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"you have the most beautiful eyes"
this is not your deal. none of it is, but your counselor insisted you try to explore before relinquishing to the heaviness of classes at ealing. you pass along the halls of the apartment, almost crushing a girl's dropped pill beneath your shoe. she scowls up at you and you move on, finding your way to the living room.
"have you seen him yet?" one of the men sitting on the couch has a camera hanging around his neck and he prods the boy beside him.
"the bloke who lives here?"
"yeah, the bloke throwing the party. who'd else i'd be talking about?"
they pass a bottle of beer between the two of them. you turn away and lean against the stair railing. you need a break in the bathroom, just a splash of water on your face.
"'aven't seen him." you hear them come to the conclusion that the host is probably out for the night.
the stairs are steep and narrow and your mary jane's scuff when you almost trip on the fifth step. you curse under your breath, but keep climbing the stairs. maybe, like your counselor said, this party will be some sort of inspiration for your art class.
a twining melody winds from the hall as you reach the carpeted landing and look around. you recognize it immediately, even muffled through the walls. satie. you didn't expect to hear him here, especially when the downstairs is filled with jerry lee lewis.
several doorways line the hall, but only one is open, yellow lamplight and music drifting from it. you move further, eager, your fingers running along the wallpaper until you reach the frame and peek your head around.
a boy, sweatered, lanky, and sitting awkward at a desk with half of his face visible writes in a notebook. his turntable spins and the satie composition ends, the final notes falling soft into the room. the record player shifts with each failed pass of the needle and he rises to get up and flip the vinyl onto its b side.
he's much taller than you first suspected as he stands and turns, and sees you playing peeping tom at his door.
"bleedin' hell!" with a shout he jumps back and scrambles into the chair.
"oh no, i'm sorry!" you raise your hands and your body heats in shame. "i just heard you playing satie in here."
his grimace softens and he lets off the chair. he runs a palm down his pull over sweater. "you like erik satie?"
you nod, the bloomings of embarrassment dissipating a little. "can i come in?"
he looks around the room for a moment, then gestures you forward. "i love him," he continues, moving to switch the vinyl sides and giving you a soft smile when a piano intro wanders into the room, settling light on the bedsheets and floorboards.
after a moment, you breathe, and stare, taking him in for the first time. his hair is dark and cropped short without any gel like some other boys'. his face is almost cherubic with soft, pouting lips, high cheekbones and those crystalline blue eyes. they're mesmerizing, shiny in the glimmer of the lamplight, and draw your attention as you mumble out a sentence. "why aren't you downstairs with everyone?"
he sits down once again and crosses his legs, loafers and olive green socks on display. he looks like he shouldn't be at an art school. instead, he should be holed up in a bank or a library.
"i have schoolwork to do," he mumbles and his gaze slips across the floor until it finds yours again. "my name's pete, by the way."
you give him your own name and hesitantly sit on the bed. "what are you studying?"
"graphic design," he scoffs a little. "i really just wanna play music."
your attitude perks at the mention of his dream. "are you in a band?"
"yes, with some mates."
"what kind of music do you play?"
he messes with his hands as he listens to you, eyes wide and observant, and you notice the bitten rawness of his nail beds.
"r & b. you know, the kind of stuff they play in america? you can only hear it on some pirate stations here while the rest is all..." pete shakes his head. "lollipops and anthems for the queen."
your laugh surprises you and he smiles a little at your amusement. the moment is crisp and interior with the classical backdrop.
"you have the most beautiful eyes i've ever seen." instantly, you regret your words and your face heats. the bedsheets below are a deep red; you wish you could bury yourself in them.
but pete's voice comes sweet, "thank you." he readjusts in his seat, a warm blush developing on his face. "and you're quite unlike the rest of them downstairs. here," he pauses and leans away to scribble at his desk, reaching out a hand to give you a little strip of paper.
there's a telephone number, an address, and a date in his handwriting. your fingertips brush his as he passes it to you. a warmth spreads in your chest.
"we're playing there at 7 pm," he tells you. "come to the back door and ask for me." pete rises from the chair and offers a hand to you. "now if you don't mind, could you help me get all of these wankers out of my flat?"
you're laughing again when you take his hand. "of course, pete."
as you follow him from the room, you stop to stare at one another in the doorway. his gaze lowers to view you. with a sharp inhale, you realize you've got the subject of your next painting.
