Work Text:
Lardo is stressed. Like mega fucking stressed. She’s got her preliminary deadline in two days to make sure her piece is handed in, and then has another three days to make sure everything is finished and boxed off for the actual deadline. And on top of that, her boys have a game, and because she’s their manager she has to be there.
She’s started to sleep in the studio.
Her piece, along with the sketchbooks and evaluation that go with it, is a series of 6 canvases that are all bigger than her in a variety of sizes.
She had had to go out and buy more than her original six, given all of her previous scrapped attempts that she wasn’t happy with. Her biggest canvas is self made though, and she’s saved that until last.
Which is what she’s working on in the middle of the night, crumpled hoodie in the corner that she had been using as a pillow when she let herself nap. Half empty coffee cups and biscuit wrappers scattered across the floor.
Everybody else had gone back to their dorms, leaving her alone in the space. Her phone had died hours ago, so it was just her, her empty canvas and her rapidly fluctuating moods.
“Come on, I’m tearing my hair out here!” She whines at the canvas.
It was the last one she needed to do. And it was giving her hell.
Her project was abstract emotions. Broad topic, she knew. And she regretted it now. But abstract was what she knew best and was good at. And emotions were nothing new to her.
The last piece was love. And fucking hell it was the hardest to do. Every single time she tried on her mock up, it always ended up, in some way, being a homage to Shitty. He would never know of course, he liked her work but ‘I never get your abstract work Lards, you know I don’t’. But she still knew what it was.
She had been staring at the blank canvas for twenty minutes before she breaks. “Fuck it. If he knows, he knows. I don’t care. This needs to be done. I’m fucking passing this brief damn it!”
She always suffered for her art.
There’s no cool colours in this one, it’s all warm pinks and reds, browns and bright yellows. Brilliant flashes of green seen throughout.
Her arms are soaked in paint, and maybe her heart's beating a little faster as she throws the paint onto the canvas, crawling to reach places on the floor where the canvas had been laid out. Her clothes are saturated, her hair is clumpy with it, and she just knows there are streaks on her face.
But its the best damn work she’s done in the series. Which is what she finds when she surfaces again two hours later.
She doesn’t want to leave it, she can’t leave her work unattended. And she liked being by her work just in case something came to her hours later.
So she sets up camp again with her hoodie, meaning to only close her eyes for a couple of minutes. She doesn’t even wash up, that’s how tired she is.
“Fuck what?” She’s awoken by someone scooping her up, cradling her close to their chest an unknown amount of time later.
“I can’t believe you still sleep here dumb ass, i’ve been looking everywhere for you. I’m taking you back to the Haus.” It’s Shitty, Of course it’s Shitty.
Shitty’s always there. Always picking her up, looking out for her. Sharing smokes, food, beds, anything. He never once made a move. Never once took advantage of her when he easily could. He isn’t put off by her tough exterior. Or her crying fits.
So yeah. She loved him. But she couldn’t tell him that. Not when she was in her right mind.
Maybe she could though, when she was paint splattered and frazzled, wrapped up in Shitty’s arms as he carried her home. Running on nothing more than a few dregs of coffee and sheer force of will.
“S’bout you you know.” She slurs, trying to look up at him. He’s only wearing a t-shirt, and he probably isn’t wearing the best shoes to be walking across campus. But he’s holding her solid, like it’s nothing. And he just smiles gently down at her.
“What is?”
“M’ canvas. S’bout you.”
“I’m flattered-”
“It’s love. and the only thing that came to mind when I was painting was you.” There’s a small moment of silence. But he would have dropped her if she had fucked up. Instead she just feels his arms tighten a little, and his heart speed up under her ear.
“Not even coffee?” He tries to joke, the tone falls a little flat though. And if the wetness of his voice is anything to go by, Lardo knows he’s choking up. She hopes it’s from happiness.
“Not even coffee.” She nods, or tries to. But her head is heavy and her eyes are drooping.
The last thing she sees is Shitty’s face, smiling down at her.
“Love you too you know.” His footsteps get a little slower, as if he wants to draw their walk out.
“M’glad.” Her eyes are still closed, but she knows Shitty, just like Shitty knows her. And the silence that follows isn’t one to be worried about.
Instead she waits, feeling safe and loved. Loved back. And it dawns on her that it was probably very stupid to think otherwise.
“So am I. We’re back at the Haus you wanna walk?”
“Nope.” She snuggles deeper into his chest, reaching up to grip onto his shoulders and he chuckles.
“Alright you little koala. But we’re talking about your sleeping in the morning before you go back to the studio alright?” His voice is quiet to match the Haus’ quiet, and the hushed conversation feels so private as Shitty makes his choppy way up the stairs.
There’s no question about her sleeping in his bed. There never was. There never will be, she doesn’t think. The familiarity of Shitty’s room just makes her even sleepier as she’s propped up on his bed, eyes still closed.
Shitty takes her shoes and socks off, because she hates sleeping in socks, and he wriggles her out of her hoodie before he’s lying her down, on the side by the wall because she always sleeps on that side. And there’s no complaint about the paint on her clothes, sin or hair. Instead she just feels him lay a gentle kiss on her forehead. And then she’s out. Sleeping safe and sound, loved, in Shitty’s arms.
Because really, when have they ever not.