was ready for it.
But she didn't move.
Didn't look away.
She just let him paint.
...
Alex had painted landscapes, abstract splashes of color, and even a few self-portraits before. But a live model? A real person?
Never.
And certainly not her.
Scarlett lying there, looking at him like that, trusting him... Well, it made his hands feel unsteady in a way he wasn't used to. He wasn't a guy who hesitated. Confidence was his thing. He could pick up a guitar and play in front of a crowd without missing a beat. He could charm his way through any situation. But right now?
Right now, he was terrified.
Because this wasn't just paint on a canvas. This was her.
And for the first time, he wasn't trying to impress anyone. He wasn't painting to prove he could or to hang something on his wall to show off. He was painting because something in his chest demanded it.
He let out a slow breath and pressed the brush to the canvas.
The first stroke was light, barely there. Then another. And another.
His eyes flicked between the painting and Scarlett, tracing the soft lines of her face. He wasn't looking for perfection—he was looking for truth. The gentle curve of her cheek, the way her freckles scattered like constellations across her skin. The way her lips parted just slightly, like she was caught between a breath and a thought.
His brush moved faster now, the fear still there but fading beneath something else. Focus. Devotion.
Scarlett didn't speak, but he could feel her watching him. She wasn't posing, wasn't trying to be anything other than what she was in this moment. And that made him want to get this right even more.
He'd seen her a hundred different ways in his past life... On movie posters, in magazine spreads, on red carpets, always looking untouchable. But the woman in front of him now?
She was something else entirely.
Raw. Real.
Beautiful.
Alex swallowed hard, forcing himself to concentrate.
His fingers smudged a bit of shadow, darkening the space beneath her chin, giving depth to the light cascading over her. He had never painted with this kind of precision before. It's not because he lacked the skill, but because he had never cared this much. It was just another casual hobby for him.
He hadn't realized how silent the room had become until Scarlett's voice broke through, soft and hesitant.
"How's it going?"
Alex exhaled, dragging his gaze away from the canvas to look at her.
Her eyes were steady, searching his face for something.
He hesitated, his chest tightening.
Then, finally, he said the only thing that felt true.
"I think… I'm finally painting something that matters."
Scarlett didn't look away.
And neither did he.
.
.
[Finally, it's over] [Time? No idea]
Alex exhaled. A long, slow breath. He stepped back from the easel.
Scarlett sat up slightly, propping herself on her elbow. "Is it…?"
Alex didn't speak at first. His gaze lingered on the painting, his fingers flexing as if resisting the urge to make another stroke. Then, finally, he set the brush down.
"It's done." His voice was quieter now, almost reluctant, like letting go of the moment was harder than he expected.
Scarlett pushed herself upright, brushing loose strands of hair from her face. "Can I see?"
Alex hesitated for a beat, then turned the easel slightly, angling the painting toward her. But just before Scarlett could see, he smirked.
"Now, before you react, just remember... art is subjective."
Scarlett narrowed her eyes. "Alex."
He exhaled dramatically, shaking his head. "And, you know, Picasso had his Blue Period, so if you look vaguely like an abstract potato, that's just my creative interpretation."
She let out a breathy laugh. "My arm is numb, so you better show me the painting now."
With a teasing sigh, he stepped aside.
Scarlett's breath hitched.
She had expected something rough, something impressionistic, maybe even exaggerated. But this?
It was her.
'Wow! This is... Me...'
Not the glamorous, red-carpet version. Not the polished, perfect image she had spent years presenting to the world. This was raw. Honest. The soft scatter of freckles, the subtle shadows beneath her eyes, the way her lips curved ever so slightly, like she was caught between a thought and a feeling.
It was... intimate.
Scarlett swallowed, her fingers pressing lightly into the sheets. "Alex..."
Alex, for once, didn't have a joke ready. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking anywhere but at her. "I mean, I might've gotten a little carried away. The lighting was working, and, you know, my hand just kinda..."
Scarlett stood, stepping closer to the easel. "No. It's..." She trailed off, exhaling softly. "It's beautiful."
Alex glanced at her, his usual smirk tempered by something quieter. "Yeah?"
She nodded, her gaze still fixed on the painting. "Yeah."
He huffed out a breath, shifting his weight. "Okay, well, don't get used to me being this serious. Next time, I'm painting you as a stick figure."
'Next time? Ok. Yeah. It'd be fun.' Scarlett grinned, finally looking at him. "Oh, I fully expect that."
Their eyes met, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Alex cleared his throat, clapping his hands together. "Alright, since you didn't storm out in horror, I say we celebrate. Wine? Ice cream? Both?"
Scarlett arched a brow. "You have ice cream?"
"Pfft. Of course. I'm not a complete savage." He started toward the kitchen, throwing her a playful look over his shoulder. "But fair warning. I only have one spoon, so we might have to share."
Scarlett rolled her eyes, following him. "How ever will we survive?"
Alex smirked. "Guess we'll find out."
[Kitchen]
Alex rummaged through the freezer, his head practically inside it as he searched. "Alright, we've got…" He paused, then pulled out a pint with a triumphant grin. "Cookie dough. Classic."
Scarlett leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "Solid choice. But do you actually have bowls, or are we just eating straight from the carton like heathens?"
Alex scoffed, grabbing a single spoon from the drawer. "Bowls? Please. This is an elite, straight-from-the-container experience."
She smirked. "You just don't want to do dishes."
"Obviously." He popped the lid off, scooping a bite before holding it out toward her. "Ladies first."
Scarlett hesitated, then rolled her eyes and took the bite. The cold hit her tongue, followed by the perfect mix of vanilla and chunks of cookie dough. She hummed appreciatively. "Okay, I'll allow it."
Alex grinned, taking a bite himself before leaning against the counter beside her. For a moment, they just stood there, passing the spoon back and forth in comfortable silence.
Then Alex spoke, his voice more casual than he felt. "So… about the painting."
Scarlett glanced at him, her expression unreadable. "What about it?"
He shifted, tapping the spoon against the edge of the carton. "I, uh… I meant what I said. About never painting like that before."
Scarlett set the ice cream down, turning toward him fully. "I know."
Alex met her gaze, something uncertain flickering behind his usual confidence. "It freaked me out a little."
She tilted her head. "Why?"
His fingers tightened around the spoon. "Because it wasn't just paint. It was you." He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "I don't know how to explain it, but… it felt like if I got one stroke wrong, I'd be messing up something more than just the painting."
Scarlett's chest tightened. She wasn't used to people, men, looking at her the way Alex had tonight. Not as a role, not as a polished product, but as a person.
Real.
She swallowed, her voice softer now. "You didn't mess it up."
Alex looked at her, and for a second, she thought he might say something else. Something that would tip them over the edge of whatever this was between them.
But then, his lips twitched into a smirk. "Damn right, I didn't. I'm kind of a genius."
Scarlett huffed a laugh, shaking her head. "And there he is."
Alex grinned. "Had to balance out all that vulnerability. Almost gave myself an emotional cramp."
She laughed, the moment lightening just enough. But something unspoken still hung between them. A shift. A weight.
And neither of them was quite ready to let it go.
Alex handed her the spoon again, their fingers brushing for half a second longer than necessary. "Alright, Scarlett. What's next? Do we stare meaningfully at each other some more, or do we watch a terrible movie to avoid talking about our feelings?"
Scarlett smirked, taking another bite of ice cream. "Terrible movie. Obviously."
Alex clapped his hands together. "Perfect. I hope you're ready for the worst action film known to mankind."
Scarlett grinned. "Bring it on."
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[6 advance chs] + [7 chs of Two and a Half Men: Waking up as Charlie Harper] [All chs available for all tiers]
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