Chapter Text
Lying back with his feet propped up on the deep, cushioned desk chair and knees close to his chest, Ben meticulously hits post to the carefully edited 45-second time-lapse that he spent almost half the day working on.
That meager number doesn’t even account for the time he spent painting the work he’s displaying in the post. For said work, he had spent the whole two days prior working on the landscape-style painting, capturing the essence of a field full of blossoming peonies with nothing but some overused oil paints that begged for mercy, a Red Bull 12-pack that had been around since before Ben started college, and a dream—a very, very, minuscule dream—to keep him going.
It’s not the most creative piece of his, per se, in terms of originality, but it was the product of one of those rare times he was given a commission. It was for a middle-aged lady who had messaged him a couple of weeks ago, saying that she found his TikTok page through her niece and loved his style, and since he hasn’t posted anything in over a month (and he hasn't so much as picked up a pencil in weeks), it’ll have to do.
To be honest, it’s not like his followers really care about the art in his posts, anyway. Despite the list of art mediums he’s mastered over the years being endless, he’s attracted most of his die-hard fans through… other means.
Are his snarky comments, good looks (according to his helpless comments), and tendency to fall into controversies in the art community the main perpetrators?
Well, obviously.
But that's not to say that he didn't work hard to earn his following. He'll flaunt his 5.8 million followers like a badge of honor, thank you very much, but at the end of the day, his personality does help.
He was able to make a breakthrough two years ago, back in his senior year of college, after he had half-heartedly decided to upload a couple of his works onto TikTok one night.
After spending countless hours working on a portfolio for a teacher who paid no mind to him, in a mindless fury, Ben had made his first post strictly out of spite, as if Ben getting a measly 100 likes on a video of his art would somehow prove some non-existent thematic point that Ben couldn't quite come up with himself.
Well, his graphic design teacher can kiss that art degree of his goodbye for all Ben cares, as that post had blown up overnight with a whopping 2.3 million likes, and Ben has been growing, receiving sponsorships, and getting recognition in the public eye ever since.
For better or for worse.
That peaceful start was short-lived. Ben had only lasted about 2 months before he was put in hot water.
Unfortunately, without any PR training to hold him back, he had made some tasteless posts in response to a creator who was, quite frankly, much pettier in retrospect, but was still unfairly bashed.
But if some jackass thought that he could get away with calling Ben’s art "bland and unoriginal", he should’ve expected it to be thrown right back at him.
Especially if said jackass was a pitifully easy target. A small streamer with relatively few viewers, whose emo fringe would fall onto his eyes no matter how much he tried to push it back, and who, from the looks of it, sang My Chemical Romance covers in someone's basement with a prehistoric video camera despite being the same age as Ben.
Yeah. Okay.
It's in the past now. After a couple of weeks of profuse apologizing for picking on a smaller content creator, he had been allowed to walk a free man in the social media Court of Justice once more. And who knows where that other dude ended up after this all passed? Realistically, with all the social media coverage, he probably got a couple of followers out of it, so he shouldn't feel too bitter about it anymore.
Ben lets out a deep sigh, sinking further into the leather chair beneath him, which shuffles uncomfortably in a way that signals that it's had enough of Ben's moping.
Ben exits the app, cleans out his tabs, then opens the app once again.
6,864 likes in under two minutes.
Okay, not bad.
After a couple of seconds of morbid contemplation, he refreshes again.
7,069.
Less than one thousand? Well, this will be another flop for sure.
Ben powers his phone off, staring at the ceiling like it'll give him the results he's looking for.
Then again, his mind supplies him after his two seconds of silence prove to be uneventful, another refresh wouldn't hurt.
His fingers itch towards the screen.
“Ben, you’re not going to get a million likes in the span of 5 seconds. Just relax.”
His roommate, Lola, supplies from where she’s sitting on top of Ben’s bed with pink rollers coiled into her hair, and her hands carefully holding up a tube of liquid eyeliner to her face with the same precision as a neurosurgeon. Apparently, Ben's room has the perfect lighting, so she frequently gets ready and spends her time with him, much to Ben's inconvenience.
The two met back in college during their freshman year orientation and had clung to each other during the roughest patches of those four years. Although their relationship was questionable at first, with a one-sided attraction that Ben wasn’t aware he didn’t reciprocate until about two months into their dating, Lola had thankfully been understanding of Ben’s true feelings, and their connection has developed into something comfortably platonic since then.
“I wasn’t even checking my page,” Ben replies defensively, dropping his phone on his desk and bringing his legs down to spin and face the girl. How would Lola have known? She wasn’t even looking at him.
She clicks her tongue, her eyes remaining carefully still in order not to mess up the straight wing, which she’s currently filling in. “I can sense it. You can’t fool me.”
She closes the tube and turns her head towards Ben. “Seriously, you don’t think I can feel it when the entire energy of the room shifts every time you click post?” She frowns, fanning her eyes so that they can dry. “You’re like— radiating tenseness, right now.”
Ben gets up from the chair, grimacing as he straightens his back with a loud crack that he shouldn’t be accustomed to hearing until another 30 years or so. He makes his way over to the bed, flopping down next to Lola with a loud groan as he lets his body sink into the fluffy duvet with his eyes scrunching shut.
Lola studies him for a second with an amused look before bringing her attention back to the mirror on her lap to finish her makeup.
“You should really go out more.” She adds, applying a thin layer of eyelash glue onto the base of her natural lashes. “What you need is to get out of this apartment and come to SoHo with me tonight. Let loose a little.”
Ben shifts, angling his head to look at Lola. “I’ll pass. What I need is some good night’s sleep.”
Lola shrugs her shoulders. “Or that works too.”
With a comfortable silence blanketing the two of them, Lola finishes up, applying the soft pair of falsies that she only saves for special occasions onto her eyes. She holds them in place for a bit before blinking a couple of times and fanning her eyelashes towards Ben. “How do I look?”
Ben parts his lips before an answer can come to him. “You look nice. You expecting to meet someone?”
Lola laughs. “Is it a crime to look good for myself?”
“Well, you only wear those when you want to get a free drink.”
Ben’s question gets answered when an incriminating blush spreads its way towards the tip of Lola’s ears. She grumbles. “Never mind. I take back my previous offer.”
Despite her words just now, when she gets up to go to their shared closet, she continues. “Are you sure you don’t wanna come? I’m going with Donna and Brady to this new art installation. It’s their opening night, so there’ll be free drinks, food, and everything, and who knows when they’ll do that again.”
Ben scoffs incredulously, sitting up. “Free? The place will be packed .”
“It’s a good thing, though,” Lola says, holding up a cashmere skirt and a leather one. “You’ll have the opportunity to meet people who could be interested in your art. You could make some good connections, talk to some people just enough to get them to like you, and then give them your card. Easy enough.”
“Sounds manipulative.” Ben comments, watching as Lola makes up her mind and throws the leather skirt onto the bed.
“Not really, just a simple tactic.” She says, turning back around to fish out a top. “It’s Networking 101.”
Ben’s mind wanders back to his phone, but before he can get up and grab it, Lola finds her remaining articles of clothing and turns back around. “So? You change your mind or not?”
Ben stares at her, gnawing at the inside of his cheek.
A night out at one of the most popular spots in Manhattan, surely bustling with people, colorful strip lights, pricy paintings, and a guaranteed hangover?
“What the hell. Sure.”
“Great!” She beams excitedly, picking her skirt off the bed and making her way to her own room. “We’re going to have so much fun!”
But before she leaves, she pauses near the doorframe.
“Oh, and you have 20 minutes left before we leave, by the way.”
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Helena82
The peonies are GORGEOUS!!! Thank you so much for the wonderful commission :))💗💗💗
20m Reply ♡ 1,686 👎
DoughMaker
There’s no way this isn’t AI
35m Reply ♡ 45 👎
Lily!! (Ricky's Version)
Are you fr... you can literally see Ben's very much real looking hands in the video pls go outside for once and interact with someone that isn't just your bot gf and come back to me once you find out what a real person looks like
14m Reply ♡ 82 👎
Motorbikes#1fan ▶ Lily!! (Ricky's Version)
Bro fell for obvious ragebait
8m Reply ♡ 11 👎
YuriNation ▶ Lily!! (Ricky's Version)
WHO IS BEN HELLO😭???
10m Reply ♡ 2 👎
BenBrookesleftbrow ▶ YuriNation
My goat
9m Reply ♡ 18 👎
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Although rent is stupid expensive, living in the city is definitely worth it.
For one, traveling is easy. All they had to do was hop on a train running to downtown Manhattan, endure a couple of stops, and a ten-minute walk before making it to the entrance of the gallery. Donna and Brady are already waiting in line at the entrance by the time they get there, so Ben and Lola get the luxury of cutting a large chunk of the grumbling people behind them.
“Hi!” Donna greets the two of them happily, running up to embrace Lola in a quick hug, “Wow." She says once she gets a good look at her. "You look stunning .”
“Thanks.” Lola smiles sheepishly, “So do you.”
“And you look…” Donna turns to face Ben, the smile on her face growing weaker as she fully takes in Ben’s appearance. “Normal.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Ben narrows his eyes.
“It’s just that this is more of a fancy place… you know…” She gestures to the people around them with her hands.
The line is full of people; women in all kinds of outfits—cocktail dresses, nightdresses, bodycons, babydoll tops, and so on—with most men taking the safer approach of some slacks and a dress shirt. Still, Ben's green flannel and baggy jeans make him stick out like a sore thumb, and the fact that he's already gotten a couple of stares directed at him (either out of recognition or judgment— or both) definitely doesn't help.
“To be fair,” Ben crosses his arms, suddenly hyperaware of his appearance, “I only had 20 minutes to get ready.”
Donna nods in acknowledgment, but her interest quickly strays elsewhere when they get to the entrance of the line.
To call the inside of the exhibit packed would be an understatement. Ben's getting stressed out just by watching the way servers run back and forth with trays of appetizers and drinks shaking in their grasp, desperate to greet everyone who comes in. Jazz is playing live in the background, but the music can barely be heard over the chatter and laughter of the people inside, causing a clash of inharmonic sounds to ring out in Ben’s ears.
Depending on which room Ben enters, each collection of canvases is different and supplemented by different artists, allowing for a beautiful array of styles to fulfill his palette. One collection is titled Eternal Abyss, which solely focuses on the photography of different constellations with a galactic aura to it, while another collection, full of bright oil pastels and expressionism, is not-so-cleverly titled Subjectiveness.
"Would you four like a drink?" A girl in a tailored uniformed suit and a smooth British accent asks them once they settle in one of the less crowded rooms. Perhaps she can sense Ben's nervousness, as her eyes meet his out of everyone in the group with soft understanding.
She holds up the black tray of clear martini glasses like an invitation, and with clear hesitation, Ben accepts.
"Sure. Thanks." He says, picking up one glass and taking a generous sip.
The distinct, tangy flavor goes down his throat smoothly, and Ben winces slightly as he gulps.
"Careful, man," Brady warns him, putting a hand around Ben's shoulder as he reaches out with his free hand for a glass of his own. "The night is still young."
"Yeah." Donna agrees. "I still want to have some fun before we inevitably need to haul you into the back of a cab." She teases, pushing at his shoulders light-heartedly.
There's no point in arguing. Ben has already learned his lesson about relying on liquid courage the hard way, after he publicly made a fool of himself as a result of trying to psych himself up to make conversation at an influencer party one time. Clips of him dancing absolutely shit-faced can still be found on the internet to this day.
So, it's better if Ben holds onto his martini for the time being.
"Well," Ben starts, turning around to face the group once everyone has gotten their drinks and the pleasant worker makes her rounds to another group. "You guys wanna hit up another room?"
He receives a unanimous string of yes, and with that, Ben leads the way to another room.
There's a visual distinction between the new room that he enters and the previous ones. This one lacks the colorful aroma and the eccentric designs displayed on the walls that he's been subjected to for the last dozen ones; however, that's not to say that the number of people inside is limited. If anything, there appears to be a larger crowd here than anywhere else in the exhibit, all congregating around a certain area of the room and chattering amongst themselves.
Once a man parts his way through the sea of people, Ben understands why.
The man in question is a tall, lanky older guy, probably around 20-something years Ben's senior. He's donning a navy blue cotton suit, blending the lines between casual and formal, with a hint of intentional stubble across his chin and jaw.
"Mr. Brookes!" The man shouts with a large, crest-white smile.
Ben stiffens, while Lola and the rest conspicuously leave Ben to fight his own battles.
"Hi..." Ben greets weakly as the man gets closer, looking down to read the name tag deliberately placed high and proud near his chest pocket, "PNG."
The man laughs, bright and loud, like he's not afraid to make his presence known. "No need to look so serious." Mr. PNG says, glancing at the furrow between Ben's brows, "I don't expect you to know who I am."
Ben relaxes his shoulders, trying not to audibly sigh in relief. "You seem to know who I am, though."
Mr. PNG chuckles once again, and Ben might have to reconsider how funny he is after this. "Many of us here do."
"I'm afraid I haven't formally introduced myself." He extends a welcoming hand towards Ben. When Ben takes hold of his hand and shakes it, he continues.
"I'm Mr. PNG, and I'm the owner of this establishment. And the one sponsoring all these lovely collections that you've been absorbing as you've been walking around."
Suddenly, Ben has the urge to tense up again. "What an honor to meet you, Mr. PNG." He says. "I'm Ben. Ben Brookes."
Mr. PNG nods and lets his hand come back to his side. "I won't take too much of your time away." He reassures, fixing the cuff of his sleeve. "I just want to ask something of you."
"Sure, that's no problem." Ben doubts he would've objected either way, but he agrees regardless. "What is it?"
"Well," Mr. PNG starts, eyes flitting back to Ben's. "As you may have already gathered, I'm an avid lover of the fine arts. I have many different exhibits like these around the entire city, and I was wondering if you'd be interested in displaying a commissioned set of pieces in one nearby. With generous compensation to be expected, of course."
"Oh," Ben says, slightly taken aback by the potential of an offer being proposed to him. While wearing jeans, no less.
"It's a little on the nose," PNG sighs, "But it's called the 'PNG Exhibit'. Believe me, if I were the one coming up with these names, they'd be way cooler." He pouts, and Ben wonders how someone so bright and theatrical can be so filthy rich.
"Why that exhibit in particular?" Ben questions.
"I'm so glad you asked!" he beams. "Well, taking into consideration your edgy aesthetic-" (Ben cringes internally as he says that) "-and your recent posts dedicated to more floral themes, I figured that you would be perfect for the job since the PNG Exhibit has a connecting greenhouse garden," he explains excitedly.
"And I've already spoken with another young man about this upcoming event in two months, and he agreed to give a live performance there. His music genre is more on the alternative side, so I figured that I'd make that the inherent vibe of the exhibit altogether, and get some floral-inspired artwork with some grungy undertones."
Ben nods, absorbing the information. "So hypothetically speaking, you're saying that my art display and his performance would coincide on the same day?"
"Exactly!" Mr. PNG clarifies. "I'm not an artist myself, but I can only assume that creating a collection of artwork to fit an entire gallery room in two months is asking for too much..." He pauses, rubbing at the nape of his neck.
"But I'm willing to raise the pay quite a bit," he lowers his voice, "with the addition of a free concert ticket included."
Ben raises a brow.
"And three hundred thousand."
Ben nearly chokes on his own spit. "Dollars?"
Mr. PNG chuckles. "You're a funny guy, Mr. Brookes." He smiles before regaining his business-like composure. "Of course, some percentage of that will be taken for commission, but let's say three hundred thousand for..." He pauses, drawing his brows together in contemplation. "Ten canvas pieces by November 1st?"
Who would've known that a night Ben had nearly turned down would change the trajectory of his life? Mr. Png's words linger in his mind, along with the strangeness of the request. Ben's mind feels fuzzy, like it's swimming in opportunity, unlocking a new world he's never had the permission to access.
The anticipatory gaze aimed his way doesn't give him much time to think, so Ben grasps at straws for a response.
"Uh." He straightens his back, pulling at the hem of his flannel awkwardly. "You'd have to give me some more details. But... let me sleep on that offer."
He nods. "Of course, of course. You can get back to me in a week from now. You should talk it up with your team before you make any big decisions. But in the meantime," he takes something out of his chest pocket, swiftly and precisely, like a veteran businessman, "here's my card."
Ben takes it like it's a winning lottery ticket.
"Looking forward to hearing back from you. It's been a pleasure meeting." Mr. PNG says, before walking off.
Ben smiles to himself as he watches the man walk away, still riding the euphoria of the slowly fizzling conversation.
And if the three of his friends glance at him with silent intrigue, wondering why Ben looks like he's high off of life—well, that's none of their concern.
Maybe that's why PNG is the way he is, Ben supposes, with the animated enthusiasm of a man who's never worked a day in his life. Maybe Mr. Png is too busy drowning in his own success to think about his internal battles, or fortunate enough not to have any in the first place.
As he returns to his group, bringing his half-empty martini glass in the air and with a renewed spirit, Ben calls out: "Who wants another drink?"