metro card//MGG

2

despite the fact that her room is down the hallway, Ren ends up sleeping on my bed. this is not an unusual occurrence, but I wake up with a stiff neck. my phone alarm blares loudly and I shake my friend's heel, which is digging into my thigh. I don't know how she twists herself up like that in her sleep.

"get up." I groan, massaging my neck as I roll out of bed. sunlight pours through the window and spreads over the wooden floors. she lets out a sleepy noise and lifts her head to see me stumbling around the room.

glancing at my phone, I realize that I have about an hour and a half to get to Matthew's apartment. after showering and selecting a relatively simple outfit, I head out the door and onto the subway. he doesn't live incredibly far, but I really can't be late today.

when I sweep into the apartment, he's nowhere to be found.

"Matthew?" I call out, shrugging off my jacket and hanging it on the strange coatrack by the door. I place the to-go cups of coffee on the counter before starting to poke around the place.

"hold on!" he replies from the general direction of the bedroom. I frown and glimpse myself in the old, gilded mirror he keeps by the door: my cheeks look gaunt in the snowy light. just as I finish adjusting the neckline of my shirt that keeps slipping just a little too scandalously down my chest, Matthew emerges from the bedroom.

his fingers are covered in paint and so is the white t-shirt he's wearing.

"how are you, Ophelia?" he asks me as he wipes his hands on an old rag.

"I'm okay," I peek nosily over his shoulder. "what were you working on?"

"just some new paintings." he replies.

"oh, cool. can I see?" he takes a second, nods, and I follow him back into the room. sitting by the window is an antique desk covered in paintbrushes, water cups for cleaning them, and watercolor paper. a fake skull stares at me from the corner. he sifts through the papers and pulls out one of a dark-haired woman with strange features.

it's an exercise in distortion, really, the page slightly warped from the way the paint seeps through. he's written in a little caption by her claw-like fingers.

Paget picking at her fingernails.

"this is awesome." I lean in to inspect it more closely.

"thanks." he smiles.

"are these all recent?" I don't touch any, but my eyes wander over the pile of works.

"this week. I usually end up storing them away, but I think I'll give this one to her." he sets it down.

"where'd you get the skull?" I nod at the thing.

"an old Halloween store in Albany. you wanna hold it?" he offers it. I take the thing with a grudging smile.

"spooky." I poke my finger into one of the eye sockets before setting it back down. he's quiet. "do you ever sell these?"

"sell? no. I mostly make art for my friends or myself. or I share it on Instagram. people seem to like that." he shrugs with humility and I feel myself soften a bit. something about him feels very uncharacteristically genuine. based on the stories I'd heard, professional actors can be exceedingly difficult. then again, there are exceptions to every rule.

I want to ask him more about his art, but then I notice that he seems to be a bit uncomfortable. maybe my nosiness is unappreciated; we still barely know each other.

"do you not want me to look at these?" I ask gently, instinctively taking a step back from the mess. he frowns.

"no, no. it's just hard seeing people look at my work."