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Carlos gets off the tube at the Charing Cross station. He uses the escalator to leave the underground and crosses Trafalgar Square to get to the National Gallery. The air is crisp, the first sign of autumn chill approaching. Leaves started changing colours weeks ago and now they’re falling, decorating pavements in reds, oranges and yellows. The sun is out but clouds indicate it might rain in the afternoon. It’s England after all.
This is a familiar routine for Carlos: every Saturday he takes the tube from his flat in Waterloo, arrives at Charing Cross two minutes later and grabs a hot coffee from his favourite shop on the way to the gallery. Sometimes, when the weather is really nice, he walks instead of using the underground but even the slightest whiff of cold is enough for him to forsake any strolls.
He can spend hours at the museum, staring at paintings. He always has his sketchbook and a pencil with him, and draws religiously. Carlos has sketched hundreds of paintings during all the years he’s been studying in London. Drawing is his biggest hobby, a way to disconnect from the stress of university. Almost every Saturday he spends in the gallery, surrounded by art and tourists. He often eavesdrops on conversations in Spanish. It makes him feel like he’s back home, near his people.
His absolutely favourite artwork to sketch are Van Gogh’s Sunflowers. People either love it or think it’s boring, but for Carlos the simple beauty of it is captivating. They’re easy to draw but at the same time, it’s impossible to recreate the genius strokes of the painter. Carlos loves the challenge of trying to.
He’s been sitting on the bench in front of it for a while, staring at the wooden frame. He’s finally putting his pencil to work when he hears a click!
He turns his head to the side and sees a tall man with a camera, taking photographs of A Wheatfield with Cypresses. One of his eyes is closed, the other looking through the lens. A mop of red curls falls onto the man’s forehead. Cute, he thinks.
Carlos is overwhelmed with the urge to capture the moment on a piece of paper. His hand moves unconsciously but he catches himself before he starts drawing the stranger. The man straightens up and looks in Carlos’s direction. He quickly turns away and blushes, busying himself with his drawing.
It’s only October but Carlos’s classes are already kicking his arse. His job at an art supply store doesn’t help.
He studies sports journalism at the University of London. Sport has been his passion his whole life. He loves playing sports, especially football and tennis, and he loves watching them. But with all the essays, projects and exams, he’s fed up. And stressed. Drawing is a good distraction but he knows he has to take his degree seriously. He moved to a different country, left his family, to study it and he can’t fail.
It’s late in the night, Carlos’s head hanging low above his coursebooks and notes. The white light of his desk lamp is irritating, his eyes sensitive after hours of continuous studying. His room, usually very tidy, is a mess. He stares at the carved-out pumpkin on his windowsill. It seems to be mocking him.
Emma keeps texting him about the presentation they have to give tomorrow, nervous. He tries to calm her down on top of writing his assignment, but he’s failing. He can’t focus and puts his head in his hands with a sigh. His sight falls to his bag, thrown on the floor. His sketchbook is peeking out of it, inviting.
He hesitates for a moment then goes to pick it up. He opens it and goes through the sketches he made last weekend. He stops when he reaches the newest Sunflowers drawing. His memory takes him back to that day at the gallery.
…To the guy with a camera.
Carlos’s heartbeat quickens. He picks up a pencil absentmindedly and starts putting lines on paper. He barely registers what he’s doing. Soon, there is the photographer’s likeness on the sheet before him.
Carlos’s photographic memory helped him remember a lot of details but he’s sure the drawing would be way better if he could see him, copy him. Still, Carlos feels calmer. More relaxed. He puts the sketch away, shakes his head and goes back to work.
It’s a rainy November Saturday. The wind is blowing hard and the droplets falling from the sky are cold, almost freezing. Carlos puts the hood of his puffer jacket up and wishes he brought an umbrella.
Due to the weather, Trafalgar Square isn’t busy. Even Englishmen, used to the rain, prefer holing up in their flats or warm cafes. Carlos’s boots splash the water under his feet. It’s impossible to avoid puddles in this flood.
He almost stayed at home. But the previous weekend, he celebrated Emma’s birthday with her and he couldn’t go to the museum. He regretted it a bit but at the same time, his friendship with Emma means a lot to him. So, he missed the last gallery date with, hm, himself, and he was desperate to go today, despite the weather.
He hates to admit it but he kind of hopes to see the tall redhead again. He drew him again a couple of times but his memory started to become hazy and the man’s features began to blur.
But who knows, maybe he was just a tourist and he doesn’t even live in London, let alone go to the National Gallery as often as Carlos who knows most employees by their names.
He wanders through the rooms and halls, stopping by his favourite pieces. He draws da Vinci’s Virgin of the Rocks this time. It takes him a while, the painting quite detailed.
Hours later, he stands in front of Sunflowers again. He’s not even planning on sketching them today. He just wanted…
But the guy isn’t here. Of course he’s not, why would he be? And Carlos doesn’t miss him, he can’t, he doesn’t even know him.
But he can’t help but leave the museum disappointed.
He doesn’t have a crush on a guy he’s only seen once. He does not. But he keeps thinking about him. Last night, he dreamt he saw him again. He woke up with the memory of his freckles still fresh in his mind, a smile on his lips.
It’s December. Christmas decorations are up in the entire city, typical holiday cheer in the air. Streets are illuminated by diode angels and Carlos can smell gingerbread from the bakery below his flat.
He’s going back to Spain next week so he takes the last opportunity and hops on the tube. Trafalgar Square is filled with people attending the Christmas market. There are little trees all over the place, covered in tinsels, baubles and other ornaments.
Carlos pulls his beanie lower to fully cover his ears. He buys himself a hot chocolate. “Thank you, happy Christmas!”, he says.
He enters the gallery in a merry mood and stops dead in his tracks when he spots a familiar figure with a camera strapped around his neck. They make eye contact and Carlos notices the man’s orbs are a beautiful shade of green. They’re on the opposite ends of the room. They continue staring at each other for a minute, frozen in time. Then, the guy smiles awkwardly. His smile is a bit crooked but his face glows with it. There is a singular curl falling onto the slope of his nose and Carlos is enamoured. He smiles back but the moment is broken when someone passes between them. The copper-haired photographer turns away and busies himself with taking pictures of Turner’s The Evening Star.
Carlos’s smile falls.
The halls of the gallery used to be a maze to Carlos but now he knows them like the back of his hand. He could probably move through them blind. His feet carry him to his favourite room and he feels serenity take over his senses when he sees the golden flowers.
It’s January. He’s been back in London for a few days and he couldn’t wait to come here again. He reaches for his sketchbook when, out of the corner of his eye, he sees a flash of orange.
His mysterious photographer is looking at an artwork across the room, his back turned to Carlos. When he finally faces Carlos, he feels his breath catch in his chest. The look in his eyes is intense. Passionate. He reminds Carlos of Cabanel’s Fallen Angel.
His eyes soften when he spots Carlos and he can’t help but wave at the guy. He snaps his hand back to his side, mortified, but the man just giggles and waves back. Carlos feels butterflies erupt in his stomach and he knows he should approach him, do something, anything, but he’s so embarrassed and giddy and, Dios, he needs to go. He stumbles on the bench as he backtracks from the room and he thinks, only half-serious, I’m never gonna visit this place again, ever.
Valentine’s Day is not Carlos’s favourite holiday. There, he said it. It’s not that he thinks love is overrated. It’s just that it makes him feel extremely lonely, watching all the adorable, happy couples celebrate the day together when he’s been painfully single for years.
He remembers seeing a Van Gogh themed exhibition in Amsterdam a few years ago. He was walking through the rooms, amazed and full of child-like wonder. When he reached the hall showing The Starry Night, all of his excitement was gone, for it was filled with pairs holding hands and looking at each other with heart eyes.
To make things worse, it’s Monday and his last lecture of the day ends at eight in the evening. He woke up at dawn and not even three coffees were enough to make it bearable.
He’s in the library with Emma and Qinwen. It’s dark outside already and it’s snowing. He has a lecture in half an hour but he needs to finish his essay first. The girls are discussing their plans for the night, both of them going on dates, and Carlos feels, dramatically, miserable.
He’s been staring at the empty desk on the other side of the study hall for a couple of minutes already when something obstructs his view. It takes him a second to realize it’s a person. A blond guy with a square jaw is talking loudly to his friend. Jesus Christ, we are in a libra—
His gaze focuses on the friend and he’s sure he’s hallucinating. It’s him! But what is he doing here? He’s a student here? But Carlos has never seen him on campus before!
A sudden snap of fingers right in front of his face takes him out of a stupor. Qinwen is looking at him worriedly. “Are you okay, Charly?”, she asks. Emma stops her rant to stare at him expectedly, awaiting his response.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just…”, he stutters, “saw someone I— know”, he finishes lamely. Qinwen turns her neck in the direction he’s been staring at. “The blonde one or the redhead?” She wiggles her eyebrows. He groans, “Shut up, it’s not like that.”
“Isn’t it?”, Emma inquires with a smirk. “I know the blond. His name is Jack and he’s straight. But something tells me it’s not him who caught your attention, huh, Charly?”
“Leave me alone, both of you.” He points at them with his index finger. “I need to go to my lecture. See you tomorrow.” He packs his bag and leaves hurriedly. He tries not to look at the photographer but he fails.
He keeps looking for him in the corridors, with no success. Every time he leaves a lecture hall or a classroom, his head moves around like he’s an owl. But the campus is big, huge even. The chances of running into the man are… minimal.
So, okay, he does have a crush. But it’s just a small crush, he barely thinks about him when he’s not at the museum. Or in the library. Or in his bed, late at night.
Emma and Qinwen make fun of him constantly. The Brit even proposes asking Jack, her childhood neighbour, about his friend but Carlos refuses.
March is, to no one’s surprise, really rainy. It’s also cold, but there is more sunlight and he already spotted the first flower buds in the nearby park. He can’t wait for full-blown spring when he’ll be able to draw in parks, surrounded by nature.
He hears birds singing outside of his window when he gets dressed on yet another Saturday morning. He eats breakfast (eggs on toast) and drinks his tea (Earl Grey). He used to never drink tea before coming to the United Kingdom but the local habits have rubbed off on him. He puts no sugar in it but he does add an excessive amount of lemon, a taste of sunshine on a cloudy day.
His sketchbook is open on the kitchenette table. He flips through the pages and groans. God, half of the drawings are of him. Carlos doesn’t even know his name.
It’s pathetic how much he wants to see his smile again.
It starts raining heavily as he leaves his flat and he’s glad he took an umbrella with him. It’s yellow and stands out among all the black ones he sees when he’s passing through the streets of London. His pants are soaked when he gets to the underground station. It’s hot in the tube, the heating turned on too high. He’s relieved when he finally gets off at Charing Cross. His umbrella comes in handy again as he speeds through the square and towards the gallery doors.
Carlos is taking off his red scarf when he sees him, walking through the entrance. He’s not looking in Carlos’s direction. His hair is even more curly due to the humidity and his beige coat is covered in little wet dots.
Carlos panics when the redhead turns his head and dips into one of the exhibitions.
He’s studying The Execution of Lady Jane Grey as he feels someone’s presence right next to him. The stranger is standing mere inches from him and Carlos’s breathing quickens when he realizes who it is. He dares to look up at him, shy. The photographer is wearing a green woolly sweater and he’s smiling at Carlos softly, his face already turned to him. “Hi”, the tall man says. “My name’s Jannik.” His voice is gentle and he’s holding out his palm for a handshake. Carlos takes his hand.
“H— Hi”, he stutters, smiling. “I’m Carlos.” Jannik’s slender fingers wrap around Carlos’s. His skin is cool, a contrast with his own, usually very warm, even sweaty. Jannik holds onto his hand for a bit longer than the socially acceptable amount of time. His smile is even more beautiful than Carlos remembered. He is beautiful.
“I’m surprised you’re not watching Sunflowers again”, Jannik says, teasing him? “Is it your favourite painting?”
“Yeah, yes. …I love Van Gogh”, Carlos stumbles on his words. His heart is beating fast, his cheeks probably as red as his scarf.
Jannik’s smile widens. “Me too. You’re an artist?”, he asks, gesturing to his bag.
“Oh, no. I mean— I like drawing. But it’s just a hobby. I study sports journalism. At the UoL”, he explains, gesturing with his hands. He tends to do that when he’s nervous.
“I study there too!”, Jannik answers excitedly.
“I know”, Carlos says without thinking and regrets it immediately, his eyes widening.. I sound like a stalker, bloody hell. Jannik laughs. “I mean, I saw you on campus. In the library.” He blushes, scratching his nape.
“I wish I’d seen you, we could have chatted then.” He sounds genuinely remorseful.
Carlos decides to switch the topic before he dies of embarrassment. “What do you study?”
“Physiotherapy. I guess our majors are connected.” He winks and Carlos’s heart stutters in his chest. He’s gonna kill me. He laughs nervously.
“I guess so, yeah. I thought you studied photography. Is it a hobby, then?”
“Yeah, I love taking pictures of pretty things. It calms me.” Jannik looks into his eyes. “I have to go now but it was nice to meet you, Carlos. I’ll see you, no?” He winks again.
Carlos smiles like an idiot. “It was lovely to meet you too. Jannik.”
It’s the weekend after Easter when Carlos decides to ditch the tube and walk to the museum instead. It’s warm and sunny. Flowers are blooming on trees, pink and white. The air smells of spring and Carlos feels more alive than he has since summer ended.
He’s thinking of flowers so, naturally, his legs take him to his beloved exhibit. He takes out his sketchbook when someone coughs behind him. He turns around, startled, and the sketchbook falls out of his hands and onto the floor. He crouches to pick it up but the other person’s hands are already on it.
Jannik is looking at the sketch before him with utmost attention, like it’s a piece of art and not just a bunch of lines scraped together. “It’s… amazing”, he says without taking his eyes off it. Only when Jannik moves to flip the page does Carlos realize which drawing he’s been looking at. And which drawing is on the next page.
“Wait!” But it’s too late. Jannik freezes as he stares at his own likeness. Two-dimensional Jannik is wearing a coat and brushing his curls off his forehead. His freckles are like constellations and there are dimples on his cheeks. “I—” You’re gorgeous. I want to kiss your dimples. And your lips.
“Carlos… You are extremely talented. This is so good!”
“Aren’t you… weirded out?”, he asks tentatively.
Jannik looks offended. “Why would I be? I’m flattered. A great artist has drawn me.”
“I… There are more. Sketches of you.”
“Oh”, is all Jannik says. Then, “You should let me take some pictures of you. We would be even”, he proposes with a smile.
“I’m not sure—”
“Please?”
Jannik ends up photographing him in front of many famous, and less famous, pieces. The pictures turn out to be great, at least in Carlos’s opinion, but Jannik isn’t fully satisfied. “Just one more, alright?” Carlos sighs but he lets Jannik lead him (they're holding hands!). Before he knows it, they’re staring at Sunflowers. “You remind me of it”, Jannik says. “A sunflower.” Carlos smiles, his teeth showing. Jannik snaps a photo.
“Hey, I wasn’t ready!”, he protests, giggling. Jannik clicks the button again, probably just to piss him off. They keep laughing and soon they get reprimanded by a staff member.
Jannik loves the photos this time.
It’s a May Thursday and Carlos is eating lunch with Qinwen. They’re on the campus lawn, sitting on a picnic blanket. It’s really warm and the trees around are all green and lush. The sky is an intense shade of blue, the clouds pure white and fluffy. He turns his face towards the sun and soaks in the rays.
Suddenly Qinwen shakes his shoulder and points at something. Jannik is standing on the pavement, half a yard from them, waving. Carlos smiles and waves back, earning a knowing look from his friend. Jannik approaches them and introduces himself to Qinwen.
“I was wondering if you wanted to grab coffee tomorrow?”, he asks Carlos.
“Yes. For sure.” He beams at Jannik.
“Good. Great. See you tomorrow then. I’ll text you the details.”
Qinwen pulls a smug face when he leaves. “Your crush just asked you to go on a date with him and you didn’t even tell us you’ve been talking? Traitor.” He chuckles, throwing a cookie crumble at her.
Coffee dates with Jannik become a regular occurrence. Except, they’re not exactly dates. Or at least, Carlos doesn’t think so. Jannik doesn’t try to kiss him or ask him to be his boyfriend. He’s not even sure if he’s flirting with Carlos, to be honest. He might just be being friendly.
But they hang out. A lot. At the gallery, in parks, coffee shops, even pubs (fish and chips plus beer combination is their usual pick). Carlos poses for photos and in exchange Jannik lets him draw him in different settings. “My camera is full of pictures of you. I will have to make a Carlos folder soon.” Jannik chuckles when they're sitting on a bench in Hyde Park, his eyes shining playfully.
In June, they spend almost every day together. Carlos is convinced he’s falling in love with him.
In July, when exams are over, Carlos goes home for a couple of weeks and so does Jannik. They don’t see each other but they call and text so much his mum is convinced Jannik is his boyfriend. He denies, saying they’re just friends. She’s skeptical. “I don’t even call my best friend this often. Let alone someone I met months ago.”
He comes back to London in the middle of a heat wave, no air conditioning making the temperature unbearable. Turns out that Jack, Jannik’s friend, has a pool in his backyard. Jannik invites him to hang out at Jack’s place on a particularly hot Friday.
The Brit opens the door when Carlos rings the bell. He greets him and yells over his shoulder, “Jan, your boy’s here!” Carlos blushes at the way Jack refers to him.
Emma is also here, having rekindled her friendship with Jack. They end up in the pool pretty much right away, needing to cool down. The host brings them beers from the fridge and they spend hours talking shit about their professors. “I almost didn’t pass because he has some personal vendetta against me, I swear to God!”, Jack complains, making Emma laugh at him.
Carlos feels Jannik’s eyes on him the entire time.
Jannik calls him in August. “It’s sunflower season and I found a beautiful sunflower field when I went biking last week. We should have a photoshoot there. Make it a roadtrip.”
Carlos agrees because he can’t even imagine himself saying no to Jannik. So, they’re currently in the Italian’s car, driving between vast fields. They reach their destination faster than anticipated, Jannik taking speed limit signs as suggestions.
The field really is beautiful. Thousands of sunflower heads turned towards the sun, tall and bold. “It’s so pretty here”, Carlos says.
“Yeah. So pretty”, Jannik agrees quietly. But he’s not looking at the flowers.
He’s looking straight at him.
Jannik is a good photography director. He’s patient and creative, and he has a specific idea of what he wants to achieve. Carlos finds himself pliant and gullible to whatever the other man says.
They’re laughing at one of Jannik’s inappropriate jokes when Carlos trips on a rock. Jannik reaches for him, trying to stop him from falling as he takes him by the wrist. His attempt is fruitless and they hit the ground, Jannik landing on top of Carlos. The Spaniard starts apologizing immediately but his words get stuck in his throat when he realizes Jannik is not listening to him.
No, he’s too busy. Too busy staring at his… lips. Carlos’s heart threatens to jump out of his chest when Jannik’s hand goes to his cheek, cupping his jaw. He tilts Carlos’s head towards himself and pauses, as if waiting for a cue. Carlos nods, unable to speak.
Then, Jannik’s lips are on his and nothing matters anymore.
His mouth is soft as he kisses Carlos, delicate but thorough. Carlos’s hand ends up in Jannik’s hair, tugging gently at the curls. Jannik hums against his lips and the sound vibrates through Carlos’s body.
They’re touching everywhere, their bodies stuck to each other on the ground. Their chests and thighs mirror each other as their lips connect over and over again.
Eventually, they have to come up for air, breathing heavily. They’re both smiling so hard it hurts. The way the sun is shining on Jannik’s head makes it look like he has a halo.
“I like you”, Carlos blurts out. Jannik’s smile gets impossibly wide. He pecks his lips again.
“I like you too. So much.” Carlos feels like he’s glowing. Jannik strokes his cheek. “I kept going back to the gallery just to see you. My sunflower.”
Carlos giggles. “Darling.” He kisses Jannik again, firmer. As if to seal a promise.
It’s the beginning of September when Carlos and his boyfriend walk through the campus gate, holding hands.
On one of Carlos’s forearms, an observant bystander could spot a small tattoo of a sunflower.