drowning in violet - skephalo

15:15 PM, Sunday

Darryl woke up at three fifteen in the afternoon to chirping birds and thoughts of a certain warm-eyed boy. Being in love is all just a mess of words and colors, he thought - sad things inked down onto a page to build the structure of a sad story. And he was laying in bed at thirteen fifteen - thirteen sixteen or maybe even seventeen - wearing a pyjama shirt patterned with little galaxies hanging from his frame. He knew he had to get up soon, but the dull weight of his body was pulling him down with the force of ten black holes. He turned to the flesh-toned wall beside his bed and began to trace shapes in the uneven drywall, bitten fingernails scraping against globs of dried paint aimlessly as he stared out the dusty window. Tops of buildings melted viciously into the sky and alongside sunlight, meshes of blacks and blue and yellows and reds of all the people walking along the cracked sidewalk coated his vision like smog - Darryl couldn't see their mouths moving through it all and somehow that was the worst part, because everything was so distant and quiet.

And then he was throwing on a sweater and a pair of shoes and pushing the front door open with his one bruised shoulder. Before he knew it, he was turning the corner and making his way to the school library with glazed eyes and a pink nose. The air was thick and humid and Darryl knew that today wasn't going to be easy. The two thin doors to the library opened with ease, and he began to tread his fingers gently across the spines of the books. He was in dire need for the quiet shuffling of pages, the old book smell stinging his nose while he lost himself in thousands of words. He took a seat at one of the tables, the hard wood of the chair digging into his back, but it was comfortable because it felt like home. He bent over to retrieve his black sketchbook from his bag, the leather smooth beneath his fingertips as he cracked it open, admiring the scribbles and endless doodles scratched into the paper.

He pressed the purple pen to a brand new page after he jammed some headphones into his ears and the words overtook him, fueling him with feelings that he knew would just stay dormant until he found someone to express them to. It felt as though his hands had a mind of their own as they began to outline the physique of a blue boy. He began with sketching Zak's broad collarbones that could put oceans at bay, sloping like waves down his tan, freckle-infested chest. Even though he was only drawing with one color, he could see the page bursting out into a million different shades.

All of a sudden, a familiar voice tore its way through his thoughts: "Excuse me?"

Darryl nearly jumped out of his skin, ripping the headphones out of his ears so fast it kind of hurt. His head bolted up to see a small woman wearing a ruffled off-white shirt and a silver chain dangling from her neck. She smelled of smoke and old perfume. "Darryl, is it?" she asked.

"Yeah... how did you know that?" He looked down at his sketchbook, and then back up at her. It was his art teacher.

"I teach your art class," she said as she sat down in the wooden chair beside him, "I just couldn't help but tell you the drawing you're working on is incredible. I hardly knew this before, but now I'm confident to say that I'm very glad to have you in my class."

Darryl's cheeks turned a bright pink. "Thank you," he said sheepishly.

Her chapped lips rose into a small smile; she looked again at Darryl to see his gaze had centered back onto his drawing. She placed her slender fingers on top of the page to catch his attention, and his head slowly lifted back up to meet her cobalt eyes. The makeup powder brushed on her cheeks glimmered in the sunlight. "I hope you're free this weekend, because the school is hosting its annual forest trip. We go out to a campground and have collective painting classes every few hours. It's a great chance to make some new friends." She drew her hand back from Darryl's sketchbook and waited for his response.

He couldn't believe he didn't know about this. An entire weekend spent with Zak? He'd accept that offer over anything else in the world. "I'd love to go!"

"Great! I knew you'd say yes," she pushed herself up from the chair, "I'll talk more about it in class tomorrow." She turned away and walked out the door without another word. Darryl was beyond excited about the news, and couldn't contain himself from cracking a wide-toothed smile. He looked around to make sure no one was watching and threw his head back against his chair, releasing a content sigh.

"An entire weekend with Zak," he thought, "how the hell am I supposed to contain myself around him for a minute, let alone two whole days?" He threw his backpack onto his shoulder and stood up from the creaky chair. The afternoon sun was setting against the city skyline as he made his way back to his dorm room and threw his sketchbook down onto the small writing desk nestled in the very back of the room. He grabbed the remote to his tiny box TV and turned on some shitty french movie that he didn't understand. He lied down on his bed and watched the movie play on the screen, the colors all melding into one moving blob of light. He could see Zak in the walls and blankets and even in the birds that fluttered past his window. Darryl wiped his eyes messily with his sweater and closed his eyes, brown hair falling flush against his pillow. The corners of his lips rose into a soft smile, making the dimple in his cheek grow, as well as the butterflies in his stomach.