Eyes of The Beholder-{Septiplier Fanfic}

Chapter 13 (Felix's POV)

I hope Cry likes me as much as I like him. I think he's faking it just because of my eyes. That makes me worried. I'm trying so hard not to freak him out. I can tell he's really shy and nervous. What am I doing wrong?

These are among the many anxious thoughts floating in my head throughout the day. I may appear confident to others, but most of that is a cover up for my crippling lack of self esteem.

It's nice to be around someone like Cry. He's really kind. He always listens to me. He makes me feel appreciated for who I am, although I haven't shown much of my true self to him yet.

"Hello Felix." Speak of the saint and there he is. I nearly forgot Cry ad I are going to be in the same art class starting today. He smiles at me.

"Hey. I was wondering where you were," I reply. Well, I was wondering something like that.

"You're going to love this class. It's so fun." He sure sounds happy.

"How?"

"Well, for one thing, our teacher Miss Gallows, is the most easy teacher I've ever had. She hands us assignment sheets and then naps the entire period. She puts 100s in the grade book for everything," he explains. Woah. A free A. This could work in my favor.

"Everyone in our period is really nice too. They might be surprised that you're transferring into it, but they'll recover quickly," he continues.

"Isn't this the right room?" I point at the sign that says 'Room 105' and Cry nods.

"C'mon." He opens the door and leads me inside.

At the moment, everyone is quietly talking amongst themselves. It's a pretty packed class. I focus my attention on the sleeping middle-aged lady at the big desk in the front. She looks like somebody who lives alone with seven cats. According to the framed picture on her desk, I'm off by two. She's only got five.

I shake her until she murmurs," Five more minutes..." She looks up at me with her eyes half-closed. "Who're you?"

"I'm that student who switched schedules...Felix Kjellberg. I thought the counselor said she was going to alert you ahead of time."

"Ahh, right. I remember that," she says. "Carry on." She puts her head back down.

Cry is still standing nearby. He passes me a sheet of paper. "This is our current assignment. But if you can't figure it out, it's okay if you don't finish. You're getting an A either way." He goes to an empty corner of one of the two long tables and sits down.

"Cry, I wish you'd stop sitting alone! Remember, me and Sean always tell you we'll hang with you. And now there's Mark too," somebody calls to him.

"I never said such thing!" a weirdly familiar voice yells. Cry looks down.

"I'm fine. Thank you for the offer, Ian," he says and pulls some supplies closer to him. I sit down next to him. Where do I know these names from?

I skim the paper Cry gave me. We're supposed to paint something about nature. Cry has already made a lot of progress. He's painting a snowy sidewalk with trees. He avoids my gaze when he spots me eyeing his paper.

"It's supposed to be the sidewalk I walk to school on every day. The one we met on today, actually. It's not very good though." He twirls a paintbrush around in a cup of water.

"I feel like that was much longer ago," I say and chuckle. "It looks fine. But how do you know which color is which?" He points to a table in the back of the room. It has various jars on it, each with tiny meticulously made labels.

"Every time we get new paint everybody has to help figure out how to label them," he says. "It usually takes a whole c,lass period because of how chaotic things get. I know which colors are supposed to go together from back when Miss Gallows actually taught us." 

"What happened that made her stop?"

"She got divorced. She fell into a bit of a depression afterwards and hasn't been the same since."

"Oh." I begin to feel guilty about my earlier insult about her love of cats.

I stare at my blank sheet of paper for a few minutes. "You do know how to paint right, Felix?" Cry breaks the silence that has fallen between us.

"Umm...not exactly?" He puts down his brush and gives me a small smile.

"That's okay. It's like writing with a pencil, only a little different." He motions to my hands. "Righty or lefty?"

"Righty."

He gives me a fresh brush and pushes his plate with various globs of paint on it closer to me. "Pick a color and try to make something on your assignment sheet. Everybody throws those out anyways," he instructs.

I pick green because it's the only color I can see. There are some little labels written in Cry's elegant cursive underneath each glob, but I want to use the one I understand. I try to make a star, but it comes out squiggly and odd. "Fuck me. It looks weird," I complain.

He puts his hand on my right one and adjusts the paintbrush. "More like this," he says gently, and guides me through making a star shape. It actually comes out normal.

He grins. "You see! You're doing well!" He takes his hand away and lets me try on my own again. This time, it comes out just as good as the one we made together. I smile.

It's only been a day, and I think he's the best friend I've ever had.