Hello! For those of you that don't follow me on Tumblr, there's been quite an absence of my fics on here, and for that, I'm very sorry! I have been writing, quite a lot actually, but I've been posting all my fics on my Tumblr account and neglecting this one a little! I'm very sorry! If you would like to read more of my fics when I post them, rather than me forgetting to re-upload them here, definitely go check out my Tumblr which is on my profile for you! If you like this fic, Like and Reblog it on Tumblr as well~! All my fics are organised by pairing in the 'Fic Master Collection' link on my blog! Big smooches, and sorry for the delay in fics!

A while back, I saw this really gorgeous art work, and I told myself I'd write a fic for it eventually. Time got away from me, I became busy, and it kept being delayed and delayed. Then, I happened to see a glum post on my dashboard overnight and felt a really urgent need to make this lovely, beautiful girl smile! So this is just a little fic in the hopes that Akanadee's mood will pick up, and she'll feel happier, because she definitely deserves it!

For the first time in a long, long time—rather, for the first time at all that he could recall, Tommy felt sickeningly nervous.

"I'm gonna mess up," he declared softly, working on his bow tie in the reflection of the empty window of J Block art room number three, bouncing anxiously on the balls of his feet, "He's gonna laugh and walk away. He's got a boyfriend, probably, or he's just one of those metro straights that look like they'd ride a dick like a pony, but really loves a good ham sandwich."

Alfred crinkled his nose, frown digging his brows down as he arched his neck back, chin squishing as he shuddered.

"He's gonna walk away if ya make gross comparisons like that," the blond muttered, crossing his arms over his chest as he leant against the building block, shoulder cushioning him against the rough brick, "Don't say that. Do ya want some advice?"

"Yeah?"

"Anythin' ya think is cute and flirty?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't say it. It's crude and you'll make him run from ya faster than a geek on his way to Free Comic Book Day."

Tommy groaned, rubbing at his face firmly with both hands, looking in through the window two to his right, putting on display art room number four, occupied by a single resident student.

"Also, don't do your impersonations. He won't get them and he'll get embarrassed or offended." Alfred paused, bright blue eyes trailing up to the overhang of the building. "Or both."

"Shut it, pork chop," Tommy grumbled, still staring longingly through the glass, "I feel like trash anyway. 'Specially compared to him."

"I haven't met him or seen him about. Who is he?"

"Doe Face," he sighed, nickname crooned as his eyes softened, keeping himself as hidden as possible behind the windows and walls, "That one kid with the freckles, glasses, and gay little eyes."

Alfred frowned, leaning his head in, poking up enough so his eyes could peer in through the window, catching sight of a tall and lanky blond, legs crossed and seated on the table, bent over a large canvas with a little fine tipped brush, making delicate and tiny strokes on the fabric.

"You mean that 'Matthew' guy, right?" he asked, leaning back to get a good look at Tommy once more, "The one everyone's saying is a prodigy? Matthew Williams?"

"Yeah," Tommy breathed, deep brown-red eyes focused on the man as he leant over, dipping his brush a few times into a colour in his palette before returning to the canvas, the end of a lollipop stick poking from between lips dyed red from the colouring of the candy, or just as plausibly by the paints he was working with, having smeared up along his cheeks, bridge of his nose, and forehead as well, "Isn't he gorgeous?"

Offering up a shrug, the paler of the two Americans chuckled, ruffling his hair and looked off to the nearby grass fields; a perfect mess of nature in pose on one side, and on the other laden with dead grass victimised by too many students using paint spray and gloss in the same single patch to avoid gassing fellow artists inside the poorly ventilated room.

"I haven't been stalkin' him, so I wouldn't know."

Tommy turned his gaze back and redirected it in the form of an annoyed and lazy glare, eyes droopy, long dark bottom lashes curled down and brushing his cheek.

"Y'know, I should be gettin' encouragement, not this," he grumbled out in complaint.

Alfred sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Ya want encouragement? Here." Giving a shove, he forced the darker skinned man forward, ducking down and rapping loudly on the door, keeping out of view as all at once, Tommy paled, and Matthew looked up.

"Y—Y'li'l shit!" he hissed, looking from Alfred smirking at his heels to the Canadian giving him a curious and startled look, one hand reaching up to tug at the strawberry decorated headphones, the pastel lavender too-large shirt hanging from his arms and cut off at the midriff, revealing a flat pale belly that was, to no surprise, stained with various colours of paint.

"Come in!"

The voice had startled Tommy, and realising that there was no backing out, having been spotted, he grasped the handle with a sweaty palm, twisted and pushed the door open. He felt so out of place, yet so belonging in a creative and whacky atmosphere in his dark brown slacks, a salmon pink shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and white suspenders holding the pants up and curving over his muscles, not mentioning his blue and white striped socks.

"Can I help you?" Matthew asked around the lollipop, sliding his headphones down to hang around his neck, the neon green cord curving down and disappearing into the pocket of his yellow shorts where a chunky iPod was poking out.

"You're an art student!"

The conversation starter fell flat, and Matthew was left staring at him with a bewildered expression, red lips puckered in a small circle around the stem of the stick in his mouth, violet eyes wide and staring at him from behind the thick and large purple lenses of his glasses.

"Yes?" The reply was more a question, uncertain as to why it needed clarification, the art room and art supplies and art piece evidence and sufficient enough to the question without a verbal affirmation being given.

"Cool, cool," Tommy chuckled, stepping forward, brown shoes polished to glisten, "What're ya usin'? Got a theme?"

Matthew glanced aside to his canvas, studying it and gave a thoughtful hum.

"It's based on the standards we uphold ourselves to and splashes it with Andy Warhol while criticising the value of normality and structure of modern lifestyle," he replied easily, lowering his paintbrush to swirl it about in the water jug prepared earlier, "I'm going to title it 'I should have chosen a better paying career path' or 'please shoot both my hands so I have an excuse as to why this looks like it was painted by my left foot'. I'm undecided as to which is better."

A snort of laughter fell from the American's lips, grinning a bit more now as his shoulders lowered, not as hunched by his chin with nerves.

"I'm sure it ain't that bad."

"No, I guess not. Not if you enjoy art that looks like it's been painted by a blind man having a seizure with the brush in his mouth," Matthew muttered with a frown, looking up in embarrassment, the stick hanging from his lips in surprise, "Oh, sorry, that… that's offensive."

"Nah, nah! Well… Yeah, to some it might be, but… y'know, just a description. Probably not an accurate one though," he said lightly with a small step forward, hands shoved into the pockets of his light brown slacks, "You're pretty interestin', y'know?"

His heart was beating fast in his chest; Matthew was staring intently, uniquely coloured eyes locked on his face, and he grew all too aware of all of the holes where he'd taken his piercings out to look more impressive, sophisticated, intelligent, but he had a feeling that the shirt he wore didn't sufficiently cover all of the tattoos he sported on his torso and upper arms.

"Are you wearing coloured contact lenses?"

Stunned by the sudden question, Tommy blinked.

"Huh?"

"Coloured contact lenses," Matthew repeated, dropping his cleaned brush onto damp paper towels, uncrossing his legs—long, long legs that were gorgeous milky pale and went on for forever—and stood up, sliding from the table and onto his feet, sneakers loose around his ankles with weakly looped laces, "Your eyes, they're an interesting colour."

Tommy was hypnotised by the sway of the neon green cord from the headphones that still wrapped snugly around Matthew's neck, the bright colour swinging hypnotically before a toned stomach and an innie belly button, the yellow shorts spotted with a light brown pattern of flowers he couldn't name for the life of him. The shorts were so tiny. How on earth had the Canadian squeezed into them?

How on earth had the Canadian gotten so close all of a sudden?

Startled as slim fingers brushed at his cheek, he jerked his head back, the height difference a good head at least, though it was no insult to the blond's height, rather that Tommy himself was tall to inhuman proportions, thankfully not so much so as his brother who was nothing short of a giant in modern America.

"Why are they that colour? They're so interesting," Matthew murmured, head tilting to the side curiously, studying, "They can't be real."

"They're my natural colour," Tommy chuckled, prying a hand between them to his own chest, rubbing it in a vain attempt to slow down the slamming of his heart, beating so loudly that he feared Matthew might hear, swallowing thickly, "Sorta natural. I used to have brown eyes, but I got into a fist fight when I was little and some veins popped and they're this weird pinky-red colour now."

"A fight?"

Shit, shit, shit, shit. There went attempting to impress Matthew, right down the drain.

"I'm not the only one then, eh?"

Tommy watched in surprise as Matthew removed his glasses, waving them aside as he tapped beneath his bottom lid and fair lashes at the violet colour.

"A kid was picking on me in kindergarten, so I 'accidentally' flushed his toy truck down the toilet after unloading lunch, so in retaliation he pushed me off the climbing gym in the playground and I fell into a pole," Matthew explained, wiggling his nose from side to side, "That's how I got this quirk here. It's been broken three times at least."

Speechless, the darker skinned male could only stare as the supposedly shy art student prodigy slipped his glasses back onto his nose—his fight induced broken nose—and smiled sweetly up at him, intently focused on his eyes like a hawk.

"You've been in fights?"

"Don't talk to me during hockey season or you won't be doubting that I can get into fights," Matthew chuckled, sliding the sucker from his lips with a little suck and pop, tongue poking out to lick away any flavour left behind, "Want to sit down for a bit and talk there? I really should be working right now."

Turning on his heel, Matthew moved easily back to the set up work station at his desk, swinging his legs up while Tommy glanced back at the door, catching sight of sunshine blond poking out from the bottom, curious blue eyes monitoring. Flashing a grin and a nervous thumbs up to his friend, Tommy turned and walked over to the artist's table, shifting as close to the edge as possible without bumping the surface or disturbing the work. Hands back in his pockets, he exhaled slowly, watching the candy disappear once more into Matthew's cherry red mouth, cheeks hollowing and sucking and he found himself entranced, palms sweaty in his slack's pockets as he groped about for the cards he'd placed in there; a form of reassurance. Tugging them out of his right pocket, his teeth pulled at his bottom lip where his piercing normally filled the space, hearing the metals clink and jingle in his left pocket in the case he'd placed them securely.

"I know ya might not know me well…"

"Hm?"

"B-But I find the way ya dress and look really nice."

Matthew flicked his eyes from the canvas to Tommy, blood stained brown eyes down and fixated in the direction of the floor.

"You're really talented and—"

"Are you reading off cue cards?"

"N-No!"

Matthew raised an eyebrow, smiling and pulled the lollipop from his lips again, watching as the other man's eyes shifted from an area roughly the same height as his crotch to the Canadian himself.

"… really… uh… really talented and I would really like to get to know ya over a cup of coffee, or tea if that's your preference," the American continued, transferring his weight from foot to foot to rock him side to side, some brown hair falling from his fringe, having been smoothed back with gel. It was obviously not enough gel, he cursed bitterly in his mind, as it wasn't holding firm properly!

"Are you asking me out on a date?" Matthew asked, smile spreading wider, amusement and mirth glittering in his eyes.

"Yes!" Tommy blurted, head jerking up, only to urgently glance down and cuss as his palm cards clattered to the floor, bending down hurriedly to pick them up, hearing the slap of skin on skin that undoubtedly meant Alfred had smacked his forehead in disbelief outside from his spectators position, "That is, I, uh, would like to… t-to…"

Matthew laughed, swivelling his body and placing his legs either side of Tommy's hips, trapping him and giving a squeeze, long and pale fingers curling under his chin to lift his head up, the prepared speech a mess on the floor.

"Let's get this sorted one thing at a time, eh? Firstly, yes, I'd be happy to get to know you over coffee. Secondly, you don't need to bring the Twenty-Q cards when we meet up. And thirdly," he jerked his head to the side, smiling, "You can tell your friend you don't need supervision, so he doesn't have to hide behind the door. Or he can join. There's always room for three. Lastly…" Tracing the other's lips with his thumb, Matthew watched the hungry look take over the dark skinned man's eyes, pressing down and rubbing over where a subtle hole was pierced.

"Leave the jewellery in. I'd like to see what you can do with it."