Under The Influence: A Klaus Hargreeves Fanfic | Umbrella Academy AU |

The Art Junkie

Leaning against the barring red brick wall, Willow held the burning cigarette to her painted red lips. The long-legged, model like woman shifted her weight, tilting her head back to lean into the brick. Short strands of ashy brunette struck to the textured surface as she exhaled a cloud into the sky, closing her eyes and letting the sun soak into her fair, freckled skin.

The artist wore black overalls that had smudges of paint, both dried and glimmering wet, in various shades of purple. It ranged from a pastel lilac all the way to a deep, vein-tinted violet. A few of the paint smears dressed up her forearms and neck, palms full of the purple shades.

It was the first real, warm sunny day of spring, and Willow couldn't help but slip outside for a quick smoke to enjoy the weather. The alley between the art finishing school and the mechanic school was thin, so she snuck around to the loading docs along with the other nicotine addicted students. Grinding metal and sparks filled the air, a familiar sound mixed with the smell of oil bringing Willow to rest.

"Bum one?"

Willow didn't expect the man approaching the group to speak. He looked homeless and disheveled; a stretched-out black T-shirt, grey jeans with holes in them, fingerless gloves on his hands and a lopsided grin decorated the man. She stood there, tongue-in-cheek, debating on whether to interact with him or now.

"Sure." Willow decided, flipping open her pack and dispensing a cigarette to the stranger. As he took it, she noticed that underneath his worn, fingerless gloves were perfectly manicured fingernails. Maybe he just didn't know how to dress himself.

"Merci." The man thanked her, only adding to her mountain of questions.

"De rien." The gazelle-legged woman nodded back, taking a drag from her own cigarette and offering a lighter to the man. She watched him ignite the tobacco between his teeth and inhale greedily.

"Tu parle?" The odd man blinked back, exhaling with a grin. "Sprichst du Deutsch?"

"Just French." Willow admitted. "Louisiana French."

"You don't look southern." His grin grew wider as he took another drag. Willow decided that she didn't have anything nice to say, and so she said nothing at all. "Or sound southern."

"Maybe." The short-haired woman pressed her lips together tightly before smoking a little more, flicking red ash to the sidewalk. She didn't owe this stranger an explanation of any sort.

"You're a talkative one then, aren't you." He commented shortly, making her blood bubble underneath her pale skin.

"Just conservative." Said the liberal arts student.

"You don't smell conservative." The man clicked his tongue in disapproval, grinning widely while shaking his head in a contradictory manner.

Her thoughts raced quickly; was this guy an undercover? That would explain why he had no real sense of style. His prodding questions. The way he spoke like he already knew her. Like he was testing her to see if she knew enough about herself to pass.

Or he could just be spun out on drugs, she purses her lips alternatively. Just another junkie off the streets looking for some decent human interaction. They usually hung around the alley, being between the two buildings most likely to have spare smokes on them. Usually, though, they were kinder. Not to say the inquisitive man wasn't kind, just more coarse than burned out.

"Why..." Willow started to wonder out loud before directing her question at the man. "Why would you say that?"

"Well, you're smoking a spliff over there while you offered me a regular old cigarette and quite honestly," The man exhaled smoke quickly through his nose "I'm a little offended."