His Muse

How to college: part II of frat parties

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Nic stuck around Ryce Hall at the end of the week trying to catch up on classes. He dedicated this particular day to color theory class, because he was swamped with all of the painting he refused to get done sooner. He was always shit at mixing ratios of color, and this assignment just seemed to prove it. It wasn't his fault that he just liked to go with the flow and let the colors be what they wanted to be... Okay, maybe it was his fault. Whatever the case, it meant that he had to remix and repaint an entire CMYK scale from scratch. The only swatches he was able to salvage were the ones with the actual, untainted paint.

He was messaging Bev at the time, which just felt stiff and awkward because he inadvertently made it that way. It was just ridiculous at this point—how much he was stressing over Bev—when he really should be focusing on other, more pressing matters.

Music was playing on the speakers of the studio room, and there were a few other students from his class redoing their paint scales as well. One thing Nic liked the most about Arnette was the fact that his classes were relatively small in size compared to the other major programs at the university. It's because of this that the fine arts students tended to suffer together as a team, which meant sharing studios and arguing over what music to play.

Either way, Nic's hips were swaying to whatever came on, and since he couldn't stand to sit still, he was on his feet, leaning to and fro to the gentle sway of the intro. It was a classic—something they all heard at least once in their lives whether it be from a wedding reception or Dirty Dancing. So they were all singing to each other, a sensual swing to their shoulders as they all belted out:

"So I tell you something—This could be love—because—!I—had—the time of my li-ife,No I ne-ver felt this way be-fore..."

Above the sound of the music and their incessant, giddy laughter and singing, Nic heard a familiar, "Man, I'm in the wrong major," from behind.

Nic froze over his painting, and turned around. The last place he expected to find Kieran was in the color room. "Wh-What are you doing here?" Nic stammered, hastily dunking his paintbrush into his mason jar of water. "I mean—not that I'm not happy to see you here. But this isn't exactly near the Co-Op." As he said it, Kieran pushed off the doorway and wandered over, and smiled when he met the eyes of the other student sitting at Nic's table.

"I know. But it's, like, five and Bev said you were here so..." Kieran said, and hopped up to sit on one of the tall, colored stools beside Nic. His knees bumped into Nic's legs as he swung around in the chair.

"You hungry or something? Wanna go out to eat?"

"Well, that, and also we gotta get to class later. Figured we could hang out for a little bit."

Nic stayed quiet for a moment, his brain divided between Wait, how many drops of white did I put in the previous batch? and What the hell is Kieran talking about? At last, it clicked. "Oh, shit, I forgot about that! Sorry, I've been here all day, and—"

His stomach was already kinda twisted into knots, so it gave out a distinct growl for food that had Kieran grinning. "Here's the deal: You keep working, I'll get food, and then we eat it on the way to the Co-Op," Kieran suggested as Nic pouted, hands over his stomach. "Okay?" Kieran insisted, laughter in his voice as he reached out to tug on Nic's sweatshirt.

"Yeah, that sounds good," he said, and continued to mope over the fact that his stomach hurt so terribly. He hadn't even realized he was hungry until Kieran mentioned something. Stupid Kieran, for making him aware of his current State of Suffering.