Like clockwork, there he was. His blonde hair soft and tossled, his head was bent over, his whole body hunched over the journal on the table. He hand worked quickly, scritting down as he looked back and forth between his book and the journal. The hand not holding the pencil took turns between thumbing through the pages and typing away at his calculator.
Every day, 11am, he was a set fixture in the shop.
Dirty chai with whipped cream, two packets of raw sugar, and a cheese danish, also prepared at 11:03am, delivered to his table at 11:10am, and sat to cool beside him and his spralling books, mathematical tools, and journals. It was not going to be paid attention to for at least an hour.
The boy pushed the book away and grabbed at his hair. He uttered what was likely a frustrated curse, but it was too quiet to be distinguished.
Wiping my hands on a dish towel I straightened my apron and made my way to his table.
´´Hey now, no domestic violence in my shop´´ I chuckled.
He let his hair go and raised his head to shoot me a puzzled, almost annoyed look.
´´Excuse me?´´ His voice was borderline squeaking.
´´Well, you know, your wife down there,´´ I gestured to the book, ´´She keeps coming back for now but, there´s always limits.´´
The puzzlement wasn´t lifting.
''It- it's a joke. Sheesh. Do you ever spend time with the world beyond her?'' I ran my fingers through my hair and sighed exhasperatedly. He looked over towards his book and paused.
''Differentials.''
''..Excuse me?'' What?
He turned his gaze back towards me, ''It's differential equations. Calculus. I'm working on composing an equation, but the parameters of the variables are too numerous to be narrowed down. I don't know what exactly I'm working with if I don't have a clear answer.''
''Well.'' Well.
He waved his hand and drug his book back to himself.
Scrit, scrit, scrit. There he went.
Back to math world with the guy.
I hummed and made my way back behind the counter. There was a woman who had apparently been waiting a full 15 minutes for service. In reality it couldn't have been more than 5, but the customer is always right, right?
I started making her cappucino. My fingers working through the motions, tip already lost at that point, and my mind back on the table to the right, by the window.
I knew his name was Roxas. He was attending the university in town. Hollow Bastion Technical, a prestigeous school for mathematicians, engineers, and scientists. His family had established presence there, his twin brother attending as well as their father and mother having been alumni.
It was the top university in the country, and I was there only because a need to fill diversity quotias and a partial scholarship that I won for being gay. Their art program was equally as top-notch as their other curricula. Which, given the focus of the institute, was pretty astounding.
I was working my way through school. Being a barrista at the local coffee shop paid for the remaining portion of my tuiton as well as put food on the table. It wasn't so bad, we mostly had university students order minimum, enough to make them a paying customer, and camp out with their textbooks for the hour s between classes.
Roxas, he had been here everyday since I started, always at 11am. I recognized him from the Welcome Back assembly. He was in the Society for Future Scientists, the exclusive club for the cremé-de-la-cremé at the school. This meant he was also top in the nation. 21 but already a few semesters in to his PhD. When he left the shop he was headed to panels, meetings, and presentations.
Popping the lid onto the drink, I handed it off with a smile.
The smile not being for her.
When I got off work, Demyx was outside waiting for me. He was smoking his cigarrette and chatting with Zexion. The both of them were bundled up in their thick coats. I shrugged mine on as I closed up the shop, locking up.
It was dark already for only being 6 at night. The sky was a glowing gray, making a promise for snow to fall. The streetlamps that lined the streets were bright halos in the darkness. The bugs and dust that flew under the lights were starkly visible. Breathing made clouds spill from your nostrils and mouth.
I drew in the sharp, crisp air through my nose. It was nice to take a moment of air in the gentle silence of the night. My friends would bring noise and commotion, joyful, mirthful, but distracting. I liked my thoughts to speak from time to time.
''Hey, Dem, Zex.'' I raised my hand in a casual wave. The two were quick to snap their heads towards me.
Demyx chuckled happily and walked over to pat my back.
''Axel, my friend! The night is young and so are we!''
Haha, I love this guy.
''Well, so it would seem. Perhaps there is only one youth here.'' I flicked Demyx's forehead and grinned. He flinched and I had to duck to miss his swat at my face.
''I am in agreeance.'' Zexion smirked with his eye, the other one covered by his slate gray hair.
''Oh come on, that's not fair.'' He managed to smack my shoulder.
''Love and war baby!'' I raised my arms in a come-at-me-bro motion.
''In all seriousness, Axel, are you wanting to head to the Studio?'' Demyx stuffed his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels.
The Studio was an art bar in town. One could work on his art all through the night, whilst nursing a drink. Admittedly, too many drinks made for poor work, but hell did it make it more fun to do.
''Considering winter break finals are just around the courner? Hell yeah, I do.''
Despite all the distractions of the drinking and others' musics and conversation, the Studio was the most peaceful place for me. It was hard wanting to go home to my small apartment. I had to be vigilant in my neighboorhood. As was expected of housing that a student working a part-time, minimum-wage job could afford. It wasn't necessarily awful, I had yet to experience crime, but if I ever were off my guard I am sure that would be quickly remedied. Times were hard. People are doing what they have to in order to get by. It was painful knowing that not everyone had the opportunities that I do. These opportunities that I was very close to not having.
We made our way to the bus station on foot. Demyx smoked, walked, and talked. Zexion, as pensive as ever, added but breif contributions to the conversation. Demyx was talking about his class today. They had taken a fieldtrip to the local museum. In there they set up their papers and sketched the statues in loose charcoal. As expected, when I looked over at his clothing, Demyx had the soot smeared across his shirt and pants. The beauty of the art was in the rawness of building charcoal up on the page. It was like building a 3Dimensional statue, except it was locked in to a 2Dimensional plane.
"You know Axel, professor doesn't like the smudgedness of my art, but then he complains if you apply things too lightly. He's always on about contrast, yet I give it to him and all he can say is that I'm working too dark. Make up your mind, bro!" Demyx flicked his cigarette. Zexion provided a small chuckle.
"Dem. Demy. Dem, dem, dem dem," I wrapped my arm around his shoulder," He only does it because he believes in you. He wouldn't waste his time correcting you otherwise. It's a compliment!"
Scoff, from his place beside me.
"He could do it nicer.."
I shook my head; there was no winning with this guy.
"How went work?" Zexion's voice was quiet, as always. Lucky bastard that Dem and I hadn't blasted our music to the point of deafening us.
That was a good question though. It was a pretty typical day for me. Perhaps.
"Y'know. Just absolutely glorious! Fantastic! Serving the public. The general pop-u-lace-eon." I folded my arm against my chest in a mock bow. "I am always pleased to serve~" que fake French accent.
Demyx scoffed. Again.
"You know what he means, Ax. How goes it with blondie?"
"Him? Did I not say my day was typical?"
"Axxxxxx, come on. You still haven't introduced yourself?" Demyx whined.
"Well, you know, it kind of slipped my grasp in between his monologues. I couldn't get a word in edgewise."
Smack.
Ouch, Demyx has a good hit.
"Ok, ok. He started talking about mathematic mumbojumbo and I just kind of froze." I reached into Demyx's back pocket and took out his cigarettes. I fished again for his lighter. He wiggled his butt and I made a face. I lit the cigarette quickly, not to apt to keep holding onto the lighter that had rested so close to my friend's ass.
"Hey Zex, you know anything about Calculus?" I swiveled my head to the other side of Demyx. Demyx looked fearful. Like me, Demyx barely squeaked by College Algebra.
Zexion raised his eyebrow at me. Of the three of us, Zexion was the only one versed in both mathematics and arts. He was also a bit of an over-achiever, he was double majoring in studio arts an physics. Which meant he was also taking classes with Roxas in it.
"What about it?"
Shit. I don't even remember what Roxas had called it.
"De..molition? ..Motion? ..Vilation?"
Hell, I don't know.
"Deviation?"
Stupid, fancy-ass Zex.
I nodded.
"Well first of all, you need a solid foundation in-"
"Nope. Ok, nevermind."
Zexion made a noise of annoyance and shrugged.
The Studio was fairly crouded tonight. The three of us meandered through the people that were standing idle in front of the door. No doubt some were already on their way home, having either been drinking since early, and then booted out, or else the responsible college students who had cut themselves off after one drink.
There was a person with a paintbrush, they had obviously been drinking too much because their brush was not properly rinsed. For their sake I hoped it was a loaner brush from class and not a personal, small-fortune investment of a tool. Paint was leaking off the end spattering the concerete in a burnt orange. To be fair, the drips fell artistcally amongst the blue-grays and yellows already donning the floor.
We went through the door and made our way downstairs. The room was set up so that there were individual rooms, which were boxed off, and inside there was lighting that could be adjusted. The rest of the room and by the bar was dimly-lit, like a typical bar.
The bouncer nodded at us when he saw us. We had been coming to this place weekly, some weeks daily, since we began school. He didn't need to see our I.D.s, so we skirted past the small queue that formed as people were fumbling through their wallets.
Zexion bee-lined to the individual studios, trying to find an empty one that would fit the three of us. Demyx looked quickly at me, an unspoken question of if it would be ok for him to follow. I gestured to myself, cocky smirk on my face, as if I needed chaperoning. Ha.
A fun, quick-beated song played overhead. It made me want to dance. It was one of those you-just-broke-up-with-me-and-I-don't-give-a... Yup.
I moved my way through the floor, meandering my way nimbly around collections of people, headed to the bar. I wanted a White Russian and damnit, I wanted it now.
I muscled my way in to rest my arm on the counter where the bartender was fixing up drinks. She was a beautiful woman. Her hair was thick, volumous, and came down to her waist. She had perfect barrel curls. Her smile was charming.
"Excuse me, Miss!" I gave her the casual three finger wave. "One White Russian, please."
She gave me a half smile, the courner of her mouth pulling back, in a laid-back manner. Her eyes met mine from under a titled-down head. Wowza.
"Axel!" My shoulder was smacked and I nearly jumped. Nearly.
"Riku." Sure enough, the man made his way into my vision. He was giving me an incredulous look.
"How come it is whenever I see you, you're trying to flirt? Does the flirting continue consistently, or do I just have bad timing?"
"Jealous?" I winked and blew Riku a kiss. He pretended to catch it and then threw it to the side.
"Where's Sora? You never fly solo."
The bartender put my drink on the counter. I fished out cash from my pocket, sent another wink her way, and told her to keep the change.
When I met back up with my two, Sora, Kairi, and Naminé were chatting them up outside one of the studios. Apparently there were other students who had the same idea in mind about starting their final projects. The only rooms left were large group ones and so we were teaming up with the others. Riku and Naminé were the half of the group that made art. Sora and Kairi were here for the drinks and socializing. Not that either of the two particularly needed alcohol; both were positive, well-composed people, who burned of their stress by socializing. The probable truth was that they wanted an excuse to go with Riku, because they couldn't produce any legible art, the alcohol was the only other thing the place offered. Riku didn't normally drink.
I got my easel set up between Demyx and Riku. Zexion had chosen to use a drawing horse, so he was awkwardly low to the ground compared to our standing and super high stools. Zexion had mild cerebral palsy which affecte his legs. When he had to stand for long periods, it hurt. His muscles were always super tense because of it.
Naminé drug a drawing horse beside Zexion. Her sketch book was medium sized, and so it didn't make sense for her to use an easel; they were clunky and awkward. They began light conversation. By light I meant their voices were soft. Very alike, those two.
I hung my piece of paper on my easel, taping it with the blue painter's tape. My project was going to be a charcoal portrait. My favorite tool in art was the vine charcoal. There was nothing like getting your fingers all full of soot as you build up the charcoal on the page.
For warm-ups, I decided to sketch the others. I got one of Sora grinning, drink in hand, whilst Kairi had her hand covering the laugh that was warming her ambiance. Naminé had abandoned her sketchbook momentarily to watch over Zexion's shoulder and he painted a koi pond in watercoulour. Riku was sketching Sora and Kairi, so I did a profile of him turned in concentration to place his friends on paper. I sketched Demyx with his tongue out, squinting and holding his thumb out in front of him to visually measure the pottery he was drawing.
When I finished drawing my friends, my sketchy warm-ups to get my brain oriented to art, I paused. I had stacked my papers together on the floor. The drawings rest by my right foot. I had captured things in the moment. The moment was great, the setting was great, that atmosphere was homey and great.
But the moment would pass. The moment would end. My final piece couldn't reflect a moment, that was my own rule. I didn't want to express what had already been expressed, already been lived out. Art was meant to be for things that had no other medium of being communicated on.
That was the problem.
If I knew what to communicate, it would have been communicated.
Just what was I dying to say?
