+ bonus painting lmao

Been kind of only sketching Joaquin and his characters and I have nowhere else to post <\3

working on a commodus fic and i got in the mood with a sketch

such an interesting nose

...so pretty :(

portrait practice that coincidentally also turned out to be Joaquin... coincidentally, of course...

thats all i got ..

I haven't seen anything written for this man and I did a little drabble today so... I'm posting it :)

1.3k words

Fluff

Awkward (cute awkward tho)

First post on here so forgive if ass

The phone rings beside me on my bed, the name flashing up at me in the pitch black of my bedroom equal parts familiar and strange. I hadn’t expected to actually hear from him. Not just because his work is to do with interviewing kids and not college students, but because even if he was to interview me, he’s supposed to have left my city by now, making an interview less than likely. I consider letting the call fail, thinking that if it were really something important he’d leave details in a voicemail, but the thought that perhaps it’s to do with my little cousin’s interview and my aunt and uncle aren’t answering, means that calling me is a last ditch effort for an emergency.

And so, I slide the little green circle across the bottom of my screen, beneath the bold white letters spelling ‘Johnny - Interview Guy’.

“Hello?” I ask softly, not having expected to use my voice this late into the evening.

“Hi,” is all I get back, gruff and quiet, almost shy.

“Is everything okay?” I prompt, feeling out the manner of this conversation before I let myself fall into any kind of concern or panic. “With the interview?”

“Uh.. yeah,” he answers quickly, but something about his hesitation makes my brow furrow. “Yeah. Everything’s fine with the interview. I was actually listening back to it now.” He takes a deep breath after the moment of silence he gives me to respond, speaking back up when he’s confident I’m not going to use it. “She spoke very highly of you and, uhm,” he pauses again and I can feel my stomach already turning into knots, “well, it reminded me that I had your number. So… I called.”

“I see,” I muse, swallowing to give myself an extra second to think. “Did you have like…” I start again, sitting up in my bed against my headboard, “a question? About what she said or…?”

“No, no,” he lets out a breathy laugh, the sound fuzzy through the phone. “She was very specific and, uh…” he laughs again, “intentional? With her wording?”

The caution in his voice tugs a chuckle from myself now, my arm crossing over my stomach to squeeze it when I lift my knees. “Yeah, she’s got quite a way with words,” I answer back, a small smile still lingering on my lips at the thought of my fourteen year old cousin, “or lack of words, I should say.”

“She’s very special.” I can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks, and something warm spreads within my chest. “Must be a family trait.”

“Our family is pretty special,” I agree, voice dropping to a murmur with the weight of his compliment combined with my pride. “Musicians and painters and whatnot.”

“I thought you were pretty special,” he replies quickly, like ripping off a band aid.

I hesitate, my entire system having been caught off guard. “That’s very kind of you.”

He sucks in a breath, translating as another distorted hiss through my speaker. “That’s sort of why I called,” he mumbles, perhaps thinking if he spoke low enough I wouldn’t be able to hear him.

“Did you want to do an interview?” I ask, willing to help but confused as to how. “Is it for a new project?”

He lets out another breathy chuckle. “No,” he says with that gruff voice laced with humor in the same way it was when he was asking my cousin about her video games. Another quick laugh escapes him, sounding oddly uneasy, before he speaks up again. “No, it’s not for an interview. Although, that might be sort of.. what this is. I don’t know- I’ll just-“ he halts for a second, “I would like to ask you questions. But not for… some kind of project. I would just like to know.”

“Why,” I start, my words slowing down in hopes of giving my brain time to compute where this is going before I speak, “would you like to know?”

“Not 'what'?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re not going to ask me ‘What would you like to know’?” he’s amused, I can tell by the slight rise in the pitch of his voice, “Just jump straight to ‘Why’?”

I huff out a nervous laugh, feeling caught like a misbehaving child. “I don’t know,” I mumble, tilting my head back to stare up into the void of black between my head and my ceiling. “I guess I would like to know what the information I’m giving out is for before I give it out.”

“Alright,” he murmurs, “fair.”

“So?” I push, gently but still discernably.

“So…” he starts, and I make note that he seems fond of these dramatic, awkward pauses, “I would like to know information about you so that I may get to know you… as a person.”

“As a person for what?” I question, sure that there has to be something bigger at play here but not quite sure how big.

A sound between a chuckle and a scoff makes its way through the phone and into my ear. “I know you’re smarter than this,” he jests, the sentiment more intimate than it probably should be between two virtual strangers. “I don’t know much about you but I do know that.”

“I-“

“You’re gonna make me spell it out, aren’t you?” the words would sound completely ridden with dread if it weren’t for that shred of brightness riding out in the same breath. “I am - very badly - asking you out…”

My eyebrows shoot up, head snapping back into palce to stare at the tops of my knees with wide eyes. “Like, on a date?”

“Or- or whatever you’d like it to be,” he offers quickly, his voice dwindling with each word. “If you’d like it to be anything at all."

"So, not a date?" I challenge, eyebrows furrowing and eyes narrowing towards the darkness, not sure where this offer stands anymore.

He mumbles something incoherently for a moment, eventually giving in to a sigh before he chimes back in as if nothing happened. "Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow?"

"I thought you and your team had left," I point out.

"We got a little delayed," he mutters indifferently, immediately assuming his previous tone of hesitant curiosity, making him sound incredibly boyish for his age. "Would you like to have dinner? With me? Tomorrow?"

"I have an eye exam tomorrow-"

"Okay, so not tomorrow."

"...but it's early in the morning."

"So, yes tomorrow?"

I huff out a laugh, unable to imagine the eager voice on the other end of the line coming from the mouth belonging to the man I met three days ago.

"Please say something?" he utters, barely above a whisper, when the silence on my end stretches on for longer than five seconds.

"What time?" I ask, trying to hide my smile from his ears.

He seems to heave a sigh of relief. "Uh- uhm, does seven thirty work?"

"Yes," I answer simply, not wanting to make my excitement so obvious. "What are we going to eat?"

"What do you eat?"

"I like pasta-"

"Then somewhere with pasta," he replies like he's being quizzed, words at the ready with very little stability behind them. "That good?"

"Should I meet you there or-?"

"Never," he chuckles. "I don't have a car here but.. I can walk with you."

"You'd walk to my door just to walk with me to-?"

"Yes."

My lips remain parted, dumbfounded.

"Is it..." he starts, pausing to stretch out the last syllable, "a date?"

"Is it?"

"I asked first."

"Yes, but you never specified what you were asking me to."

"Fair.. again.." He sighs. "I would very much like it to be a date."

I smile, wide and giddy like I used to in high school. Like I haven't in a while. "Would you like it to be or is it?" I press, enjoying this game a little too much. "Because I would not like to get there thinking it's a date only for it to not be and you only wanted it to be."

He laughs. Short but full.

"Well?"

"Yes," he cuts in before I can even finish sounding out my single word, "yes. It is a date."

"Then I will see you there."

A beat.

A breath.