#harleyhype

He’d hired the space off Idriss at a slight discount, anticipation and excitement threatening to burst out of him as Idriss handed over the showroom keys earlier that day. The keys had felt like they weighed a thousand tonnes at the time with the promise they held. A chance to show his work to a slice of the city that made him, a chance to prove himself, a chance to validate the months hunched over blank canvases in an attempt to pour out the pictures dancing in his brain. He’d never really prepared for this outcome; sat on a stool in the middle of an empty gallery, numb.

At ten o’clock, he rolls a cigarette, slowly, and with one eye on the clock, loose tobacco falling out of the paper and decorating his jeans. At ten fifteen, he stands up, mechanically returns the unopened bottles of white wine to the fridge at the back and throws black sheets over his canvases. At ten twenty, he shrugs on his jacket and clicks off the lights one by one, cigarette hanging limply from between his lips.

Paris isn’t silent by any means when he finally gives in and locks up, but he can hear the click of the key as clearly as if it were a gunshot.

He stares at his hand for a while, almost refusing to let go of the handle just in case the departure makes his failure feel all the more real. He’s wearing his father’s ring and it glints under a nearby streetlight as his hand trembles. He should have listened to him, too.

A little bit of his heart breaks off and floats away into the ether when he releases the handle.

He shoves the keys into his jacket pocket and then stumbles around for his lighter and when the fuck are his hands going to stop shaking. It takes several tries before he lights the end of his cigarette and takes the first few steps away from the shop.

It’s then that he hears the sharp slap of running feet behind him. His hackles go up and he pauses, risking a look back. It’s a man- not much younger than himself- sprinting along the pavement with a grey scarf unraveling itself around his neck. He skids to a stop right in front of the showroom, just short of where Eliott’s still stood.

‘Fuck!’ the guy hisses, fully pressing himself up against the glass. The window fogs as he pants, out of breath, staring into the darkness of the shop.

Eliott tugs at his bottom lip and glances around nervously before eventually deciding to approach the man. ‘Are you alright?’ His voice sounds like he hasn’t used it in years.

The man flinches away from the glass and turns to Eliott, wide-eyed and still heaving his breaths.

‘Uh, I-‘

He runs a hand through his hair, strands left sticking up every which way in the wake of his fingertips. Eliott takes a cautious step towards him and a gentle pull of his cigarette.

‘I really wanted to see this exhibition tonight- here- but it seems like I’ve missed it.’

Eliott’s eyebrows jump in surprise. He realistically should have connected the dots, but his mind’s still swirling and after the night he’s had he never would have pictured someone actually running to catch his exhibition.

‘I could open it back up, if you want,’ Eliott says.

The man seems shocked, flitting his eyes over Eliott’s figure in a sort of once over. ‘You could?’

The corner of Eliott’s mouth quirks up, the first hint of a smile in hours. ‘I mean, I am the artist.’

The guy lets out a small chuckle and begins to readjust his scarf. ‘Shit, sorry, I had no idea.’

Eliott smiles warmly at him and throws his cigarette into the street. ‘It’s okay.’

When he reaches for the keys this time, his fingers are blissfully steady.

‘I swear I meant to get here earlier,’ the man starts, still sounding winded. Eliott grins to himself as he twists the key in the lock and opens the door. The man’s voice follows behind him as he begins to switch the lights back on. ‘I just got caught up at work, I didn’t have time to change or anything, sorry.’

Eliott turns with a beam, clicking the last light on. The guy definitely looks ruffled, a few drink stains on his skinny black jeans and where his white shirt is exposed under his winter coat. Eliott finds he doesn’t mind the look at all, though.

‘Don’t apologise; it’s okay.’

‘Has it been busy?’

Something in Eliott’s stomach drops and he freezes. He keeps his eyes focused on the man’s cold tinted nose as he swallows down the lump in his throat.

‘Would you like some wine?’ he asks instead of answering. The guy’s brow crinkles in confusion for a moment before he nods.

‘Sure… I’ve had the shift from hell, so alcohol would be great,’ he tacks on.

Eliott’s smile returns and he bows slightly, walking over to the mini fridge.

‘It’s not the expensive stuff. I think you could barely even call it wine.’

‘You say that like it’s a bad thing.’

The crack of the bottle lid opening echoes around the space. He pours out two large measures into plastic cups and hands one to the man. His skin’s cold when their fingertips brush.

‘Cheers,’ Eliott announces, lightly tapping his cup against the other man’s.

‘Cheers…?’

‘Eliott. I’m Eliott.’

‘Lucas.’

Eliott takes a large gulp of his wine in an attempt to hide his giddy smile. He can feel his embarrassment and disappointment slipping away little by little.

He giggles as Lucas’ nose wrinkles after his first sip. ‘How cheap did you say this was?’

‘I found it in a bin outside a restaurant and thought, well, we’re in France, how bad could it be?’ Lucas stares at him, wide-eyed and cheeks puffed out. Eliott leaves him hanging for a beat before bursting out into laughter. ‘I’m kidding, Lucas.’

Lucas rolls his eyes and finally swallows down the wine. ‘That was uncalled for.’

Eliott lifts his shoulders and brings his cup back up to his still-smiling mouth. ‘Possibly.’

‘Could I see?’ Lucas asks after a quiet moment, licking excess wine from his lips and nodding over to one of the covered canvases.

‘Ah, first we need ambiance,’ Eliott says, holding up his index finger. Lucas laughs and shakes his head. ‘Close your eyes, Lucas; you must see my work in the atmosphere I originally intended.’

‘You’re ridiculous,’ Lucas titters with unexpected yet welcomed familiarity, but he dutifully places his free hand over his eyes.

‘I’m actually a very serious artist,’ Eliott faux grumbles as he moves to plug his CD player back into the wall.

‘I don’t doubt it.’

The track skips at first, as it always does, before settling into smooth, generic background music. Eliott methodically makes his way around the space, bunching up the sheets in his hands and revealing each piece. He glances back at Lucas every couple of seconds to check his eyes are still covered. It’s silly, really, but he wants to make this viewing perfect for Lucas, just like he’d tried to do earlier when it was just himself and an empty room calling out to the city.

He throws the sheets into the corner of the room and then picks his wine back up, taking a desperate sip as he double-checks that everything is ready and in its place.

‘If you don’t let me look soon, I might die.’

Eliott snickers and glances at Lucas. He can’t help but think he looks adorable, chewing absently at the rim on his wine cup as he waits, eyes still covered with slightly red fingers.

‘Okay, you can look now.’

Lucas blinks roughly against the sudden influx of light as he removes his hand. Eliott’s breath hitches when he takes in Lucas’ expression as his gaze lands on the first painting. It’s full of such genuine wonder and admiration, Eliott’s struggling to process it. Perhaps the torture from earlier was worth it for this.

‘Wow…’ Lucas whispers. Eliott swigs his wine awkwardly, a little overwhelmed. Lucas takes tiny steps forward, pausing in front of each piece and raking his eyes over every detail. ‘I’ve seen your stuff on Instagram, but…’

‘You have?’ Eliott asks, almost choking on his drink.

Lucas looks back at Eliott over his shoulder and nods with a private smile. ‘That’s how I found out about this.’

‘Not many people follow me on there,’ Eliott mutters, self-deprecation bleeding into his tone without his consent.

Lucas simply shrugs and flicks his eyes back to the artwork. ‘Well, I do.’

Eliott dips his head and studies the bumps on the side of his cup. A warmth is starting to spread across his chest, heartbeat quickening. It’s something he’s very familiar with, but hasn’t felt in a long while.

‘I love this one,’ Lucas says quietly, gesturing to Eliott’s painting of a man half submerged underwater. ‘You’re very talented.’

Eliott moves to stand next to Lucas, possibly closer than necessary.

‘Thank you… though, I might put the dreams to bed,’ Eliott replies in a low voice, scanning his eyes over brush strokes and charcoal smudges.

‘Look at me.’ It’s hushed yet urgent. And Eliott does. ‘Eliott, this… Your work, it’s amazing. Trust me. Please don’t give up on it.’

‘I-’

‘I wouldn’t have run about fifty blocks to get here if it wasn’t,’ Lucas interrupts with an impish grin, cracking the tension.

‘I hope you’re exaggerating,’ Eliott says through a melodic laugh.

Lucas shrugs and looks back at the drowning man. ‘Maybe a little.’

Eliott exhales languidly and picks at his bottom lip. There’s a subtle pricking sensation at the back of his eyeballs that he doesn’t want to acknowledge. So he doesn’t.

‘It’s late,’ Lucas eventually mumbles, looking down at where he’s now twirling the end of his scarf between nimble fingers.

Eliott hums in agreement, though his chest screams quietly in protest. I already know it could never be too late with you.

‘Would you…’ Lucas trails off and sinks his teeth into his lower lip.

‘Would I what?’ Eliott murmurs.

Lucas smirks slightly and shakes his head before raising his gaze up, up, up until Eliott’s confronted with a deep dark blue.

‘Would you want to go somewhere with me?’ Lucas asks, still with that smirk and with a cocky quirk of an eyebrow.

The section of Eliott’s heart he thought he’d lost creeps back in and begins to stitch itself back together.