The Setup » [lashton] √

0.6

[Monday Evening - two weeks later]

He was waiting at the desks they'd been occupying every Monday for the past few weeks, trying his hardest not to feel stupid as his eyes flicked between watching the door and watching his phone. The art classes weren't all that bad, but really he'd kept hanging out with Ashton for Calum's sake, no that spending time with Ashton was a chore, but it did require more effort. He kept being just a little bit flirty and putting in fa more effort than when he hung out with, say... Michael, for example, and the older man seemed entirely unaffected. He doubted that Ashton was oblivious; it was probably more the fact that he was very attractive and probably got attention like that all the time. Luke was happy to let come of it what would he supposed. 

And maybe, just maybe, he liked Ashton more than he'd let on to Calum. Which was why he was wearing the shirt he'd worn the very first day again. He wore it every week, and Ashton had fun adding something new each time, it was covered in handprints now,  'it's a statement about the way we look at women as a society, he'd said, grinning as he placed one final handprint on one of Luke's pecks. Luke had tried to explain to Ashton that he wasn't a female, and Ashton had told him he should stop wearing the shirt; he supposed that was Ashton's way of saying, 'if you want the flirting to stop, just don't wear the shirt,' then again he wasn't even sure if Ashton was flirting with him, it was all very confusing. 

"Hey! I didn't get your usual 'are you coming this week' text; I wasn't sure you were going to be here," Ashton grinned, plonking himself down on his regular chair beside Luke. 

"I figured we were past that, and I could just assume you were going to be here," Luke shrugged. 

Ashton's smile persisted, "I thought I told you not to wear that shirt again," 

"You're the one who did this to my shirt; you knew who was going to be wearing it, a little bit of foresight, babe," Luke chuckled, eyes avoiding Ashton, pretending to watch the front of the room. 

Ashton shifted in his seat, a little uncomfortable, "I don't accept critiques of my art," he tilted his nose up snottily. 

"I beg your pardon, but I am the art, so I feel my opinions valid," Luke sniffed haughtily. 

"Ugh, the art always has opinions; I need to move back into impressionism, didn't give me as much lip," 

Luke just rolled his eyes, his attention redirected to their teacher, who was walking around handing out butchers paper; he smiled at him. He then began to explain to the class what it was they were doing tonight as he continued around the room, telling them he'd come around to them all eventually and give some feedback. 

 The pair were mostly silent at; first, both trying individually to mix their colours with water being mindful that the teacher had said the gouache was very expensive and to be careful not to waste any. That was all well and fine until Luke put his palette down to get biscuits out of his backpack, and when he came back up, he hit his head on the bottom of the palette and knocked it on top of Ashton's. There was enough conversation in the room that no one really paid any attention to the clank, and Luke sheepishly rose the rest of the way up; he could feel the flush in his cheeks but tried to remain composed. Ashton was looking at him with a hand over his mouth; he could tell from his eyes, though, that it wasn't hiding a sympathetic gaping mouth but a grin. 

"Shut up, it was an accident," he grumbled. 

Ashton removed the hand, chuckling almost evily, "I'm not laughing at your accident; I'm laughing at the fact you have blue paint all through your hair." His hands reflexively went to his hair, and he felt the moisture immediately; he groaned, bringing his hands down so he could see them; they were smeared with dark blue paint. Another groan left him as he remembered he hadn't mixed it with any water yet; it was just rich, expensive blue paint. 

He sat bolt right up, eyes wide as he looked at Ashton, who was still grinning. He was just a moment away from asking Ashton what he should do when he noticed it and started laughing to himself. The older man started laughing harder, thinking he'd made Luke laugh, which only made Luke laugh harder, his sides splitting as he tried to get the words out, "I'm no laughing at me," he tried to explain, "you have orange paint all over your nose,"

Ashton's mouth dropped open, and he went to wipe at his face; Luke shook his head and gestured for him to wipe from the bridge of his nose straight down, which Ashton did, and in doing so, smeared paint all the way for his nose and under his left eye.  Luke started cackling again. "Fuck you, Hemmings," 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Luke told him, still chuckling. He got up and washed his hands, grabbing a bit of paper towel and dampening it before racing back over to Ashton. He gestured for Ashton to move his hand away from his face, and he gently wiped the paint away, being sure to be careful as he swept a paper towel covered finger under his eye. 

He could feel the other's eyes intently on him; it wasn't until then that he realised how intimate the gesture was, and he couldn't help but let his eyes flick up from the paint to meet Ashton's as he continued wiping away the paint from the bridge. Where else was he supposed to look? He tried to argue to himself, but his brain replied too fast, 'at the paint'. His hand and eyes dropped from Ashton's face, and he rearranged the wad of paper before picking up the older man's hand and wiping away the orange paint there too. One hand held his wrist as the other wiped the paint away, and he could feel the fast thrum of his pulse just under the skin. He lingered just a moment too long before dropping the hand. 

"Guess I should go and clean up my hair in the bathroom; I'll be back," He said, leaving too quickly. So once he was standing in the hall, he realised he had no idea where the bathroom was. He took a tentative look around the hall, hearing his blood pumping in his ears, and then headed down one flight where he thought he'd seen a bathroom sign once. 

Once he found the bathroom, the paint washed out of his hair pretty easily, not that he was that worried about it being in there. He had come to the shocking but somehow not at all shocking realisation that he had feelings for Ashton; they were little feelings, he reassured himself. But they were there; maybe Calum had been onto something. The more time he spent with the older man, the more he opened up to him, and he liked the person he was seeing. He was funny and quick-witted and apparently capable of making Luke lose his own cool demeanour that normally won him, guys. 

He splashed his face with water and made his way back up to the studio with his new realisation sitting in the back of his mind. As he made his way back to the table, he saw a guy who normally sat in the front row, leaning on their table, talking to Ashton. He sat himself down beside them and pretended not to be put off by the arrival. 

To his credit, Ashton quickly shifted so Luke could be included in the conversation, smiling as he took in Luke's appearance, "Oh hey, you got it all out," he said chirpily, "Sorry Chris, this is Luke, Luke, Chris," he said gesturing between them. 

Chris gave him a little wave before turning back to Ashton and asking, "This isn't your boyfriend is it?" Ash laughed and shook his head; Luke's stomach dropped as he watched the exchange. He'd asked that question a dozen times, and Ashton's response meant the conversation was going in one direction and one direction only. "Oh good, 'cause I was wondering you if you wanted to go out sometime?" 

"Oh wow, um, I'm really flattered, but I'm actually not into guys, sorry,"

Something short-circuited in his brain, faltering for a moment before one thing became clear, he was going to kill Calum Hood.