Uffizi Gallery, Italy, 1581
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Isaac stared at the blank ceiling, his mind racing with thoughts of every event from last night. The birds were singing, the sky outside was pink, and the clouds resembled sweet candyfloss. "I need a cigarette," he thought aloud, rummaging through his nightstand. It wasn't long before he realized he was in the wrong bed.
"There's many things I need that I'll never have, Harley. Guess we're both out of luck."
He turned to the person lying beside him. "It's nice to see that you're up."
"Mentally, I'm awake. Physically, I don't think my body wants to move," said Josiah without a single twitch.
"What if I do this?" Isaac asked, taking the liberty to jab his arm with a finger.
"That was pointless," he laughed, "pun definitely not intended."
"What about this?" he asked again, this time giving him a flick. When Josiah showed no reaction, he started drawing circles with his finger on his bare chest, alternating between the pad of his finger to the tip of his nail. "Or this?"
"S-stop that."
"Oh?" Isaac continued to lightly loop hands across his chest. "Does that mean this is working?"
"It's not. I'm...I'm just sensitive to touch." Faint patches of color in his cheeks resembled the dawn sky.
News of the prefect's ticklishness thrilled Isaacâhe discovered a weakness. "It does?" he said, this time using both hands to attack his stomach.
"I said that's enough!" Josiah grabbed his wrists and pinned them onto the bed, climbing on top of him in the process.
The prefect breathed heavily, his breaths familiar because they resembled how he panted the night before. In and out, they would speed up until his final, desperate gasp for air as he trembled at the peak of his pleasure. His mouth was raw and swollen as well. Isaac found himself resisting an urge to pull him down to taste the tender lips he gazed at. Eyes roamed to neck to prevent this urge. A deep red mark just above his collarbone triggered his memory of biting down on the fleshâhardâto keep from crying out.
Josiah looked like sex, and Isaac would be lying to himself if he said it wasn't enticing.
"What part of stop don't you understand?"
Isaac smirked with memories of the previous night. "I should be asking you that."
"Bet you liked it though, masochist."
"Hell yeah I did," he responded airily.
They locked eyes. Josiah removed his grip to brush blonde strands of hair out of his face. He leaned closer, lips slightly parted.
Yes, please.
"The project! I didn't finish it," he suddenly shouted, throwing himself off the bed and swearing out.
Isaac propped himself up on his elbows. "It's not due until after tomorrow. Calm down."
"You don't understand!" The prefect buried his face in his hands and groaned. "My schedules so full. I really needed this done."
"We leave in an hour."
"That's not enough time to do this!"
"But the bus ride...it's three hoursâsit with me. I'll make sure we finish it," he said softly.
"You don't know anything about it though."
He winced. It was Josiah's fault he wouldn't let him help in the first place. "We need visuals, right? I'll do those."
"You can draw?"
"A bit."
"...Fine, but we're not sitting in the very back of the bus."
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They ended up sitting in the back.
However, the fact that they did wasn't Isaac's doing. In the midst of their bickering, they overestimated the amount of time they had to get ready. When they finally arrived at the bus stop, they were forced to sit in the last available seats, the ones by the window that was permanently open and the seats that refused to stop creaking.
"This is nice, isn't it?" Isaac said optimistically. "A nice breeze while we work."
"More like an intense wind that'll suck our papers out."
"So negative..."
Isaac started sketching. Drawing, painting, and writing were always his secret, forbidden loves. They were methods other than sex that allowed him to forget about his emotions and feel comfort instead. Art, to him, had so much power. Art could be anything, as long as it was visually and mentally impactful, though he only liked a certain type. All things ugly he despised, and all things beautiful he loved, it was as simple as that. He remembered his beautiful night by the lake, Charlotte's silver hair in the moonlight, reflections of luminous stars in the water. He remembered the white crescent moon, swaying trees, chirping crickets. He sketched whatever came to his mind for as long as he could, until he finally dozed off, lost in his memories.
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Only ninety minutes in, Josiah felt a head fall onto his shoulder.
So much for helping me finish, he thought to himself. A gust of wind blew in from the window, and the papers on their laps fluttered. Looking down, Josiah saw Isaac's work. He noticed every last detail, line, and thought he put into his piece. It seemed so out of character for Isaac, but Josiah was pleasantly surprised by his level of skill. Every day he learned something new about him. The boy let out a quiet groan in his sleep. He looks like a child, so gentle and innocent. Kind of...
cute.
Josiah looked at his own work, and saw to his dismay that the information part wasn't finished yet. They were driving past the sea, and he could smell salty air and hear crashing waves in the distance. Most of the bus had fallen asleep, and it almost felt like he and Isaac were the only people on it. Screw it, he thought, and put the drawing and notes away in his bag. He let himself rest his head on Isaac's soft hair, smelling lavender shampoo, and closed his eyes to the soft hum of the bus and the faint ocean breeze. Despite his unfinished work, he felt an odd sense of serenity, and not some artificial one induced by weed or alcohol. For the first time in his life, everything felt natural. Everything felt, well, real.
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"Why'd you leave the lake so early last night?" asked Ash, opening the door to their dorm room.
"I think I was just really tired from the first night."
"You missed out! Archie tried to get a girl to sleep with him, but every single one rejected him. It was hilarious!"
"Sounds fun..."
"Isaac, is something on your mind?"
"Oh, sorry, just tired from the bus as well. Maybe I have a sleep issue," he shrugged.
Although he'd told Ash that there was nothing on his mind, it was actually quite the opposite. Several thoughts crowded his mindâone of them included a conversation he had with Charlie after he'd gotten off the bus.
"I know there's something going on between you and Josiah."
He shrugged."Yeah, this stupid assignment."
"You know what I meant, Harley."
Charlie narrowed his eyes, his hazel ones meeting Isaac's grey. He examined them thoroughly, as if they truly were the window to the soul and he could see all of Isaac's secrets. The simple act felt invasive.
"...Why does it piss you off so much?" Isaac clenched his jaw, unsure if Charlie was bluffing as he was about to expose himself. Too late, he figured. "All we do is fuck."
"Don't lie. I know how easy it is to fall for him."
"I just told you-"
"Maybe you think there's nothing going on, but Josiah doesn'tâthere's always something. He never acts without a purpose."
"And?"
"Ever wonder why he hasn't ratted out any of the teachers you've slept with?"
"Never cared."
Charlie ignored him. "It's because he doesn't waste anything. Everything he has, everything he learns, everything he finds outâhe saves for when he can use it. It may be all fun and games to you now but...Josiah...you don't know him like I do. So either stay out of his life, or let him toss you once he's satisfied."
Isaac didn't believe a single word from Charlie's mouth. Sure, Josiah was pretentious at times, sometimes harsh, but he didn't seem like a pathological liar nor a sociopath. Should he even pay any attention to Charlie? After all, his feelings for Josiah were obvious.
Whatever, our relationship is only about sex, he thought, dropping his duffel on the floor, I can end it whenever I want.
Right?
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