[Collide by Tiana Major9 and EARTHGANG]
THREE: when you're a beautiful disaster.
"Hey... how do I mix this color?"
One of the perks of living with another creative was inspiration. Isaiah, although he specialized in photography, was still obligated to take some starter art classes, or foundations. He liked fashion photography, I wasn't sure when oil painting would come in handy but it was nice to watch him try and be innovative.
At that moment, he was trying to create this mossy green color for some weird assignment he had about painting a chair that represented a big moment in his life. And truly, he seemed confused.
I found myself amused as he tried to get the same exact color of the booths in this old photo he had pulled up on his phone. He was referencing the brunch after his baptism, the picture torn at the edges and slapped in a photo book.
I wasn't quite sure why that was so significant since he didn't seem all that religious but I minded my business.
His green was way too cool and he sat cross-legged on our carpet, tilting his palette towards me and biting his tongue.
"Green, a little bit of white and maybe... orange?"
"Orange?" That shocked him, hazel eyes blown wide and I tried not to think of the fact that the color we were mixing was almost the exact shade of Jules' eyes.
"It's warm." Still Isaiah looked confused until I'd taken his palette and demonstrated. Squeezing a very light amount of oil paint onto my palette, I dipped a brush into it, remixing his paint onto my palette when thinking that that hue would look so nice in the composition I was working on.
Head tilted, concentrating. Remembering how weird the idea of mixing paints like this was sort of confusing at first for me too. "Pulls a little red but red would overpower it. Plus the only red you have is more blue toned than anything."
He was picking up his Artist's Loft level one paint then, inspecting it before nodded slowly. In awe, his eyes blew wide when I pushed the palette back into his hand.
"How are so you good at everything?"
"I'm not good at everything." But the affirmation was nice enough.
Isaiah snorted as I denied, almost as soon as I did, like his question actually wasn't sincere. "Yeah, no, you suck at making mac n cheese."
He'd never let that go.
"My macaroni is spectacular, I'll have you know." Rooming with a guy who cooked as a hobby and did it damn well was already tough enough but my mother never made it.
The only time we really had it in the house was family gatherings when one of my distant aunties who -probably wasn't actually my aunt- made it.
And I never really ate it then.
"Anyone that calls it macaroni definitely doesn't know how to make mac n cheese." He was laughing so much louder then and I tried to hide my own amusement. His laugh was always so damn infectious.
"What you need to do is shut up." A laugh spilled through my lips then, index finger extended in his face and Isaiah was laughing even harder. "And, hey- stop it, and you also need a piece of glass instead of this shitty ass plastic."
He was laying back on our carpet, stretching muscled arms in the air and then above his curly head. Turning so he was resting on his elbow, he deadpanned.
"Mhm." Nodding, he smacked his perfect teeth. "Making fun of my materials does not change the fact that you used vegan cheese, Paul, and eggs." He scrunched his forehead together and I kept the tutorial I used to myself. "I mean, eggs? I didn't even know that was possible."
Something told me that telling him that the slightly bronzed southern lady that I found on Youtube used eggs in her macaroni would only intensify the teasing.
"You ate it!"
And he went back for seconds.
"Yeah, and my ma would be ashamed of me."
I gaped then, Izzy laughing at my face, our projects completely forgotten.
"Okay, Mr. 'I'm gonna make us Bloody Marys without a recipe'."
"That wasn't as bad."
Oh, fuck that. "You were on the toilet for a week!"
"We're not talkin' about that." He spoke so concretely we were both laughing and I laid back to join him flat on the ground. Rolling onto his back, he plastered both of his hands over his face and groaned, it deep and guttural and so funny in that moment. "God, did you see the way Deon looked at me?"
"Oh yeah! I forgot you were dating him! What happened with that?"
The guy he was seeing at the time was this gorgeous model from Atlanta, with rich, insanely clear dark skin and a cropped blonde fade.
Not only was he attractive but he was filthy rich, something about Isaiah that I always envied was the fact that he almost always attracted wealth.
But he was fake crying now, and I had to pay attention to what he was going on about.
"The end of Hell-week happened." And that was enough said.
Hell-week, that was what we called finals at SAIC.
After all the stress of finals, there would be a string of parties off campus, seniors in the surrounding area not only were having big blowouts but all the colleges near University Village which overlapped with our neighborhood in Little Italy had Isaiah going way too hard.
Stumbling in at 1 pm after some frat party, he'd ended up vomiting all over our old couch and Deon Lacy, his boyfriend that walked for fucking Prada.
"I paid for the dry cleaning and everything!" Isaiah cried and I tried my best not to laugh. "He still hasn't called me back, and I mean I understand that I like messed up—"
"Puked on him."
"—but... it's definitely the grossest thing that happened between us. He's acting like I haven't seen him mid-douche."
Oh, God. "Too much information, Izzy!"
Isaiah was laughing now through his frown and he sat back up so easily, it winded me. I really needed to get back in the gym.
"Jealous?" He was wiggling his brows and my upper lip curled at the idea of getting puked on and experiencing someone else amidst one of my most intimate moments. That was always something that I'd ever think I'd be comfortable doing in front of anyone else.
"I'm taking a break."
On his feet, he threw a nasty look at the supplies scattered and I knew a part of him wanted to organize everything but thankfully, he backed up as if his own work was contaminated.
"Iz, you just started."
"And I want gelato sooo, I'm just stopping." Shrugging, I carefully put the cap on a few tubes of paint while he retreated to the kitchen. "You hungry?"
"No..." He was nodding when I turned around and then I realized that that was kind of a lie. "Unless... you could pop a frozen quesadilla in the microwave."
Sighing as if it were a big task, he agreed. "Alright." Then he was going to reach for the fridge door as I wiped the paint stains on my hands to make sure they were completely dry so I didn't transfer onto anything.
"Wash your hands with the Dawn soap!" I reminded and he held his hands up almost instantly, turning around to face the sink and made a big show of squeezing soap into his palm.
"And..."
"Jesus Christ!" he groaned so loud then, I felt myself laughing, making eye contact with him.
"If you could bring me a green tea, that'd be nice too."
Eyes rolled, he went to dry his hands before spinning back around to set out on a few more tasks than he intended on. "You're lucky you're cute."
: : :
"You're so tense." Julian's chin was on my shoulder as he spoke, voice soft and he'd been peering over at the invitations I'd spent hours on, "take a break; come back to bed."
Long fingers pressed into my arms and he was kissing the skin exposed. I'd gotten out of bed that morning way before him. Plush lips were parted and he looked so peaceful, I let him sleep. That serenity was short lived, the image of waking up beside him and his legs wrapped in mine was only enough to hold me over until I'd left the room.
With only a cup of coffee on my stomach, I went directly to work in the spare-bedroom I made my studio. The job was 250 wedding invites , handmade with the same calligraphy and my stencil wasn't leak proof.
I only had 34 done, a few messy but I was starting to get the hang of it.
Julian had woken up sometime between the start of my work and complete frustration, I'd heard him at the door and although, I should've wanted him to stay there... most of me just wanted him back in my arms.
Still, I sat there, hunched over. At some point, he'd slid behind me, arms bracketing mine and he was kissing my temple, resting his head against mine.
I'd been stressed the night before, close to finishing one of the three pieces in a triptych that was commissioned.
Towards two a.m., he must've craved attention and figured he'd given me enough time because the love of my life had stripped of his clothes and made himself home in my lap.
This time was different, he was still sated on soft sex, his eyes were bright and perky but his demeanor calm and I was sure he was satisfied.
Now my hand was cramping from so much precision, I was carefully placing the unfinished invitations to the side.
Biting my lip, I tried not to get distracted by the gorgeous, half-naked man behind me. He stood in only a blush pink t-shirt, the same color as the rosy tint on his skin from the cold.
His thighs, all muscled and freckled up we're exposed by some briefs with mile-long legs, and ankle socks on his feet, my name chain dangled over the collar of his tee.
I tried not to think of how nice it was to be pulled from my work, a cool cotton t-shirt on my cheek, my body spread across his and his hands playing with curls at the nape of my neck.
How peacefully I slept, not even having the energy to do what we'd initially went to bed for.
I'd succeeded, standing and carefully grabbing a painting off the drying rack to the side of my desk.
At least, until he'd spoken up again."Baby." It was in that cute little whiney voice he loved to use to get what he wanted and it almost made me drop everything, retreating back to bed with him, almost. "It's amazing but the deadline isn't for another two weeks."
His hands were splayed across my chest, fingers playing with the necklace that hung there, he kissed the top of my head.
"I still have two of these and a digital drawing for my online. I can't afford to take a break."
And he was nodding, I could feel it so slightly. My baby was rubbing at my shoulders, hands on my neck, thumbs pressing in slightly on a tattoo that sat there and working a kink out.
His words were innocent enough but his voice had that sexy little tone he always had, that breathlessness and he was kissing the spot he'd rubbed now, lips trailing to my jawline and then the shell of my ear.
I tried not to shiver but he always knew my body. A kiss behind my ear, on the lobe, on the shell and then his nails were raking across my chest. He'd giggled out, "Want a massage?"
And yes I really did.
My head lolled back to rest on the back of the wooden chair, his lips on mine and I'd never get tired of kissing him. It was a little hard, a little spider-man-esque but one of his hands was on my chin, holding me in place and then his thumb was brushing my earlobe again.
"I'll give you a happy ending." His voice was like silk, juniper green eyes piercing mine. Nimble fingers splayed over my throat, a peck to my lips and then my chin, my nose, forehead...
He met my lips again, sucking my bottom lip into his mouth, a complete contrast from the softness of before.
His nails were raking down my chest, the feeling lessened by the t-shirt there in such a good way and he made it to my stomach before I realized where this was going.
Fuck.
I was hard, and I was closing my mouth then, shaking my head, sitting back up even though I was so lightheaded.
"Baby, I have to focus."
His frown then was almost audible and he reached a hand to rest on my thigh, tracing a little j there before trailing to the inner thigh. I could feel myself twitching, straining against my boxer shorts, wanting him to touch me.
My voice cracked.
"Mi vida, I-"
Maybe my words were enough because he removed his hands from me. I only realized he was teasing me when he stifled a laugh. I lived for that sound.
"I know." And he was moving to perch his perky butt on a free corner of my desk, the light from the window looking so stunning against his skin. "Are you hungry?"
"No thank you, baby."
"You haven't eaten today, Pablo."
He was persistent, foot on the armrest and tugging it his way, the old wheels creaking, I thought of the day at the flea market when he helped me furnish this place. How blushy he got when I gave him a key.
My love was tugging me in, perching his foot on the armrest now and I was between his legs. He looked so hot then, back bent, little smile playing across his lips, teeth clamped on the bottom and he leant back on his hands, head against the wall, light beaming in.
I could've sucked him off right there if he asked.
My hands were on his thighs and he must've thought something similar because he was bucking his hips up now and we both laughed.
"I'm gonna make you a sandwich." He offered. "Is ham okay? They were out of turkey at the deli and I didn't wanna get the prepackaged stuff since it upsets your stomach."
Maybe being together so intimately was sometimes like parenting. Was it weird that I could see how great of a dad he'd be already?
God, I can't wait to have kids with you.
"Anything's fine, Angel." Clamping my hands on his thighs, he slid his fingers through mine. He smiled then, his cheeks still red from previous moments. "Thank you for taking care of me."
Our hands were in the air now and he was tugging me closer.
"Always, now, give me another kiss."
Was it normal that I still got butterflies when he looked at me like this? His lips lingered on mine, a soft smile and he was kissing my bottom lip, then my top, hands on my cheeks and he pulled me in.
And he was curling thin fingers through my hair when he pulled away, nose against mine. My forehead was on his, I'd never felt calmer than that moment.
"You are a phenomenal artist and you're gonna get it all done, okay? All of it." There was a lump in my throat and he said it with so much conviction, so sweetly, so sure of everything. God, I loved how sane he could make me.
"Okay?"
I nodded, almost breathless in such an amazing way.
He was gently massaging my scalp that same way he'd done the night before. Hugging his body to mine, he was standing now, my eyes low-lidded and he pressed a kiss to my nose.
"Stop stressing yourself out, you're way too hard on yourself sometimes."
"Te amo, Angel." I was sure it had never been more true.
Tugging back before I succumbed to how warm and sedated he made me feel, I felt myself rocking back and he looked so angelic in this light.
He wrinkled his nose then, it scrunching only slightly and raised to his toes as if he actually had to, a kiss on my lips. "Te amo, Papito." And it was supposed to be sexy, but the words were so endearing it made my heart pound faster.
That was when he wiggles his brows, licking over his top lip. Rolling my eyes, I laughed, pushing past him when I realized that he'd done exactly what he'd set out to do.
Smacking his ass when I got back to my seat, my boyfriend jumped, "Pablo!"
"Go somewhere before you distract me further."
"Distract you?" It was so obvious that I definitely didn't want that, that one more kiss and we'd be in the bed sharing intimate words, kisses all over warm skin. His leg was thrown over mine and he was in my lap this time, so close.
Fuck this assignment.
"So, it was working?"
"A little too well." His arms were around my neck, playing with the hair at the nape of my neck and I couldn't stop staring at him.
I didn't even know what I was working on anymore, all I could think about was how his skin tasted, and how good his hands felt and his legs spread across me, my hand was dipping into the back of his- really my boxers. "You're such a beauty, baby."
He loved little compliments like that, and I loved giving them.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." And it was so stunning, he was so fucking stunning and I was in heaven. One of my hands was under the back of his shirt, palm sliding up against warm skin, he shivered in my arms. "You're so beautiful."
He was giggling now, head tilting back, my lips were on the skin there in seconds.
On the angle of his chin, under over his Adam's apple and back behind his ear.
My hand braced itself on his neck, holding him up when he rocked too far back.
His skin was piney, his hair smelled of peppermint. It made me... homesick, almost as if i was remembering another life with him.
He moaned.
I felt it in every inch.
He melted into my arms quickly, even quicker sat back up with flushed skin, trying to catch his breath.
My lips only took time to ambush his collarbone, kissing wetly over freckled skin. His thighs were warm in my hands, soft and pliable, lightly dusted with strawberry blonde hairs on strawberry skin.
My body burned under his touch. I could feel every inch of him pressed against me, hard. He was looking at me with those eyes, the ones he gave before he gave in. Jules had one button to push and he'd be on his knees.
It took everything not to let my hands roam, to caress him, to open him up and sink in.
To watch him fall apart in my hands, fall into me and trust me to get him there. His skin screamed for it.
His tone was accusatory, when I came up for air. "PJ!"
"Yeah?"
And he could read my mind, I was sure. "Uh-uh... you-you have to- you have to finish your piece... and I gotta feed my man."
"Your man."
"My man." He was kissing me firmly before standing and straightening it his clothes, thighs pressed together and I loved every second of it. "My busy, busy man."
: : :
I loved painting in Millennium Park. That was one thing that was actually calming for me when I didn't want to be in my studio and I didn't want to be around anyone really. Rilee called me a low-key introvert, I called it needing time to refuel but whatever we referred to it as, she was joining me one weekend.
A coffee shop sat directly across from the park entrance and that's where the redhead was coming from. After swinging by my place at 10 am after an impromptu trip from Indianapolis because she claimed she missed me, I decided that maybe she would tell me what was bothering her over a cup of coffee.
She smiled when she got to me, modelesque body draped in loose-fitting jeans and a tiny top, abs so prominent, I was jealous. She'd started a lifestyle YouTube channel, all health and wellness with an accumulation of self-care and q&a videos within the time she'd left for Amsterdam after LightofDay split.
And I missed her so much these past few months, even after she moved back to the states. Sure, we saw each other sometimes but it was so hard to keep in touch when we al had so much going on. I hadn't talked to B in like three months now.
Still, Rilee plopped down beside me in the grass, passing over a coffee that I definitely needed. "That's nice."
She was motioning towards the painting I was working on and even though it wasn't something I was over the moon about, I nodded. "Thanks."
Tilting her head, her ponytail bobbed to the side.
"Is it for a client?"
Shaking my head, I sighed. "Mike." Mike Truscott was this manager of sorts that I'd been working with for a little over a year now. Although, it was great to hear that buyers wanted my work, buyers that he had contact with, he didn't have much respect for my turnaround time.
It was almost like I was a machine at this point, how could someone ask for a piece that evoked emotion when I didn't have time to put any in?
"Yikes." Her brown eyes were wide and she sipped on her drink, I followed suit.
And it was disgusting.
"What is this, decaf?"
Rilee grimaced over her drink that must've tasted a bit off to her too. "They're out of espresso."
"How does a coffee shop run out of espresso?"
That truly did not make any sense and I looked back down at the piece in my lap, a heavy sigh ripping through my throat.
"Someone's in a mood." Sheepishly, I looked up at her, knowing that when I was extremely stressed, I wasn't that pleasant to be around. "This is really stressing you, huh?" More than she knew.
"He wants a fucking triptych in two weeks, Ri." Not only did he want something original, something never before seen but also inspired by futurism- a period that I'd never actually cared about- he wanted three entire pieces. "He wants to submit it to some gala for new voices in the Chicago art scene."
"That's exciting." And it was, they had an entire section for young Mexican artists but my art wasn't this... contemporary.
I was a fine artist, I prided myself on sophistication and saying that felt all too pretentious.
"Not when I'm up to my knees in assignments." That was also a thing, it was like he forgot that I was also a full-time student with my own senior showcase to worry about in less than a year.
If you want it bad enough, you'll work extra hard.
Rilee had shrugged, leaning back on her palms, face in the sun. It was a beautiful day and I was kind of happy she forced me outside. "And you're just the guy to get it done, Picasso."
It was silent, the sound of birds chirping and a few people walking around. I dipped my paintbrush back into the paint thinner, trying to lighten the mistake I'd just thrown down:
Everything about Rococo was kind of soft colors, mostly pattern work and architecture so for the first time in a long time I was working from a reference photo.
A picture of the chapel I'd grown up in, another of Priest Bertram Dumont scooping water over my head and my parents watching on, hands pressed to their chests.
Maybe Izzy was more influential than I thought.
"What's going on with you and B?"
Her eyes were duller then, lips pursed when I glanced up at her, the question probably expected and she shrugged.
"He's British now, so, nothing."
I snorted at that, knowing that that was the worst explanation ever, "You know he wouldn't have left if you asked."
"And I didn't."
Brandon had been gone well over six months now, and from what he told me, it was a cordial end.
Rilee was always good at that though, shutting down, she didn't want people to know she had deeper feelings, not even her boyfriend.
I remembered back then, her calling me over FaceTime with a flush on her cheeks and watery eyes, and when I asked, she hadn't wanted to talk about it but Brandon's flight out was the next day.
"Which doesn't make any sense to me, you wanted him to stay."
She smiled then, it sad and somber. "What do I look like asking him to give up a huge career opportunity cause I might be lonely?"
And it was a big opportunity, something that we wouldn't even let ourselves dream of when we started our channel. Brandon was somewhere in the UK shadowing Edgar Wright, and doing freelance camera operating and I couldn't be more proud of him.
But still, "He would've done it."
She knew I was right, and her smile showed it. "Of course he would, he's Brandon." Blinking back tears, she sighed and I knew she didn't talk about it much. "But then he'd hate me once he came to his sense and regretted it."
"He loves you." More than I've ever seen him love anyone.
"Would you have stopped Jules?" Her tone was knowing and I fell silent, "If he was signed or whatever?"
I didn't even have to think about it. "No."
"Exactly."
When you loved someone, like really truly loved them you wanted them to be happy. And even if for a second you want to be selfish, you couldn't, there wasn't any excuse for holding someone back from their dream.
And maybe I wanted Rilee to do what I couldn't force myself to do, cause distance ruined my love life and I didn't want it to happen to her too.
But she seemed kind of... content.
"You'd try to, I tried to make myself... I couldn't do that to him."
: : :
Part of me knew that it was obvious I wasn't supposed to be doing something when I snuck around. I didn't grab a glass until I heard the water start and Rilee was in the shower.
Everything in our kitchen was shared and normally that got under my skin but there was a bottle of wine left over from our friend Clara's birthday and it wasn't terrible.
It was half full and truly, I wasn't sure how much I contributed to that myself but I'd filled my glass halfway and went to get comfortable, trying to find something to watch.
Isaiah came in about ten minutes in and I was finishing my glass, sitting it on the coffee table. Some buzz of nerves ran through me, the edge slowly dissipating.
My roommate had grinned, throwing a humored, "drinking before five?" Over his shoulder, and tugging his portfolio into his room.
"It's been a long day." And it was.
After the park, Rilee and I went to a late brunch, and her attitude towards my mimosa was already fucking annoying that she added a side of 'you don't talk to anyone' on top of it.
The car ride back was completely silent.
And Izzy must've noticed something off when he went to sit next to me because he sat a foot away instead. His brows furrowed at the sound of water running.
"Your brother's here?"
"My best friend." Gritting my teeth, I realized that I didn't give him a heads up. His eyes widened slightly and I went to explain. "She's in town for the night and I told her she could crash here if it's cool with you."
At that, he nodded, "yeah, no, it's completely fine." Knocking his shoulder against mine, Isaiah sunk back into the couch and he was sitting closer to me now. "You pay rent, you know, it's not like I can tell you not to have guests."
"You're sleeping on the couch again?"
"We got into a fight so I think so."
He rolled his eyes then, I really hated when he did that. "You can sleep with me tonight, you know?"
"I'm not in the mood."
And even if he was joking, and it was so obvious he was joking, he'd rolled his eyes again. "I meant to sleep, silly." Biting my bottom lip, I held back my annoyance.
He was bumping my shoulder again, thigh now fully pressed to mine and head leant back on the couch. "You look exhausted."
I was.
And it was tempting, the couch wasn't that comfortable but I just knew what would come out of it.
"My bed's much nicer than this old thing," he continued, smacking the seat, his lips fell into that easy smile of his again. "Plus, we can cuddle."
And that was a terrible idea.
Somehow, Landon would find out that I slept with Isaiah, definitely from Rilee. And then Pete would 100% know because of their weird brotherly bond, and he'd let it slip to my mom and, "Then my mom's gonna be asking you to dinner."
His grin was even wider now. "I wouldn't mind." I know. "You said she's a good cook."
"Iz." And I was visibly annoyed, I could tell from the way his smile dropped.
I hated when he did that and I was scooting an inch or two away when he sighed.
It was silent.
"I'm kidding."
"Yeah." No, you're not.
I knew he wasn't and at this point, it was like he didn't respect my boundaries. I had no intention on being his boyfriend, I wasn't going to introduce him to my mother... and honestly, I'd forgotten that being here, Rilee would have to meet him.
"You hungry?"
"No thanks."
His sigh then was heavy, and he stood to his feet, not even looking at me. "Can you get the bottle for me?"
Instead of yes or no, "How much have you had?"
"Why does that matter?"
Maybe my tone was more irritated than needed because his nose scrunched up and he was giving me that same look when we argued over stupid things. "You shouldn't drink when you're angry, is all."
"I really didn't ask for the PSA." He'd rolled his eyes again, crossing his arms over a broad chest and his hip jutted out like a disappointed mother.
And he was turning to retreat to the kitchen.
"Never fucking mind then."
Seconds later, Isaiah was trudging back... he was already in the process of doing what I asked. "Here."
Bottle in hand, he'd passed it to me and I sat there for a second, wishing I could take back the last two minutes. He was so patient, just like normal and he genuinely looked concerned. Then I realized that his questioning was also from concern and I felt terrible.
"I don't know why you have an attitude... I understand that you're not feeling great but I'm just trying to help—"
"I'm sorry."
"Whatever."
Shit. "Isaiah." Placing the bottle on the table next to the glass, I tried to catch him before he left the room. Hand on his wrist, I stood to look him in the eyes. "Izzy, I'm sorry."
When he looked unconvinced, I rocked back in my feet. "Really, I-I shouldn't have talked to you like that." And I shouldn't have, especially not when he was just wondering what was going on. I hated how rude I could be out of nowhere sometimes. "I'm just, I'm so fucking stressed right now, you know?"
His eyes softened. "Everything's kind of going to shit."
It was silent and I offered a frown. My hand was on his bicep now and I wasn't quite sure when it rested there.
But Isaiah's favorite form of communication was touch and he was looking down at me.
His hand went to rest on my waist and I tried my best not to pull away.
"If you want to talk about it, we can."
"I'm just having a bad day."
He nodded but he still looked worried and I was offering puppy-dog eyes in exchange. A smile broke across his serious face and I found myself stifling a small one.
"Go get a glass, we can watch High Fidelity."
A/N:
Fun fact a lot of these flashbacks are just parts from a happier version of this book I wrote before realizing that I wanted them to actually have to deal with their own emotional baggage.
I also really really love writing this part so I hope you guys like it as well. I'm still trying to balance flashbacks without being too repetitive or making it seem like the characters are too stuck on each other to a point where it's kind of unhealthy.
And it feels kind of weird to just ignore the point between where Open ended and how Alone started. There was almost two years of time within that break of time.
Still, sometimes I feel like I write too angsty, you know? And I might be oversharing but my quarantine brain is going a little crazy. Julian's part being so intertwined in his heartbreak was an attempt on showing how intense that part of his life was and I just hope these parts with Paul aren't too lighthearted.
Eh, As I say every single time I film too much extra footage: fuck it, we'll decide in post.
Updated: Tues. April 21st
What are your quarantine hobbies? I'm picking up designing clothes and getting my YouTube channel together.