Copyright © 2018. All Rights Reserved
Nic ran on autopilot the rest of the week, and perhaps that was his way with coping with multiple things. It seemed the only times he was fully in his head involved drawing because he was so used to the action of his pencils scratching into paper. He loved how his brain rendered real life and dispensed it onto the page like his own little picturesque version of the images that passed through his mind.
So, by default, he was especially tuned in for his figure drawing class, and without his phone, Kieran had showed up after class on Wednesday to talk and walk towards Kingsley. At the time, Nic walked around the corner and saw him talking with Ronan, standing together at the bubbler. And when Nic showed up, Kieran dismissed himself from the conversation and reached for Nic's free hand. They walked to the stairs together, leaving Ronan behind them.
But when Friday came, Kieran had warned him that he had to pick up an extra shift at work for a coworker, so Ronan was waiting for him at the bubbler dressed in business-formal wear. His lengthy hair was pulled back from his face and into a short ponytail, as it had been in the drawing session.
Nic spent enough time drawing the man to know exactly how sharp the edges were on that man's facial features—from his angular earlobes to the straight curve of his nose.
His sharp, triangular canines that showed when he smiled at Nic.
"I have to get to downtown soon," Ronan confessed, tugging off his earpiece and zipping it into his winter coat pocket. "I have people from North Dakota coming in."
"Sounds fancy," he said, and Ronan laughed charismatically. As if he was trained to entertain all while flattering the person he talked to.
"Yes, well. Have you made up your mind?"
Nic looked away for a moment, visibly wincing at the offer all over again. "I don't... really...?"
"I'll text you the details and I'll cover the cost of supplies," he offered. Nic knew he was a sucker for free paints and expensive art supplies. Shit, he wouldn't normally be able to afford his own Primsacolor set that he was now splitting with a girl in figure drawing. He'd be able to use whatever supplies Ronan gave him even outside of the session—and if he was paying for the supplies, it probably meant he actually wanted a legitimate portrait of himself, right? That made sense, didn't it?
"That sounds awesome," Nic confessed, "but I probably shouldn't. I also don't have a phone at the moment, so there's also that."
"Well, if you change your mind, I still have all afternoon and evening off tomorrow before I leave Sunday afternoon," Ronan said, and as he talked he pulled out a pen and a small, leather-bound pocket notebook. He started to write as he continued talking—ever the multitasker. "You buy the supplies and bring me the receipt tomorrow at two PM. And if you don't come, you don't come. No harm done. Deal?"
Again, Nic mechanically took the paper. He felt guilty for even touching it, but it didn't mean he had to do anything with it, right?
"O-Okay," he stammered out, staring wide-eyed up at Ronan.
The man had the audacity to wink before patting Nic on the shoulder. He walked off without another word, leaving Nic thoroughly baffled. He probably stood there staring at the paper without really reading it until he was outside walking home. He felt so use to walking home with Kieran now—all last week they walked together, and that brief time on Wednesday had done wonders for Nic's mental state.
He felt disconnected from the world without his phone. He didn't have music to accompany him on his walks, and without that minuscule anchor of rhythm and consistency, his brain tended to float on his walks to class. But when Ronan's note weighing heavy in his hand, he read over the specs for the painting he wanted. Twenty-by-twenty-four canvas. Not too big. Not royal size by any means, but still fairly large for a regular canvas. Did the bookstore even sell that size? He'd have to stop by Blick or something for that size.
It took a decent amount of time for him to realize that he was crossing the bridge, seriously considering going to Ronan's. I mean, it's not every day I get art supplies paid for, he rationalized. And paint is fucking expensive as shit! I could get new brushes, too—just say that my old ones were too bristly now from overuse. I could get borrow an easel from Ryce Hall. I'd have to ask one of the attendants at the office. I could get a new bottle of gesso I could finally try out some decent heavy body acrylic it could be gallery-worthy Ronan's wealthy enough to be a sponsor I could get in a gallery I could get in a real gallery—
Nic felt woozy at the thought. He spent the day in a giddy daze of living the dream. This was just the start. Ronan probably knew dozens of wealthy individuals who wanted portraits, or wanted to sponsor his art for gallery showings. He could start his first collection with this, and since all his supplies would be paid for, he could probably crank out three more before he'd have to buy more paints. But then again he'd never painted on a canvas that size before he'd have to ration that shit but if he wanted the paint to raise off the surface sacrifices would have to be made—
"Hey Nic, I asked if you wanted to go to dinner soon."
Nic looked up from his quick sketch of Ronan with a confused, "Hm? Dinner? What time is it?"
"It's almost five, dude."
"Oh, sure. I'm so hungry," he confessed with a groan, slapping his sketchbook closed and headed off after Leo to the door. He snatched his student ID on the way, and soon they were off to dinner with the rest of the Kingsley Gang.
Dinner itself was dull as per usual, but Sav had plenty to say about her shitty TAs plotting to ruin the lives of engineering students everywhere. Evidently her TA love to entertain students who appealed to him in hopes of improving their grades, and then saying things like, "Can't do anything about it. Try harder next time."
"I studied the textbook front and back and did all the practice problems and the test literally had none of it on there. Maybe like two or three similar questions, but we learned nothing that was on that exam," Sav hissed out through clenched teeth. "But that was the first midterm. We just got the results back so..."
"That sucks," Nic murmured. "I'm glad none of my midterms are like that. Though I'm dreading art history. I hate memorizing dates."
"Aren't all history classes like that? Memorizing dates? Why'd you take it?"
"It's a requirement! I have to take two art history classes."
"Not my problem," she huffed with a flick of her hand.
He laughed and said, "Well, physics isn't my problem but you don't see me complaining to you when you talk about it."
Nic was fairly certain Sav was about to bite him, but Leo steered their conversation into the one Nora was spouting off about Wes's new video game they would be playing that night. Immediately after dinner, they set to work pulling Wes's television into the study lounge for more room, and while they started screaming over the game, Nic sat on the sidelines drawing them all in small thumbnails and quick, sketchy gesture-drawings of everyone crowded around the television yelling over the collision of guns through flesh and knife against knife.
Sav sat alongside him, staring wide-eyed at the screen. "I fucking love The Last of Us. I mean, the first one was a classic, but do you see how detailed this is now? Like, we thought the second one was insane. Look at it now," she was saying while Nic started doodling her profile. "And... you're drawing me again. Perfect. Also, did you draw Ellie there?"
"Yeah."
"That woman is gorgeous. On. Point."
Nic chuckled a little, glancing over at the game. The room was dark except for the glow of the television screen. "She's a video game character."
"Yeah, and she's badass. So what of it?"
Nic snorted and shook his head at her. Sav could be ridiculous sometimes, and he wished he could take a picture of her goofy smile right then and there. She went to sit closer to the television while everyone was internally panicking over Wes's debatable PS4 skills during the stressful parts. All their figures were surrounded in the hallo of light from the screen, and their panic and screams during the scary parts, yelps of relief when they passed particularly difficult sections...
They played The Last of Us 3 until quiet hours started and they had to leave the study lounge. Nic went back to his room and got ready for bed. But even after he washed his face and was settled into his bed, sleep became an elusive subject. He slept in one-hour spurts until Leo got up around ten in the morning. Nic rolled over and peered down at Leo as he walked out from his closet, buttoning a shirt up.
"What are you doing today?" Nic asked sleepily.
"Going over to Olivia's. We're gonna study for a bit," Leo replied. "You?"
Nic hummed thoughtfully, resting an arm over his forehead as he turned around to stare at the ceiling. "I... think I might go paint today."
* * *
Nic had the time of his life shopping at Blick's Art Materials in downtown Portland. Before leaving Kingsley, he had to clear out space in his art bin to fit the paints that he would later purchase. He picked up a dozen tubes of paint and a new gesso bottle, and spent nearly thirty minutes in the paintbrush section running his fingers over the fine bristles before deciding on six new ones.
He forked over all the cash he limited himself to that day and kept the receipt in his pocket on the way across Portland carrying a big-ass canvas in one hand, a fold-up easel under his arm, and his art box in the other. It was a rainy day, so the canvas was carefully hidden in a massive plastic bag, collecting drips of water that soaked his jacket sleeve. It was oddly bright out that day considering all the clouds accumulating in the sky. They moved slowly over the sky, just as the cars did passing down the street. He was in the more colorful section of the road, and passed by night bars that were closed for the afternoon, and strip clubs and dance clubs along the way.
There were monumental murals painted across the buildings, and he passed them in a blur of bright colors and skies. Everything felt like it was doused in sepia like morning light, and he reveled in the sensation of Sunday mornings despite the fact that it was very much Saturday afternoon. Nic peered up at the exterior of Ronan's apartment complex again before lifting a foot up to push the handicapped button for the doors. They opened up automatically for him so he could transfer all his materials inside. He found Ronan's apartment number on a wall filled with buttons, and clicked the buzzer to be let in.
The side door unlocked, so Nic awkwardly maneuvered into the building and wandered down the hall to the elevator. He tapped his fingers on the plastic over the canvas until the elevator pinged and he stepped out into the hallway. He found Ronan's door partially open, so he knocked and waited for the "Come in!" before entering.
The apartment looked the same as every other time Nic went over there, except there were fabric materials strewn across the massive sectional, and he found Ronan standing in the middle of the living room scowling at them all. He was wearing that same short, black robe, and glanced sparingly at Nic when he entered.
"Hello again. You can set your things over by that door there," Ronan said, pointing to the small inlet off to the side of the living room, where the bathroom door was alongside the master suite.
The plastic rustled loudly as he set the canvas down before wandering over to where Ronan was standing. He pulled the receipt from his pocket and held it out. "Oh, thank you. I'll give you a check in just a moment. What color do you prefer?" he asked, gesturing to the fabrics before walking off towards the kitchen.
Nic peered at all the fabric, realizing they were bed sheets. All variations of bed sheets, actually. His eyes were drawn to the silky ones, all shining in the light and showing up almost iridescent at certain angles. "I don't know. My favorite color is blue, but lately I've been really liking red."
"Red is a romantic color, isn't it? We'll go with red then," he replied. He nudged a drawer closed with his hip and clicked the pen against his shoulder. He bent over the counter, writing out the check, and his faint silver hair dipped out from behind his ear. "Would you like anything to drink?"
"Uh, no. I'm good."
"Glass of wine or something? And if I'm being honest I have juice boxes. I find them entertaining," Ronan confessed.
"Ooh, I'll have one of those then," Nic laughed, walking around the couch and going to the fridge where Ronan gestured to.
He rifled around the refrigerator for a juice box that interested him—the entire door was filled with them. Eventually he picked out an apple juice one, and stood up to find Ronan leaning over the back of the fridge door. He smiled at Nic and held out a check folded between his middle and index fingers. "Here. Make sure it's all there and then we can get started."
Nic walked away from the fridge, reading off the dollar amount on the check. "This is... more than what I bought," he confessed.
"Don't worry about it. If everything turns out then I'll pay you for the painting as well," he replied with a shrug on his way to the living room. He grabbed hold of the red sheet and flicked it off the couch and folded it twice over his arm. "Shall we?"
"Where are we going?"
"The bedroom. I have a chair set up for you in there," he replied. Nic hesitated by his art supplies, and figured if he was going to walk into a strange man's bedroom, he'd come equipped with the easel as his shield. He grabbed it and transported it first, leaning it up against the end of the bed frame. The room itself was spacious and bright with the white colors of the sky filtering through the massive, floor-length windows.
Ronan went towards the shades, about to pull them down. "Um—no, leave it. Actually—I want natural light, but if we could get the blinds to slit like that," Nic ordered, rushing over to push his fingers between the blinds to show Ronan what he was talking about. Soon, the bed was doused in horizontal stripes, and they left one of the windows completely open. "I'm guessing you're looking for a full-body portrait."
"You read my mind," Ronan all but purred as he gingerly tipped onto the bed. "Show me how you want me."
Lord help me, Nic breathed internally as he rubbed his hands down the sides of his face. He cleared his throat and began to direct Ronan into the right position for a vertical portrait. They had the perspective distorted by stretching the sheet over the end of the bed, and having Ronan tipped partially off the high-raised mattress. His hair followed the silk falling down the edge of the bed, and as Nic propped up the fold-up easel and moved the canvas where it wouldn't obstruct the sunlight, be brought the chair over with it. Nic laid a towel out under him in case any paint spilled, and propped his mason jars of water on a nearby table.
Nic breathed in sharply and looked at Ronan, lying in pale white against the sheets, black robe deposited off to the side. His eyes were on Nic, and the already-warm air just seemed to go to Nic's head and cause him to flush bright pink. Ronan had the heat bumped up in the apartment considering he wouldn't be wearing anything except for the red silk dipping over his hip and covering his crotch, twisted and tangled between his legs.
Light music was playing on the speakers around the entire apartment.
"Ready?" Nic asked.
"As I'll ever be. How long do you think this will take?" he asked. "Kieran said the portrait of him took four, so I averaged six."
"Probably around there, maybe more. If you want to do this in more than one setting—" Nic started to suggest, but Ronan waved the idea aside.
"I trust that you can get it done by tonight," Ronan said, a slight smile on his lips as Nic laughed and shook his head.
"Too much faith in me," he muttered as he went in with his pencil and laid out Ronan's form in broad gestures, and the wide, open motions of his arm.