Work Text:
“I can’t believe you ever managed to get Shitty to sit still enough to do this.”
Lardo laughed, dipping one of her paintbrushes into a green. “I have him whipped.”
Derek glanced around the studio, his eyes settling on a rubber duckie on a shelf before flickering back to his friend. When she had appealed for a model for her final project, Derek had been quick to volunteer. After all, most of the hockey team had less appreciation for art, and he could contemplate his own latest piece while she was painting him. He even had a notebook under his chair for if inspiration struck. “I didn’t really feel it last year, but I’m going to really miss not having you around, Lards.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m serious! Who am I going to talk about art to? Dex?”
She snorted. “Coding’s art, bro.”
“I’m going to have to make friends who don’t play hockey or volleyball.”
“Woe is you.”
Silence settled over them as Lardo switched brush and gestured at him to sit still for a moment while she worked on some details, her previous brush held between her teeth. She put it down and looked over at him.
“Doesn’t March do cinematography?”
“What?”
“You said you’ll need friends who don’t play hockey or volleyball. March does cinematography. That’s arty.”
Derek shrugged. “I didn’t know that. I thought she was going to be an astrophysicist or something.”
“That’s April.”
“I don’t know the difference between them.”
Lardo rolled her eyes. “So basically you’re friends with hockey players, me, and Farmer?”
“Basically.”
“We can't even say the hockey team and their significant others because you don't know the difference between Ransom’s girlfriends, and there's five other guys on the team with significant others who've never played hockey.”
“I'm not making friends with Whiskey’s lax bro.”
“I don't know how I've put up with you idiots for four years.”
Derek grinned at her. “Aw Lards, you know you love us.”
“Stop smiling, you're ruining your lines,” she scolded him. Lardo had never been very good at sentimental conversations.
They fell back into a comfortable silence. Lardo painted while Derek contemplated. The words for his poem weren’t coming, but he had some ideas for something else as he watched the light reflecting off a mirror in the studio, casting a strange shadow over the little things which made the room so utterly Lardo. Derek wondered what it would look like next year, when another Art student took over. He quirked an eye back at her, but she was mixing some colors, so he took the opportunity to grab his notebook and scribble a couple of lines of prose down about ducklings, and power in small things, and how silence could fill a room with personality.
“And so the artist became the muse,” Lardo commented. Derek flashed her another smile, but quickly let his face relax again before she complained.
They had little concept of how time passed after that, both working on their individual pieces, until Lardo’s phone was beeping with texts, and Derek’s phone was ringing, Will PDex on the screen, no doubt to ask where they were. Lardo shot a message to the Bitty to say they were on their way to the Haus for dinner, as Derek started to help pack her things away.
“Yo, Nursey,” Lardo said when they were finally on their way out of the art building. “Promise me you’ll hang out with some of the other English majors. Outside of class and slam nights. Before you have to fall back on writing about pie because your professor’s sick of hearing all the angry red metaphors.”
“I’ve used Chowder as a muse before, too.”
She just looked at him, and he sighed. “Yeah, okay, I will, I promise.”
“Good. There’s a life outside of hockey, and you need one.”
“Go away.”
“That’s what I’m going to—”
Derek pushed her into a pile of leaves before she could finish the sentence. She laughed so hard he ended up throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her the rest of the way back to the Haus.