"'ey," I give the spray paint can a shake, the ball bearing inside clanging against the aluminium. "Catch!"

The spray can glides through the air like a helium balloon when a child lets go of the string, finally touching down in your hands at the top of the ladder.

I lean against the ladder frame, my right foot on the lowest step to stabilise. I peer up at you—the moonlight behind you bouncing off your silky hair. "Do your finest art, Picasso"

I'll admit, this isn't really what you do on a first date—but I said I'd take you to a pub afterwards, my shout. We're acquaintances—if even. More like we're just both in the same Bachelor of Law lecture. You and I were paired today in class to act out representing opposing clients, and I got to see beneath your layers—the side of you that you don't often show. The good, the bad, the ugly—all of it.

I took it upon myself to turn your frown upside down for the first time in God knows how long—told you I had been offered a wall on campus by the board to do an artwork; I don't, this is technically defacing—and illegal, but you don't know that, and you don't need to.

I hear you give the can another shake before getting started—flicking your wrist and curving lines. You look like you're in your element up there, you're a damn natural. From this angle it looks like you're painting two bunnies, one is prancing around and the other almost looks to be sitting.

A beat passes, the hissing of the spray can and the whirring of wind are the only noises heard before I hear your satisfied hum. You take a step back, seemingly forgetting you're on a ladder. You plummet from the 11th step into my arms like a cliché romance movie, we giggle it off and I set you back onto your feet, hands on my own hips as I admire the beauty—of both the painting, and you.

"Looks good, bunny" I nudge your elbow with mine, hoping to catch another smile from you—which I succeed, but it's shy. I'm still working on breaking down your walls, but you seem to be slowly letting me in.

In any other situation I'd tell you to sign in, but I don't want you getting in trouble when the police see this—I say when because this is a pretty centralised wall, it's bound to have the cops buzzing by morning.

I nick the spray can from you and tuck it into the back pocket of my black skinnies, making them tighter around my thighs than they already were. I twirl a lock of your soft hair around my index and nod towards the campus exit. "Let's go get that dinner I promised you"

The rest of the night goes smoothly, we talked—though I had to strain my ears to hear your soft spoken voice over the loudness of the drunken bar goers, and clanging of utensils against whiteware. I was lucky enough to steal a kiss from you at the end of the night when I dropped you at your dorm, then headed home with a giddy smile on my face like I'd won the damn lottery.

The next morning I'm woken by the sound of hurried, almost frightened knocking against my door. I'm still living on the thrill of last night. A loud yawn escapes my lips before I actually manage to push myself out of the warmth of my sunbathed sheets and shuffle towards the door.

I'm sure I look a mess—hair sticking up in many directions, tatted chest skin exposed and my sweats hanging low on my hips with the boxer band peeking out. I don't get a chance to greet you before you're letting yourself in in a panicked state.

"What is this?! You said you were offered the wall, not that we illegally graffitied on it!" You scowl, the nervous shakiness present in your gentle tone. You shove the news article in my face, biting your bottom lip worriedly. 'Vandalism at University of London'

I close the door behind you, a relaxed shrug settling on my shoulders. "Would you have come if I told you it was illegally done?" I shake my head, answering my own question. I fall back onto my bed, the sheets messed up and hanging half off of the mattress. "I had to put a little light into your life, bunny. I just twisted the truth, there's a reason I didn't make you sign your beautiful illustrations."