Waiting for the Night [Dalan]

Chapter 11

To say that Dave was nervous was a huge understatement. He was practically shaking, gulping down copious amounts of wine just to try and quell the bundle of nerves in his gut, but the wine seemed to make him only much worse. 

In the end, Knox had dragged him into the office and given him a stern pep talk, one that he badly needed to actually survive the night, and after his friend had smacked some sense into him, he felt noticeably calmer. Still nervous, but at least he could walk around the cafe without throwing up. He could do this. He could do this.

The first batch of visitors started streaming in after six, curious and interested and crowding around the more controversial pieces. After they didn't walk out in disgust or tear their own eyes out, Dave felt relatively more confident. This wasn't so bad. 

More people streamed in after that, filling the café with their low chatter and discussions about the paintings. Knox was smirking behind the espresso bar, his 'I told you so' grin clearly visible even from far away, and Dave playfully flipped him the bird with an answering grin. He was grateful that Knox had forced him to do this, had hurried him along to do something he should have done a long time ago.

He had told no one, not even Knox, but he had sent an invitation to a particular Basildon address, and although he knew deep down that it would be ignored, it still didn't stop him from glancing up hopefully every time the bell jingled as the door swung open. 

It was hard to ignore every flutter of disappointment deep in his heart, but he firmly forced himself to enjoy the rest of the festivities. This was his night, dammit, and he was going to make full use of it and enjoy every minute of this, whether Jack was here or not.

He was in the middle of fending off a goth artist who was making very open advances towards him when he spotted Martin at the door, talking to someone behind him. Beyond relieved, he politely excused himself from the disappointed woman and made his way to the door, where Martin was already taking off his coat and passing it to a delighted Knox. There was someone behind them, but Knox was blocking his view of Martin's friend. Still, Dave grinned widely as Martin spotted him, his trademark shy smile lighting up his face. "Dave!"

"Hey, Mart!" Dave hugged him warmly. "Oh, you don't mind if I call you Mart, right?"

"No, of course not." Martin's cheeks were pink with exertion and the cold as he turned to the person behind him. "Dave, this is my friend, Alan. I told him about your art exhibition and he was interested."

Dave's hand was already extended in a ready handshake as he turned to face Martin's friend, but all the words died in his mouth as he laid eyes on the tall man huddled in a black leather jacket. Grey eyes glittering with humour and confidence met his, crinkled at the corners by a gentle yet charming smile that literally caused Dave's mouth to go dry. Dave was speechless, his hand just hanging out limply, uselessly. He had never been floored by someone like this before, had never been struck dumb by such beauty, not by any man or any woman.

A hard nudge to his ribs sharply brought him back to reality. Knox was frowning at him. "Oh hi, I'm D-Dave," he stammered, and Alan took his extended hand, his smile widening.

"I'm Alan." His voice was smooth and polite, and there was a hint of knowing amusement in it. He let go of Dave's hand to shake Knox's too, who introduced himself. Dave simply didn't hear a word. He was too fascinated by this man, by the cool and confident air about him that seemed to command admiration and respect. Yet there was something in those wide grey eyes too, something which spoke of vulnerability, of loss.

Someone cleared their throat, and Dave suddenly came to the realisation that all of them were now looking expectantly at him, and Knox in particular was staring at him as though he had suddenly grown three heads. "Oh, um, let me give you lads the tour, then," Dave said, and Martin nodded eagerly. 

Alan only stared at him quietly, those full lips slightly quirked up in a smile, and Dave desperately tried not to think about kissing that sexy smile right off his face. What sort of reputation would he get if he attacked one of his visitors during his very first exhibition?

As Martin and Alan walked ahead, Dave couldn't keep his eyes off that magnificent arse in front of him, encased in dark denim. "What's the matter with you?" Knox hissed at him. "Be cool, man!"

"Yeah, sorry." Dave shook his head in self-admonishment. Knox was right; what was wrong with him? He had an endless list of beautiful women and men at his beck and call, so why was he getting his knickers in a twist over some bloke who had strolled into his exhibition? This was ridiculous. Beyond ridiculous. He was a grown man! Why was he acting like a teenage girl who had just met BTS?

Martin and Alan had stopped in front of his first painting, a close-up of an agave plant, and Dave mentally slapped himself awake. He wasn't going to get derailed by some handsome bloke who was probably very straight and very unavailable. "Dave, this looks very interesting. What's this one called?" Martin asked, and Dave took a deep breath.

"This one is called 'Exciter'," he said, already feeling more at ease talking about his art, and he tried to ignore the grey stare burning into him, to ignore the way his heart was hammering in his chest, pushing himself on to talk more about his beloved paintings.