Insubordinate ( Gay ) ( BxB )

Chapter Two ✓

           His eyes are even more brilliant up close. He looms in front of me, but I make no move to stand up from the ground. I don't even know why he's made the effort to speak to me- that is, if he'll ever speak. I watch his face as he searches for the correct way to start, searching for the right words. His blonde hair rustles in the cold wind, dusted with snow.

         He crouches down to be eye-level with me. I see now that he's a bit older than I'd thought originally. In his early twenties, not that far from my own age, but still most definitely younger. I can smell his cologne; a weird, good smell. 

"Hello- sorry if I've scared you." He greets apologetically. He has a sweet sounding voice and an accent, but he has good English as well. 

My face twists. "You didn't." I tell him plainly. "You want something, kid?"

His eyebrows twitch at the word kid, but his smile doesn't completely fall. He maintains a friendly appearance.

"Yes." He nods. "Your permission, if you don't mind."

       He moves beside me, pressing his back against the wall to support himself, balancing on the balls of his feet. He holds out his camera for both of us to see the screen- I'm pictured on it. The first one, I'm looking directly into the lens, but it's a good picture. The colors are a bit faded and dull, but it's crystal clear and from a good angle. However, I can't help but notice how homeless I truly appear. 

I definitely need to shave, my face is pale and pink from the cold, and my dark brown hair sticks out at odd angles from the beanie I have pulled down securely over my head. My wide, bewildered yellowy eyes look glassy and empty. Undoubtedly, it is a quality photo- but I can't say I'm happy with how terrible I look, how differently than I'd thought I did. The next photo he flips to is when I'd turned my head and begun to draw more upon realizing he was photographing me, emphasizing the rigid angle of my jaw.

"Permission?" I repeat after looking hard at the photographs. "What for?"

"I'm a photographer." He shrugs shyly. "Photographing places and people is more of my pastime, but in case I use it, I'd like your permission." He finishes, tripping over his words, almost struggling to pronounce them correctly as fast as he was attempting to speak.

I enjoy hearing him.

"I don't care." I tell him after a moment of thought. "But who do you think I am, exactly?" I ask, fearing his response. I wasn't going to let him use some photos labeling me as a homeless man.

"Have we met?" He frowns.

"No." I shake my head.

"An artist." He tells me plainly after brief hesitation, nodding his head toward my sketchbook which I have laid beside me.  

My breath catches in my throat when I realize my sketchbook is still open to the picture of him. I glance away as my face grows warm again. I'll be twenty-eight soon, yet I still act like I'm only eighteen sometimes. I don't realize he's expecting a response until I feel him lean over me, picking up my sketchbook and laying it on top of his knees. I feel exposed with my art to his eyes.  

"But," He says, "You've got my jaw all wrong. I only wish it was sharp as you've drawn it." He says jokingly, running his finger along his jaw. He seems so comfortable talking to a stranger, leading me to believe he must do this often. 

"I picture what I see." I reply simply. 

"Me too." He says, beginning to turn the page. Without thinking, I grasp his wrist, preventing him from looking on. With my drawings in his hands, I feel naked. He looks at me for a moment, a look in his eyes that I don't quite understand, then he laughs lightly.