Work Text:
Graphite sketches lay strewn across an old wooden table. A clock clicked dully in the background as sand blew across the dessert floor just outside the worn out shack Wiley had gotten quite used to calling home. He sighed, plucking up one of the drawings with his dirty smudged fingers.
It was a close up of a rather beautiful mouth, part of rather a symmetrical face. Pretty pouty lips, parted in hunger. Nobody would be any the wiser of who the muse was. It was just the mouth of some man. Could have been entirely a figment of his imagination.
But it wasn’t. It was a real man. Wiley shifted through his papers to a drawn side profile. He could hardly remember the man’s face as a whole. But each small part was worthy of worship. Mouth. Nose. Eyes. Hands.
Wiley could never speak to him. But look? Remember the intricate details of his skin? How the man loved the color blue and his favorite food was a sweet candy bar he made himself entirely of assorted seeds? He could do that. He set his sketches to the side and wiped his hands on his beat up navy blue corduroy jacket.
The sandy valley was quite cold in the early morning hours. His fingers were numb. Most people wouldn’t choose to be out in a rickety shed at four in the morning. But the choice wasn’t his desire.
A pair of bright blue tennis shoes trod effortlessly across the loose sand. Messy blue ringlets bounced in the breeze, quickly jogging past the shack without a second thought.
Beep. Beep.
The sound of a fitness watch tinged, signaling another quarter mile ticked in the counter. Wiley’s breath hitched in his throat as he pounced on the table to get a better view through the small window. Beau Beckett Rhodes. The local undefeated track athlete. He ran this stretch of the valley often, circling the abandoned shed in a large mile oval track that existed only in Beau’s mind.
Go time. Wiley stuffed his drawings into his worn out sketchbook and slammed them in a drawer. He tightened his left shoelace and hopped out of the shed down onto Beau’s invisible track, jogging behind him as a stranger that simply had the same idea as him.
Wiley hated running. It was the lamest thing one could do, especially so early in the day. But pretending to be a fitness guy so he could be in Beau’s vicinity before all the fangirls crowded him at the coffee shop? He could like running enough for that.
Wiley tried to find a steady pace behind the blue blur ahead of him. His lungs burned and his feet didn’t take kindly to his new tennis shoes. He much preferred his boots, but they would not bode well on a run.
Several paces in front of him were the steady breaths of Beau. Inhale through the nose. Exhale blown through the mouth. Stunning to watch, unviewable from behind. Maybe running behind him was a stupid ass choice. Running ahead would yield no view at all. The shed gave him a quiet ten second window of watchtime.
He forced his breaths to match the healthy lungfuls of the thin blue runner ahead of him. It felt slightly better, but he was not cut out for this kind of thing. At least he could watch those pretty blue ringlets bouncing. Beau’s body looked incredible in his tracksuit. Up close Wiley could tell it was actually a shade of purple rather than blue. Had that been a deliberate choice? Was Beau’s favorite color actually purple? His shoes were still blue. Maybe it was a spare outfit.
Beep. Beep.
Another quarter mile. How long had they been running? Beau typically ran his track three times in the morning. Wiley panted heavily trying to recall how many times they ran past the shack. It was three already wasn’t it? It had to have been.
He practiced running Beau’s track till he knew he could keep up for three laps. His legs were aching. He had sores forming on his heels and the sides of both his little toes. These shoes sucked. However Beau made it through the desert hell couldn’t be anything short of magic.
Wiley jogged to a stop in front of the shack. He bent over, hands on his knees as he panted heavily. The sun was beginning to rise. Rays of orange light bloomed around the beautiful figure gliding away from him like an angel.
Beau tossed a glance over his shoulder. He held his perfect running form and smirked before turning back and continuing along. His legs carried him faster than he had been, like he was showing off how much better of a runner he was.
Wiley pouted. Stupid ego boy. Beau really wasn’t his type at all. He gulped down the warming morning air thinking about the studying he could have done instead of spending it chasing a runner. He could have been sleeping to study better later.
Beep. Beep.
Wiley straightened his back and looked around. That couldn’t be Beau already. He wasn’t that fast. He couldn’t be. It must have carried across the valley. There isn’t much around so it echoed across—
“Heya, Wiley,” Beau called, slowing down as he pulled up ahead of Wiley again. He turned around and jogged in place. “Not bad. Not as good as me though.”
Wiley huffed. He tugged his jacket closed to hide his school id. Of course the first thing the prick said was all ego. He aggressively snapped his attention in the opposite direction of Beau.
“I see. You didn’t eat nothing before coming out did ya? Can’t run on an empty stomach. Here,” Beau said, pulling a small bar wrapped in wax paper from his pocket and held it out.
Wiley stared at Beau’s slender hands. Such a waste for them to end up on a runner that loves to eat bird food rather than a model. Wiley shook his head, glaring with a scrunched nose at the nonedible bar Beau saw as candy.
“Just an offer,” Beau said. He tucked his bird food back into his pocket with a smile. “Not all of us can be fueled by good food. Just eat something next time you plan to spend your morning in my dust.”
Wiley scoffed. That was it. He had enough of Beau Becket Rhodes attitude for the day. He was such an annoying brat. It was amazing that anybody liked him at all. Without his pretty face he would have no friends and no prospects. Wiley shoved past Beau and trotted towards town with a scowl plastered on his face.
Beau snickered, jogging up beside Wiley with ease.
“Don’t be such a crybaby, Wiley. It’s just the truth,” Beau teased.
Wiley side-eyed the perky blue haired fiend beside him. Jogging while matching pace. Didn’t he have anything better to do than be a moving nuisance right there of all places? Wiley made a mental note to avoid interacting with Beau on the invisible track. He huffed and tried to walk faster.
“Those shoes are no good by the way. You’d have had better luck in your cute boots,” Beau teased, maintaining his light jog beside Wiley.
Wiley scowled. His boots were not cute. They were worn out from long time use. They were working boots. Manly. Why was that blue brat even concerned about what was on his feet? Shoes were shoes.
“I’m just saying. You need to get some running shoes. They will be more supportive and comfortable, especially out on the sand.” Beau said, jogging ahead and turning around to face Wiley. “Anyway, I got to go. Need to get my coffee before work. See ya ‘round, slowpoke.”
And just like that, Wiley was left in the dust of Beau again. He hated that brat. Beau was pretty but he certainly was not easy to be around.
Once back in town, Wiley found his way to the second floor of a quaint bookshop. The first floor housed a local coffee shop and was surrounded by rows upon rows of old heavy bookshelves stocked floor to ceiling with all sorts of new and used books.
Rising from the lower level were stairs handcrafted from a solid dark wood. Something you would only see in a historic building or pay quite handsomely to be added to your own home. On the second level was an arrangement of leather couches and bar stools sitting along tall wooden tables.
The space was crafted to be a study space. Somewhere one could enjoy drinking a coffee and reading a book. As an artist, Wiley was very fond of the place. He plopped down onto an upholstered window sill with a hot cup of black coffee and stared down at the sidewalk through the dew covered glass.
A blurry blue shape jogged down the sidewalk, stopping at the crosswalk that was illuminated with a red hand icon. It bounced in place while sipping a sugary overcaffeinated coffee then turned to take the last bite from the snack within a crumpled wax paper.
Wiley quickly sketched the figure below him. The styrofoam to-go cup in his hand. His fingers closed around the crumpled wax paper. His small frame beside the pedestrian push button station at the edge of the sidewalk. His breaths were white in the air and his blue curls bounced eagerly in place. Even through the window, Wiley was sure he could hear the faintest sound of a fitness watch.
Beep. Beep.
He needed to capture every detail of the beautiful blue desert anomaly. His pencil scratched lightly across the page to get the vague details first. The crosswalk sign lit up white with the walking body symbol and the blue muse bounced across the zebra stripes.
Wiley exhaled the tension, leaning back against the wall. He got it. The rest of the details were safely stored in his mind. And for the next several hours he filled in those details. The stripes down the legs of the tracksuit. The angle of the blue tennis shoes bouncing on his toes over the brick corner where the bookshop’s walkway met the city’s concrete. Everything.
“That’s beautiful,” a woman’s voice cut through Wiley’s intense concentration. He looked up in confusion. “Let me see.”
Suddenly Wiley’s sketchbook was pulled out of his lap and flipped through like an open gallery. Page after page of the same muse. Drinking coffee. Eating handmade seed bars. Running in the desert. Bouncing in place. Waiting at the crosswalk. Shopping at the farmer’s market.
His face flushed a bright burning red as he snatched his work back, slamming it closed and clutching it tightly to his chest.
“You’re really good! I wouldn’t mind if you drew me some too,” she said, sliding onto the windowsill and leaning in uncomfortably close to bat her eyes at Wiley.
Who was this woman? He generally knew everybody that came in during weekday mornings. Why did she think she knew him? Did he know her? Why would—
Wait. Wiley’s gaze darted to the large analogue clock hanging on the wall opposite them. Nearly a quarter till two! Beau was going to be getting off work soon! He was going to miss him jogging past the railroad tracks!
Wiley gasped. He frantically began stuffing his pencils and dirty white chunk of eraser into his bag with his graphite covered hands.
“Wait, what’s the hurry? Can I get your number so I can text you later?” She asked.
What? Wiley paused, staring eye to eye with a petite blond haired woman. She had large curls that likely bounced when she walked, but not nearly anything like the blue curls of his runner. She had sweet brown eyes, but they seemed dull in comparison to his runner. Her face was symmetrical, skin smooth, no features one would call unattractive. Why was she standing in his space?
Wiley brushed past her without a word and hurried down the stairs. God. Hopefully he could still catch a glimpse of him. Why hadn’t he set a timer? He whipped around a shelf and slammed straight into somebody. His bag hit the floor and the contents spewed everywhere.
“Wiley,” a familiar voice scolded playfully as they got to their feet and glanced around at the images covering the floor. “You’re so obsessed with me.”
Wiley’s jaw dropped, eyes wide in horror. Beau Beckett Rhodes. In the bookshop. Of all places. Deviating from his usual route. Catching him red handed in obsession.
Wiley rolled onto his knees and quickly scrambled to collect his papers with red cheeks of shame. Leave it. Just run away. He could buy new supplies. Flee to a new town and find some non-human muse–like a bird! Or something. Not a man. Not a person. Not a being that could catch him.
“Don’t be shy. They’re good,” Beau said, grabbing a page that depicted his own eyes in great detail peering out from behind his curls.
Wiley snatched the paper out of the man’s hands and aggressively stuffed it into his bag to hide it from the world. He quickly climbed to his feet and scrambled toward the door, still adjusting the items into his bag and yanking the zip closed.
Beep. Beep.
“Hey, wait up, Wiley,” Beau called out.
Wiley picked a random direction and dipped out of sight. He slung his bag over his shoulder and rubbed his face. Two people in a row. What were the odds that two people one right after the other would come and look at his drawings after all this time. And one of those people being Beau Beckett Rhodes himself?! He was going to die of embarrassment. That was the only choice left.
He couldn’t go back to that shed. He couldn’t face the man again. He certainly couldn’t draw those angelic blue curls ever again. He messed up. He was caught. He was a freak of nature.
The only way to fix it was to get rid of all the drawings. They never happened. Never return to the shed inside the invisible track of the sandy valley. No more Beau. He was just a temporary muse. Brats didn’t deserve drawings. They couldn’t appreciate art when all they did was run, run, run.
There’s a trashcan right there. Wiley reached back for his bag and yanked open the zip. As he gathered the papers from his tattered sketchbook, a certain rectangular shape wrapped in wax paper caught his eye.
Oh. That’s why Beau was calling out to him. He accidentally stole the man’s afternoon pre-run snack. He dropped it back into his bag and pulled the zip with a sigh. Guess he had to go find that obnoxious blue brat again after all.
He wouldn’t look at him or acknowledge anything spoken to him. If Beau said anything it would be in one ear and out the other. If he mentioned the sketches… Well. Obviously he would just die.
Wiley jogged across the pavement. The heels of his boots thunked against the solid ground loudly compared to the shoes he had worn earlier. His feet were much more comfortable but the boots still weren’t a great match for athletics.
Up ahead were the railroad tracks, and Beau was perkily bouncing across the crossing. Wiley took a deep breath of courage. There was no way to silently get the brat’s attention so he was left to close the gap between them.
But it wouldn’t close. Beau stayed several paces ahead, blissfully unaware that his attention was trying to be caught. Or maybe he was aware and simply loved having a wordless brunette in his dust like a needy dog.
Wiley panted heavily. His achy feet started to dislike his boots as well. Tension built in the balls of his feet from the improper support. The leather chaffed against his ankles and lower calves making him wish he would have taken Beau’s advice on getting running shoes.
Finally that blue blur came to a stop, as much of a stop he was capable of. He turned around with a radiant toothy smile.
“Come on, Wiley. Thought you would have caught up by now,” he teased.
Wiley held up a finger asking for a moment before dropping bent over with his hands on his knees. He panted heavily. Running as a hobby had to be a joke. Nobody could possibly enjoy such a thing.
He pulled his bag from behind him and tugged the zip open. Saliva dripped from his mouth and dropped into the dry afternoon sand. That stupid runner had led him all the way back to that stupid invisible track.
Wiley wiped his mouth and scooped the wax paper wrapped bar out of his bag and held it out. Beau bounced over and paused. For real paused. No more bouncing. No radiating energy that had nowhere to go but to burn through in movement. He tilted his head to the side like a cute bird.
“You didn’t have to bring it back,” Beau said. Wiley shook his hand once, affirming he was in fact giving it back regardless.
Beep. Beep.
Beau smiled softly as he accepted the returned snack. Wiley rolled his eyes to the side, not wanting his gaze to linger any longer than necessary.
“Wiley,” Beau said.
Wiley glanced back to see a small black device in Beau’s hand. His phone! He gasped, snatching it back and unlocking it to inspect its contents.
“Don’t worry. I didn’t delete any of your stuff. Just figured you’d want a running partner to remind you to get breakfast before coming out to the shed,” Beau teased. He jogged backwards a few paces ahead. “Catch ya later, stalker.”
Wiley’s face flushed with heat. He hated that brat. He hated that brat so much. He should have thrown that bar away. He shouldn’t have given him the satisfaction of a face to face interaction. He rushed to the shed to get away from the sight of any judging eyes.
He slammed the door and slunk down to the floor with his back against the wood. He sighed, rubbing his face in exasperation. What was he thinking? What was he thinking at all about this guy?
He held up his phone. Everything had been in order. Same background. All his apps. Nothing seemed to be deleted. He opened his photos and was greeted by several images he had not taken.
Several images of slender hands in different poses. An image looking down at blue running shoes and purple crew socks. Pictures of a hand covering the mouth and nose of a man with blue ringlets and smiling eyes.
A text notification popped up. Wiley clicked it open to see the sender was already programmed into his phone as My Favorite Runner Beau. The conversation had been started from his own phone to the sender with a smiley face. The new text?
An image of Beau throwing up a peace sign as he jogged past the rickety shack and a single line of text.
Same time tomorrow morning?