Wednesday Imagines

-Tortured Artist-

Your point of view:

His hands are always covered in blisters.

He spends so much time cooped up in his shed on his own, drawing, painting... doing anything other than homework. It's like his mind can't function without the sweet release of art, his one true addiction.

And it is just that, an addiction, an unhealthy coping mechanism, obsessive escapism. It's led him to ignore the people he cares about.

Sometimes I find it torturous to watch him, slowly closing off more, the dark circles under his eyes seemingly growing by the hour.

It's time for an intervention. As dramatic as that sounds- honestly it's gonna be more bringing him food and pestering him to quit being an idiot.

I knock on the door to his shed, no answer. I can hear the little shit scribbling away, so just walk in. I'm met with a dishevelled-looking Xavier, hair all tangled, clothes scruffy and creased. He's a mess. I put the food on the table beside him and stand there, waiting to be acknowledged.

Eventually, he throws his splintering paintbrush on the floor and tangles his hands in his hair. I glance at his canvas, seeing the gruesome image of a monster that's all too familiar. I frown and edge closer to the skeletal boy.

"Xavier?" I question, looking at him.

He turns slowly, looking fragile and quickly engulfs me in a hug. As unexpected as this is, I silently return it as he leans against me heavily, his body exhausted. I help him to a seat and push the food closer to him, urging him to eat it. He obliges, lazily shovelling forkfuls into his mouth.

"You need sleep."

"Can't." He states bluntly, evidently having mixed feelings about elaborating.

"The uhm- the monster wouldn't have anything to do with this would it?"

He shrugs and makes eye contact with me for a second before quickly breaking it. That's his tell. It's so painfully obvious when he's hiding something.

"You can sleep in my room Xavier, come on." I stand again and offer him my hand, which he slowly takes.

We stand and make our way to my dorm, he quickly unbuttons the top few buttons of his shirt, removes his blazer and shoes, and lays down on my bed.

"This is a bad idea.." He mumbles.

I lay next to him in response and begin to gently untangle his hair with my fingers. He hums softly, closing his eyes and moving closer. I win, he'll pass out in no time.

Soon enough, he's out cold.

And then began the nightly ritual of sneaking him into my dorm.