Lars brushed the sweat from his brow with his hand, splattering dark blue paint on his face. He peered down at his watch. Five o'clock. "Damn it," he muttered, placing his paintbrush down with a sigh. "Forgot to sleep again." He pushed the canvas to the side and threw his head onto his table, shutting his eyes. The cold air nipped at his skin, forcing his hair to stand on end in an attempt to keep his body warm. Winter was a tough time for the Dutch teenager, as was the blistering hot summer days. Not even Lars would consider his house a home. To him it was merely where he slept, ate, and painted. There was no warmth on cold nights or coolness on the hot days. The only heat in his house now was the breath coming from his mouth and the candles dimly lighting up his work space. He lived alone in this tiny, pathetic house, though he hardly lived here at all. He preferred to go out. Anywhere that was warm anyways. He was attending college now, where most of his money went to. He just hoped it was worth it.

Lars was originally from the Netherlands and living with his sister. Once she moved out, however, he moved to Canada in hopes of receiving an education, particularly in art. But things got out of hand. He got into things he shouldn't have. Drugs…Alcohol…He was clean now though. He had been for about a year. But here he was, practically living in poverty.

He lifted his head from the table and looked at his painting. In his eyes, it was pathetic. One of the worst things he's ever made. He only saw its flaws, its imperfections. To anyone else, it was a masterpiece in the making. With his own individual style and perfect use of cool colors, he was creating a beautiful midnight sky over a busy city. He scoffed at it and stood.

The floors creaked under his weight. He scavenged his kitchen for anything to eat, but all he could manage to find was a small box of dry cereal. He shrugged and ate it as he got dressed. His typical wardrobe contained a large coat, boots and a scarf. And that's what he wore today. After grabbing his supplies for class, he quickly washed his hands and face of paint and left, not bothering to lock his door or pick up his paints, even though his paintings were the only thing keeping him alive. He sold his paintings for money, on top of his part time job.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and made his way to school. To keep himself warm in the meantime, he took out his favorite pipe and lit it with a lighter, placing it in his mouth and exhaling smoke from his nose from time to time. It was about a thirty minute walk to campus, leaving Lars to his thoughts.

He looked up at the gray, dull sky, feeling relatable to the weather right now. He hated his life. Hated going nights without eating…without sleeping to meet deadlines for his art. He was a slave to his talent. He couldn't remember the last time he painted for himself. Years probably. He was tired, exhausted, drained of hope that life would expand into something better. A snowflake landed on his nose. He blinked and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his coat.

Dark circles traced his eyes, showing just how tired and malnourished he was. Despite not eating much, he was well built and rather muscular. He was taller than the average male with dark blond hair, which he normally kept spiked up. Being a man of few words, he normally only expressed himself through art. His paintings were normally sorrowful, dark, but beautiful. Acrylic and oil paints were what he normally used, but he would also draw from time to time. He hardly used warm colors anymore. Before all this he would paint beautiful tulips of vibrant reds and yellows in fields of emerald grass and eloquent blue skies. That was during much happier times, however. There was no inspiration for such beauty now.

Campus was just up ahead now. He put out his pipe and placed it back into his pocket. He stared down at the pavement, watching as one foot stepped past the next. I hope I'll be able to sell that painting, he thought to himself. He always doubted his ability to create satisfactory art. But if he didn't, he wouldn't have any way of getting by day by day. If only he had inspiration. Living like this limited his creative abilities. He looked down at his hands, cold and slightly stained with paint. I have to do better.

He stepped into the classroom, the blast of warm air from the room nearly knocking him back. But it was a relieving sensation. He sat towards the back of the classroom. He was early, as usual, being the only person in the room. Class wouldn't start until another forty-five minutes. In his boredom, he got out some paper and a pen and doodled. Should I just drop out? He thought. Am I really gaining anything from this? I can't afford to be here anymore. Angry, he waded up the paper and tossed it behind him. He crossed his arms over the desk and put his head down.

"Excuse me?" a soft voice cooed. Lars felt a light tap on his left shoulder. Lars lifted his head and turned. "What?" Before him was a young man, small and feminine, with long blond hair and large glasses. His striking violet eyes stared nervously at Lars. The boy blinked and looked away, holding out his hand with the crumpled up paper. "I…think you dropped this. It kinda…landed on my head." Lars looked at the paper, then at the stranger. He took the paper from his hand. "Sorry about that."

The stranger smiled kindly. "No, it's alright," he insisted. He watched as Lars tossed the paper in his backpack, to later be forgotten. "Um, by the way…this is Art History class, right?" the stranger asked, looking confused at the lack of students.

Lars nodded. "It is, but you're thirty minutes early," Lars replied, putting his head down again. "Oh," he laughed nervously. "Sorry, I just transferred here. Would…you mind if I sat beside you?" "Go on ahead," Lars said his voice muffled. "Um, o-okay." He sat beside Lars quietly, hardly making a sound as he did.

The two were silent for a while; Lars remained with his head down while the other sat with his fingers interlocking each other on the table. Finally, the stranger couldn't take the silence anymore. "My name is Matthew, by the way."

I guess this guy isn't going to shut up, he thought as he lifted his head. "Lars," he said.

"I-I'm sorry?"

"Lars. My name is Lars," he repeated.

"Oh! Sorry…" Another awkward silence was born.

"…That's an…interesting accent you have," Mathew said.

"I'm Dutch."

"So…you're from the Netherlands?"

"Yes."

"Oh…cool."

"Sure."

He probably thinks I'm annoying, Matthew thought with a sigh. I'll just stop talking. He glanced over at Lars, cheeks becoming a light hue of pink. He's very handsome. He couldn't help but noticed the aroma that came from Lars. He smelled like smoke and paint. An odd combination that he wasn't sure he liked or not. He looked down at his hands, paint dried under his fingernails, mostly blue. He wondered why he was so dirty. Maybe he's an artist? He thought. A lot of artists are normally like that…At least that's what I've heard…Should I ask him?

Lars looked down at the other. He took notice to his appearance. He wore very elegant, but casual, clothing, completely out of Lars' price range. He must be well off, he thought scornfully, growing jealous. Matthew was very well kept, smelled clean, looked clean, probably had money. That's what really angered him. Lars was a greedy person at heart, always wanting money. With the way he was living, though, he hardly had a penny to spare for himself.

At the same moment, they realized they were staring at each other. Lars frowned and looked away. Matthew sighed sadly and did the same.

This guy is far from interested in me, Matthew thought, secretly hoping Lars would be a little flirty with him. Matthew never really had much of an interest in women. He much preferred the lean, tall men…like Lars.

Soon the class began to fill up with other students, and the conversations ended between the two. During that time, Lars was oblivious to Matthew's glances up at him. He had struck a sudden interest in this Dutch man. Matthew would smile from time to time.

After class was dismissed, Lars gathered his things together and stood, as did Matthew. "Well, see you tomorrow, eh?" Matthew said, smiling sweetly. Lars stared at him for a moment. "…What? Oh…sure." He blinked and rushed to the door, only to have Matthew follow close behind. "S-So um…where are you going now?" Matthew asked.

"Who wants to know?" he asked.

"Me…"

"Why?"

"Well…since I'm new here and all…and I don't know anyone here…would you mind showing me around?"

As long as it keeps me out, Lars thought. "Yeah, alright." He shrugged his shoulders and pushed open the door.

Matthew's face brightened up. "R-Really?" I didn't think he'd agree… "Th-thank you…!" he said, following close behind Lars.

***Author's note:

Thought I disappeared forever? Nope, I'm still here with a new story! It's probably not going to be as intense as my last story, but, hey, why not try something different? Who knows, maybe it will get intense? (Knowing myself it probably will.) Let's see where this story goes. Hope everyone enjoys this fic as much as they did my last one. Yeah, NedCan isn't a very popular pairing, but that's what I wanna do! I ship it too hard. And I've been meaning to write this fic since I ended my last one. Thanks for reading!