Daedalus

galaxy aesthetic

Lent Rosella is a charming young man without ever thinking about possessing those qualities. To be honest, I doubt those qualities have passed in the same sentence that beholds his name, and it is this that makes him all the more charming.

Naturally, people are nothing short of flustered when in the vicinity of someone whose social butterfly wings pull at the span of the room in every situation beyond solitude, and when that someone is unaware of the effect they cast over their audience, nothing changes except for the newfound urge to protect them from every threat that may or may not present itself in their path at any point during their life, because charming people have a sort of drug in their systems that is constantly diffusing wherever they go, where it is to be soaked up by others like it's the rarity of sun beams in Paris, and that archetype is the archetype under which my best friend is categorized, which is a pleasant thing to be for him, although it's drilling that urge into my mind as it typically does, and every sight of him I glimpse, even if it is for the scantiest of moments, riles me up.

I should only reserve space in my heart for excitement that I have the opportunity to be a model for one of Lent's paintings, but nervousness is inherent in human psychology, and I, as a psychology major, know this better than anyone, better than Lent. He may not understand why I'm so anxious, which will only serve to tempt that anxiety into yet another splurge of ego, but it's not like I can blurt out that I've been dreaming of being his model but am now taking advice from cowardice. And besides, the part of me whose sole ambition is ambition itself would be thoroughly shattered to know that I allowed my anxiety to blanket me once more, and eventually anxiety does lapse into a not too distant memory.

I'm sure Loire would be on my back if I submitted to the darker portions of humanity, to fear towards someone that should be my best friend, and although this does not concern Loire, I have learned not to underestimate her abilities in the region called problem solving and archaeology, so she'll find out somehow. She may have planted cameras all throughout the apartment, and I can't be certain whether or not her motives would be to catch Lent and me in the act of professing our love to each other, a love that will forever be unrequited with the way that I treat him, but I don't want to risk inadvertently taping a panic attack.

On the contrary, maybe my panic is justified when he tells me that he will be painting me nude — but that's not the worst part. He will be literally painting me, as in swishing colors over my body, over my bare skin, and seeking art from it.

As roommates, we have seen each other at our best and at our worst and at every state between the two, and somewhere within those poles is nakedness. While some of those instances occurred unwittingly (i.e. when one of us walked in on the other after a shower, or singing barren for some reason, or performing some other wacky ritual that doesn't demand nudity), other instances were out of choice.

I can recall the days when we would lounge in random spots with clothes far out of our sights just for the hell of it. Lent uses these sessions to reflect on artistic things while enacting an artistic thing itself, and I mostly use them to support him and to try something new. Of course, those were the days when I was in denial about my feelings for him, and platonic nudity would not kindle any attraction beyond the occasional sexual desire, but Lent would find that to be an interesting display of the human computer. I know, however, that Lent would tell me to never feel embarrassed for being naked, because nothing has changed for both parties since our previous excursions, only one party, and I also know that he would somehow find philosophy (with a dash of suspicion) in a raging boner from someone he may or may not deem his best friend — though I shouldn't assume that he holds anything for me besides friendly interest — so maybe things won't be so bad after all.