His Muse

An artist's weakness for art supplies Pt I

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Nic ran on autopilot the rest of the week, and perhaps that was his way with coping with multiple things. It seemed the only times he was fully in his head involved drawing because he was so used to the action of his pencils scratching into paper. He loved how his brain rendered real life and dispensed it onto the page like his own little picturesque version of the images that passed through his mind.

So, by default, he was especially tuned in for his figure drawing class, and without his phone, Kieran had showed up after class on Wednesday to talk and walk towards Kingsley. At the time, Nic walked around the corner and saw him talking with Ronan, standing together at the bubbler. And when Nic showed up, Kieran dismissed himself from the conversation and reached for Nic's free hand. They walked to the stairs together, leaving Ronan behind them.

But when Friday came, Kieran had warned him that he had to pick up an extra shift at work for a coworker, so Ronan was waiting for him at the bubbler dressed in business-formal wear. His lengthy hair was pulled back from his face and into a short ponytail, as it had been in the drawing session. 

Nic spent enough time drawing the man to know exactly how sharp the edges were on that man's facial features—from his angular earlobes to the straight curve of his nose.

His sharp, triangular canines that showed when he smiled at Nic.

"I have to get to downtown soon," Ronan confessed, tugging off his earpiece and zipping it into his winter coat pocket. "I have people from North Dakota coming in."

"Sounds fancy," he said, and Ronan laughed charismatically. As if he was trained to entertain all while flattering the person he talked to.

"Yes, well. Have you made up your mind?"

Nic looked away for a moment, visibly wincing at the offer all over again. "I don't... really...?"

"I'll text you the details and I'll cover the cost of supplies," he offered. Nic knew he was a sucker for free paints and expensive art supplies. Shit, he wouldn't normally be able to afford his own Primsacolor set that he was now splitting with a girl in figure drawing. He'd be able to use whatever supplies Ronan gave him even outside of the session—and if he was paying for the supplies, it probably meant he actually wanted a legitimate portrait of himself, right? That made sense, didn't it?

"That sounds awesome," Nic confessed, "but I probably shouldn't. I also don't have a phone at the moment, so there's also that."

"Well, if you change your mind, I still have all afternoon and evening off tomorrow before I leave Sunday afternoon," Ronan said, and as he talked he pulled out a pen and a small, leather-bound pocket notebook. He started to write as he continued talking—ever the multitasker. "You buy the supplies and bring me the receipt tomorrow at two PM. And if you don't come, you don't come. No harm done. Deal?"

Again, Nic mechanically took the paper. He felt guilty for even touching it, but it didn't mean he had to do anything with it, right?

"O-Okay," he stammered out, staring wide-eyed up at Ronan.

The man had the audacity to wink before patting Nic on the shoulder. He walked off without another word, leaving Nic thoroughly baffled. He probably stood there staring at the paper without really reading it until he was outside walking home. He felt so use to walking home with Kieran now—all last week they walked together, and that brief time on Wednesday had done wonders for Nic's mental state.

He felt disconnected from the world without his phone. He didn't have music to accompany him on his walks, and without that minuscule anchor of rhythm and consistency, his brain tended to float on his walks to class. But when Ronan's note weighing heavy in his hand, he read over the specs for the painting he wanted. Twenty-by-twenty-four canvas. Not too big. Not royal size by any means, but still fairly large for a regular canvas. Did the bookstore even sell that size? He'd have to stop by Blick or something for that size.