#c;nathan

Yet his nerves were threatening to get the better of him. He’d cleaned every inch of his home he could get to, reorganized his bookshelf and ran a comb through his hair at least six times.

Nothing was helping.

Nathan only knew of one sure fire way to steady his nerves. And that was to paint. For a few pained moments he argued over the decision but shaking hands needed an occupation so the button up was replaced with a heather grey t-shirt that had seen better days. Holes and tears and old paint stains made up the anatomy of this beloved shirt, one Nathan always turned to when the creative spark hit.

Time got a little away from Nathan as he was submerged in his painting, smears of yellow up his arm and varying shades of green sprinkled along thin fingers when they suddenly halted at their task as the doorbell was heard, signaling just how much time Nathan had let slip.

Moaning, he stood straight and darted back into his room, knowing full well it was going to take more time to clean up than it would to explain. Hanging his head in embarrassment for a moment before opening the door, Nathan offered Adonis a sheepish grin.

“I um.....um, I was--I didn’t forget we have a--I had to paint.” Nathan offered up paint stained fingers into a shrug, his grin turning sideways with his head. “It won’t take me ten minutes to get cleaned up, I’m so sorry. Please, come in.”

If Nathan could have ever put his foot in his mouth, this situation was no better that. Taking the knife in his head, he looked down at the enemy, deciding what to do to them. Why did he volunteer to cook again? Right, because he was an idiot. It was a fact that he knew how to cook, but the Irish man hadn’t cooked in literal years. And Martha Stewart was making no easier on him either. 

But he promised Cady a date, and if anything; he was a man of his word. How hard could it be to make spaghetti Bolognese? Nathan had lost track of time as he cooked, until the door clicked open. Shit, he was supposed to pick her up.

              Click, click, grunt, click. Rhythmic like the beat of a heart were the 3 AM sounds of HIM pulsing its way through the apartment. Known by her anywhere; he could be either the beacon of the north star laden in dark sky, or the chafe of jagged rock between ribs–– as capricious as the tide of the sea, was the tumultuous relationship between Ava Blake and Nathan Fox. The girl being woke up by him, though, usually constituted for rock in rib.

              The sheets surmounting around her bare legs were thrown a strewn in her clumsy rise to a stand, the realization that her roommate was writing emotive enough to wake her filling the girl with a soporific kind of frustration; haphazard and cluttered, all red-rimmed eyes and spliced consciousness. Her petite frame was clad in a tank top and small cotton shorts, goosebumps raising along the abundance of bronze skin that hit cold air, her hands, fumbling with a hair tie, pulling chestnut hair into a messy ponytail she already knew she’d catch flack for from him if his mood was as foul as hers. With a shudder and the hug of her lissome arms around herself, she marched her way out her room and toward the key-smashing.

             “Nathan,” Ava hissed, trying to sound commandeering, but–– “Do you know what time it is?” Her voice came out barely there, a raspy whisper rallied and seemingly bounced off the tight sinews of his broad back. He was still wearing what she’d left him in, day clothes, and by the way he typed away furiously, she felt herself soften at the sight of him hunched over his laptop, scripts and coffee cups littering the desk, bottle of bourbon nearby, and clear frustration in the quick glimpse she got of emerald iris’. Ava’s brows knitted as her eyes grew big, lower lip nibbled between incisors, and her fawny features became awash with a betraying mix of ire, concern, and even apology. “... You haven’t slept yet?”

“Should I put it this way?” Nathan asked, turning his vivid abstract on it’s side vertically. “Or, this way?” he asked, turning it horizontally before stepping back to view the painting with a tilted head.

Well....not on purpose anyways. Bless his good intentions but the artist was a tad scatter brained and often let time get away from him to the point of being late for whatever he was doing.

Most found it endearing but Nathan hated that he did this.

So, when the blond comes practically running down the stairs of the gallery, red faced and abundantly apologetic, it’s clear that he is frazzled by having made someone wait on him.

“Cassiopeia Lee?” he asked tentatively, sighing when given the affirmative. “Wonderful. Oh, I’m Nathan Chambers, I pretty much run things around here.” he gestured out towards his sides before letting them fall to his thighs softly.

“Ah, I trust you’ve brought your portfolio?” Nathan asked. “I’m really excited for this new exhibit and having each piece entered be different is really my goal. As well as local.”

A shaky sigh leaves him as a hand reaches out to brush against Arin’s very chiseled chest. “Holy shit you’re beautiful.”

The party was in full swing, the sounds of glasses clinking together and the murmur of conversation filled Nathan’s ears as he offered smiles, comments and did his best to answer questions that were posed either about the venue which was his place of employment or the art, none of which he had created. 

Expelling a breath, Nathan threw on another bright smile as he weaved through the crowd, wanting nothing more than to be at home curled up in bed or to have his hands covered in charcoal.

This wasn’t his scene. He liked parties, liked discussing art and his work--but he was spent and feared it would start to come out in his features or conversation. 

So he was going to catch a breath of fresh air and a moment of solitude to reset. Nathan avoided a conversation, claiming he had to make a telephone call and slipped outside onto the balcony that overlooked the city, giving Nathan a glimpse of the city lights underneath a near black sky. 

He sighed heavily as he closed the door behind him, leaning against it once it was completely closed. Nathan turned, overcome with the strange feeling that he was not as alone as he’d thought.

His instincts had been correct, discovering he was not alone--but rather in the presence of a really, really attractive man. Nathan swallowed, thankful for the lack of bright light as his face surely turned a bright shade of red.