Chapter Text
The rain battered down onto the worn footpath, hitting the roofs of the buildings around and sounding like it was denting the very metal of which the safe indoors was protected by. Sharp splashing was heard as someone ran through the puddles that were scattered across the ground, picking up water and flinging it everywhere as they hurried off to find somewhere sheltered. He pulled his long soft brown coat up over their head and let the angular collar flop down to cover his face, resigning themselves to the fact that it was going to get soaked and take forever to dry, the gentle fabric absorbing everything it came in contact with, there were still various paint stains all over the sleeves and a few wine stains that their friends had dripped down onto the end of the jacket. Coming to crash into a wall, just slightly under cover, they hurried to get to a small glass sliding door, waiting impatiently and bouncing his leg whilst it slowly slid open.
Slipping inside, they removed his coat from over his shoulders and folded the wet fabric over his arm, careful to hold it just slightly away from their body so the currently relatively dry clothes that had been sheltered below the jacket wouldn’t get damper.
Tugging at the ends of his woollen argyle check jumper, thickly knitted in various shades of light beige and darker sepia brown, colours just darker than his own olive-toned skin, covered in discoloured patches, lighter and darker, not quite vitiligo or birthmarks, but uneven tones in mishaped gradients gracing their arms and face most primarily. They accompanied scattered scars, fading slightly but never quite entirely, leaving soft pinker and paler bumps in large not-quite-circles or thinner slices, one cutting just next to his right eye, barely visible anymore after they fell over as a kid.
He let himself fall against the wall, out of breath from running through the heavy rain battering at their body in a completely different direction to where they were running. His short curled hair falls in front of their face, caramel spirals brushed out of the way of almond-shaped hazel eyes, glints of gold, ivory, and moss showing through the dark umber brown clouds of his irises, hidden behind thick lashes that brushed his slightly flushed cheeks, dusted with constellations of freckles, as he just closed his eyes whilst regaining his breath.
His hair barely brushed the nape of his neck, a clean fade just visible under the hair carefully parted and cupping his ears, curls falling all over his head. It was pushed back and kept off their face, stopping it from tickling the end of his small nose, by a pair of thin-framed glasses, almost circular but beaten up to the point where they no longer resembled perfect circles, more like odd ellipses, but somehow the glass had managed to maintain minimal cracks, just a couple on the outer edges close to the hinges.
Brushing their slightly scarred hands, fingers calloused with violin practice and knuckles pulling soft pink skin taught as imperfect marks tainted what could have been smooth and clear skin, marred from falling down one too many hills as a child, he had managed to have a spectacular fall when they were ten, and managed to remove a notch from their side, letting his hands slide along the worn-out knees of his black jeans, grey threads tickling his palms, they lean down, letting their hair fall in front of his face and they reach up a hand to push their glasses back, in an attempt to rest and regain his breath just a bit more.
He was already well and truly late for his class, but they were already behind time, so what was the harm with just being a tad later, really? Running the worn fingers through his hair, letting thin round rings and larger, artistically shaped, ones catch, pulling lightly at his scalp as he tugged his hand away just before his small champagne-coloured watch could catch on the hair, if it did it would pull a lot more than the rings.
He flinched just slightly as he felt the dips of rain from his soaked coat slide themselves into his Doc Martens, the water allowed to run into the shoe and dampen the sole through the shoes being left open, being separated slightly from the hems of his thickly cuffed jeans not quite brushing his ankles, being held away by their long legs. Giving his ankles a bit of a flick, in hopes of, unsuccessfully, getting the water out, he shifts his coat up to rest over his shoulder, still folded gently, now dripping down their back instead. Running a hand quickly through their hair, feeling the tug of his curls, he resigns himself to going to class now, trudging his way through the sleek linoleum corridors, trying to avoid dripping all over.
The hallways are long and silent with no students to be seen as those remaining here would likely be in class, most of this wing is usually empty anyway, it may be full of art studios but with how classes are run, most people are usually in the same room, leaving the rest desolate, hollow halls echoing heavy rain through cold tin roofs. The sun usually lit up the whole building, everything often thrown into bright daylight from all of the windows that made up about half of the roof that wasn’t empty tin, but with the dark clouds most of the building was deep in shadow, left dim with almost no lights being turned on, it wasn’t a commonly used building.
He can just hear in the distance the talking of their class as he approaches the room where he’s seemingly located for that day, able to scout it out from the muffled chatter of their usually relaxed classmates. Trying to sneak as quietly as they can, careful to not disturb their teacher or alert her of his late presence, he lightly pads along the floor, attempting to avoid their thickly-soled shoes squeaking, water glossy against the textureless floor. He knows that he’s got a good teacher, and that she’d probably not care too much that he was late. He was quite evidently caught up in the heavy downpour, still dripping all over the floor, but it wasn’t going to look good if they were late yet again. They unfortunately weren’t the most prompt student nor the least clumsy, and often got caught up in foot traffic, or rain, or fell over to the point where he was ten minutes late for class more often than they were on time, and even though his teachers usually didn’t care much for it, often the university itself did, and they had been threatened with decreased grades for it.
Coming up to the door to the studio and leaning close against the wall beside it, hoping to stay invisible from the class just a second longer as they attempted to catch their breath one final time, he was very much not athletic and was still just barely short-of-breath after running earlier, he closed his eyes, letting the peaceful darkness seep into the corners of their mind just slightly. Finally steeling themselves to face the late, late clock above the door, they took one final hesitant step to face the studio, flinching just slightly as the jolting movement let drips fall from his coat, slung over their shoulder, right down between their shirt and his back.
Rapping knuckles gently against the slanted glass strip in the old wooden door, tarnished varnish discoloured in places, he hears the chatter from the room stop and just makes out the foggy and distorted image of everyone within the room, all seven of their classmates and the teacher, turn to face the door. Feeling their chest tighten just briefly as they sucked in a small breath at the suspense, he resolutely keeps his eyes dead straight to face his teacher as she gets up to open the door. Listening to the hinges creaking, rust getting caught and rubbing against itself as the door jams just before fully opening, leaving it hanging just a hand's width from the wall behind it, he lets a breath grace his anxious self whilst trying to shove away a nervous grimace that pulls at the corners of their mouth. His attempts to soften their expression are rendered futile as his teacher let herself snicker lightheartedly at his failed attempt at a poker face.
Letting her hand fall in front of her face to drag down at strands of hair hanging loose from her caramel bun with lavender dyed streaks, looking like it hadn’t been taken out since last week, she peeked at him through paint stained fingers, barely leaving sharp emerald eyes visible, squinting at them, scrutinising as they fell to his soaked jacket and revealing a small content smile as the edges pulled up to arch up the already existing creases and wrinkles from her almost constant smiling expressions. She let her hands fall to her hips, tucking them into too-small pockets on the sides of her smock, worn out and covered in an abhorrent mix of clay, paint, markers, charcoal, and other random supplies. It looked like she had just been dragged through the equivalent of a junior school art classroom, but she didn’t seem to mind. She always said that her smock was a reflection of her progression in art, which was just barely evident from the scrawled on doodles that decorated the sleeves, drawn on by both her in boredom, and, if what she said was true, past students.
“Come in Mister Vitula.” Her exasperation was just visible through the pinched corner of an eye in slight annoyance as she squinted at him. But it was left unthreatening as it was accompanied by a small chuckle. She gestured to his coat, still occasionally dripping down his back, “You’re late as always, but I guess that’s expected in weather like this.”
He swallowed his nerves, they were fine seemingly, just letting himself nod and the corners of his mouth pull up to a small smile.
“Yeah, don’t worry, I’m not going to say anything, I know you’re an absolute klutz in the rain. I’m honestly surprised you didn’t fall on your face and that the rest of you isn’t drenched.” A light laugh followed her, coming from both her and the chuckles of the rest of the students, as she left the doorway and went back to her seat in the centre-ish of the room, but she snapped around at the last second before sitting down. “Now don’t you come into my art room dripping all over the floor. Leave the coat outside the door, and no, I don’t care if it crinkles. And whilst you’re at it, if that jumper’s soaked too then wring it out, please.” Her tough love was always welcoming, if a little bit of an atmosphere change from her usually peaceful demeanour. She really did care about her students, but her art studios were by far her main priority.
He smiled lightly, taking into account her instructions and leaving the coat outside in the hallway, luckily his jumper wasn’t that damp so he just left it on as he walked to the far corner of the room, where he usually sat in the class arrangement, no matter where the class were located in terms of studios. Tugging up his heavily pocketed leather satchel, usually hung only over the jumper whether he was intending to wear his coat or not, it was easiest to just move it around that way, he brushed off some final drips of rainwater as he lifted it as to not drag on the small industrial stool, secured to the metal frame of the legs by a rather impressive screw, as he sat down in front of the free easel. It was quite evident that people were working on continuing their charcoal art today, after doing sketches a few days before, with everyone’s canvas covered in monochromatic shades and fingers smudged in staining willow charcoal.
They hurried to shuffle themselves around a bit so they could see the same subject set as his easel partner, the carefully stacked and artfully disorganised pile of apples in a bowl, carefully arranged to have interesting shadows and light to draw out with the intense spotlight only lighting up one side of the bowl, the rest cast in darkness.
Finally placing his easel to sit close by to the person he was seated with, they began to do a quick outline in charcoal over the light greylead pencil on the canvas, just trying to get out relative shapes for them to build on later.
He was in the middle of doing some slightly less blocky shaping when their desk partner peered around their easel, smirking as they spoke, the light tone audible in their voice.
“Hey, Lee eeeeeee. ” He stretched out his name, falling sideways and barely holding himself up with the easel he seemed to be gripping on for dear life.
“Hey Claude, how much have you done?” As much as Claude was an incredible easel partner, it often fell to Lee to make sure he actually finished the classwork.
“Well I’ve done one apple and the bowl, the actual charcoal not just the sketch. A lot more than you, with your outlines.” He ran a hand up through the bangs of his straight black hair that fell in front of his face, pulling some fingers away before they caught on the hair pulled up into a haphazard small bun, keeping it from brushing the edge of his shoulders.
“Yeah, yeah. Keep on thinking you’re better than me, it's not like you’re doing this class for fun and not a major, oh wait, you are.” He rolled their eyes as they looked away from their own finished sketch from the last lesson at his easel to jokingly glare at Claude, the shorter guy wheezing as he doubled over in laughter, resting against his easel to keep himself from falling straight through to the floor. “Oh laugh it up, yeah, it’s not like you’re distracting me from a key subject .”
“Lee, amor, I know full well that you’re gonna be fine, you always do this better than me.” Claude whispered, just quiet enough that Ms Harlow, who was currently walking around and inspecting work, couldn’t hear him even as she approached the pair next to them.
Smiling through bright emerald eyes as a black jean mask covered the lower half of his face and blocked out his actual smile, of course Claude knew how to calm them down, and how to sweet talk Lee in exactly the right way that made them relax, that had made him fall for him all those months ago. It was always those words, those eyes, that dumb stupid grin that pulled at the dimples in his cheeks and the pure simple light of it starkly contrasting the sleek leather jacket and ripped black jeans which, before they got to know Claude, used to feel prickly and aggressive, it was those things that made him feel comfortable, made them calm down. Now they felt like home, the silky cold fabric of the jacket was comfortable and reminded him and quiet afternoons whilst they read together, and the rough jeans wrapped around his waist as Claude constantly ranted about whatever had happened in history class that day, and who had gotten into a disagreement with the teacher, whilst making his best effort to imitate a limpet that was clinging as close as he could to Lee.
It had been an odd change, going from easel partners whenever they were doing art that required an easel, or paired up for other projects like photography and the big collage commission they had received earlier that year, going from the one who seriously cared about getting that art degree and the other that was just doing the subject for fun, to boyfriends that worked in syncopation perfectly around each other in the studio. But it had fallen into place so perfectly it almost felt weird that it had taken them so long to get to know each other properly, the year and a half spent in awkward silence feeling so long ago, even though it had only been eight months ago.
Of course, when the rest of the class had found out they were half surprised with the pairing, the almost goth and very evident art student, but also not surprised because apparently the chemistry was very clear between the two for the vast majority of the class. And after the rest of the class found out it was only a matter of time before Ms Harlow found out, and the rest of that class ended up degrading into mindless chatter and gossip after she ended up laughing for a minute before hinting that she knew from the start, seating them together on day one. But she was quite clear that, even though she found it hilarious that it had taken so long, class was for work, not fawning over each other, which had earned a strained chuckle from Lee as Claude wheezed like a tea kettle at their face.
“Hey lovebirds, I do hope you realise that this is your art class and not wherever you guys go on the weekends to longingly look into each other's eyes. Kindly focus on the actual apples you’re meant to be drawing, not the ‘apples of your eyes’.” Ms Harlow had gotten around to their pair of easels, hand on her hips as she smirked exasperatedly at the two of them, tiredness evident in her voice as she shocked the both of them out of their own minds, hands barely working on their charcoal whilst on whatever autopilot it had fallen to.
“Sorry, Ms Harlow.” Lee coughed out, always embarrassed about being caught and fumbling with his charcoal as he mentally staggered back to the real world.
“Yeah, sorry.” Claude echoed, grinning as he nudged Lee gently in their ankle with his own foot, to convey what he didn’t know.
“Just keep on working, your drawings are looking less like drawings and more like sketches, which you were meant to finish yesterday.” Accompanied by a slight smile, she knew full well that their drawings were coming along and that both of them had well finished their sketches.
As she walked away, Lee chanced to steal a glance back at Claude, who was stifling a laugh behind the back of his hand pressed to his face, his own charcoal long forgotten as it sat on the easel rest. So Lee went and lightly hit his leg with the back of his hand, barely containing a chuckle themselves.
Bringing a palm up to their face, he brushed his hair out of his eyes as they rolled, exasperated with whatever idiot (affectionately) they had gotten for a boyfriend. And pulling his attention back to the basket of apples, and his own incomplete rendition of them, continuing to smudge the black stain onto his fingers as they went on to begin basic shading.