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“Remember, guys, you won’t be showcasing your thesis until May, but you should always be thinking about it. I want you drafting by the time you’re back from break!”
Everyone in the room nods their head, and Sapnap is one of them. He loves his painting professor, but he’s been breathing down their necks about every project as well as their upcoming thesis since day one. It’s exhausting, looking at his art as a means to graduate instead of a way to express himself.
Maybe that’s why he has the worst case of art block since freshman year.
Painting always came easy to him, he could do it with his eyes closed and still make something beautiful. That’s why he went to school for it: to hone his skills and get better until he can teach other people. He just wants to make art and show young minds how to make art, this stress over people grading his work is so bad for his head.
Also that word always pissed him off: ‘drafting’. Sapnap doesn’t draft paintings, he thinks of them and paints them; they’re ever-changing until they’re complete, and then they’re done. Something this school tried to convince him of was that his paintings can always be fixed by someone else. It drives him crazy.
He’s headed towards the bus stop to get back to his apartment when a hand grabs his shoulder. Karl is the only person who would latch onto him out of nowhere, so he turns calmly.
“Sapnap! Are you going home?” Karl shouts into his face, despite being right next to him.
“Yes!” Sapnap shouts back, smiling when Karl realizes how loud he’s being. He brushes his unruly hair away from his eyes then lightly smacks Sapnap’s cheek.
“Don’t go home. The museum is back to being free on Wednesdays after 2. I forgot to tell you.”
“Oh for real? We should go, then. I’m not really doing anything.”
Karl winces, rocking back on his heels and avoiding Sapnap’s gaze.
“Or… not?” Sapnap continues.
“I kind of told Dream I’d go over to his place already. Date night thing,” Karl says shyly. “But I realize it’s kind of lame to make you go alone.”
“Don’t worry about it, man, I don’t care,” Sapnap laughs, shoving at Karl’s shoulders until he looks less ashamed. “Go have fun, I used to go solo all the time. Maybe it’ll be good for my art block to just listen to music and absorb genius.”
“Hell yeah!” Karl replies, getting loud again. “Steal something good from the gift shop for me, okay?”
Sapnap laughs, shaking his head and giving the other another shove. “Shut up dude, you’re gonna get me banned if you keep making that joke.”
“Is it a joke?” Karl asks as he walks away from him, going backwards across the courtyard. He’s almost run into two people so far, but doesn’t seem to care. “We shall see… Bye Sapnap!”
“Bye, Karl,” Sapnap calls after him, rolling his eyes and making his way in the opposite direction.
The museum is basically within the campus, seeing as the school he goes to is run by the same people. That’s why he chose this school in the first place: he figured you can’t get better art instruction than from the people who hold all of the art.
It’s all cool grey stone, big columns, and a grand staircase. There’s banners in front that show off the current exhibits, but Sapnap ducks his head so when he wanders around the halls it’ll be a surprise. He checks his watch as he hops up the steps, noting that it’s almost 3 o’clock. Two hours to enjoy all the museum has to offer seems like an adequate amount of time.
At the desk by the door is a security guard reading a pamphlet, so Sapnap hands over his student ID to be scanned before making his way through the security gate. Once he’s in, he stands at the beginning of the halls and tries to figure out where to go first. Maybe he should have checked the exhibits out.
He smiles to himself, closes his eyes, and does a spin. When he opens again, he starts down the first hall he sees, and tracks his gaze along the walls where some traditional Japanese tattoo prints are displayed.
These drawings are busy: bright blue fish scales intercepted by vibrant red robes. There’s pretty girls with straight hair perfectly pinned on top of their heads who stare back at him, and beautiful steel swords that practically glint in the dim lighting of the museum. The dates under each woodblock print read anywhere from the mid-1800s up to the early 1900s. He pulls a notebook out of his bag and starts jotting down artist names and dates for later when he needs colour inspiration.
Further down the hall is a big, expansive room with charcoal sketches along the walls. Sapnap doesn’t even have to read the giant sign in the center to know it’s Klimt. He tucks his notebook under one arm and starts examining the sketches like he hasn’t seen them a million times, as if this artist isn’t the only reason he got through the charcoal unit in his sophomore year.
That feeling comes back, one of his favourite things about being in a museum: that crazed energy he gets in his hands when he sees incredible art. Maybe instead of stealing from the gift shop, he’d take one of these.
He moves down the line, coming to one untitled sketch of a woman with long black hair that winds down her back. The line of her spine is neatly curved, her arms hold her breasts to her chest and her face is turned towards the artist. Klimt barely drew any details of her expression, but Sapnap still feels like she’s looking right at him. He’s blushing, smiling too, with hands gripping his notebook until his knuckles are white.
“You want to take it, don’t you?” A British voice comes from his left, making him turn his head quickly and step away from the enticing woman and her smooth lines.
“Excuse me?”
The man looks a little older than him, and is just a touch taller. He’s in a beige sweatshirt and sweats, but he’s not holding a notebook so he can’t be a student. Is he here alone too? Do attractive people in their 20s who aren’t art students also go to museums by themselves? Sapnap doesn’t know much about how normal adults act, so he just stares at this stranger and tries to get an idea of his personality. It’s probably very rude of him.
“I’m assuming you’re a student at the School of the MFA, yeah? You lot are always looking at the art holding your little notebooks, seem seconds away from grabbing the piece and running,” he starts laughing as he says it, immediately picking up on Sapnap hugging his notebook closer to his chest defensively. “It’s okay, I won’t tell.”
“I would never steal someone else’s art, that’s so…” Sapnap starts to argue, which just makes the man laugh harder. “Oh. You’re joking,” he chuckles a little nervously, taking another step back towards the next row of sketches. “My bad, anyway-”
“I’m George,” George says, holding out a hand to shake. They’re the only people in this room currently, but Sapnap still darts his eyes around to make sure he’s the one being spoken to. Once he’s assessed it’s true, he shakes George’s hand.
“I’m Sapnap. It’s a nickname.”
George nods, still shaking Sapnap’s hand as if he forgot he’s supposed to let go. He’s got a really intense look in his eyes, like how Sapnap would imagine he looks at art. It makes him a little nervous, and his hand is sweating where it’s still being held. Is George going to try to steal him ?
“Are you… gonna let go?” Sapnap asks, finally pulling his hand away when George releases him. He wipes his palm on his pants, and George snorts. “Thanks.”
“You’re so awkward,” George teases, smirking at Sapnap like he’s already figured him out. That’s pretty unfair, because Sapnap has absolutely no idea how to figure George out. “Are you like this every time you meet someone?”
“No,” Sapnap immediately fights back, scoffing and turning back to the sketches. “I just wasn’t expecting to meet anyone today. I’m here to look at art and take notes.”
“And am I disrupting that?”
“Yes, you are.”
He’s definitely being rude, yet George doesn’t seem deterred. If anything, he keeps leaning his head down so Sapnap has to lean back. He’s probably taken three steps away at this point, but George keeps coming in close again. It makes him nervous, he wishes he was looking at a painting instead, something that looks back a little less calculating.
“Have you looked at anything else today?” George asks, following Sapnap as he tries to move towards another room.
Sapnap doesn’t even fight it this time, just continuing down the hall to the next open space while George follows. He opens his notebook again, and quickly makes some notes about the Klimt exhibit, though it’s unnecessary considering how many times he’s looked at those sketches on his own. It’s just hard to not busy himself when George is trailing after him looking handsome and like he won’t give up easily.
“No, that was my first stop.”
“What else do you want to see?”
“I didn’t really make a plan,” Sapnap says with a sigh, shutting the notebook again since George seems determined to keep him talking. They’re stopped in a hallway, two options in front of them for where to go. After a moment of second-guessing, he asks: “Where do you want to go?”
George grins big, eyes sparkling like he finally got what he wants. It’s very endearing, and Sapnap can feel himself blushing. He scratches at his neck nervously, looking at a print behind George’s head instead of keeping eye contact.
“There’s a Rothko exhibit on the third floor, and I need your help with it.”
“My help?” The joke about stealing the art comes back into Sapnap’s head, and he squints. “You’re not actually a thief, are you?”
“No, idiot,” George chuckles, pinching Sapnap’s arm and looking wicked when he jumps in response. “I’m colourblind. And not an artist. I need your wisdom to appreciate it properly.”
“Why are you at an art museum if you can’t see colour?” Sapnap asks, cringing at himself immediately after. “I mean, not to assume-”
But George is still laughing, now with a hand on his stomach and bent over a little.
“You’re so rude! Here I am being friendly and asking for help and you’re being a total jerk,” George pretends to wipe a tear from his eye, squinting with how much he’s smiling. “If you want me to leave you alone you just have to say it.”
“No, no,” Sapnap quickly says, waving his hands in defense. “Sorry. I’m just… awkward. I guess. I can- yeah. Whatever you need,” he’s not sure why he isn’t telling George to leave, but has a feeling it’s got something to do with how lit up his eyes are when he’s laughing at Sapnap, a welcome break from analyzing him.
“Good. Now follow me!”
He starts down the hall on the right, taking the steps up two at a time and not waiting to see if Sapnap is coming after him, because he knows .
The exhibit hall on the third floor is lighter than the lower floors. There’s a skylight above filling the bright white room full of afternoon sun. Along the walls are giant canvases of solid colour blocks: Mark Rothko. Sapnap never saw the big deal of him, the simplicity of it was easy to digest, sure, but not exciting the way other paintings are.
George, though, takes in the room like a deep breath. His eyes are everywhere, stuck to each block of pigment for only a second before moving onto the next. Sapnap just stands next to him, watching his face get it , it’s hard to believe George isn’t an artist like him.
On their left is half a dozen canvases of solid black, a series Sapnap was always pretty cynical about. He would normally walk right past them, but George goes up to the first in the row and beckons Sapnap to join him.
“The Black series, one of my favourites. Most of them are untitled, I think, but the range of them is just incredible,” George is talking fast, moving his hands as he explains. He gets dangerously close to touching the painting, and Sapnap fixes him with a look when the security guard straightens up. “Sorry,” he brings his hands closer to his chest. “I get excited.”
“It’s okay,” Sapnap says, relaxing a little and offering a shy smile. “You can keep going.”
“So yeah, you can look at it and just see boring black or whatever, but it’s actually so much more complicated. Rothko does so many layers , and you can only pick up on it if you get really close. C’mon,” The security guard has wandered to another hall, and George grabs Sapnap’s arm to pull him closer. A breath away from the multi-million-dollar art, George points. “It’s not just black. It’s black, grey, and even a little blue. Purple, too.”
Sapnap is aware he’s supposed to be looking at the art, normally has no problem getting sucked into a painting, but his eyes are unseeing as long as George has a hand on him.
“Even his other paintings have layers, I just can’t see them as easily because of the colours,” George continues to explain, thankfully leaning back and letting Sapnap go. “Do you want to meet my mortal enemy?”
Reeling a bit from the contact, the closeness, and the information being pumped into his brain, Sapnap wonders if he should be taking notes. He’s not sure if he could write very well, however, his hands are shaking at his sides.
His eyes are still stuck to the one they’re in front of: “Black Blue Painting”. He takes a deep breath, trying to pick up on brush strokes and colours now that George has explained it. If he squints, he can see it better, and George has a point; it’s more complicated than he once thought. But instead of making him feel inadequate like most of his peers make him feel about being slow to get art, it just makes him appreciate George’s presence more.
“Yeah,” he says finally. “Show me.”
They walk together, George’s hand now comfortably resting on Sapnap’s elbow. Sapnap doesn’t think to ask him why, or tell him to let go, too lost in his mind over this new world being opened to him.
On the way, a painting catches Sapnap’s attention. He pauses, which George respects and brings them to a stop in front of another canvas. This one is very different, more like what he’s used to from Rothko.
“‘No. 1 (Royal Red and Blue)’,” George recites, squeezing Sapnap’s arm and leaning forward again. This time, Sapnap doesn’t try to get him to back up, instead leans in too. “Red and blue, obviously, but I think this one has pink, too, right?”
Sapnap nods, reaching out his hand to point at where the pink rectangle in the middle is. “The pink starts there, then goes down to the blue.”
“I’ve always wondered,” George says, sounding a little distant. When Sapnap turns to him, the other is looking at his face and not the painting.
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s just nice to have someone who can show me where the colours change.”
“No problem,” Sapnap is smiling, straightening himself back up and gesturing for George to keep walking. “Your enemy?”
“Right,” George clears his throat, then suddenly pulls his arm away from where it had gotten further entwined with Sapnap’s. “It’s over here.”
It’s hard not to grieve the loss of him, but Sapnap reminds himself what a strange line of thought that is. How is he already developing a crush on George? Is he that easy? All it takes is being beautiful and knowing about art? Karl and Dream are gonna make fun of him forever when he recounts this later.
George is across the room, having moved while Sapnap was thinking. He hurries over, their shoulders brushing when they’re stood together again. While George keeps talking, Sapnap begs over and over in his head: touch me again .
“This is the worst painting in the world,” George announces, smirking when other people in the gallery glare at him about it. “‘No. 3/No. 13’. I can’t see it for shit. All I can tell is there’s a black square with some whiteish-yellow around it. The red, green, and purple are all lost on me.”
Sapnap giggles, actually giggles into his hand over George’s lamenting.
“Don’t laugh at me!” George shouts, smacking Sapnap’s shoulder as he does it. Sapnap ducks his head to hide his fit.
“Excuse me,” the security guard speaks up from closer than before, “Can you two keep your voices down, please?”
“Yeah, sorry,” Sapnap immediately says as he’s sobered. “Won’t happen again.”
George smiles silently and doesn’t make the same promise.
The guard goes back to his post, and Sapnap heaves a breath of relief. When he looks back to George again, he’s still smiling at him, now like he has a secret.
“Show me.”
“What?”
“Show me where the colours are again,” George explains, taking Sapnap’s hand in his own and bringing it up to the painting again. Nervous, Sapnap glances to the security post where the guard has his back turned.
“It’s mostly red,” Sapnap whispers, turning his hand to grip George’s into a point. They’re basically holding hands, but Sapnap tells himself they’re not. “The green is here, in a straight line,” their hands hover a few centimeters from the canvas, their heads close to bumping each other. “And the purple is up top,” he pulls back, releases George’s hand, and clears his throat. “And, yeah, the rest of it is red.”
“Thank you,” George says a little too sincerely, considering how ridiculous Sapnap feels.
“Anytime.”
“Really?”
Sapnap’s eyebrows come together, confused by the question. “What do you mean?”
“Would you really help me anytime?” George clarifies, though it doesn’t make sense to Sapnap’s brain.
“Sure. Why not?”
“You’re thick as a brick, aren’t you?” George deadpans, then holds out his hand. “Give me your phone.”
Without thinking of what a bad idea giving his phone to a stranger is, Sapnap hands over the device easily. George takes it and draws his bottom lip between his teeth while he types something. It’s hard to pay attention to what he’s typing because now Sapnap is thinking about kissing him, gaze stuck to his mouth. Once that thought comes in, he knows his face is beet red, and he’s selfishly thankful for George’s inability to see it.
He looks away, swallowing drily.
“You have my number now,” George announces proudly, handing Sapnap back his phone. When Sapnap looks down at it, George leans his head in and kisses his cheek. Against the flushed skin he whispers: “Use it.”
And Sapnap is flatlining, heart stuck in his throat and he thought his hands were shaking before? Practically all of him is trembling now. He keeps his head down so George won’t see the stupid grin on his face, just watches his shoes walk away from him down the hall.
“Thanks,” he remembers to say as he looks up. George is still walking away, back turned, but he glances over his shoulder as he goes towards the stairs down to the lobby.
“Enjoy the colours!”
“I will,” Sapnap says softly, mostly to himself. George hops down the steps, two at a time just like before, and once he’s disappeared Sapnap looks at his phone again.
He’s not going to text him quite yet, feels too alive and pigmented with inspiration. He’s going to go home and make one hell of a painting first.