You're a Masterpiece (BOOK 1)

Chapter 13

AN: heloo! feeling a bit drained these days. sorry if i don't reply to comments as often. but i appreciate you all so much.

Art took an enormous amount of possibility for no other reason—other than stubborn, burning passion. After Tuesday, they sat through class going through choreography in their head, stealing Shay's laptop to make drafts and drafts of music. (Also, so they could hack into his premium Spotify and establish that they were sharing the account now).

He let it slide, mainly because Art was in a caffeine-fueled rage because they did not have a lot of fucking time to come up, polish, and perfect a full seven-minute long routine.

Shit, it wasn't impossible.

But it was close to suicide.

When they told Shay and Chase about it during Wednesday, both of them lost their shit.

"Why?" Chase demanded. "Hindi ka naman captain, ah!" (("You aren't team captain!"))

"True," Shay agreed, nodding vigorously. "Putangina, kakayanin mo ba?" (("Fuck, can you do it?"))

Art scowled because their valid points offended them. "Syempre kakayanin ko! I'm Art fucking Mendoza!" (("Of course I can do it! I'm Art fucking Mendoza!"))

"Look, I get that," Shay said, and when Art made a very cross face he added. "Gago, I'm just concerned. I get you're great but—but you're still a new member."

"It's dance, Shay. As long as you're passionate enough."

"Uy, may point naman si Flo," (("Hey, Flo has a point,")) Chase said. He was eating like an animal, and the sleeves of his uniform were rolled up as he tore rice and chicken apart with his hands. "As a fellow athlete—you don't start training two weeks before the competition."

"It isn't two weeks away," Art brushed off. And then, as Chase raised his eyebrows very matter-of-factly, "Right?"

"It is," Chase pressed. "Isipin mo, ah. November twenty-one na ngayon. December seven 'yung competition. So, broski, how many training days do you have?" (("Just think of it. It's November twenty-one today. The competition is on December seven. So, broski, how many training days do you have?"))

Art felt like their soul left their body. "Oh, fuck."

"Hey," Shay interjected. He was eating the most expensive thing on the school canteen menu—fuck him and his baby back ribs. "Maybe... Art could do it."

Art kicked him under the table.

"Don't be sarcastic."

"I'm not being sarcastic." He frowned.

Chase shook his head. "I don't doubt that," he clarified. "Pero... masyadong mabigat 'yung dinadala mo, Doza. Nagagawa mo ba acads mo?" (("But... you're carrying too much, Doza. Are you still doing your acads?"))

Before Art could give a half-hearted, defeated no—Shay piped up again.

"Ako na bahala," (("I've got you,")) he said. He looked at Art, wiping away a smear of barbecue sauce. "Is there homework you haven't done, yet?"

"Oh, thank fuck," Art sighed. They touched Shay's foot with their own under the table. Gentler. As reparation for kicking him. "Oh my God, thank you so fucking much."

Shade, without any of the mockery, genuinely winked.

Chase, on the borderline of playful and genuine distraught, "Why don't you do that for me, Flo?"