Oran Warner
September 2022
“You have a studio?” Oran exclaimed, his eyes bulging.
Lavender snorted. “Yes, I have a studio. Why is that so surprising?”
Oran’s mouth started before his brain had the chance to follow. After a moment of incomprehensible blabbering, he paused, taking a breath. Lavender cocked a brow, a sly smile sliding across her features.
“W-well, I just… I didn’t expect,” Oran paused, taken aback. “How the hell?”
Lavender unsuccessfully tried to stifle her laughter. She’d painted her nails: lilac, lime, and shimmery-copper. The lilac on her nails was about the same shade as her shoes and tank top, her army-green cargo pants and bottle cap-covered belt pulling the outfit together.
He admired how her outfits were never too much, yet nowhere near boring – much like the woman who wore them.
“It’s a funny story, actually,” Lavender’s eyes shone with the remnants of her laughter. “There was this building that the yoga club was using for a while that belonged to the head of the club. She asked me to do a mural, and then halfway through the commission they got a grant and decided to move to a different building. She let me use it even though I never finished the commission, and now it’s my studio.”
“Damn,” Oran said. “That’s really cool. Of course it’s the friggin yoga club, too, Jesus.”
Lavender smiled, shrugging. “Takes a hippie to know a hippie.”
~*~
He shouldn’t have. He knew he shouldn’t have.
But he just couldn’t help himself.
It had been two days since she’d told him about her studio. Two days since he’d realized there was more. More than just the sketch book that, page by page, had transported him to a different dimension.
There wasn’t just a book, or even books.
No.
There was a whole studio.
He couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not during classes or his study hour, not on his way to the library, and certainly not on his way out of class after Lavender mentioned that she had some work to do at, you guessed it, her studio.
He shouldn’t be here. He knew he shouldn’t be here.
But he just couldn’t help himself.
He’d followed at a distance, staying out of sight without falling too far behind.
It wasn’t a long walk, about an eighth of a mile from campus, but it felt longer than a lifetime to Oran. He crept as close as possible as she unlocked the door to the building, rushing as quietly as he could to slip inside before the door slammed shut with a bang.
Lavender Andreas
September 2022
Lavender hemmed to the tune blaring through her headphones, foot tapping on the wooden floor.
She’d cleaned up an easel, dumping paint-stained paper towel wads before starting canvas prep. After four years, she still couldn’t get over the fact she was spongeing watered down acrylic paints over canvases for actual assignments, not just personal projects.
She hum-sung along to her music, sponging the final touches on the canvas before her. She turned, picking up her sponge.
That’s when she saw him.
