klance week 2016

day 1 ; red / blue

Lance snuck into the dark of the night, midnight air coiling around him like a cobra. The stars were barely visible through the clouds, not that they were very visible at all because of the light pollution in the city. He tiptoed down an alley where neon signs from the hotel next door lit the entire thing up in an orange glow. He pressed his back against the wall of the alley and looked around the corner, checking for cops. Seeing no patrol cops, he grinned and turned back to the bare wall. He hefted the duffel bag off of his shoulder and winced at the loud sound of the zipper that he still hadn't grown accustomed to. The sound seemed to resonate in the emptiness of the night but Lance knew that was an illusion of the mind.

Inside the bag were the dozens of shades of blue spray paint that, frankly, Lance couldn't really afford. That was the perk of working at an art shop; he got a certain dollar amount of supplies free and got a discount on everything else. Without that job, he wouldn't be able to do what he was truly passionate about - graffiti. He pulled out his outline color and made circles with his arms, stretching them out. He uncapped the can and got to work.

Each stroke, each movement, had a purpose of its own. Every stripe of paint had a story and a feeling behind it. Lance was extremely picky and careful about his art and worked meticulously. His arm hovered steadily over his canvas, cobalts and indigos staining the wall. Because of the high police concentration in the city, he had to work quickly. Half an hour of working produced something gorgeous - a female ice skater, arms outstretched for balance as she skated across the wall on one leg. The other stuck straight out behind her. Her smile was captivating and her dress seemed to sparkle despite the darkness of the night. Her ponytail swished behind her, seeming to blow behind her as if she was actually moving across a rink and not painted onto a wall. With a few last touches, Lance smiled. He'd really outdone himself this time.

He didn't know what first inspired him to graffiti walls. He supposed it was the art he saw walking down the street in the city where he lived. His first painting was horrible, a blotched mess. That had been when he was fifteen. Now, at nineteen, he was practically a professional. His paintings were famous for their odd theme - each one was done in all blue. Over the last year, every new installation made the front cover of the local newspaper and was the subject of many news blogs. They all called him Lonely Blue, due to the fact that his portraits all seemed to be one person with a missing partner. Lance liked that his identity was secret, but sometimes he regretted it. He knew he could get plenty of money for his paintings but he could also be put in jail.

Lance turned away from his masterpiece and zipped up his duffel bag. Again, the zipper made an obnoxiously loud noise. It put him on edge. He slung the bag over his shoulder and leaned out from the corner of the alleyway, still bathed in an odd orange light. He saw the coast was clear and jogged all the way home.

The next morning, Lance's alarm clock went off at its usual time - 9:30 in the morning. He woke up and remembered it was Thursday; he didn't have to be at work until 12pm. He sighed contentedly and fell back into his bed with a smile on his face. He rolled over and grabbed his phone, scrolling through an art news app. He stopped short when he saw a headline. LONELY BLUE FINDS A PARTNER IN CRIMSON. Lance kept scrolling and clicked the article, slightly afraid of what he was to find.

Lance had heard of a guy they called Crimson. He was like Lance, only choosing to paint in shades of red. His work was impressive - Lance would give him that. It was up to par with his own, quite possibly better, depending on who you asked. He dreamed of working with the guy but had never encountered him or sought him out.

When the article loaded, Lance was surprised to see that his ice skater now had a partner. Wrapped around her waist was a pair of strong arms, clad in a blood-red costume. He skated in the same position as her, moving on only one leg. His smile was as stunning as hers. The pair looked like they belonged together.