Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
_____
The hallways were empty and most had the lights off. You followed Erwin as he led you to the studio, he seemed calm and confident but a part of you couldn't help but feel like walking around the school after hours was a sin.
You would occasionally check for people looking and each time you did it made Erwin laugh slightly.
"Are you afraid of getting in trouble?" there was a slight chuckle in his voice.
You turned to look at him since you were previously checking for people down the hall, as soon as your eyes met his you realized how foolish it was to worry.
"Perhaps" you laughed, slight nervousness in your voice.
"Ah," he nods, "you don't have to worry, I'm here."
You looked up at him. What he said was so incredibly simple yet... you felt yourself believing him - finding comfort in the words even. He sounded so genuine that for a second, you forgot you were even talking about running in the halls at all.
The two of you continued down the halls until you reached the studio. Mr. Smith took out his keys and unlocked the door, opening it and allowing you to step in first.
The room was dark so you couldn't see anything until Erwin flicked the light switch on and the room lit up. Your eyes widened with awe as you looked at the room, it was beautiful. It was full of easels, all of witch containing half finished portraits while the completed ones line the walls along with a plethora of sculptures.
"Woah.." you gasped under your breath.
A part of you, the part of you your father had forced you to suppress, finally felt at home.
You were surrounded by art.
And as you stared at its beauty, you also felt extremely jealous. Jealous because this was all you've ever wanted and it is something you can never have.
It's crazy to think that your dreams exist just down the hall from you and you are forced to do nothing but walk by.
"Why aren't you pursuing art?" He asks, pulling you back to reality. His arms are crossed over his chest and he is leaning against the door frame as he watches you.
You gaze at a clay sculpture, gently running your fingers over the final detailing, "my father..."
"He's not satisfied with you being an artist?"
You laugh a little, he's not satisfied with anything.
"He just has a different life envisioned for me..." you turn your head to face him, "one that is more serious."
"I see..." he replies, his eyes fixed on you.
Despite being in a room full of art, all he looks at is you. All he can bring himself to look at is you.
