For Research Purposes | ✔

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

     "Nothing," Sage says quickly. "What's up?"

     "Are you going to let me in?" Sam asks.

     "Uh no," he says which is most definitely the wrong thing to say.

     "No?" Sam asks sounding perfectly understandably offended.

     "Uh, now's not a good time?" he tries next.

     Sam stares at him hard, his eyes squinting like he's trying to figure something out. His gaze moves down Sage's chest and then he takes a quick step back, too quick that he stumbles. "Oh," he says quietly. "Oh, wow. You have someone over? I—huh, okay."

     "Wait, Sam, that's not — it's not that. Sam, Sam just wait a minute." Sage is speaking in a rush, pushing the door the rest of the way open as he steps out and reaches for Sam, but Sam dodges him.

     "No, it's fine, it's cool," he's saying. "I shouldn't have just shown up."

      "Sam, there's no one here. There's literally no one here. Just wait—." Sage catches his hand and despite the chaos of the moment he thinks huh wow Sam's hands are nice. He pulls him back and says, "Look for yourself. There's no one here."

     Sam hesitates, staring at Sage, reading the honesty on his face, maybe, before he lets Sage drag him into his apartment. "It would be fine if you did," he mutters and that spikes a heat in Sage's throat. He thinks if the situations were reversed it would most definitely not be fine if Sam did.

     Sage frowns and says, "Well I don't."

     He steps out of the way so Sam can see his apartment. There's a tarp down in the area near his couch and windows. His painting is sitting on the easel and there's a bar cart full of his paint supplies. His coffee table has started taking on the excess where he was mixing acrylics from his earlier project.

     "Why's your apartment such a mess?" Sam asks, confusion evident in his voice. "Are you in an art elective or something?"

     Sage heaves a breath, removing his phone from his pocket. Sam turns to look at him, head tilted questioningly. Sage turns his phone towards him and says, "This is me."

     Sam squints at the screen. His eyes dart up to Sage's and then over to his painting corner. Sage waits for the scrutiny, waits for Sam to make some biting, cutting remark about this. He doesn't say anything though as he glances back at Sage's phone, snatching it out of his hand after a moment. His thumb moves across the screen, scrolling through all of his videos. Sage watches him digest this information uneasily, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He thinks this is how it goes: Sam finds out he paints, and then he finds out he paints Sam. Keeping the first secret away from him was how he ensured he'd never find out about the second one. And having Sam in his apartment when there's plenty of evidence hidden here doesn't help.

     "I know this account. Like I've seen it before," he says finally, his voice low.

     "It's my account."

     "Yes, you've said that," Sam says, locking his phone before he presses it into Sage's chest. Sage fumbles to catch it. "How did you keep this from me? I was under the impression I knew everything about you."

     Sage isn't going to fixate on that statement. He's not. They've been in the same classes, competing for the same spot, for three years. He can understand why Sam would think that. It doesn't mean anything. (Sage is fixating on it a lot. The idea that Sam thinks he knows him? Yeah it's doing all the things for him. And it's stupid but he just wants to come clean, bare his whole soul, say Sam I've painting you for years because I think I've been in love with you for years.)