The Painter (2)

He didn’t talk to anyone, and he didn’t let anyone in except, of course, Steve.

At that time, Steve had spare keys to Aston’s house, and every room in the house

Steve walked behind Aston, giving him a comforting squeeze on his shoulder. “I need you back, man. We all need you back.”

He sat back on his seat, resting his upper body weight on the table. “What if we find you another muse? It’s not impossible.”

At that, Aston’s ears perked up, and he felt he wanted to hear what his friend had to say.

“How about we enroll you in an art class, eh? Eh?’ Your interest and love for art steamed from your first art class in primary school, so what if it’s going to work the second time?” Steve supplied.

Aston wondered what his friend was on about. He was a professional artist who painted realistic paintings, so why in the world would he enroll in an art class?!

He should be the one teaching art students. Obviously, Steve must be joking or possibly high on something.

“You are joking, right?” Aston a