colors.

IV

IV

Llewellyn sat in the gentle stillness of his art studio, watching as the fading mid-spring sunlight stretched across the room like a slowly yawning cat. The old oak floorboards were scratched and stained by his artistry and the person who inhabited this room before him; worn by time and use. The rectangular table he sat behind was covered in pockmarks and paint, some created by him, some created by someone else, but all displaying how this table had a life of its own. It was slowly becoming an abstract piece of its own design.

He glanced up to where Ezra was napping on her perch and he smiled gently. The bird had been his friend through many years and even now when he was not sure what exactly was in store for their future she stood beside him with unwavering faith. She was truly a familiar to be admired.

He returned his attention to the inked birds he had been drawing across a errant page of paper; his attempt at killing time. As he outlined each curve of the bird's tiny wings, he watched as the ink slowly peeled away from the paper and took on a mind of its own; the tiny birds spinning in lazy circles around the room. The dainty black and white birds made small chirping noises as they danced around the room and explored the space they had been created in. He watched them as they made their magic infused flight and he watched them as they slowly faded into dust as their magic wore off.

Time was always the undoing of all magical things and he could not help but wonder when time would become his undoing. He shook off those depressing thoughts when a knock at the studio door resounded through the room. Glancing up at the clock, he was quick to realize that it was still not seven 'o'clock and the student workshop was not intended to take place for another half an hour. He quickly swept upwards and made his way to the door.

He opened the door just the slightest to be met by the sight of the very young artist he had been chasing after. Blue eyes met brown and widened the slightest. What a fortuitous turn of events. Llewellyn hadn't been expecting to speak to this boy for a few classes at least, but here he was, an early arrival.

"You are early." Llewellyn stated, opening the door to let the young man in.

"I know, but there is no better train." the boy replied, following Llewellyn inside of the well used studio room.

"Ah, that is true." Llewellyn conceded with a gentle nod as he made his way past all the tables the students would soon occupy. Once seated behind his well used desk, Llewellyn glanced up to find his first arrival was glued to the floor in awash of confusion as to where he should sit.

"You may sit anywhere you please." Llewellyn stated, gesturing to the various tables littered with paint filled jars and brushes. The boy nodded sharply, his eyes roaming the room for a place to settle. He chose a seat tucked in the back corner of the room near the cabinet where Ezra was dozing on her perch; his eyes instantly on the windows. Llewellyn admired how the young man's eyes held so much emotion as he watched as the sun danced across the skyline; it's light slowly fading to nothingness, like the day past. Somehow the young artist belonged in that seat, it was as if it had been his all along.

"I might as well do this now since you are here," Llewellyn regretted breaking the silence, but his curiosity was too pressing to bury. "Might I have your name so I can check you off the attendance list?"

Llewellyn shuffled the papers scattered across his desk in an attempt to look as if he was searching for the slip of paper with all the students names, but in reality he felt an irrationally nervousness regarding looking directly into this boy's eyes. They were so solemn and a brown so deep Llewellyn was afraid he would become lost in them. He wondered how he would get through the whole six lessons without looking the boy in the eyes; somehow he figured that would be impossible.

The boy was silent for such a long expanse of time Llewellyn wondered if he would even respond or had even heard Llewellyn's question in the first place. The heavy silence is what prompted Llewellyn to look upwards to check and see if the boy had even recognized Llewellyn's words; it was then he was caught in the gaze of the quiet young man. The young artist was watching Llewellyn with such hesitance it was as if he had asked the boy to spill his darkest secrets for him.

"My name is..." the boy spoke in the harshest of whispers, as if the words themselves had scraped his throat raw so he could no longer speak. "...Gaizka Ochoa."

A blush dusted the young man's cheeks as he uttered his name. It was as if his namesake embarrassed him to such an extent he dared to not speak it and it was when he finally uttered his name that Llewellyn picked up the boy's faint Spanish accent. Llewellyn placed his elbows on the table and rested his head on his intertwined hands as he examined Gaizka who was now staring a hole in the worn wooden worktable he was sitting in front of; the attendance record forgotten.

"That is a Basque name is it not?" Llewellyn stated. The boy mumbled his assent. Llewellyn grinned wider. It was not a sharp smile, but one of gentle kindness.

"It is a lovely place, Basque. No need to be embarrassed of your homeland Gaizka, it is a lovely place full of rich culture and you best treasure that as not many can boast of having a second home. And no need to be embarrassed of your name, it is a noble name to hold."

With that said, Llewellyn returned his gaze to the slip of paper with the student's names wrought across it and methodically checked off Gaizka's name. He did not glance up, but he could feel the weight of those somber brown eyes upon him as he returned to his illustrations and he felt comfortable in the silence that ensued. That evening Llewellyn felt the light brush of Gaizka's gaze on his form throughout his lessons, but whenever he glanced in the boy's direction he found Gaizka's eyes were firmly glued on the painting in front of him.

In most cases, Llewellyn felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny of others, but somehow Gaizka's stare was less of an intrusion and more of a gentle weight. One that he would bear burden without complaint. He liked that when he turned he could sense the boy's eyes dancing at the sight of the fading light carding through his blond locks and when he spoke he found Gaizka marvelling at his eccentric hand gestures. Llewellyn returned the favor by examining the boy whenever he sat behind his worktable as the other student's went about their painting. On a few occasions he saw the somber boy smile faintly as if he was quite content under Llewellyn's scrutiny.

It was not until the students had all fled the studio and the fading light had finally dipped behind the skyline and Llewellyn was cleaning up the room that he came across the sketch. It was crafted with startling skill and it was of him. The light was rippling through his hair and mirth was tickling the corners of his eyes and the whole image was penned with such clarity Llewellyn half expected the sketch of him to come to life. Gaizka's name was scrawled in the corner and in his messy hand he wrote two simple words: "thank you." Llewellyn smiled, as it seemed he had made a new friend.

----

notes.

The protagonist gets a name guys! Also, I attached a picture of Gaizka's faceclaim, him being Francisco Lachowski in his younger modelling days. Sorry I've been so busy! School has my soul rn. :')