My Artist.

Who are you?

"In the river of time, the most unlikely paths can become crossed." _______________

Brown.

White.

Dark brown.

Light brown.

And very slow, or fast strokes of a brush.

It was about 9pm and last time Hanamiya had checked the clock it had been 3:25pm exactly. He didn't have college tomorrow. Or.. That's what he liked to believe. Friday's where his 'Days Off' as he put it. Since instead of actual one class after another. On Fridays he only had one class, and it was a creative writing class which he only ever showed up too when there was an assignment due or it was a 'desperate need for him to come in at once'.

The only reasons why he constantly skipped the class and toke to just getting the notes and work off the teachers website was cause, 1, he was fortunate enough to have actually found the teachers site on his own one night by accident. (I mean really, she posted everything on there. And in perfect description too.) and secondly, it was cause of nights like these. When he actually needed to sit down and study, as much as he hated doing it.

It was nights like these when Art History just got a little too much and he couldn't cram it all in his head. Or nights where a piece of art for a grade was taking too long and he knew he would be staying up till the early hours trying to complete it.

And lastly, he hated the teacher. It made him wonder if she was bipolar or something. At one point she'd be prancing around and talking about poetry and Shakespeare, which he found funny, then in the blink of an eye she'd turn strict and yell at you if you interrupted her or-

"Fuck." He hissed out as he pulled away completely from the painting and grabbed a tissue, gently dabbing the brown that had slowly begun to leak into the white away. He had been working on the painting for.. He quickly grabbed his phone and checked. For a good 5-6 hours.

Hanamiya was the type to go slow at his drawing and paintings. As much as he hated his slow pace they turned out amazing each time, regardless. Or well, perhaps not each time. There was the time he had gotten art block.. He shiver at the memory and set the paintbrush aside with the others that all soaked in a black coffee mug. Normally an artist would say that it was, 'bad to let your brushes soak' but honestly in all his years of painting, he couldn't have given a fuck. Not to mention he had more brushes then he could count.

Looking down at the almost finished fawn he sighed and pushed himself away from the table, his swivel chair rolling him over to the couch before it stopped with a little bump. He lived in an artisan type flat. Meaning that there weren't any walls. Just a large expense of space. His school desk was pushed in one of the corners on the right side of the room, followed by his art table fixed just behind it on the right wall and a small kitchen area behind that. His bed was on the left corner along with a wardrobe and a shelf, filled with both books and art supplies.

Then there was an old black leather couch, that was slowly falling apart since he had bought it a cheap pawn shop, with a rug and TV in front of it.

Sure to you this may have seemed like a pretty nice and tidy flat but in reality, it wasn't. Pizza boxers where left here and there, wrappers and other sugary food papers laid around the place and clothes were pilled up in one corner and shoes in another. The thought of cleaning for once seemed like a good idea but he only groaned at the thought and went to go pull on his favourite black hoodie and and his 2 year old British themed converses that he had gotten as a birthday gift.

Grabbing his keys and wallet he headed out the door and quickly locked it behind him, opting to take the stairs down for some excircise. Hanamiya wouldn't have considered himself to be chubby or anything really, sure he lived off junk food and probably hadn't eaten a salad since freshman year but he went to the gym when he could, and thanks to all the basketball playing in high school, he still managed to keep up a good enough build.

Thinking about his old team made him sigh. Once high school had finished they had all parted there own ways. A few ended up moving either out of country or out of town. Some went to different colleges. But being the only one to follow an Art Path, utter then he Seto who he sometimes saw around campus, he of course picked a college with a strong arts course, meaning he was kind of left alone. His college excelled at two things, art and science, and it was ironic in a way since the two subjects were so different from each other but also kind of alike.

Once he got to the bottom of the stairs he pushed the door open and shivered a little as he was meet with a cold breeze. It was autumn now and the cold days of the on coming winter months were starting to make an appearance. Walking down a few familiar streets he smiled a little when his favourite coffee shop came into site. His hands were practically freezing now and he was pretty sure is nose had probably gone a little bit pink.

Entering the coffee shop he quickly began to line up but pulled his eyebrows together in slight confusion at the brown haired and black haired males in front of him. They looked familiar.. He tried to make the hair match a face but began to notice how short the line was getting and he still didn't know what exactly he wanted.

Normally when he came here he always got iced coffee, but now that winter was approaching.. hot coffee was becoming an open option too.

Loosing interest in the 'familiar people' in front of him he focused on the menu and opted instead for a hot chocolate since he didn't know what half the crap on the menu was or tasted like, and he wasn't about to spend 15$ on coffee he probably wouldn't even like.

When the 'familiar people' moved aside he ordered his drink and went to move along with them. "Hanamiya..?" He turned to look at the person who had spoke his name. The confusion that had been on his face went from recognition to surprise as he was met with a smiling.. Kiyoshi Teppie..