The guy wasn't kidding when he said his place was messy. Brock had to try his hardest to keep his face blank while putting the cold items in the fridge. The sink was full of dirty dishes, god knows how long they had been there. "Thanks again." He said rushly before quickly making his way out of there. Even if he wanted to try to get fresh air, it was impossible. The living room had an open pizza box, only crusts left. Clothes littered the floor. He wanted to gag, how could anyone live like this? But most artists were messy, weren't they? At least, that's what Brock wanted to tell himself to make an excuse for the Irishman.
"You're worse than Nogla..." He found himself muttering.
"What's that?" Brian asked, carrying in the last bag and shutting the door behind him.
"Nothing," Brock grinned sheepishly.
"Hey," The Irishman said, "I told you it was messy… Don't worry though, the guest bedroom is clean."
"Thank god," Brock joked, as he finally got another good look at the younger man's apartment. His artwork was everywhere, and that was probably why he was so messy and disorganized. It was the artist in him making him out to be that way. "Wow..." He got out, eyes still drifting. "You're really good at that art thing," He said.
"You really think so?" Brian asked.
Brock nodded, "I really think so." He found himself staring at a painting of a flower he didn't recognize, "Would it be gay if I said this was beautiful?" He added jokingly.
"Yeah." Brian answered with a chuckle.
"Good." He replied with a smile, "I guess this is goodnight then." He said as an afterthought.
"Goodnight," Brian answered, bidding the older man a farewell.
The guest bedroom was much cleaner than the rest of the apartment, as promised. Probably from lack of use. Seeing he didn't intend on staying at a friend's house, Brock didn't really have anything to wear. So he decided to just sleep in his shirt and boxers. He had bid the Irishman a good night and he had left with no further words. So now Brock was just staring ahead at the ceiling, thinking about everything once more. This was definitely not where he had expected to be during his first week in Dublin, nevertheless though, he couldn't say he was unhappy about it.
Brian was a genuinely good guy, and nice. Brock was glad to have met him at the bar; and even though he was pissed at Nogla for getting him drunk, he was also a little happy to have went. If he wasn't drunk, he might not have worked up the courage to actually talk to Brian. So in a way, maybe Nogla hadn't royally fucked up this time. Either way, it was nice to already have another friend in Ireland this early to his arrival. Maybe now he wouldn't feel so alone with Nogla at work all the time.
With a sigh, Brock rolled over in the small guest bed. The sheets and pillows smelled like Brian, or his laundry soap, he couldn't tell. But he closed his eyes, and drifted to sleep. When he was awoken again, the clock on the nightstand read a little passed three in the morning. Brian's lilt of a voice echoed through the apartment, and Brock was curious as to why he was up this early, or probably late in his case. He climbed out of the bed, ignoring the fact that he was still in his boxers, and exited the guest bedroom.
Brian was in the living room, lights dim, and he was humming to himself as he painted away on a canvas in the middle of the room. Brock watched for a few moments as the younger man got immersed in his work before he finally spoke, voice carrying in from the hallway. "You're still up?" He inquired, laced with sleep. A yawn followed after, and he couldn't help but to subconsciously cover his mouth.
The Irishman stopped his painting before looking up to Brock, "Did I wake you? Sorry." He replied sheepishly. "Night's when I get most of my work done." He explained with a small shrug. It was when he was the most inspired, when he felt muse running through his body. And the fact that Brock was here with him, really didn't help.
"I couldn't sleep." Brock lied. "Your song was nice," He added, taking a few steps closer to see what he was painting.
Brian chuckled, resting his paint brush down. "My mom sang it to me as a child. Hard to forget." He explained with a small bit of a shrug. "There's leftovers of my dinner if you want any." He suggested.
Brock took a seat on the couch, his hand raising to decline the offer. "Thanks but no thanks. Haven't really had the hunger since coming here. That or the fact Nogla didn't have any food." He laughed at himself but then sighed, deciding to change the subject. "So Brian... Is painting the only thing you do or is there more you are fantastic at?" He asked with a raised brow.
The Irishman chuckled, "I mean, sure I guess. I tried pottery once, such a blast but quite messy. Could barely make a tea cup." He shook his head at himself. "I did sculpting during my first two years of college, haven't really done much since. Would love to try again." He picked his brush back up, wiping it and setting it down again, "I don't know, there's some things that just come easier to me." He tried to explain. "What about you?" He asked, picking up the brush once more. "Surely writing can't be easy." He said as he continued to paint.
Brock shook his head, "I've had writer's block for awhile now actually." He admitted.
"Ah," Brian grinned. "So the truth comes out."
Brock laughed and then shrugged, "Everyone has their days I guess… Sometimes I write a lot, and sometimes I don't get any writing done at all." He explained. And since he'd arrived in Dublin, he hadn't produced a single word, which also wasn't making him feel to good about himself. "I heard good things when it came to romance in Ireland. But the most I've seen out of this is drunk men fighting each other. Not much material to write a book."
Brian glanced back, "You write romance?" He asked and grinned when seeing the slight embarrassment on the others face. He didn't look the type; at least not from what Brian had seen of him. Who knew? Maybe this Brock was a hopeless romantic at heart. "That's cool. If you're looking for material, you just have to look in the right direction. The bar… Well, that is not the best place to look." He shrugged sheepishly, continuing to paint.
Brock rose a brow, "And where do you suggest I look?" He asked, his voice ending with a slight huff.
The Irishman turned back to his painting and continued. "I can think of a place or two. If you're not busy tomorrow..." He dragged out. "And yes, before you ask, I am asking you out again, since you ignored me earlier." He got out, grin never leaving his face.
Brock found himself smiling slightly, this guy was trying so hard. He must have really wanted to hang out, but the older man couldn't believe that he had just asked him out again, despite already asking him out at the shopping center. "Of course, but only for research right?"
Brian glanced back with a grin, "Yeah. For research."
A yawn escaped Brock's lips, and the clock on the cluttered wall indicated that it was almost four in the morning. "I better get back to bed, then." He continued on, dark eyes glancing back to Brian. "And you should go too." He tried to coax, but the younger man merely shook his head.
"I don't like leaving work unfinished."
His eyes were teary, so without anymore words, he bid Brian goodnight, and retreated back into the guest bedroom. There was something about him, he couldn't quite put it into place, but there was something about Brian that made Brock want more. And albeit, he was a bit reluctant to go out with him, hell, he might as well, they had only just met and he was already staying at his house… But that wasn't intentional. Brock concluded that it was just fate working out for him, and maybe he'd be able to write a romance novel out of all of this yet.
When morning came, he felt groggily when he woke. Sitting up, Brock scratched the back of his head. Looking around, he felt a slight tinge of fear before he realized where he was. That's right; he was at Brian's house… A man he had only met less than forty eight hours ago. Hell, this was only something that would happen in a romance novel. Swinging his feet over the bed, he slowly made himself get up. Grabbing his pants from the floor, he pulled them on. Rubbing the tiredness from his eyes, he made his way out of the room.
As he exited the small hallway, the living room came into view, and he couldn't help the smile that breached his lips when he saw Brian fast asleep on the couch. He was curled up on his side, legs tucked underneath him, paint in spots on his clothes and arms. He must have stayed up late to finish the painting, because it sat against the wall, all finished, and Brock couldn't help but to marvel at its beauty. It was still rather early, so the older man decided to let Brian sleep. He knew he was tired, and after all, today was going to be a busy day. He had plans with Brian, and he also had to get all the stuff he bought last night back into he and Nogla's home.
And thinking of Nogla, that's when Brock thought to check his phone, only to see missed texts and calls from his roommate. "Crap." He muttered before going through the text. Irishmen really knew some pretty words to call people. He shoved his phone back in his pocket. He'd apologize later. Then he'd punch Nogla for the house key incident. Glancing back at Brian, he rose a brow. He then looked around to see the mess in his house once more. His brows furrowed, maybe if he was quiet...
Going towards the kitchen, he glanced behind to make sure his steps didn't wake him. Smiling to himself, he turned back and headed inside to fix the horrible damage. It was only an hour later and the place already looked decent. Of course, anything would look better than the condition Brian had it in. Brewing a fresh pot of coffee, Brock sat down at the small table in the kitchen and waited for the sleeping man on the sofa to wake. And when he did finally wake, his blue eyes fluttered open and the only thing he could mutter was, "Where am I?"
Brock had to laugh at that one. His apartment had been so dirty he couldn't even recognize it? Yikes. "You're home." The older man got out, getting up to fix himself a cup of the fresh coffee.
Brian's head jerked in his direction, "You cleaned?"
"Consider it a thank you for everything you've done for me." Brock replied nonchalantly. "Coffee?" He offered, and Brian nodded as he sat up on the couch stretching his stiff limbs. Falling asleep out in the living room was something of a routine of his, but at least he finished his paintings. "We've got a long day ahead of us," Brock smiled.