No Academy (boyxboy)

Chapter. 15

By the time Waylon got to his art class again, him and Harlow had already begun their distribution of new product. Waylon did his best to forget the faces that would drop by their dorm room or meet them outside. The initial anxiety of being caught with these substances had the boy waking up in the night with cold sweats. Nightmares became much more frequent. Even after he'd discovered the twins connections to faculty made them turn their head the other way—the nightmares didn't cease.

Harlow said nothing about it but some of the mornings after particularly rough nights, Waylon woke up to cigarettes or other "gifts" on his nightstand. He took the bribes, not guiltlessly. His growing resentment for Harlow far outweighed his guilt at this point.

The art class was familiar, paintings strung about the walls and the thick smell of turpentine in the air. The teacher had scolded Waylon for his absence before disappearing outside to grab some more supplies. Harlow was already there when Waylon arrived. He was tucked in the corner with his headphones in, music bleeding out from the volume. His face knitted into concentration, as he painted with determination. He was boldly wearing a white shirt, which was stained with an assortment of fleshy tones and pops of muted cools. For moments he wouldn't even move, just pausing before his brush would land again. It was clear so much was going through his head just beneath the surface.

Waylon awkwardly took his place behind the easel, which had a now dried and unfinished work plastered on it. The paint had even cracked in areas due to the poor application, he had mixed medium that hadn't been cohesive. Still, it was...workable. Waylon would just chalk it up to a creative liberty in texture. Surly, that was arty of him? He hadn't brought music himself, feeling his thoughts overcrowd in the silence. Staring down at the paints sitting in the lip of the easel, he picked one up and began painting from the tube.

Before long, Waylon felt the unease of eyes on him. Looking up he nearly jumped out of his skin at the look Harlow was giving him. The man looked distraught, disgusted and curious all at once. Stuttering out a, "What?" Waylon watched the blonde take out his headphones and approach. For a moment, Harlow just stood staring at the canvas, hand cupping his jaw in thought. His brows were knitted but eyes wide as he scanned the linen cover. He looked utterly lost while staring and Waylon felt beads of sweat forming on the forehead.

"Why on earth," Harlow began, looking down to meet the shorter one's eyes, "are you painting straight out of tube?" Befuddled, Waylon's jaw hung slack. He didn't really know- was that wrong? He thought there wasn't any rules to art. Well, he knew there was, like, some rules. But, they were more guidelines? Right?

After more moments of silence Harlow simply shook his head and continued, "I get what you're going for, but all the other tones are analogous. Just adding in a colour straight from the tube without consideration is going to look...well, shit." Scooting closer now, Harlow grabbed his own paintbrush and began mapping out forms. It seemed he had more of an idea what Waylon was doing than Waylon himself did. Harlow explained while painting where the flow of the piece should be—based on whatever blob Waylon had painted in—and how that would affect his colour placement. With the skill of a master, Harlow used minimal brush strokes and in mere moments had created something that pulled the viewers eyes. The blue tube paint, which was now adjusted to complement the other colours, was scattered in a way that highlighted the foreground. It was...incredibly impressive, Waylon could admit.

He couldn't even feel embarrassed, rather too bewildered by Harlow's skill at his age. Jesus, how old was he even?

"Harlow," his voice broke the blondes rant, who looked at him with an unreadable expression, "how do you even know all this?"

Harlow shook his head, "I read it, I study it. I just, make stuff all the time. Whenever I'm not, well you know." He trailed off, still looking at Waylon.