Come On Over (3 page)

"That
show is my childhood," she says. "How dare you?"

"I've
seen it," Annie pipes up. "I mean, it's not nostalgic for me or
anything, but it's pretty good."

"Thank
you," Jemma says, gesturing at her and giving the rest of the group an
accusing look. "Someone gets it."

"Maybe
we're all just too young to remember," Marcel suggests, tilting his head
teasingly, and it takes Jemma a moment of consideration, before she deflates.

"Right,"
she says, slumping a little where she sits. "I keep forgetting you're all
children. I swear, I never thought twenty-five could feel so old."

She
droops with her head dramatically, curly hair falling over her face as she
heaves a heavy sigh, and Annie tilts her head, gently patting her shoulder.

"Don't
worry," she says. "It's only a quarter of a century, you've got plenty
of time left."

The
look Jemma gives her then is borderline poisonous, but all it does is make
everyone around the table laugh.

"Yeah,
you jest now," Jemma says, pointing at them all with a warning look.
"But just you wait. You won't be twenty forever."

"I'm
twenty-three," Marcel points out, but all it does is make Jemma narrow her
eyes at him.

"I
stand by my statement," she says. "We're all doomed."

Dominic
laughs along with the rest of them, leaning back in his seat as he watches the
teasing unfold, firmly under the belief that they're not doomed just yet.

♦

After spending
most of the weekend working at his parents' store, as well as taking photos of
this town's excuse for a skyline from the roof of his apartment building, Dominic
returns to the college to get some work done, only to find the art building
rather empty when he gets there in the early evening. Perhaps it's because it's
Monday, but the place is virtually abandoned―except for its seemingly
permanent, dark-haired occupant, that is.

Something
is different about today, though. Before, the guy has always worn headphones
when listening to music, but this time seems to be an exception, which Dominic
immediately notices once he steps inside the glass front doors of the building.
It might be due to the absence of other people, but as Dominic enters the main
room, he sees that the artist has brought a portable docking station with him,
where he has put his phone to let the small, surprisingly powerful speakers
blast his music across the room. Well, throughout the building might be a more
accurate description, since Dominic did hear it the moment he set foot inside
the front door.

He
catches the guy's eye, but apart from vague surprise, there's no change in
expression on his part. Instead, he just turns back to his canvas, standing
behind his easel, and Dominic makes his usual retreat to the printing room. He
closes the door behind him, which barely does anything; even with it closed,
Dominic can hear the music, albeit muffled, through the walls.

He
sighs tiredly, rubbing his eyes with one hand as he gets to work. The music
isn't only loud, it's not particularly good, either. It's some alt-rock thing
that Dominic absently feels clashes rather wildly with the hipster-
ish
first impression he got from the artist in the other
room, and it's a bit too grunge and rough, for his taste. But he puts up with
it. He doesn't have to be here for very long, anyway.

About
an hour later, Dominic feels like he might snap. He was vainly hoping that
perhaps the guy would be respectful once he realized someone else was here, and
therefore shut the music off or at least turn it down, but no dice. Instead,
it's still blaring, still vibrating through the walls and making Dominic groan
in frustration. Normally, he wouldn't care so much, but he's already on
edge―every single photo he has is less than adequate, less than unique,
and it's definitely starting to piss him off. This noise disturbance is just
turning out to be the icing on the horrible cake of frustration.

He
gives it another fifteen minutes, before giving in, yanking open the door and
heading out into the main room.

"Would
you turn that shit down?" he says, sounding more annoyed and exasperated
than he would have preferred. "Please?"

The
guy peeks out from behind his easel, eyebrows raised. It takes a second for
Dominic to notice that he actually has a lollipop in his mouth, which is taken
out a moment later.

"Can't
hear you," the guy says loudly, gesturing at his ear, but Dominic knows
it's bullshit. He barely has to raise his own voice to be heard over the crap
blaring from the speakers, so the guy really is just being a dick.

Dominic
rolls his eyes, sighing in frustration, while the artist retreats back behind
his easel, and he decides. With an annoyed huff, he goes over to the docking
station and pulls the phone out, rendering the room silent. The guy turns to
him.

"Dude,
what the fuck?" he says angrily, the words muffled by the lollipop in his
mouth. He takes it out, but the contrasting sight of the green candy in his
hand does nothing to dampen the downright furious look on his face, as he
glares at Dominic.

"There,"
Dominic says dryly, throwing his hands up. "Much better."

The
guy frowns at him, seemingly caught between shock and anger.

"Don't
touch the music," he says with a quick headshake, his tone matching his
expression.

"I
wouldn't have to, if you just kept it the fuck down," Dominic retorts,
moving to make his way back to the printing room. "Or you could, I don't
know, maybe paint somewhere else?"

"Or
you could just take your shit somewhere else," the guy calls after him.

"It's
a giant fucking printer," Dominic enunciates angrily over his shoulder.
"Can't exactly
take my shit
somewhere
else."

"Yeah,
well I like the ambiance in here," the guy says, voice heavy with annoyed
sarcasm. "What do you want me to say?"

"Just
keep that fucking noise down," Dominic says, but his new nemesis isn't far
behind.

"I
would," he says. "But his mouth won't stop moving."

Dominic
turns to him, glaring in angry disbelief. The guy says nothing, just glares
right back, slowly putting the lollipop back in his mouth and effectively
ending the conversation. Dominic makes a frustrated sound, before he opens the
door to the printing room and slams it shut behind him. It takes only another
few seconds, before the music outside is back on, and he groans as he drags a
hand down over his face.

Asshole.

♦

Dominic stays
away from the art building for a couple of days. He feels both annoyed and
slightly embarrassed about his argument with the grumpy painter, and is
honestly a little too put-off about it to go back, just yet.

Of
course that had to be their first conversation. After days of subtly checking
him out and attempting some kind of pleasantry, Dominic just
had
to pick a fight with the guy,
essentially coming off as some stuck-up weirdo, instead of doing the civilized
thing and being a normal human being about it.

But
he couldn't really help it. After over a week of optimistically working on his
project, and then constantly reaching one dead end after another, he's starting
to feel pretty fed up, and he supposes it was only a matter of time before he
snapped. He's not used to being bad at this―both his work and flirting,
to be honest―and to find that he has failed so hard in just a week is the
worst.

He
puts in some more hours at the store, listening to Alina tell him about her
days and which friend has hooked up with who and which ones are popping out
children and getting married, before he goes back to his project and tries to
get something done. None of it turns out very good, but once he has gathered up
some decent photos again, he decides to head to the college to print them. At
least it might create some illusion of progress, or perhaps inspire him to do
better.

Wishful
thinking, and all that.

It's
almost seven p.m. by the time he gets to the art building, but he's not
concerned about getting in, since it's not supposed to lock up just yet. If
nothing else, that idiot should still be here, and maybe he'll find it in him
to actually let Dominic in, if he were to be locked out. Not likely, but still.

Dominic
grabs the handle of the front door, only to find that it won't budge, and he
frowns.
That's not right
, he thinks,
pulling on it again, but to no avail. He peeks inside, but it's for once pitch
black in there.

"It's
locked," he hears a dry, familiar voice call from nearby, and he turns
around. The sun is setting, and he can't see the person's face, but he still
recognizes the back of that buzzed head. Who else would be here at this time of
night, anyway?

"Yeah,
I gathered," Dominic says acidly. "Any idea why?"

The
artist shrugs, back turned to Dominic as he sits on the ground across the path,
on the grassy slope that leads down to the edge of the pond.

"Closed
early," he says. "Maintenance, or some shit."

Dominic
hesitates for a moment, glancing at the locked door and tapping the strap of
his bag with his finger. He was really hoping to get some work done, but it
looks like that won't be happening tonight. He looks back at his classmate, who
doesn't seem to be doing anything in particular; he's just sitting there, and
Dominic wonders if he came here earlier only to find that he couldn't get
inside his beloved studio and enjoy its damn
ambiance.

The guy
seems a little surprised when Dominic makes his way over to him, and he looks
up. Dominic gestures at the ground, as if asking for permission, to which the
guy just shrugs in reply, and Dominic takes it as a yes, dropping his bag and
sitting down on the grass. He doesn't sit too close though, makes sure to keep
at least some distance between himself and the abrasive artist.

Dominic
glances at him. The guy is sitting with his knees pulled up and slightly
splayed, elbows resting against them, and the way he's gazing down the small
slope and out over the pond allows Dominic to see him from an honestly rather
flattering angle. He has a nice profile, with a straight nose and a
not-too-prominent chin, a loose-fitting, thin sweater draped over his torso.
The dark color of it complements his fair skin well, his collarbones bare and
visible just above the hemline.

It's
quite the view, and Dominic gets the weirdest urge to photograph it.

He
makes sure to quickly snap out of his little trance, eyes falling on the white
stick between the guy's lips instead, as it rolls back and forth from the
movements of his tongue.

"What's
with the lollipops?" Dominic asks, out of nowhere, and the guy glances at
him. He stops rolling the candy back and forth in his mouth, looks almost
annoyed, like he's personally offended by Dominic's attempt at small-talk.
Dominic kind of regrets saying anything, figuring that he might have burned
that bridge the other day, but then the guy removes the lollipop―a red
one―and shrugs.

"I
quit smoking a couple years ago," he says simply. "Needed something
to occupy my mouth. This worked pretty well, so I stuck with it."

"Right,"
Dominic says, turning his attention back to the pond, mirroring his companion
and pulling his legs up to rest his arms against his knees. He glances back.
"What's your name, anyway?"

The
guy throws him a look again. He still appears a little annoyed at the
conversation attempt, but there's some hesitation there too, this time.

"Killian,"
he says after a few moments, and Dominic's eyebrows go up in slight surprise.
He wasn't expecting a name like that.

"Killian?"
he says, unable to help himself, and the guy shrugs.

"Grandma
was Irish," he explains, and Dominic nods slowly.

"And
yet, you're not a ginger," he says. The guy―Killian―looks at
him, eyebrows going up in a bored expression.

"Racist,"
he says, but there's nothing but flat amusement in his tone. Dominic actually
smiles a little despite himself, before turning his attention back to the
water.

"What
about you?" Killian says after a moment, and Dominic looks at him.

"Dominic,"
he says. Dark green eyes meet his, something almost approving about their
expression.

"Nice
to meet you, Dom," Killian says, before looking out over the grassy slope,
the air rather still around them. "You're gay, right?"

The
question is sudden and unexpected, to say the least, and Dominic jerks in
surprise. He turns to Killian, slightly taken aback.

"That's
kind of personal, don't you think?" he says, automatically a bit
defensive, even though it's not something he ever normally feels defensive or
awkward about. It's just a bit out of the blue.

Killian
frowns, clearly unbothered.

"Is
it?" he says neutrally, and Dominic just looks at him. Killian seems to
pick up on the discomfort then, and he scoffs, looking away. "Fine, sorry.
Just making an observation."