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The nib of Gally's pencil snaps against the page and his already thin sense of calm breaks with it, "Fuck."
"..You alright?" Minho looks over from where he's sat at the windowsill, reading glasses half down his nose, laptop resting on his knees.
"Yeah, yeah." Gally murmurs, face flushing as he realises he spoke aloud instead of inside his overtired mind. Staring down at the now ruined sketch of Minho's face, Gally shuts the book and says nothing more, sighing. Minho watches him wordlessly, eyebrow raised as Gally gets up and heads out the room.
Gally likes to draw.
In another life, he's an artist retired by the age of twenty on some million pound beach retreat somewhere exotic. But not in this life. No, he's several years past that deadline and barely scraping by renting some old house with his friend-turned-roommate, and working inhumane shifts climbing scaffolding in the city from dawn until dusk.
He supposes he is lucky he landed a job where sketching can be played off as brainstorming for work, but his mind is always jumping ahead. Before he knows it, the ten storey building he was trying to place on the page has turned into endless vines curling around intricately, framing yet another sketch of his roommate.
Looking at the clock in the hallway, Gally realises he only has three minutes to get to the (five minute away) bus stop. "I'm heading out!" He calls to Minho, grabbing his satchel from the floor and stuffing his sketchbook back inside of it.
"Uni catch-up class?"
Gally had forgotten that's what he disguised it as, "Yep.. I'll be back at—"
"Quarter past one, yeah." Minho shouts back, "I'm going out tonight too so I might not be here."
Slinging his satchel over his shoulder, the brown leather sliding against the fluorescent fabric of his construction jacket, Gally chirps, "Okay." and flees through the door, jogging to the bus stop. A light cloud of rain pours down onto him, lakes of puddled water soaking the pavement. Gally's boots splash down as he wastes no time trying to reach shelter.
The bus stop isn't the prettiest sight around, with graffiti painted all over and overflowing litter collecting around its sides, but Gally's just grateful it has a small, red roof he can cower under, hiding from the cold.
Light floods down the darkening road, and Gally's bus turns the corner, slowing down in front of him. He boards, pays his fare, then grabs the nearest seat, yawning as he slumps onto it. As if it is angry Gally has reached safety, the rain begins to beat down harder, banging against the windows of the almost empty vehicle.
On the bus, Gally travels down into inner town, and the rain has subsided by the time he jumps off. All the streetlights reflect against the wet, paved ground, their glow appearing like stars in the puddles. Gally walks until he locates a heavy-looking door on the side of a building, a small sign above reading All Night Art.
He shoves the door open with his shoulder, having found this the easiest way to et inside over his visits here. Walking through the dimly lit corridor, he reaches a coat stand already decorated with people's jackets and bags, and he adds his own high-vis to the mix.
"Gally!" Someone waves to him as he passes the break room, and he nods back. He's not too outgoing, so is always surprised when someone acknowledges him. Continuing on, he ducks through a doorway into a hall filled with chairs and canvases stood in a semicircle. This high-ceiling building is actually the town hall, but is used for many activities, groups and meetings. The way Gally entered has been completely colonised by the art group.
Finding his usual seat, Gally places down his satchel and pulls out his sketchbook, deciding to get some practice in before they start, and check through his pencils to see what needs sharpening or replacing. A lady offers him tea, and he accepts the steaming drink from a mismatched mug with both hands, blowing on it as it burns his palms.
He uses one of the fancy rubbers the group supplies to its members to fix up his sketch of Minho, removing the dark blotch he accidentally smeared on his chin, then he goes onto sketching the small table beside him; papers, brushes, paints, pencils and a mug sat on top of it.
"Alright, everyone," A chipper voice belonging to Mary — the group's host — bellows through the room as she claps her hands, "are we ready to start?"
A choir of mismatched yes and sure mumbles echo her, everyone settling down and picking up their preferred utensils. Gally's hand hovers over his table for a moment, then he picks up his usual pencil. Each person here has their own, favoured way to make art, Gally's just so happens to be sketching.
"Okay, ten minute practice, then real thing. Mhm?" Mary says, carrying over a stool and placing it in front of the semicircle of chairs for everyone to see. Upon the stool, she balances a vase from the hall's kitchen.
People start right away once Mary backs up, and Gally takes a moment to watch the lady beside him pick the brightest colours from her pen pack. Gally doesn't know her name, but has always admired her take on art. Vivid. Unusual.
Gally has marked out a rough outline and started shading the bottom of the vase soon enough, and Mary on her usual rounds of the room, leans over to take a look at his work. Her finger points to a spot on the canvas, "Bring it out two more centimetres, maybe?"
Stopping what he's doing, Gally locates the rubber and removes some of his line work, pushing back the side of the vase as Mary stated. The difference is amazing, and Gally blinks, taken aback by the positive change. He goes to ask how Mary spotted the mistake so fast, but she has already moved on, spectating behind the lady on the other side of him.
The ten minute timer goes off, and Gally slowly lowers his arm away from the canvas, eyes drifting up and down his work. It isn't spectacular, since ten minutes is far from enough time for anything too eye catching, but he doesn't hate it which is good. When you look at it, you can tell what it is, where the light is coming from, and can even see the vase's patterns.
Mary smiles around proudly, "Sign your names off in the corner, then we'll be finishing these in for next week's starter."
Doing as he's told, Gally scribbles out a messy G.L in the corner and lifts the canvas from the wooden stand, carrying it over to where everyone else has drifted to. He props his sketch up alongside the growing pile, and smiles to himself as he looks at what everyone has created.
Chatter builds as everyone selects new canvases, hanging around a few moments more with their friends to catch up and laugh. Gally doesn't really have the time for such niceties and is the first back in his station, fixing the new canvas to his easel. It is only when his eyes slip past his little bubble that his world pauses for a beat.
Mary, talking to someone who has just entered. Gally thinks maybe they have a newbie joining the group who's arrived late, but his heart drops when he sees Mary guiding them towards the stool in the centre of the room.
"Minho?" He blurts out before he can stop himself
Holding the vase in one hand, Mary looks over at Gally in sync with Minho, "Ah, do you two know each other?"
Minho's eyes squint, then his lips twitch upwards, "Yeah. Yeah, we do. One second, Mary."
It's as if someone is playing a cruel trick on Gally, poisoning his haven. His father has always told him that anything to do with the arts is for girls only, which is why Gally has spent his entire life pretending to be something he's not. With Minho marching in his direction, his heart hammers in his chest. Surely Minho is going to take a dig at him for not only lying, but for participating in something so unmanly—
"University catch-up?" Minho smirks, hands on his hips.
Struggling to find words, Gally stutters, "W-what? Why are you here?"
Minho looks from side to side, rocking back and forth on his heels, "Am I missing something? Why'd ya lie about joining an art group?"
"I.." Gally frowns defensively, "I thought you wouldn't take me seriously — why are you here?"
In jest, Minho puts his hands up, taking a half step back, "Calm it, damn. I was just looking for some extra cash." Not knowing what else to say, Gally sinks down onto his stool, crossing his arms. Minho smiles down at him, "Can I see some of your art, then?"
"No?"
"I've already taken a peek at some people's stuff on the way in."
"No."
"Worried I'll think it's bad?"
"No!" Gally's eye twitches, but seeing how Minho is only amused by this, he stifles a groan, "I mean, not now. I've got nothing worth showing."
Emotion flickers across Minho's face; a surprise of some sort. "Seriously? I'm sure you do. Quit bein' humble—"
"Minho?" Mary calls from behind, beckoning him over.
Minho watches Gally's face closely, then bows his head, "If you insist."
And so Gally watches Minho slip off his raincoat and perch on the stool with his legs crossed, hands clasped on his knee, and he has no idea how to feel. God, everything is screwed up now, isn't it? Gally wanted one thing — just one thing — for himself, hidden from the judgemental eyes of the world, but no. His roommate is here, and now probably thinks of him as some weird-wannabe-Van Gogh.
Yet.. once Minho is comfortable, his eyes flick over to Gally and he faintly smiles. It doesn't look mean. It's more… impressed? Impressed? Over what? Hand shaking slightly, Gally reaches for his pencil, offering a tight lipped smile back to Minho.
Then, lifting his hand to start, Gally realises that he is in fact gripping a paintbrush, not a pencil. He huffs, looking down at the tray preparing to switch, but he thinks of all the colours Minho's face holds alone, and knows it'll be a pain to mimic with just a sketch. Bravely, his hands click open the paint pack.
Mary arrives after Gally has coloured the canvas background a warm shade of yellow, and has started on lightly outlining Minho's body. "Changing it up a bit, huh?" Mary comments, almost sounding proud. Gally nods, tongue pinched between his teeth as he glances between Minho and the canvas.
Minho is still watching him closely, and Gally isn't too sure why it makes him feel so exposed.
The hardest part is the colour matching, but once Gally fills his palette, he is unstoppable. His brush glides across the yellow, cutting through it with burgundy. It streaks over the canvas, falling into the folds of Minho's shirt.
Minho's hands are easier than Gally had expected, but after hours of practice in his sketchbook at home without Minho knowing, each freckle and scar upon the skin leaves Gally's brush like second nature.
On her third round of the room, Mary passes by Gally again, and steps closer. She watches Gally bring Minho's eyes to life before any other feature on Minho's face, and has no advice to offer except a thumbs up. Gally's heart grows a fraction lighter.
At some point, Gally stopped looking at Minho, consumed by the canvas entirely. The three moles on Minho's cheek, his fringe that swoops upward, the metallic colour of his hearing aids, all of it Gally has engraved in his memory. He can still feel Minho's gaze on him, and he is no longer bothered by it in the slightest.
The final details Gally adds are the lights reflecting off of Minho's pupils, and the silver ring that crowns his thumb. Then, it is complete.
Nothing more to do, Gally uses a sponge to give the background texture where the light fades, and he scribbles on G.L in the corner, followed by one word. Minho.
Because he has used acrylic paint, Gally plans to add a gloss layer to the art next week, and murmurs it to Mary when she next passes. The next person finishes, then another, and another as the two hour thirty minutes mark creeps on. Gally yawns, feeling sleepy, then he holds down a laugh when he sees Minho glaring at him, now trying to choke down a yawn of his own.
"I think we're going to wrap it up there, folks." Mary announces, sounding unnaturally loud compared to the focused quiet that has been holding the room together. Minho eagerly nods, and when Mary gestures to him, he stumbles to his feet, stretching dramatically.
"That's the longest I've ever seen you sit still." Gally jokes, raising from his chair and starting to pack away his equipment.
Minho rubs his hands over his face, wandering closer, "Sounds 'bout right." and he stops just short of the side of Gally's canvas, "May I..?"
"Go ahead."
Walking around to stand by Gally, Minho bends down to study what Gally's easel is displaying, hands braced on his thighs, "Oh, wow. That's actually amazing."
"You're just saying that."
"No, I'm deadly serious." Minho turns his head to look up at him, wide-eyed, "In two hours?"
"Yeah, well.."
"You're a bloody prodigy, how long have you been drawing without me knowing?" Minho snorts, standing back at his full height. A lump forms in Gally's throat. Since they moved in together? Since his first paycheck when he bought a sketchbook? Since he was a child navigating ways to express himself beneath his father's strict demands?
"A while."
They pack up and leave shortly afterwards, and with the buses not running this late into the night, Gally and Minho walk home side by side, the ground no longer soaked through with rain. "Are you the only guy in that group?" Minho questions with a sly smile on his lips.
"Yes." Gally grunts, slipping his hands into his pockets, "Art isn't the most masculine thing, I know, but.."
"Tch, why does that matter? As long as you're happy then there's no issue." Minho shrugs.
Gally stares at him in disbelief, not understanding if Minho's actually being serious or not. He instinctively tries thinking of something to argue with, like words from his old man such as, "If that brush you're holding ain't for a house renovation you've failed in life," or, "Drawing is for housewives, not my son," but instead, all that comes out is, "You think so?"
"'Course I do." And, to finish it all off in Minho fashion, "Hey, maybe I should try nude modelling for your group."
"Minho what?"
"Help you all out with human anatomy."
Gally scoffs, shoving Minho, "Shut up." and shakes his head as his roommate chuckles.