I slipped through the door of the workshop, the intoxicating smell of paint now familiar after visiting so many times.

My art skills had markedly not improved over the course of the past few weeks, despite Rachel's best efforts. However, my attitude towards this art thing had; I now looked forward to my time spent in the workshop, instead of it being another task I had to check off my list. Even if I was pretty terrible at… well, everything, it was still fun to throw some paint or clay around.

As soon as I stepped in, I scanned the workplace for Rachel, but her signature frizzy red hair was nowhere in sight. Confused, I made my way over to the station the two of us had more or less claimed as our own, and used almost every time I came here. Laying on the table was a note:

Will

My mother is forcing me to go to this awful wedding, I am in pain, help me. I can't be there for Saturday (I'm assuming that's when you're reading this). You don't have to pay the one-on-one price for today, just go mess around with the tools. Or not. I don't really care.

Rachel

Laughing, I stuffed the note in my pocket. So I had a free day, then. I scanned the workshop once again, looking for something interesting to do, and my eyes fell on the door that i knew lead to the painter section. Nico's face popped back into my head.

I had seen him several more times after that first day, bustling around with one activity or another. But Rachel kept me so busy that I hadn't had a chance to talk to him, and from the looks of it, he didn't want to talk to me, either. I got the feeling he didn't want to talk to anyone.

But maybe now was my chance…

I got up and charged through the door.

The painter area was very different from the beginner's zone (Rachel had told me that there were no official names for the different areas, and technically, you could go wherever you wanted, so I could call the different sections whatever I wanted. Usually, though, I stuck with Rachel's names). The beginner's area looked like an art classroom at a high school, with black and tan tables jutting out from the different walls, each one with a group of people crowding around it. The more advanced areas, I could see, were designed more like a professional artist's studio than a workshop. Easels were spaced out along a white wall, with a window in between each one. Each easel had supplies crowded around it; piled on the floor next to it or on tables sitting nearby. Some of them had half finished projects on them, others were vacant. I only passed a few easels with their artists, and most of them ignored me. Only one person- a tall girl with a pale pink hijab on and startling blue eyes- made eye contact with me and smiled at me as I walked past.

What amazed me most about the area was the space; instead of a square room, it was a long, bare hallway, and the easels were spaced fifteen feet apart, easily. I doubted the painters even saw each other half the time, especially when most of the stations were empty, like now. And instead of the everpresent, bustling chatter of the beginner's workshop, this place was extremely quiet; the only sounds were of brushes on canvas, bottles of paint clacking on the tables, and occasionally, someone asking their neighbor to borrow a color when they ran out.

All of these thoughts ran through my head as I strolled down the hallway without even a vague idea of what I was doing. I didn't even know if Nico would be here today. For all I knew, I was just wasting my time-

Suddenly, I stopped in front of a particular unattended painting. It looked like a gaping wound, with drastic swipes of red and black pulling from the center, against a sky blue background. The perspective was jagged, and it looked like pieces of the painting had been pulled up or down, as if I was looking at it through cracked glass.

"Excuse me?" The boy I'd been hoping to see appeared behind me, his hands covered in red paint.

I whirled around to look at him. "S-sorry. This is really good." I blushed.

He shrugged. "It's not done."

"It looks amazing now."

"Needs more detail." He stepped up to the canvas and colored over his previous reds with darker patches, his brow furrowing. When he realized I was still standing there, he followed with: "But thank you."

I didn't want to disturb his creative process any further, but my heart sounded like a barrelling train in my ears. I couldn't step away now.

"...What is it?"

He shrugged again. "Abstract."

Will remembered something Rachel had said to him the last time he came here. "Oh, they told me to come try abstract. Because I suck at regular painting."

Nico laughed a little. "Oh, don't say that around the others here. They're really serious. They'll think you're saying that abstract isn't as serious as traditional or something."

"No, no, no, I meant-"

"I know what you mean. My brain doesn't work for traditional. Abstract suits me more. That's not the case with all abstractionists, though."

I stepped closer, intrigued now. "What do you mean it doesn't work for traditional?"

"Well, maybe not my brain, but… traditional doesn't feel real enough. Or, I mean…" He sighed, frustrated. "Sorry, I'm terrible with words. That's why I paint. But traditional doesn't feel… personal enough. For me." He turned to look at me for the first time. "Does that make any sense?"

I nodded vigorously. "Uh- Rachel said your name was Nico?"

"Yeah. Nico Di Angelo. Yours?"

"Will Solace."

He smiled slightly. "Nice to meet you, Will. Now, if you don't mind…"

"Sorry," I mumbled, stepping away to let him work.