Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Xavier looked at her, the corner of his mouth turning up into a half smile.
"Was I doing something cool in your vision, at least?"
The girl was flushed a bright crimson. "Yeah, yeah, uh- what was your dream?" She changed the subject hastily.
He he sucked his teeth, poking his tongue into his lower lip. "Well, you know how dreams are. Second you wake up, it's gone," He fibbed.
"I see."
The two sat in a comfortable silence next to each other, the boy miserably attempting to soak in as much sensory information in that moment as he could. The sight of her room, the smell of the little red candle burning on her nightstand, the taste of sleep in his mouth, the sound of her shaky breathing, the feeling of her bedsheets enveloping him.
Even though the two of them could be considered friends at this point, he was still dumbfounded by the fact that here he lay, next to her in her bed.
Something about it felt strangely intimate, not like any time he had slept in Ajax's dorm, or Cherry and Enid's. He supposed he could contribute it to the girls' naturally cold and closed off nature, so any form of even platonic communication felt somewhat special.
He spared a glance over at her exposed back, his eyes tracing the curves of her spine and connecting shoulder blades.
Wistfully, he wondered what her vision entailed. Some inkling of him hoped that his dream was precognitive, and they had somehow shared a clairvoyant vision.
But knowing the nature of the teenage boys' brain when they become infatuated with someone, the idea seemed far-fetched.
Gentle snores escaped the girls' body. Carefully, so not to wake her, he removed himself from the bed. Sorting through his bag, he found his sketchbook.
He wanted to draw a frame from his dream. He wanted to burn the whole scene into his eyes, really, but a hand drawn page of lustful memorabilia would do.
Attentively, he sketched out the outline of the girls back, shading in her biceps, and the dip her spine created. He drew her arms clasped behind her, one hand tucked into the crevice of her elbow.
If, somehow, she ended up going through his drawings, he didn't want her to be able to recognize herself, so he left the figure headless. It was enough for him.
Admittedly, he had already drawn the girl quite a few times. She had a captivating sort of energy, one he couldn't escape if he tried to. He drew her most when they were in class together; partially on behalf of his own avoidance of retaining knowledge, partially because he enjoyed the way she always looked deep in thought at her desk, like some wise poet.
The portrait he was the most proud of, however, was the large painting hidden underneath a sheet in his studio. When he saw her dancing in the rain, he felt so inspired that one of the first things he did the next day was paint the girl until the scene stopped incessantly replaying in his head.
