[ raphael isn't sure what to think of justin's invitation at first. it's passed off as innocent; raphael had asked about justin's art months ago, and yet he still hasn't seen any of his creations, not sketches or comics or the mural he's heard tell of more than once. it only makes sense that the suggestion would come eventually, but there is something about it that feels like... more for some unfathomable reason. some part of raphael hangs on the words, but in the end he agrees to visit the apartment one evening—it's early for raphael, late for justin—if only to prove to himself that he's restless over nothing.
things go just about the way raphael expects. they talk briefly at the door, jokes about vampires needing to be invited in tossed back and forth before questions about whether or not they need drinks are tossed back and forth in the living room. this is simple. they've found a familiar rhythm in their banter, the ease with which they play off of each other growing the more time they spend together. they spend a fair amount of time together now, raphael realizes abruptly while justin is laughing at something flippant he's said. if someone had told him long ago that the two of them would end up like this, he would never have believed it.
the mural, once they come around to that subject, is in justin's bedroom, its shapes and dark colors covering the entirety of one wall. it's unlike the art that hangs in the dumort, more contemporary than traditional, and there's something about that that raphael likes. it feels like justin's, not just a piece of art raphael could pin to some other artist's name. the cityscape is a suggetion, half hidden in paint strokes, but there is something inviting about the chaos of it. that isn't a feeling raphael has often.
the two of them stand at the foot of justin's bed peering up at the work, or perhaps justin's eyes have moved to fix on raphael, instead. the sense of being watched—or at least, that's what raphael assumes it is—prickles at the back of his neck as he toys with words to say, a muscle working in his jaw. at long last, he wets his lips, glances at justin sidelong for only a moment before his eyes find the mural again. ]
I like it. [ the words are frustratingly nondescript but they're honest. there's no teasing in this, no arched brow or dismissive smirk. his expression is set in one of contemplation, somber but sincere. he doesn't know how many people have seen this piece of art, but something about it suddenly feels personal, whether that's technically true or not. maybe he's just not used to this. this particular kind of sharing.
maybe it's that persistent question of more? rearing its ugly head again.
to combat it, he turns to justin again, this time refusing to retreat once he's met his gaze. ]
For some reason, I didn't think I would. [ his lip curls into a smile that should be mocking, but it doesn't quite achieve the necessary sharpness. it's too fond for that. ]
no subject
things go just about the way raphael expects. they talk briefly at the door, jokes about vampires needing to be invited in tossed back and forth before questions about whether or not they need drinks are tossed back and forth in the living room. this is simple. they've found a familiar rhythm in their banter, the ease with which they play off of each other growing the more time they spend together. they spend a fair amount of time together now, raphael realizes abruptly while justin is laughing at something flippant he's said. if someone had told him long ago that the two of them would end up like this, he would never have believed it.
the mural, once they come around to that subject, is in justin's bedroom, its shapes and dark colors covering the entirety of one wall. it's unlike the art that hangs in the dumort, more contemporary than traditional, and there's something about that that raphael likes. it feels like justin's, not just a piece of art raphael could pin to some other artist's name. the cityscape is a suggetion, half hidden in paint strokes, but there is something inviting about the chaos of it. that isn't a feeling raphael has often.
the two of them stand at the foot of justin's bed peering up at the work, or perhaps justin's eyes have moved to fix on raphael, instead. the sense of being watched—or at least, that's what raphael assumes it is—prickles at the back of his neck as he toys with words to say, a muscle working in his jaw. at long last, he wets his lips, glances at justin sidelong for only a moment before his eyes find the mural again. ]
I like it. [ the words are frustratingly nondescript but they're honest. there's no teasing in this, no arched brow or dismissive smirk. his expression is set in one of contemplation, somber but sincere. he doesn't know how many people have seen this piece of art, but something about it suddenly feels personal, whether that's technically true or not. maybe he's just not used to this. this particular kind of sharing.
maybe it's that persistent question of more? rearing its ugly head again.
to combat it, he turns to justin again, this time refusing to retreat once he's met his gaze. ]
For some reason, I didn't think I would. [ his lip curls into a smile that should be mocking, but it doesn't quite achieve the necessary sharpness. it's too fond for that. ]