Work Text:
Sunset Studio has become something like a second home to Luke over the past year.
It’s close enough to a home, anyway, since he spends no less than ten hours a day holed up there, if not longer. It’s not entirely his fault because even if he shows up at eight or nine in the morning with the intention of leaving before dinner, he somehow finds himself working on whatever project he’s gotten his hands on well into the night hours. Once he’s pulled out his paints—or pencils, or any medium, really— he can’t stop until he’s satisfied with the product or he falls asleep at the easel, whichever comes first.
More often than not, Calum spends the bulk of that time right next to Luke working on his own projects. While Luke prefers the process of sketching and painting slowly, Calum jumps head first into the paints and spends more of his time trying to buff out the unnatural harshness in his still lifes. Michael only lasts around four hours at a time, complaining how his clay dries his hands out and he just can’t fire up the kiln if it’s not completely full .
It’s better that way anyway— being around while the kiln is on means the entire studio turns into a sauna, and sweat ruins drawings faster than any other substance known to man. Not that Luke has any experience with that. He’s never destroyed three pieces of lightweight watercolor paper in one sitting. Never.
The studio has quickly become Luke’s safe haven, a place completely for him (and his friends) where he can create whatever he wants without any judgement or critique. Unless he asks for it, because Calum is more than happy to offer constructive criticism on whatever Luke is working on. Renting a studio space with some of his best friends was the smartest decision they’ve ever made.
He’s been in the midst of a particularly large commissioned painting of a phoenix being reborn from lava at the base of a volcano, with vibrant crimson red and cadmium yellow swirling around the shadowed figure. It’s one of his finest pieces to date, something he’s extremely proud of, but it’s fucking exhausting. He’s up and down the ladder all day to reach the top of the eight foot canvas leaning against the studio wall. The motions are dizzying to the point where he can’t work on it for more than two hours at a time, dramatically slowing his pace. If he’s going to have it done by the time that the buyer needs it, he has to put in more effort than he is.
“Break time,” Michael yells as he walks in with a paper bag in his right hand and his sketchbook in his left.
“What’d you bring me?” Luke asks, folding up his ladder and putting it off to the side where no one will trip over it. The last thing he needs is someone (himself) spilling all his paint on the floor. He’s got a drop cloth down, but that’ll only do so much against a gallon of ivory black paint.
“I didn’t bring you shit,” Michael jabs, putting his bag down on his desk. “I got myself a bagel.”
“Fucking rude of you not to ask me if I wanted anything,” Luke pouts, turning to the sink to wash the remnants of his paint off his fingertips before he touches anything else.
“He didn’t ask me either,” Calum says, popping his head up from his easel across the room. “You would think he would know to ask by now.”
“He’s too selfish for that.”
“He’s still here,” Michael complains, rolling his eyes as he pulls his bagel out of the bag. “Get your own food.”
Luke shakes his head as he wipes his hands on the rag next to the sink. The paint swirls down the drain, sticking to the cool metal on its way into the pipes, creating tie dye stripes of colors. This is the kind of sight that just can’t be captured by a painting, Luke thinks as he turns away from the sink. You need to see it in person to understand the beauty of a paint stained sink.
“Anyway,” Michael says around a mouthful of food, “I have bad news.”
Calum hums in acknowledgement, taking off his headphones to pay full attention. Luke, on the other hand, barely pays attention to Michael as he gathers his watercolor markers from the shelf. After seven years of knowing each other, Luke knows better than to put a lot of thought into Michael’s declarations. The next words out of his mouth will likely be something about how it’s going to rain later or how he got slip on his t-shirt.
“Roy is leaving the studio.”
Luke snaps his head around at the statement at the same time that Calum shouts “What!”
Michael nods his head solemnly. “Yeah, he found his soulmate, some person from out of town. He’s packing his shit up and following them out.”
“Where did he find them?” Luke asks, barely able to keep the edge of curiosity out of his voice. The soulmate system has always been a point of interest for Luke ever since he was a child. He was always fascinated by the idea that there was someone out there just for him, someone that is supposed to be completely compatible and right for him. If only it was easy to find that person.
“Apparently he was doing yoga in the park and this person came up and complimented his fucking tramp stamp , and Roy had to tell them he didn’t have one. Cue the lightbulb of realization, soulmates.”
“It’s fucked up that your soulmate is the only one who can see your soulmark,” Calum says with a huff. “Why can’t we just have their name tattooed on our forehead or something more obvious. How are you supposed to figure out a soul mark compared to a normal tattoo?”
“We’re not having this discussion again,” Michael says, swallowing down his bite with a gulp of tea.
Calum bats his eyes at Luke across the room, silently asking for backup that Luke just won’t give him. No matter how much he loves the idea of finding his soulmate someday, he doesn’t need to entertain the philosophical conversation when he’s been inhaling paint fumes for hours. “Sucks that we’re gonna have to eat his portion of the rent for a while,” he says instead.
Sitting down at his desk next to Calum, Luke pulls out a pad of thick paper, perfect for practicing washes of watercolor. He eyes Calum’s painting with interest for a moment before turning to face Michael again as he speaks.
“Actually,” Michael says, clapping his hands together once in excitement, “A buddy of mine is looking for a studio.”
“Since when do you have friends that aren’t us?” Luke says cooly, eliciting a laugh from Calum.
“Fuck you,” Michael says, rolling his eyes. “I met him at a farmer’s market when I was selling those multicolored mugs I made back what, a few months ago? June maybe? We stayed in touch a little, but last time we talked, he mentioned wanting to find a better space.”
Skimming his marker across the page lightly, Luke leaves a thin stroke of emerald green thoughtlessly. “We’re gonna let a stranger into our studio?” He barely hides his distaste for the situation as he looks up at Michael through his eyelashes. Bringing someone new into his (their) studio will ruin the magic they’ve created there. They’ve been working in close quarters since they met in color theory during their first semester of college, and now Michael wants to have someone else in their space?
Luke doesn’t like change.
“He’s not a stranger,” Michael snips, shaking his head. “Look, he’s a great guy. Can I at least bring him by to meet you?”
“I’m down for it,” Calum says, shrugging as he swipes white across his canvas recklessly.
Luke doesn’t raise his head fully for a minute, hoping maybe if he just focuses down on his paper, Michael might forget he’s here. Hiding in plain sight is a thing, right?
“Luke?” Michael prompts after a few moments. Of course that plan wouldn’t work out.
“Fine,” Luke grumbles. “But we’re not promising him anything until we meet him. Don’t go offering him the spot yet.”
“Promise,” Michael says, a hand over his heart and fingers up in salute, “Scout’s honor.”
Turning back to his paper, Luke can’t help but feel like this is a bad idea as he mixes a bit of raw sienna into the green. A bad, bad idea.
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“I fucking hate gouache,” Luke complains, dropping his brush down on the table carelessly.
“Watch it, if you get paint on my canvas, I’ll murder you,” Calum says, eyes knitted together in concentration as he uses a microbrush to outline the plant he had been painting. Luke nudges his brush back towards his own side of the table, watching the swipe of pale pink that stains the table top.
Experimenting with new mediums is frustrating, especially when it’s something unfamiliar. Realistically, working with gouache shouldn’t be so hard given that gouache is nothing more than more opaque watercolors, but there’s something about working with the consistency that’s messing Luke up constantly. He’s been trying to work on some flowers for a local florist’s wall, but every iteration of his composition is worse than the next. First his wash was too thin, then too thick. Then the brushes were all wrong, followed by a shaky hand that ruined another draft.
He’s having a bad art day. It happens, but that doesn’t make it any less frustrating. That coupled with the generally gloomy September day he was having prior to making it to the studio meant a recipe for disaster. He had wanted to come in and throw himself into artwork in an attempt to forget the frustrating morning, but the universe clearly has other plans for him today.
“Hey!” Michael shouts as he throws open the metal door at the front of the studio. It slams against the exposed brick wall, echoing through the space and startling both Luke and Calum.
“Rule number three!” Calum shouts, clenching his hand tight around the brush and taking a deep breath to steady himself.
Michael has the decency to look at least a little ashamed of himself, smiling like a little kid being reprimanded by a parent. “Sorry, sorry. I forget to come in softly sometimes.”
“Well if you make me fuck up my work, you’re paying for it,” Calum mumbles. “You’re lucky I wasn’t actively painting.”
Michael takes a few steps into the studio and Luke catches a figure over his shoulder. Irrational anger bubbles inside him as he closes his eyes. Of course the new guy would be coming over when Luke is already pissed off about his work, because today was destined to be bad from the start. He couldn’t just have this one day to be angry and blow off some steam by using Michael’s pottery wheel. Instead he’s required to be a well adjusted human being when all he wants to do is squirt paint all over a canvas and throw shit at it.
“This is Ashton,” Michael says, stepping out of the way to reveal a bright red haired man with a luminous smile. He’s scanning the space with interest, hazel eyes wide as he takes in some of the hanging works in progress on the “gallery” wall that Calum and Luke use for pieces they want other opinions on. Ashton wrings his hands together, twisting a single silver ring around his long finger, though the rest of his appearance is calm and confident. His broad shoulders are thrown back, pulling at the fabric of his black t-shirt.
“Hey man,” Calum greets with a nod. “I’m Calum. Sorry about the aggression, Michael has a really bad habit of coming in here screaming and he’s messed up more than one of our works.”
Ashton’s laugh floats through the studio as he takes a few cautious steps into the room. “Noted, I won’t break the rule. I’m assuming there’s more rules then?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Luke can see Calum smile, though it’s not the tense, strained smile that he normally gives to strangers. Instead it’s warm, familiar, and it makes the searing sting of annoyance burn a little stronger. Calum likes him. If Michael likes him and Calum likes him, Luke’s opinion on Ashton is irrelevant. He’s outnumbered.
“Rule one is don’t touch anyone’s work without asking for permission. Two is don’t touch anyone’s supplies without asking. Shit like varnish or cheap acrylic paint or like, communal sketch paper is fine, as long as it’s easy to replace. Otherwise, ask before you touch anyone’s stuff. Pencils, brushes, canvases, whatever; they’re all off limits. Three is obviously no sudden loud noises. And four is no unsolicited advice or critiques,” Calum says, counting on his fingers as he goes.
Nodding, Ashton’s demeanor shifts a bit, suddenly less sure of himself and much more meek, but only slightly so. “Got it, yeah, of course.”
Luke snorts, drawing Ashton’s attention to him for the first time. Wide eyes fall on him, scanning his face quickly before breaking out into a small smile despite Luke’s obvious look of annoyance. “And you are?” Ashton says, a strange smugness bleeding into his tone. Luke can’t hold back a slight snarl of his lip. He really doesn’t like Ashton already for absolutely no reason.
But even if he isn’t a fan of Ashton’s, Luke can’t help but appreciate how attractive the guy is. His dyed hair falls loosely over his forehead in waves, curling slightly on rogue strands. His sun kissed skin shines under the warm sunlight filtered through the large windows adjacent to the door. Even across the room, Luke can see the way his hazel eyes exude excitement as they stare him down. Luke wants to paint using just the color palette of his very being.
“Luke,” he offers plainly before returning right back to his failed painting in front of him. Maybe if he stares at it long enough, it’ll turn into something usable. Either that or burst into flames. Both would be acceptable at this point.
“Nice to meet you, Luke,” Ashton mumbles, but Luke doesn’t look up to address him again.
“Ignore him, he’s being a downer today since he can’t get his gouache right,” Calum says.
“Oh!” He can tell Ashton’s tone is pleased even without looking up. “I love working with gouache, I can give you some pointers if you want.”
“No unsolicited advice,” Luke barks, glaring up at Ashton through a thin veil of curls that have toppled into his vision. He knows he’s being unnecessarily rude and he’ll absolutely overthink this entire interaction once he’s at home, but right now, he hates Ashton. And Calum and Michael, too, but mostly Ashton.
Ashton takes a half step backwards and raises his hands in surrender, smile never leaving his face. “Of course, no worries. You’ll get it eventually.”
“What do you do, Ashton? What mediums do you like?” Calum swoops in, throwing Luke a look that says we’re talking about this later as he steps around his easel in favor of standing directly in front of Ashton.
“A little bit of everything, but lately I’ve been really into combinations of vine charcoal and fingerpainting. Abstract, I guess.”
Luke barely, barely , holds back the urge to laugh in this guy’s face. Of course he’s an abstract artist, his entire look screams hipster bullshit. He’s dressed in loose jeans and ill fitting shirt with fucking Birkenstocks, for crying out loud. He’s a walking cliche, especially with the firetruck red hair he’s sporting currently.
“Ah nice, we could probably do good with some whimsy in this studio. I lean towards a graphic style, Michael is all pottery, and Luke. Well Luke does a little of everything, really. Jack of all trades, that’s our boy,” Calum laughs, reaching a hand over to ruffle Luke’s hair before he can pull back.
“I like that,” Ashton says, but when Luke takes a chance to look up, he’s staring directly at Luke even though he was talking to Calum. Heat zips down Luke’s spine at the attention, but he chooses to believe it’s frustration with the situation at hand, both with Ashton and his art.
Michael directs Ashton back to take a look at his kiln and wheel set up, leaving Luke and Calum in the front at their stations. Luke doesn’t even have to look at Calum to know the lecture that’s coming, but he’s too frustrated with his own performance today to even argue with Calum.
“I’m going home,” Luke says, tossing his brush into the cup of water on his desk and moving to grab his bag. It’s only half past two but it could very well be midnight with the way Luke’s entire body feels like it’s being weighed down by the world.
“But,” Calum starts, but Luke is already halfway across the room, letting the metal door slam behind him.
Rule three is getting broken a lot today.
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Stepping into the studio the following day feels a lot like returning to the scene of a crime. Luke has his head hung low and his apologetic eyes on, already prepared for the inevitable bitch fest that’s to come when he opens the door.
Surprisingly, no one is there when he arrives, even though it’s a solid two hours later than he normally shows up to the studio. He favors working in the early morning when the sunlight illuminates his pieces in a way that no artificial light ever could. But today he couldn’t stomach the idea of getting out of bed and facing his actions, let alone find it in him to go back to work on the fucking gouache piece.
He takes his time to clean up his brushes from yesterday, cringing at the water saturated wooden handle on one of his favorite brushes. Never leave brushes in water overnight, that’s painting 101. He’s lucky the thin hairs haven’t started detaching from the ferrule. It’d be one thing if this was one of his cheap brushes, but this is one that he’s had since college and taken care of to the best of his ability. Apparently he lost all common sense yesterday, in more ways than one.
Luke hums under his breath as he does some light cleaning, scrubbing at the thin film of paint that had been building up in the sink with a sponge. The warm water washes away and traces of paint that had once been there, sent straight down the sink with the rest of his worries from the day before. He gets so lost in the movements that he doesn’t register the door squeaking open slightly as someone finally comes to join him.
“Someone was in a bad mood yesterday,” Michael’s voice calls from behind him, causing Luke to spray a bit of water on the sink ledge in his terror.
Sighing, Luke turns to face Michael. The unimpressed glower on his face is completely warranted, Luke thinks, as he smiles sheepishly at his friend. “I know, I”m sorry.”
“It’s not me you should be apologizing to, you acted like an ass to Ashton for no reason.”
Luke wipes his hands on a towel and moves to get his pencils from their spot on the shelf. “I didn’t get a good vibe from him anyway,” Luke lies.
“That sucks for you, because he’s gonna join us here.”
Luke whips his head around, “What? I thought we wouldn't offer him the spot without talking first?”
“No,” Michael corrects, “we said we wouldn’t offer him the spot until we all met him. Which we did, so no promises were broken here. Besides, Calum offered him the spot.”
“Way to throw me under the bus,” Calum calls as he hangs his jacket on the coat rack by the door. “But you’re not wrong.”
“Betrayed by my best friend,” Luke says solemnly. “I should have known you would be the one to stab me in the back.”
“Drama,” Calum replies, moseying over to a painting hanging from the gallery wall. “What do you think of this?” He points to a square canvas covered in lime green paint with squiggles of orange and red on it.
“Looks like something a toddler would make,” Luke replies honestly. “Didn’t know you were regressing, Cal.”
With a huff, Calum shakes his head. “Ash’s work, not mine.”
Luke takes a second look at the painting, tilting his head to the side as if that’ll help him understand it better. He’s all for personal expression in whatever way someone feels fit, but he’s never fully understood the appeal of abstract art. It’s all metaphors and individual interpretation and all too much thinking for Luke’s taste. He prefers art that gives off strong emotions while also being direct in its composition, not whatever it is that’s in front of him.
“It’s… interesting.”
Calum laughs, “Yeah, I suppose you could say that. It’s not finished according to Ash, but he brought it here as a way to claim his spot, I think. He’s supposed to come by later to give the first month’s share of rent and bring over some of his supplies.”
“Great,” Luke says sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he crosses the room to drop his supplies down in front of his chair. He really intended on coming in here with a better attitude today, but for some reason, the very thought of Ashton makes his stomach turn.
Michael’s pottery wheel already hums quietly in the background, a surprisingly comforting sound in the quiet of the studio. They normally take turns playing their music over the speaker, with the option to put in one’s own headphones to ignore whatever is playing. It’s Luke’s day to choose the music, but he really doesn’t feel like he wants to play anything out loud. The regret of his actions yesterday haunt him still, fogging over his brain and making it hard to focus on anything.
He doesn’t like the idea of Ashton renting out the rest of the studio space, but he really needs to give the poor guy a shot before hating him based on one single interaction. It’s not Ashton’s fault that Luke was in a shitty mood that’s somehow carried over into the next day. But it will be Ashton’s problem if he continues to get on Luke’s nerves once they finally start working in the same room.
Luke is halfway through the outline for a fairly detailed portrait of a bulldog for a customer when the studio door creaks open and Ashton takes a step inside carrying a large box. The same bubbling annoyance, mixed with a little something that Luke can’t place, travels through his body as Calum greets Ashton with a wave.
“Where can I set my stuff?” Ashton asks.
“Roy’s shelf was the third from the bottom, so feel free to use that one to hold as much as you can. Otherwise, stick your canvases anywhere they’re not in the way of someone walking.”
Nodding at Calum’s directions, Ashton sets the box down on the floor. “I have a few more boxes I need to bring up, so I’ll be back.”
“Let me help!” Calum offers, following Ashton out the door and down the hall.
“Be nice,” Michael calls to Luke across the room, wedging clay on the countertop.
“Fuck off,” Luke replies, brushing some pieces of eraser off the table. He’ll keep working until Ashton is back and settled in, then he’ll apologize for the way he acted yesterday. There’s no point in leaving hostility in the air unnecessarily.
But that time doesn’t come, because by the time that Ashton is fully unpacked, he and Calum have become the best of friends and are virtually inseparable. Calum laughs at his jokes and teases him like old pals rather than someone he met literally yesterday. Jealousy crawls through Luke’s skin, but he tries to channel that energy into perfecting the loving look in the dog’s eyes rather than glaring at them across the room.
He doesn’t realize how much time has passed until Michael pats his shoulder, drawing him away from his piece with a jolt. He pulls his headphones out of his ears to Michael’s quiet voice. “Sorry, wasn’t trying to scare you, I just wanted to say Cal and I are leaving. Dog looks great, too.”
“Thanks, see ya,” Luke mumbles, no longer trapped in his own little world. His hands are starting to cramp around his pencils and he’s pretty sure he should eat something soon or else he’ll start shaking and mess up a nearly perfect piece.
He’s just started to pack up his stuff when someone clears their throat across the room and Luke raises his head in surprise to see Ashton nestled in the corner with a large drawing pad on his lap. “Shit, you scared me,” Luke laughs humorlessly.
“Sorry, I thought you knew I was here.”
Luke shakes his head, exhaling deeply to settle his pounding heart. “Nope, figured you were long gone with Mike and Cal.”
“Figured I would get a little bit of work done since I came all the way out here.”
Luke nods and doesn’t reply, moving to the sink to wash the graphite off of his hands. He scrubs at his skin until it’s raw and pink, clear of any signs that he had been working today. It’s a bit excessive, but there’s nothing worse than accidentally ruining a piece by putting smudges or fingerprints where they don’t belong.
Ashton’s eyes stay on him as he moves around the studio, depositing his tools back in their various spots and tidying up the last of the messes that Calum and Michael left. He pretends that he isn’t bothered by the attention, eyes tracking every move and analyzing his actions. He knows that he should say something to break the ice, but there’s a lump in his throat preventing him from uttering a word. Luke is never afraid to talk to others, not since he had to be fearless when asking for gallery spaces or proper payment for his time. He’s grown a backbone over the years and not much throws him off anymore. Apparently Ashton is the exception to that rule.
“Uh,” Ashton finally says as Luke is bending to grab his bag from the bench near the door. “Have a good night I guess?”
Luke stops, throwing a look over his shoulder, catching Ashton still in his same spot with his shoulders a bit more sullen than they were before. The lowlights wash over him carefully, hiding parts of his face in dark shadows as some of the strands of his deep red hair fall into his face. He’s unconventionally beautiful, with a crooked smile and deep lines at the corners of his eyes, the kind of person Luke loves to draw because they have character and personality beyond their years.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Luke says, surprising himself as he turns around fully. He takes a few steps forward across the worn tiles, white converse sneakers scuffing along as he walks. “I was an ass.”
“No, it’s okay,” Ashton starts to say, shaking his head, but Luke cuts him off.
“It wasn’t okay. I was in an awful mood and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. That’s unfair and I’m sorry that I came across like that. Shitty first impression.”
Ashton’s laugh echoes across the high ceilings, covering every inch of the studio in his voice. “Maybe, but I don’t care all that much for first impressions anyway. What matters more is someone showing their true self and being open with others around them.”
Luke nods once, unsure what to say in reply to that. “Well, yeah. Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
“Bye Luke, I’ll be looking forward to it.”
Luke pockets the warmth that Ashton’s words leave, determined not to overthink this.
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Ashton blends into the group so well.
A little too well, really, because after no more than a week of him being there, it feels like he was always one of their friends. He brings a fun, playful energy to the studio that was never there before, even when Roy used to roll up to work with some kind of insane trash that he found on the side of the road and wanted to turn into art. Ashton breathes life into the space with his neon paintings and constant chatter, for better or worse.
Sometimes Luke wants to knock him out just to get some peace and quiet, but most of the time he welcomes Ashton’s blabbering about random things while he works. He’s unable to stop talking for more than a few minutes once he’s finally comfortable, something that Michael apologizes for one night when it’s just the three of them. ( “I didn’t know he was so loud, I’m sorry for that.” “Don’t worry, he’s fun,” Calum had said. “I’m not bothered by it,” Luke had replied. )
Ashton’s work is just as vibrant and chaotic as his personality, full of splatters and bursts and lines that turn into a whole lot of nothing. It’s not how Luke works at all, but he finds himself watching the way that Ashton works out of the corner of his eye, getting distracted by the way his hands flick around the canvas. Luke has always been invested in learning from others, but given the differences in how Ashton works, he never expected to learn anything from him.
Luke finishes the phoenix piece on a Tuesday, finally putting the last line of metallic gold through the flames at the bottom. He takes a few steps back to admire his work in its entirety, the giant eight by six foot canvas taking up the majority of the small interior wall. Behind him, the autumn sunset reflects the colors on the canvas, shooting lines of gold and copper and marigold through the clouds. It’s perfect.
“Wow,” Michael says, stepping away from his glazing to admire the piece with Luke. “Looks fucking sick. What did you use to make the fire pop so much?”
“A billion coats of white under the colors, I think. And a shit ton of gloss medium to keep it shiny. It’s what the buyer wanted and for once, the customer was definitely right,” Luke says with a laugh.
It’s rare that Luke gets commissioned pieces with such specific requirements as this one, but the buyer on this piece knew exactly what they wanted and how they wanted it, which both made the piece easier and harder to make. Luke didn’t have to do as much work in terms of creating his composition or coming up with an original design, but he sure had really high expectations to meet. He’s really fucking proud of this piece and he sure as hell hopes the buyer likes it too.
“Shit,” Ashton’s voice chimes in, finally coming to join them in gazing at the piece. “How long have you been working on it?”
“Month or so,” Luke says. “I wanted it done in two weeks, but I underestimated how long it would take to get the colors right. I hate blending acrylics more than just about anything.”
“More or less than you hate gouache?” Ashton teases, joking smirk on his face.
“Low blow,” Luke groans with a laugh. “Things I hate: gouache, blending acrylics, smudging charcoal, and anything that involves superglue.”
“Sounds like a hell of a kinky night gone wrong.”
Luke chokes on nothing, spluttering as Ashton chuckles under his breath. It’s not the first time that Ashton’s made a lewd comment, but it’s the first time that Luke has been directly involved in the conversation. “I’m not sure what stuff you’re into, but if I ever get into a situation that involves any of those in a sexual way, I’m outta there.”
“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” Ashton says with a shrug.
“I’m so intrigued but also so fucking scared,” Michael says, laughing to himself as he returns to his own work.
“Do you do a lot of commissioned pieces?” Ashton asks, looking at Luke with genuine curiosity. His hazel eyes glimmer in the light filtering through the wide windows and Luke tries desperately to memorize the way the gold flickers through them. The color is unlike anything he’s ever seen before.
Turning back to pick up the last of his supplies scattered around the canvas, Luke smiles to himself. “Yeah, I’ve had a few pieces in galleries in the area and that tends to get a bit of interest from people looking for unique pieces of their own. I don’t take on too many at once, but now that this one is done, I’m gonna try to open myself up to more.”
Ashton makes a small noise of understanding in the back of his throat. “Makes sense.”
“What about you?” Luke asks, finding himself genuinely interested in the answer. He’s gotten so good at making small talk about other artists' pieces over the years, but this doesn’t feel as forced as his normal shop talk can be.
“Not too many, I like to make art for myself more than I like to make it for other people. Expression of my soul, I think.”
Luke holds back a laugh, just barely. The more he comes to know Ashton, the more he lives up to the cliches that Luke has set in his mind. He’s definitely one of those painters, the kind that gets inspiration in the middle of the night and has to get up to paint whatever flowing colors he sees in his mind. He can’t force himself to work when the conditions aren’t right. He’s opposite to Luke in just about every way, given the meticulous way that Luke works, honed in on the details and tiny specifics of a piece.
And Luke loves it.
He loves being challenged to think outside the box, to come up with new concepts or methods of working. He loves to be forced into situations that never would have inspired him in the first place, to find collections of colors in mundane life experiences. He loves to see what makes other people think of art. Luke has always been the person who breathes life and emotions into his works, living for the pride that swells within him when he finds something in day to day experiences that inspires him.
And somehow, Ashton is becoming his newest muse.
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“Don’t panic,” Ashton says, wringing his hands together carefully on a cold October morning. “But I fucked up.”
Luke narrows his eyes, blinking at Ashton. “What happened?”
“Okay, let me paint the picture. I was washing my brushes, right? I saw the cup by the side of the sink and was like oh cool, let me help Luke out and wash his brushes too .”
Across the room, Calum gasps dramatically. “You didn’t,” he says, laughing humorlessly. “Oh Luke is going to kill you.”
“Ashton…” Luke says, seriousness dripping through his tone onto the cement floor with the water from Ashton’s wet hands. “What happened?”
With a ducked head, Ashton mutters incomprehensibly.
“Own up to it dude, what happened?” Michael chimes in, standing at the edge of the clay area with glazing tongs in his hand.
“I dropped your brush down the sink?”
Luke sucks in a deep breath through his nose and out his mouth. “Which brush?”
“The thin one.”
“Fuck,” Luke complains, running a hand down his face. “My favorite one? Purple handle?”
“That’s the one,” Ashton says softly, picking at the skin on the side of his thumb.
Luke should be yelling right now, pissed off that Ashton was even touching his brushes when there are rules against touching other people’s supplies. He should be tearing Ashton a new one the way that he would if it were Calum or Michael who lost his brush.
But there’s something about the way that Ashton bats his eyelashes and pouts just the smallest amount that makes Luke lose his frustration. He looks genuinely distraught by his mistake; and that’s what it is, nothing but a mistake. An unfortunate mistake that may cost Luke his favorite detail brush, but it’s nothing but a mistake nonetheless. More than anything, Luke wants to give Ashton a gentle pat on the head and tell him that everyone fucks up sometimes, but he doesn’t want to be made fun of for giving him a break.
“Damn,” Luke says listlessly. It lacks the heat it should have, but he manages to tack on a bit of sadness onto the end of the word.
“I’ve been trying to figure out how to get it out, but I’m not sure that I can do it. The poor brush is probably already down at the bottom of the sewer. I’m sorry.”
Luke shakes his head. “It’s okay, shit happens.”
Calum chokes on his coffee, drops nearly falling onto the piece he’s been working on. “Shit happens? Who are you and what have you done with Luke?”
Luke doesn’t reply, but he savors the small smile that Ashton gives him in return and the utter relief in his eyes. That itself is enough of a reason for Luke to drop the issue, if only to spend a little time drawing Ashton’s eyes on a middle page in his sketchbook. He covers his work with his hand, not wanting anyone to see that he’s suddenly taken to drawing a fellow artist’s facial features. Last thing he needs is for Ashton to think he’s a fucking creep.
He’ll just let his frustration flow down the sink right after his brush.
(And maybe it helps that the next morning, there’s a replacement brush sitting on Luke’s station with a tiny blue bow wrapped around the ferrule with a note signed “ I’m sorry, x Ash”. Maybe Luke tucks that note in his pocket. No one has to know.)
｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆
Luke doesn’t get mail sent directly to the studio very often.
He has an apartment across the city, so there really isn’t much of a reason for the studio to be used as a mailing address for bills or birthday cards. But there’s still a lock box down in the lobby where the building management puts any mail that they do happen to get sent here. It’s normally ads from local art shops with coupons to entice them into buying more supplies that they don’t really need. But nothing stops Calum from capitalizing on a good deal.
So when a letter comes in the mail with no return address and Luke’s name written in fancy script on the front, he’s more than a little confused.
Walking up the stairs to their second floor studio, Luke holds the envelope in his hand while balancing a bag of new paints and a stack of smaller canvases. Behind the metal door, he can hear music, a sure sign that someone is in there working already. Luke kicks the door once, hoping that someone will come open the door rather than make him put all the things down, open the door, and pick everything back up again. It may be lazy, but he doesn’t care.
Ashton opens the door with a very confused look on his face that softens as soon as he lays eyes on Luke. “Hey?” he says, holding the door open further for Luke to step inside.
“No hands to open the door, thanks.”
“Ah,” Ashton affirms. “I see why you let me rent the spot here, I’m your personal doorman now.”
“Exactly,” Luke laughs, putting his stuff down on his desk. “We needed someone who wouldn’t scare people away if they knocked on the door.”
“Should just have you here all the time then, no one would be afraid of your pretty face.”
Luke’s eyes widen in surprise at Ashton’s compliment but he doesn’t feed into it, just packaging up the feeling and putting it in his pocket to remember later. He huffs out a laugh as a response and goes to open the envelope instead, tearing into the thick paper with little grace.
He pulls the paper out of the envelope scraps and opens it, scanning the page quickly before he fully registers what it is.
Dear Mr. Hemmings,
The Temporary Gallery would like to extend an offer to have you create a piece for our upcoming show titled “To Move and To Live”. The timeline for the show is as follows…”
Luke doesn’t get any further down the letter before he lets out a little “ oh shit ” of surprise, blinking down at the paper rapidly. He’s been trying to get into The Temporary for just about as long as he’s been a professional artist, but he’s been turned down a million times. As the most prestigious gallery in the city, only the best of the best get invited to showcase work there. It’s been one of his wildest dreams to have a piece on their walls, but Luke thought he was going to have to beg at someone’s feet to have a piece hung in a back corner, nevermind them personally asking him to create a piece.
His heart sinks a little at the thought that maybe this is a scam. He doesn’t normally get mail to the studio, maybe this is just someone playing a cruel trick on him that will only end in heartbreak. No one considers him an enemy, at least no one that Luke is aware of. His brothers wouldn’t go this far out of their way for a prank. No exes have a personal vendetta against him. There’s no reason to overthink it.
Still, he’s skeptical of the validity, though every part of him hopes that this is real. This could be a huge break, an opportunity to be showcased in one of the most sought after galleries in the city. He’d be a fool to fuck this up.
“What happened?” Ashton asks. “Paper cut?”
“Huh?” Luke says, turning on his heel to face Ashton.
“You said oh shit, that’s all.”
“Oh… I got a letter from The Temporary .”
Ashton’s face lights up. “Oh really? So did I! Congrats!”
There’s a slight sting of disappointment that Ashton was also offered a position in the gallery. Luke isn’t greedy and doesn’t think he’s better than anyone else, but the excitement and exclusivity of the invitation is just a little smaller with the knowledge that Ashton also has been offered the same opportunity.
“Sick, congrats to you too,” Luke says, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as unenthusiastic as he feels it does. If it does, Ashton ignores it as he smiles wildly, pulling a dimple into his cheek. A tiny bit of the lost happiness floods Luke’s chest at the grin, which he mirrors back halfheartedly. It’s hard to be sad when Ashton is so incredibly excited.
“Maybe we’ll be near each other in the gallery,” Ashton says, returning back to a canvas splattered with orange and yellow paints.
“No offense, but our works are very different, I don’t even think we’ll be on the same floor.”
Ashton’s laugh echoes through the high ceilings and Luke can’t help but be proud of himself for eliciting such a pretty sound from him. “Fair, makes sense.”
Smiling at the back of Ashton’s head, Luke takes a moment to watch him as he works. Ashton is attractive, there’s no denying the fact. His bright hair matches his bright personality, radiant in the filtered sunlight. He works with such unrestrained movements, all large sweeps and rushed jabs like he’s sure the brush will land wherever it’s meant to. His confidence is inspiring.
Unconsciously, Luke finds himself doing a few quick gesture sketches of Ashton’s figure while he’s working, capturing the different ways his body moves as a means of practicing his skills. He does this every so often with Michael or Calum, using them as living mannequins to practice his quick work.
What’s different about them compared to Ashton is how often Luke has to stop to stare at Ashton. The way he gnaws on his lip when he’s thinking. The way he has to keep pushing strands of hair off his smooth skin as they block his vision. The little self assuring nods he does when he’s placed paint in the perfect location. He’s fascinating to watch and even more fascinating to draw.
How lucky is Luke to have living art right here in front of him.
｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･ﾟ☆
“Don’t hate me…” Ashton says sheepishly one afternoon as he tiptoes over to where Luke is setting up his tufting gun to make a rug. Ashton’s hands are hidden behind his back. Luke doesn’t like the look of this at all.
“Why would I hate you…” Luke says apprehensively.
Ashton sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers before holding out the hand that had been hidden behind his back. It’s one of Luke’s sketchbooks, or, at least it was one of his sketchbooks. The pages are waterlogged and sopping wet, dripping down onto the cement floor.
“What did you do,” Luke groans, putting down the rug gun to take the sketchbook from Ashton.
“It was an accident, I swear!” Ashton says.
“Okay but what did you do ?” Luke asks again, peeling back the cover to see how ruined the pages really are. And damn are they ruined. The ink has seeped through most of the pages, causing each drawing to bleed into the next. He carefully tries to peel the top page off the second and it tears straight down the middle. Luke closes the book.
“I was going to set up on the big canvas near your station and put down my water cup and… yeah. That’s it. I miscalculated.”
Luke closes his eyes and counts to three. Ashton didn’t mean to ruin an entire sketchbook worth of pieces, he knows that, but that doesn’t stop the frustration from building up within him. He holds onto all his sketchbooks regardless of what’s inside them, never knowing what could be used for inspiration. Numerous works have come from old sketches that almost never saw the light of day until Luke was flipping through for some kind of direction.
Not only that, but the sketchbooks are almost like a graphic diary, depicting different days and times and emotions all across the spectrum. Everything is catalogued within the cardboard covers and someday, they’re going to be cherished memories.
Well, not if they all get ruined.
“You really need to be more careful,” Luke barks, unable to steady his tone. He’s pissed, and rightfully so, with the way Ashton is so flippant about everything. Sometimes his relaxed demeanor is a welcome break from Luke’s more rigid way of being. On times like this, however, he’s dancing too close to the edge of destroying something important with the way he’s working.
“I know, I’m sorry,” Ashton says, sincerity evident in his tone.
“Sorry doesn’t fix ruining a month’s worth of work.”
Ashton’s face quirks into a frown laced with confusion. “Is it really that important? It’s all just sketches, you sketch all the time.”
“Exactly, and you just took away countless sketches that could have become something. I put hard work into those and you just literally washed them away with one wrongly placed cup of water. You shouldn’t even be putting anything on my desk, ever.” Luke huffs, rolling his eyes in annoyance. Of course Ashton wouldn’t get it, not with the way he’s been working for the past month or so. Luke shouldn’t have expected anything different from someone so incredibly different from himself.
“Yeah but-” Ashton starts, but Luke cuts him off with a harsh laugh.
“If you’re still going to defend trashing an entire fucking sketchbook, save your breath.” Luke turns on his heel, marching to the door without so much as a glance back. He needs out of the studio now before he actually says something he’ll regret.
Taking the stairs down two at a time, Luke emerges into the lobby and throws the outside doors open with a touch too much frustration. Tossing a halfhearted apology into the atmosphere, he starts down the sidewalk leading further into town on a quest to nowhere.
Fuming, he speeds down the street with no real intention on where he’s going, just away from the studio. Away from Ashton, really.
The city streets are lined with shops and restaurants with beautiful facades, all competing to draw people into the buildings. They all hold stories or memories collected over the years of working in the heart of a bustling community. The coffee shop on the corner where Calum laughed so hard he snorted hot coffee out his nose and complained about burned nostrils for the rest of the way. The Thai place two blocks down that Michael has delivered to the studio no less than once a week even though it’s faster and cheaper just to walk down the road. The used bookstore with a cat and a loft that Luke sits in when he can’t find a single lick of inspiration in their creative space.
It brings a comfort that one can only find in their home, the place that they never want to leave. Luke could never, ever imagine packing up and finding a home somewhere else. A fleeting thought comes about Roy and his soulmate and how he just up and left without so much as a second thought.
Would it be that easy for Luke to leave should his soulmate ever need him to? Would the universe bother putting him with someone who he would be challenged by on such a basic level?
The concept of a soulmate bothers Luke, bringing with it such a conflicted train of thought. On one hand, the idea of having someone who is essentially perfect for him is interesting, or maybe grounding. He’s not going to be out in the world alone forever, he’s quite literally unable to live his entire life without meeting his match, it’s the rules.
But at the same time, there’s still the lingering worry that he’s not actually going to like his soulmate. Getting used to Calum and Michael took time and even now, sometimes Luke wants to wring their necks. What happens when he meets his soulmate and a week, a month, a year down the line, he realizes that he can’t stand the person he’s paired with?
Love takes work, it’s not ever abundant and limitless, he knows this. He’s willing to put in the work to make sure that they are okay, but what happens if that’s just not how their love is meant to be, whoever the person is? There've been stories of soulmates who actually hated each other, ones that couldn’t stand living in the same place as their pair. What happens if Luke is one of those failed attempts?
The pit started by Ashton’s mistake grows into one of continuous worry, dug deeper at the hands of his soulmate. Overthinking feeds into Luke’s anxiety until the anger he used to feel minutes ago is now overtaken by fear of the unknown.
Maybe that’s really why he’s so mad at Ashton; he took away Luke’s stability. It’s only one sketchbook, really not all that important in the grand scheme of things, but at the same time, it’s Luke’s life. He drops his heart and soul into these sketchbooks and one rogue move ruined a whole chapter of his year.
What happens if his soulmate does the same, takes away his stability and flips his life upside down?
Now cooled down from his anger, Luke zones back into the world around him and decides to circle back towards the studio to work off some of his confusion on a painting. There’s nothing like putting one’s emotions down onto a canvas or a board or literally any type of art, something tangible and evocative. His fingers itch to close around any type of instrument.
In the few blocks that it takes to get back to the studio, Luke steels himself for what he’s going to say to Ashton when he returns. An apology first for blowing up, but also a more thorough explanation of just why the books mean so much to him, if he can gather the right words. Speaking openly isn’t always his strongest suit; he’d much rather show his emotions through art.
He drags his feet up the stairs, inching slowly towards their door rather than confidently walking through the door as he’s done before. But when he opens the metal door, he’s surprised by what’s on the other side.
No one.
Ashton is gone, studio lights dimmed and music shut off. He’s alone.
Sighing, Luke saunters into the room, plopping down at his desk to lean his head against the cool wood. His curls flop over, tumbling down onto the space around him. For a moment, he just sits and listens to the quiet around him. There’s not normally so much silence in their room, between Michael’s wheel spinning and Calum chattering about whatever it is that he’s working on and Ashton’s new habit of tapping when he’s thinking.
Now the only sound is the distant air through the exposed overhead vents.
Luke reaches for the first sketchbook that he can, pulling open the drawer to collect his cheaper pencils only used for unimportant works. He flips the book open to the first available page and starts moving his hand across the page, almost unaware of what he’s doing. It comes naturally, shifting the pencil between different pressures to create depth, thin lines used to depict light. And unsurprisingly, it calms his beating heart, settling the worries that were once below the surface.
Even when the world is chaotic and he can’t control much, Luke can control his art. That’s all he needs, just himself and a pad of paper and pencil. Everything else is just an extra bonus.
｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆
When Luke comes into the studio the next morning, his previously destroyed sketchbook is sitting on the desk, still water stained but significantly more dry than the last time that he saw it.
He gapes at the book in confusion, mouth parted slightly. Gingerly, he picks through the pages and finds that sure, a lot of the works are faded or have bled out into the margins, but the ideas are still there. His thoughts and ideas are still laid out on the pages perfectly, ready to be preserved for years to come.
“I tried to salvage what I could,” Ashton’s voice comes from the back of the room. Luke looks up to see him leaving the closet they store all excess materials in, holding a bag of charcoal in his hands.
“This thing was ruined yesterday,” Luke says, running a finger along the tattered spine.
“Nothing two hours with a hairdryer on a low setting couldn’t fix,” Ashton shrugs, ghost of a smile on his face. “I’m really sorry. About both that and me questioning you, really.”
Luke shakes his head, closing the sketchbook and dropping his bag onto his chair. “No, I’m sorry. I overreacted.”
Ashton scoffs. “I don’t think so, I ruined a whole sketchbook and then gave you shit when you were mad about it. You have every right to be pissed off.”
“Still,” Luke says, “I didn’t need to storm out like that. We’re adults, I should have communicated about that better. I just needed a break.”
“No yeah, that’s totally fair. I respect it. But I still felt bad so I tried to fix it as best as I could.”
Luke looks down at the warped book. It’s nowhere near perfect and it never will be, but it’s already leagues better than it could be. It’s one of Luke’s favorite qualities about Ashton so far, his need to fix things that he ruins. Calum has messed up so many of Luke’s projects in the past and only offered a halfhearted apology and a promise of a coffee in the morning. Michael has broken countless promises, mostly when it’s his turn to buy a supply or he needs to be on time somewhere, but the sentiment still remains.
It’s touching, though Luke is sure that Ashton probably treats everyone this way. In the two months that he’s known Ashton, he’s proven that he really cares about other people and wants to make sure that they’re as happy and comfortable as possible.
“Thank you, really,” Luke says, nodding with a small smile on his face. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to. You deserve to be respected and to hold onto your work as much as you want to. I may not get it, but I can still respect it even if I don’t understand.”
There’s no way Ashton is real, Luke thinks, shaking his head. There’s no way this man actually exists in the real world, formed with so many interesting puzzle pieces from different boxes but somehow making a beautiful image when complete. It’s simultaneously infuriating and infatuating.
“Your soulmate must be spoiled, huh?” Luke laughs, sitting down at his desk to start a warm up sketch.
“They would be, if I knew who they were,” Ashton responds, heading across the room to his spot near the large window.
A strange sort of relief comes with Ashton’s words. As much as Luke is a go-getter in other aspects of his life, he’s never been able to fully commit to pursuing someone romantically without explicit knowledge that they’re interested in him. Ashton has been showing small signs of interest for a while, but there’s always that lingering fear that he’s already found his other half somewhere and Luke is just wasting his time.
Luke’s exes are few and far between, with the way he had to throw himself into art school fully in order to get to where he is now. There really wasn’t enough time to deal with any kind of relationship while learning or starting his professional career, along with most people not wanting to deal with his long hours in the studio. The soulmate thing holds him back a bit too, knowing that there’s someone out there for him and spending time with others is just pointless.
Not that the universe makes it really easy to find your soulmate, since they’re the only ones who can see your soulmark. It forces people to talk to one another, but it can be such a flawed system sometimes. Especially with someone like Ashton, littered with tattoos already. Who knows if one of those is actually a soulmark.
“Ah,” Luke says quietly. “I relate. Wish the person would just appear out of nowhere, make life a little easier. I’m sick of waiting.”
“I’m not,” Ashton counters, shrugging as he unwraps his medium for the day. “I’m in no rush to find my soulmate. If it happens, it happens. They’re out there somewhere and I know I’ll find them, but for now I’m totally okay vibing on my own. Or just enjoying time with other people.”
“It doesn’t bother you that you’re losing time with them?” Luke asks.
“Nope, because I’m working on myself. I want to be the best version of me by the time that my soulmate finally comes along. Wouldn’t want them to meet the shitty past versions of myself, so it just motivates me to be better, for both myself and them.”
It’s a concept that Luke had never thought about, always too invested in finding his match somewhere. The clock has been ticking on and on through the years, an atomic bomb waiting to hit zero and blow up life as they know it, for better or worse. He’s been wishing the days by, hoping that he would wake up one day and be able to say that he’s found his soulmate so they could start working on the rest of their lives together when he really should be focusing on himself for now.
“I’ve never thought of it that way,” Luke says thoughtfully. Ashton turns to give him a genuine smile.
“I like giving people things to think about. Challenging beliefs and all that. It’s no fun to just agree with people all the time, might as well be authentic.”
“You’re a bit… hippie, huh?”
Ashton laughs, devolving from a sharp sound to a melodic giggle of sorts quickly. “Hippie? I feel like I should be offended by that.” He pauses, smile dropping into something closer to the edge of a smirk. “Unless you like hippies?”
“I don’t dislike hippies,” Luke says, voice wavering through his thundering heartbeat. “I could be swayed by the right hippie.”
“Good to know,” Ashton says, taking a second to let his eyes wander over Luke’s face. Without another word, he turns back to his pad of paper and gets to work.
｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆
“Okay!” Michael declares one evening after he’s scrubbed the last of the clay from off his hands. “I’m enforcing Rule Five today.”
Luke and Calum collectively groan while Ashton glances between them all in confusion. “What’s Rule Five?”
“Rule Five is bullshit,” Calum says, collecting his copic markers.
“Rule Five is when someone decides we’ve been working too hard for too long and we’re all forced to go out together.”
“It’s studio bonding!” Michael cheers, grinning at his friends.
Luke loves Rule Five really, because it’s an excuse to get out of the studio at a normal time and head into the city for whatever it is that the rule enforcer decides they need to do. They’ve called Rule Five for dinner, drinks, movies, concerts, you name it. Rule Five is the universal sign of “let’s hang out outside these walls.”
“Ah, well have fun!” Ashton says, returning to his painting.
“Nope, you’re part of the studio, you’re not immune to Rule Five,” Michael says, fixing his bucket hat on his head. “Mandatory too, no excuses.”
“I didn’t want to intrude,” Ashton mumbles, only just loud enough for Luke to hear him. It’s sweet, Ashton thinking that he’s not a part of the studio enough where he’s invited to the group outings. They haven’t done one of these nights in a long time, long before Roy ever left the studio and Ashton appeared in their lives. It’s long overdue.
Luke packs up his pencils and sketchbook, returning everything to their rightful spots on the shelves. When he turns, Calum has left his mess all over the desk, other than returning all the caps to the markers and closing his sketchbook. He’s one of the hardest people to share a studio with, considering how often he leaves his belongings everywhere and has to borrow other people’s supplies. Michael is much easier to work with, especially since all of his clay stays over in the corner where he works, leaving a thin layer of dust on everything they own that doesn’t really bug any of them.
He loves working in the studio with the guys, even when they’re annoying as hell.
“Where are we going?” Luke asks while Ashton cleans off his brushes at the sink and Calum shrugs on a jacket.
“Dinner? The Mexican place down the street?”
Calum moans his agreement and Luke turns to check on Ashton. “Mexican okay with you?”
Ashton nods, wiping his hands on the paint stained rag. “I’m not picky, anything is fine by me.”
“Settled then, let’s go,” Michael declares, marching out the door with Calum following dutifully behind. Luke lingers for a minute, catching Ashton rushing to get himself collected. His hair falls over his face and he swipes it out of the way as he pats his pockets, looking for his phone. Luke catches sight of it next to the sink and crosses the room to retrieve it.
“Thank you,” Ashton says quietly when Luke holds it out to him. “And thanks for waiting.”
“They’re good at leaving people behind when they get excited, pains in the ass, both of them,” Luke teases, holding the door open for Ashton to leave. He twists the lock and hits the lights before the metal door clicks shut.
“I’ve noticed, but they also always come in and leave together, so I just figured they were kinda codependent.”
Luke laughs, tripping up on one of the stairs as he takes them down two at a time. “They really are. We all are, but the two of them are the worst. I don’t mind being at the studio alone, whereas neither of them will show up if no one else is coming by.”
Ashton hums, “You don’t get creeped out up there by yourself?”
“Not a chance, it’s nice to be able to work alone with the music blasting and no inhibitions. I get my best work done when I’m alone.”
“So why do you share a studio then?” Ashton asks, no judgement behind his tone. He falls into step with Luke as they start down the sidewalk, just a few paces behind Calum and Michael who are laughing about something just out of their earshot.
“I would go crazy completely alone all the time. I need validation and people to bounce ideas off of when I’m stuck. Plus it’s nice that we can all work in different mediums too, like I can use Mike’s ceramics stuff if I want, the same way that he can mess around with paints if he chooses.” Luke pauses. “That, and rent is so much cheaper when there’s four of us.”
Ashton laughs this time, nodding. “Makes sense, all of it. I was working on my own for a while before this, so it’s still strange trying to get used to sharing a studio with you all, but I like it.”
Taking a chance to look at Ashton while walking, Luke sees the little smile gracing his face. He looks at peace, even though he’s biting his lip between his teeth as they walk, eyes fixed on the sidewalk. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, short boots clicking on the pavement as they walk. He looks far too put together to have just come from an art studio, whereas Luke knows he looks like a mess in his paint stained hoodie and worn converse. He can’t seem to care, really.
“Well, we like having you here. Or at least I do, I can’t speak for the others.”
Ashton tilts his head up a bit and catches Luke’s eyes. The small smile grows a bit, bringing a dimple out in his cheek. If Luke could find a mirror, he’s sure he would look the same.
“Thank you, I’m really happy to be here with you. All of you,” he corrects at the end, but Luke can’t help but think he really meant it as Luke, just Luke.
He catches Ashton staring at him across the studio sometimes, mostly when he’s been so lost in his work for a while that he’s stopped looking at what everyone else has been doing. He’ll pick his head up to stretch his neck after a particularly long stretch of holding his head down and find Ashton watching him only for a few seconds before he turns away to his own work.
It’s flattering more than anything else, and doesn’t make Luke harbor the same self conscious feelings that he sometimes does when Calum or Michael is staring at him while working. It shouldn’t make sense, given how he’s known the other two for ages longer than he’s known Ashton, but there’s just something about Ashton that screams safety.
Luke can’t think about it for too long or else he starts to wonder just what it is that makes him want to be around Ashton whenever he can be.
They step into the restaurant, following Michael and Calum to their regular table in the right corner, immediately next to the window. They used to frequent this spot often enough in their early months renting the studio, back when they weren’t smart enough to stock snacks and treats in the cupboards in case of the munchies mid working. Now they’re rightfully prepared and much less likely to wander down the street for food after a long day of working.
“Best enchiladas in the city come from here,” Michael says with a sense of certainty. “Nothing else worth buying.”
“Disagree, chimichangas are where it’s at,” Calum says, grabbing a chip from the bowl in front of them and tucking into a particularly large scoop of salsa.
“What do you get?” Ashton says, tilting in his chair to face Luke.
“Something different every time, but I’m thinking fajitas.”
“Boring,” Calum sing-songs, turning to Michael to launch into a story about a buyer from his last commissioned piece.
Luke rolls his eyes, shaking his head. They’ve been here for no more than two minutes and Calum has already started ignoring them in favor of talking to Michael. Old habits die hard.
They make small talk while they wait for their food to show up, discussing past lives and college and the weather, of all things, trading all their stories. It’s easy to listen to Ashton talk, his candor a refreshing change of pace compared to the other people Luke has met recently. The conversation never stops flowing, between jokes and jabs and actually fascinating stories that leave Luke enchanted.
Calum and Michael are the same, leaning into Ashton’s words and hanging on until the end when Ash asks them questions of his own. It’s comfortable, like Ashton has always been a part of their group.
But when Ashton looks at Luke, it’s different from the way he looks at the others. He nods along with Luke’s comments in a more intentional way than Calum does, like he’s actually hanging onto every word. He smiles at the lame jokes Luke makes compared to the teasing way that Michael rolls his eyes. He makes Luke feel seen in a way that he’s never felt before.
When Calum and Michael get wrapped up in another individual conversation, Ashton turns to Luke. “So Luke, I’ve known you for two months and I know basically nothing about you.”
“What’s there to know?” Luke says, taking a long sip from his water.
“Well I know your art of choice, I know you don’t have your soulmate yet, I know how you met those two,” he says, jabbing his thumb across the table to Calum and Michael. “But I know very little about you.”
Luke shrugs. “There really isn’t all that to know about me. I work at the studio full time, I go home to my boring little apartment, I come back to the studio. There really isn’t all that much exciting about me.”
“Okay, basic rapid fire questions then. Favorite time of day? Favorite smell? Any pets? If you could be a sea creature, what would you be? What’s the best place to go on a date around here?”
Leave it to Ashton to come up with something completely random to talk about. Luke can’t help the surprised laugh that breaks through. “Okay. Sunset, ocean breeze, no pets but I want a dog badly, I just can’t justify it when I’m never home, and a starfish.” He takes a breath, a pleased smile falling onto his face. “And depending on who you’re taking on a date. There’s no universal best place.”
“You can tell me if I’m reading the signs wrong, but I was hoping that you-” Ashton is cut off by Michael screeching as Calum laughs hysterically, pulling both their attention to the other two.
Michael starts tripping over his words, rushing to explain what just happened and why he drew the entire restaurant’s attention towards their table, but Luke is too far up in the clouds to focus on the bullshit coming from his mouth. Of course Michael would be the one to destroy a perfectly good moment, one that would probably lead to something that Luke has only just begun to want.
Slowly, Ashton has worked his way into Luke’s mind, nestled between his catalogue of watercolor names and the perfect ratio for wedging clay. It’s not hard to do given how much space Ashton unapologetically takes up, overflowing onto others and tinting their edges the red hue of his hair. Not that Luke is complaining at all.
It’s probably not the best idea since they share the studio together, but there’s no harm in getting to know someone while they wait to find their soulmates. There’s no use in holding out for someone who could be years away, as Luke has learned from Ashton.
But their moment never returns, taken away with their empty dinner plates with no promise to return. It’s a bit disheartening, but Luke tries to reason that it will return eventually when the time is right.
If the way that Ashton’s hand falls to Luke’s knee is any indication of what may be in their future, he’s perfectly okay with just memorizing the tattoos on Ashton’s left arm, from the blood moons to the tail of the snake peeking out from under his shirt sleeve to the tiny sunset on the horizon right above the inner part of his elbow. There’s inspiration on his skin.
｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆
Working in the studio late at night really is one of Luke’s favorite ways to work.
No one else is around to bug him, leaving him to work freely in the studio. He’ll blast music from the speakers and not care about how awfully he sings as he strains to hit the high notes and laughs to himself when he just can’t seem to get it right. He moves carelessly, knowing that no one is around to see him and doesn’t have to fight the embarrassment that pops up when he trips over absolutely nothing on his way to switch out his painting water.
He’s able to fully let loose, clearing his mind of all the bullshit that normally plagues it to work through his issues. He gets a chance to talk to himself as needed, let go of any emotions stuck in his chest and come out on the other side a better person. There’s something comforting about being able to work alone. He absolutely loves sharing the studio with Mike and Calum (and Ashton too, probably), but he’s so much more content when he’s completely alone and able to slap colors onto a canvas without worrying about what others are thinking of him, even if he acts like he doesn’t care outwardly.
Which is why Luke feels a slight twinge of disappointment when Ashton pushes the door open a little after ten pm on a Thursday night.
“Hey, didn’t expect to see you here,” Ashton greets, dropping his bag on the floor next to the coat rack.
“Didn’t think I would be getting company,” Luke says, turning the music down to a much more manageable level. “What are you doing here?”
“Couldn’t get my mind to shut off, thought it might be nice to keep working on the piece for the gallery show.”
Luke hums in acknowledgement before returning to his painting. He’s not even sure what he’s doing right now other than sending large stripes of color across the canvas in a poor attempt to find some sort of inspiration. It’s not what he wants to show off to the gallery, but he can’t seem to actually wrap his head around what he needs to make.
There’s a light fog of Ashton that’s been chasing him down since their moment at the Mexican place last week, but they haven’t been able to get a moment to talk about it again between Luke having to go for an installation one day and Ashton visiting family for much of the weekend. To say it’s been eating him alive would be an understatement. There’s a haze of what could be covering his mind that hasn’t lifted enough to make a quality piece in days.
The only thing Luke has been able to do is sketch, just some broken drawings of Calum hunched over his chair, Michael loading the kiln, his own hand in front of him. (And maybe some ‘from memory’ drawings of Ashton, but that’s just a secret.)
“Same, but I’m at a loss,” Luke mutters, dropping his brush into the water.
“I have a vague idea of what I’m doing, but I’m sure I’m going to change my mind like twenty more times before the submission date.”
Luke laughs, shaking his head. “I relate. I started some sketches and stuff but nothing feels right. I have no fucking clue what to do but the deadline is coming up really fucking fast.”
“What are your options?” Ashton asks, crossing the small space between his station and Luke’s. His body eclipses the little light shining down on Luke and when he looks up at Ashton, the pale light shines around him like a neon sign. His face might be mostly cloaked in the shadows, but his grin still shines.
Luke tugs a sketchbook from under his stack of small canvases. “I have some ideas here,” he says, flipping through the pages until he hits the section he’s dedicated to his gallery piece. “But nothing really feels good enough. To Move and To Live is a really hard theme for some reason.”
Ashton reaches towards Luke’s sketchbook, then retracts his hand. “Can I look? I don’t want to cross boundaries.”
“Please,” Luke says, pushing the book towards Ashton. “I accept any thoughts you have. Everything in here is just a scrambled mess.”
With a small huff of a laugh, Ashton flicks through some of the pages, stopping to make little noises of acknowledgement at the different designs, from a winding willow to a three dimensional ocean scene. Luke, never the one to enjoy seeing other people analyze his works, moves to wash his brushes off in the sink instead. Anything to distract himself from Ashton looking through the inner workings of his mind. It feels too intimate for how little he really knows about him.
“Oh,” Ashton says quietly just as Luke turns off the sink.
Luke hums a noise of confusion as he towel dries the brushes before hanging them upside down to dry.
“I didn’t know you drew people,” Ashton says quietly.
Whipping around, Luke rapidly takes the five large steps to the desk to find Ashton running a finger over some sketches. Not just sketches, but the sketches of Calum, Michael, and unfortunately, some of Ashton too. He didn’t plan for Ashton going that far into the sketchbook as a warm blush creeps up his neck and onto his cheeks.
“Sorry, when I can’t get my brain to cooperate, I like to sketch what’s in front of me. Most of the time it ends up being you all.” He scratches the back of his neck cautiously, ducking his head down. “I never meant for anyone to see them, they’re just warm ups.”
“No, they’re…” Ashton trails off, thumbing over the page and flipping it, revealing more sketches of mostly Ashton, with some of the others scattered around. “This is me?”
Coughing to cover the embarrassment, Luke nods. “Yeah, you’re in my line of sight a lot, I’m sorry.”
“They’re sick, don’t say sorry. I’m more flattered than anything else. I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone draw me before. At least not that I know of.”
“I’ll stop, Calum knows I draw him a lot so I can just work on perfecting his expressions.”
“Luke,” Ashton says around a snicker. “You don’t have to stop. I really think it’s cool, I promise. I’m not uncomfortable by it.” Ashton pauses, squinting at the page a little. “I like that you took some artistic license on it too.”
Luke turns his head up at Ashton, then looks down to where he’s running a finger over a drawing where Ashton is painting against the wall, long arm swiping paint across the canvas. His bicep curls even in the graphite image, pulling at the edges of his shirt as his fingers clench a large brush. Luke had taken the time to sketch in all the little details of Ashton, from the wrinkles in his shirt to the bold lines of his tattoos around his arms. It’s just about as close as Luke could get to the real thing.
“What do you mean?” he asks, shifting to see Ashton better as he takes a seat next to Luke in Calum’s chair.
“The tattoos, they’re almost all correct except that one,” Ashton points to the thin line tattoo of the sunset right above the crook of his elbow. “It’s sick, but it’s not mine.”
Luke turns, looking at the inner joint of Ashton’s arm. Sitting on the skin is the very tattoo that he’s referencing, black lines prominent against his skin. With narrowed eyes, Luke tilts his head. “What are you talking about, it’s right there,” he says, pointing at Ashton’s arm with one finger.
“No?” Ashton says, laughing at Luke a little. “There’s no tattoo there. I would remember getting it, I remember all my tattoos.”
“It’s right there!” Luke says. He doesn’t like being gaslit, especially when he’s seeing it right there in front of him. There’s no mistaking a tattoo. “Stop fucking with me!”
“I’m not!” Ashton cries, twisting his arm closer to Luke. “There’s no tattoo there!”
“It’s right there,” Luke insists again, reaching across Ashton’s body to poke the soft skin of his inner arm.
It happens faster than Luke expected. One second Ashton is about to argue about the validity of the tattoo that is absolutely right there on his arm and the next he’s gaping down at his arm in shock. His large hand covers the tattoo as he flicks his head up to look at Luke in confusion before he removes his hand again and gasps at the skin like he’s seeing it for the first time.
“What?” Luke asks. “It’s like you’re seeing it for the first time.”
“I am seeing it for the first time, ” Ashton whispers, tracing the sun’s rays. “What the fuck, Luke.”
“Wait…” Luke says quietly, unable to help himself as he lays a finger on Ashton’s skin. “You…” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before Ashton is laughing wildly, cackles bouncing around the open air.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” he snickers, shaking his head, making strands of hair fall down into his face. “I can’t fucking believe it.”
“Ashton…” Luke says uselessly, unsure if what he’s seeing is real. There’s no way he’s not sleeping, dreaming of a moment that would never come. This isn’t reality.
Exhaling deeply, Ashton looks up at the ceiling and closes his eyes. The long column of his neck stretches with the strain as it disappears under the collar of his shirt. Turning back to Luke again, Ashton’s eyes shine with something more fond, more gentle than ever before. It’s a pleasant look, but it has Luke’s own skin crawling.
“Luke, we’re soulmates.”
Everything that Luke had learned about soulmates in his life suddenly goes right down the drain with the remnants of his last painting. The world doesn’t stop turning, the air doesn’t still around them. There’s no alarms sounding to signify that this is real, that this moment is finally actually happening.
There’s nothing. It’s almost as if it isn’t the truth. He’s floating above his body, looking down at the moment unfolding in front of him without any control of the situation.
“Fuck…” Luke trails off, waiting for Ashton to yell “gotcha!” and move on with his life. But it doesn’t come and Ashton just looks at Luke expectantly.
“I don’t have a tattoo there, Luke. Or at least I didn’t, but now I can see it. Because you touched it. It’s not a tattoo, it’s a soulmark.”
That’s how it works, Luke knows that’s how it works and he’s been waiting for this day to come for as long as he can remember, but this isn’t the way that he expected it to go. His brain had conjured up this moment, one with sparks and fireworks and such unwavering certainty that he was looking at his soulmate. He never anticipated the moment to be so underwhelming.
There’s a small wave of warmth in his chest hearing Ashton say those words, as if he knows deep down that this is real. But what is he supposed to do now?
“Where’s yours?” Ashton wonders, scanning Luke’s visible skin. “How many tattoos do you have?”
Stuttering slightly, Luke wiggles in his seat. “Uh, one on each wrist, one on my bicep, and one on my ribcage. No wait, and one on my thigh. But that’s it.”
Ashton hums. “Okay, it’s not visible then. I can see the wrist ones and I know I’ve seen the one on your bicep, but there isn’t anything else I can see. Will you take your shirt off?”
Luke laughs incredulously, shaky in its delivery. “Right now? Here?”
“No one is going to come in, you’re fine,” Ashton assures, nodding at Luke’s shirt. “I just wanna see. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I’d love to see if we can find your soulmark too.”
Ashton’s tone is insistent, encouraging but kind and makes Luke shiver. The adrenaline has finally sunk into his skin, vibrating beneath the surface as his hands shake around the hem of his shirt. Slowly, he tugs the material up and over his head before crossing his arms around his chest. He’s not ashamed of his body, nor is he self conscious at all under normal circumstances, but being scrutinized by his soulmate is a little bit different from any situation he’s ever been in before. He’s vulnerable.
Warm eyes trail across Luke’s shoulders and down his collarbones. Ashton meticulously looks at every inch of Luke’s skin that he can, with Luke’s eyes tracking Ashton’s own. Every inch of his skin burns with anticipation, trails of lava flowing from the mouth of a volcano.
A tiny “oh ” spills from Ashton’s mouth as his eyes fall from his freckled shoulders.
He’s staring at Luke’s right hip, just above where the elastic of his sweatpants meets his skin, eyes trained on the patch of skin.
“It’s a blob of watercolors, like a sunset. Pink and orange blended,” Ashton says softly, inching towards Luke. He stops with his hand outstretched slightly, meeting Luke’s eyes with a silent question. Luke nods, inhaling through his mouth when Ashton touches one delicate finger to his hip.
There’s no physical reaction, no sensation that could prove this moment was actually happening and not a figment of his imagination, but Luke watches the tattoo, soulmark , bloom on his skin in real time. Orchid bleeds into rose that turns into a dark yellow ochre that could be mistaken for a bruise if you didn’t know better. Luke wouldn’t have thought any different if he hadn’t seen it mar his skin.
The mark doesn’t disappear as Ashton pulls his hand away, looking briefly at his own finger like he’s confused by how it could make such colors appear on Luke’s skin instantly. It’s strange, knowing that the soulmark has been on his skin the whole time and Luke never knew it. Ashton was the only one who could ever see it and there’s a chance he never would have seen it if Luke hadn’t seen his own first.
“Wow,” Luke breathes, sighing as he runs his finger over his skin. It doesn’t feel any different than it did moments before, no indication that anything has changed other than the few inch wide splotch of colors. Still, something itches under his skin, like his body is suddenly aware of the life altering change it just went through.
“So…” Ashton says, voice carrying over the soft whirl of the fans behind them. “We’re soulmates.”
A giddy grin splits across Luke’s face at the word, digging deep into his heart. His heart must skip a beat, he thinks, as Ashton makes his permanent home beneath the muscles.
“Not gonna lie, it wasn’t as dramatic as I thought it was going to be,” Luke laughs, bubbling out of him like he can’t contain it. He can’t, really, not with the way Ashton is still looking back and forth from his face to his hip.
“You’re right, I expected some kind of grand moment. I’m glad it wasn’t, though. This was much nicer.”
“This is fucking insane,” Luke says, shaking his head in disbelief still. “We’ve been right under each other’s noses for two months without a single clue.”
“Thank god you were creepy and drew my tattoos, huh?” Ashton teases, receiving a light smack on the arm from Luke coupled with a pout.
“I thought you said it wasn’t creepy!” he cries, a dimpled smile cracking through the frown instantly. There’s no way that he can feel anything in this moment other than excitement.
“It isn’t,” Ashton assures him, handing Luke his shirt back. “It’s cute. I’m really fucking glad you did it and that I was nosy.”
There’s a moment where neither of them say anything, not quite knowing what they’re supposed to do from here as Luke pulls his shirt back on. A moment they’ve been waiting for all their lives, finally come and pass with much less fanfare than expected, but still laced with so much potential. All brought on by Michael, thankfully bringing Ashton to their studio even when Luke was a brat about not wanting him around.
How different their lives could be if Luke had really put up a fight about having Ashton around. Everything happens for a reason and each little decision impacts the rest of their lives forever, and this one seemingly insignificant decision altered their entire futures for the better.
“So,” Ashton says, bringing Luke from his daydream. “Wanna tell me where your favorite late night date spot is then? We should go talk?” His tone varies from the sure confidence that Luke is used to mixed with something a little apprehensive, like Luke is going to up and leave without a trace.
As if he could ever walk away from this.
“Diner on Maple Street? They’re open 24 hours, I end up there sometimes when I accidentally stay here until 2 am.”
With a nod, Ashton grabs his jacket. “Lead the way, soulmate.”
｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆
They’re on the same page, because of course they are.
Things between Luke and Ashton come easier than either of them ever expected. Their wants, their needs, their morals are all mirrored by each other, perfectly blended together. Luke has no dreams of leaving the city and Ashton will find roots anywhere he can grow. Ashton wants to get to know Luke on a deeper level before they jump into anything more than just newfound soulmates and Luke is happy to move slowly. They understand each other’s schedules because they’re quite literally living the same life.
It’s everything Luke had wished for.
Of course it’s not perfect. While Luke is tidy in the studio, he’s an absolute disaster at his apartment, a tornado of belongings thrown across every surface in his rush to spend as little time as possible there when he’d rather be at the studio. Ashton has no sense of urgency ever, so when Luke says “let’s meet at 7:30 for dinner,” that really means 8:00 for Ashton.
It’s tiny things, nothing that they can’t work through, but there’s still things that they don’t perfectly match on. It honestly eases a bit of Luke’s nerves knowing that they’re not expected to be completely, absolutely compatible in every single way. Knowing that there are things they’ll inevitably bicker about reminds him that this is an active choice that they’re making to be together, regardless of the tattoos inking their skin.
They’re in this together and they’re figuring it out as they go along.
Luke knows he’s happier than he’s ever been before and it’s showing through into his work. Everything he’s done for the past few weeks has been flowy and light, delicate lines and pastel colors with flowers and dancers and intricate park scenes. His work has always reflected his mindset at any given time and this newfound sense of belonging and acceptance has brought out the most whimsical side of him artistically.
The same can be said for Ashton, though his work is still as abstract and free flowing as always. His colors are a little brighter, pieces a little larger, movements a little more open. Their heightened feeling of euphoria serves as the best possible inspiration that they’ve ever encountered.
Part of their taking it slow became keeping their new soulbond an accidental secret from Calum and Michael. They didn’t mean to hide it, but it wasn’t the kind of thing that comes up in conversation casually.
It builds up slowly, so neither one of them questions when Ashton and Luke start spending more time with each other, leaving at the same time and sometimes returning the next day with one of them wearing the same clothes from the night before. There’s no wonder of their heart eyes and lingering touches. Maybe no one notices, but they begin to be pretty damn obvious about it.
Obvious, but not showing it off. They don’t do any public displays of affection, at least not right off the bat. They keep their distance and don’t give away that they’re anything more than just friends becoming closer and closer as the days go along, with more inside jokes and intentional requests for critiques from one another.
Honestly, keeping the secret is kind of fun. There’s a thrill of having knowledge that others don’t that gives Luke a slight adrenaline rush, especially when he steals a kiss from Ashton before they both step into the studio, the kind that leaves Ashton blinking dizzily when they open the door.
They’re careful with it for a few weeks, until they’re not.
It’s Ashton that slips up, surprisingly. Michael is working on the pottery wheel while Calum paints something on a large canvas by the window, both oblivious to everything around them.
Luke has been cutting the linoleum for a linocut print that’s going to become a tour poster for a local indie band for about an hour, carefully chipping away at the back to reveal a large bouquet of different sized flowers tied together with a large ribbon. Printmaking is one of the things that he’s least confident in, but every time he tries, he gets a little bit better. Still, the act of carving away the negative space hurts, especially when it’s a two foot piece, larger than anything he’s ever worked on before.
Time moves at a different rate when he’s working on projects like this. One minute it’s noon and the next it’s three pm and he hasn’t moved in hours. Ashton is what draws Luke from his focus, hands falling on his shoulders to massage the knots from the muscles. Luke melts immediately, carving tool falling from his hand and onto the table as he sags back against Ashton.
“Thought you might need a break,” Ashton says, thumbs working into his shoulder blades.
Luke raises his head and tilts it back until he’s staring up at Ashton’s smiling face. Red waves cascade down across Ashton’s face as he brings his hands up Luke’s shoulders and to his neck. In a moment of weakness, Ashton bends down and turns to give Luke a soft kiss, nothing more than a second before he stands fully again, just in time to hear Calum cough from across the room.
They both lift their heads to Calum staring directly at them with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. It takes a solid few seconds for Luke’s brain to catch up to why Calum is looking at them like that, but when everything connects, Luke swiftly turns to look at Ashton. Ashton only shrugs, keeping his eyes on Calum as if to challenge him into speaking.
“What the fuck was that?” Calum finally asks, gaining Michael’s attention too.
“What happened?” Michael says from his spot at his desk.
“They just kissed!” Calum yells, dropping his pencil down on the table.
“No way,” Michael scoffs, shaking his head.
“No, they just fucking did. What the fuck?” Calum says again.
“So?” Ashton finally chimes in. “So what if we did?”
“Oh what the hell?” Michael says, standing to join them in the middle of the room. “You seriously did?”
“Yeah, and?”
“You’re just gonna casually drop that in like it’s not a huge surprise?” Calum says, looking rapidly between Ashton and Luke. “How long have you been seeing each other?”
“About that…” Luke starts, pausing to look back at Ashton for reassurance. His hazel eyes shine with nothing but acceptance as he nods for Luke to continue. “We’re actually soulmates?”
For a moment, no one moves. Calum blinks like he’s waiting for someone to say it’s a joke while Michael scrunches his face into a grimace of confusion. It’s silent.
Both of them speak at the same time, questions overlapping each other into a jumbled mess of words. “One at a time,” Luke laughs awkwardly.
“How long?” Calum rushes out before Michael has a chance to speak. Michael glares at him quickly before focusing on Luke and Ashton again.
“Uh like, a month?” Ashton answers, doing mental math in his head. “Yeah, basically a month.”
“A month and you didn’t tell us?” Calum yells, while Michael inserts his question.
“Where are the soulmarks?”
Ashton twists his left arm to expose the little sunset above his elbow while Luke rucks up the corner of his shirt to show off the vibrant colors. “Shit,” Michael says, nodding in surprise. “You weren’t kidding.”
“Why would we lie about that!” Luke shrieks while Ashton slowly wraps an arm around his waist and closes the space between them. Instantly the little bit of worry that was stuck in Luke’s throat melts away into nothing but serenity. Disgusting how the soulbond can do things like that.
“I don’t know, maybe you just wanted attention,” Calum teases.
“Fuck you,” Luke says.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell us you were dating,” Michael whines, sitting down on the edge of Calum’s desk. A single pencil rolls to the edge before Calum catches it while he mumbles under his breath.
“We’re not actually dating,” Luke says softly, though his mind twirls to a world where they are moving faster than they currently are.
“Huh?” Calum says with a tilt of his head. “But you’re soulmates?”
“We’re taking things slow, no need to rush just because the universe thinks that we belong together. We still need to actively make the choice to be together for real.”
“Actually,” Ashton says quietly, mostly for Luke to hear. “I was kinda thinking more about that? That if you wanted to put a better label on it, us, we can? It’s up to you though.”
Luke turns to face Ashton, trying not to let himself look too excited as he fiddles with the edge of his sweatshirt. “Wait, really? Are you sure?”
Ashton nods, keeping his hand steady on Luke’s hip. “Yeah, I’m good with it if you are.”
“Of fucking course I am,” Luke laughs, leaning in to slot his lips against Ashton’s. Their moment is fleeting, with Calum and Michael moaning and complaining about their public display of affection after no more than a second. “I stand corrected, we’re dating,” Luke says with a laugh, leaning his head against Ashton’s shoulder and tucking his face into the juncture of his neck.
“Wonderful, you’re both going to be disgusting from now on,” Michael whines, hopping off Calum's desk to return to his pottery desk.
“If I ever come into the studio to you two doing anything other than just doing art, I’m going to gouge my eyes out with a paintbrush,” Calum says.
“Wonderful mental picture,” Ashton laughs, shaking his head as he leans it against Luke’s. Luke stays right where he’s meant to be.
｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆
They’re still in bed when they get the call.
Ashton’s phone rings first, drawing them out of their sleep on a chilly November morning. Luke groans and pushes Ashton slightly, urging him to end the offending sound as soon as he can. Ashton clears his throat and tries not to sound like he was just asleep as he mutters a “hello?” into the receiver.
Luke’s phone rings as soon as Ashton picks his up, so he turns over himself and paws at the side table until he grabs his own phone. Not even sparing a second to look at the caller ID, Luke slides to accept and lays the phone on top of his head. “Hello?”
“Luke Hemmings?” the person on the other side says.
“Speaking?” Luke replies, squinting in the mid morning light that filters through Ashton’s bedroom window. A wave of nerves washes over him at the professional tone of the person on the other side, automatically thinking the worst. Someone is hurt, someone broke into the studio, something is happening.
“Hi, this is Amy from The Temporary, how are you?”
The nerves swell larger, clawing into his throat. He knew the offer had to be too good to be true, there’s no way he was ever going to be offered a spot in such a well known place. They’re calling to tell him that it was all a scam and they just found out about it, he’s sure of it. With only a month until the collection is set to launch, they probably now just realized that this Luke Hemmings fellow is a fraud and they don’t actually want him in the show.
“I’m alright…” Luke trails off.
There’s static over the line for a moment, hanging heavy in the air while Ashton distantly says “How does that happen?” Luke doesn’t have time to entertain what Ashton’s phone call is about as Amy speaks again.
“I’m calling to inform you that there has been an error on our side regarding the upcoming show. We miscalculated the number of spots available in the gallery and we are making adjustments to the listings.”
Luke’s breath catches in his throat as he sits up in bed, clutching the phone like a lifeline. Blood rushes through his ears, drowning out whatever Ashton is talking about in a hushed voice next to him. With sweaty palms, Luke swallows around nothing. “Okay, am I being removed from the show?” His voice is weak and scratchy, nothing more than a slight whisper.
“Not quite. We realized that both you and another artist from your studio were offered placements and as a standard rule, we only have one artist per studio in any given show. We are going to need you and uh,” there’s papers shuffling through the speaker, “Mr. Irwin to both create a piece and we will decide which one is able to be in the show.”
“I’m— we— what?” Luke stammers, words rattling around in his head with no destination. He heard the words as they came out of her mouth, but they refuse to settle down in his brain. None of it makes sense.
“I understand your confusion and we apologize for the unfortunate situation. We will be in touch again soon regarding more details about how and when we will decide between you and Mr. Irwin. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to reach out.”
Luke scoffs slightly, of course he has a ton of questions, but not a single one can be formulated properly at this moment. He isn’t even sure that he properly says goodbye before he drops his phone on the bed and looks at his hands in his lap.
How did this even happen? How did someone somewhere fuck up so badly that there aren’t enough spots in the gallery? How has it come to the point where there’s only one spot open for him and his fucking soulmate? What kind of fucked up cosmic mess is this?
“So, that was The Temporary… ” Ashton says beside Luke, smoothing his hand over the blanket at the corner of Luke’s vision.
“This fucking sucks,” Luke replies, flopping back onto the bed dramatically. No, he wouldn’t even consider it dramatic because this really, really fucking sucks. There’s no universe where he wants to be competing against his soulmate for a spot that both of them rightfully deserve. Neither one of them should be put in a position where one of them will be disappointed due to the other’s success.
“It does. But it’s going to be beautiful to see your artwork up on the gallery wall.”
Luke sits back up again suddenly, eyes getting fuzzy for a moment with the sudden rush of blood to his head. “What?” he says incredulously, crossing his legs and facing Ashton directly. Ashton looks unbothered, swiping through his phone like he didn’t say a thing.
“I’m going to pull out of the show, the spot is yours.”
“Ashton,” Luke breathes.
“No, I’m not gonna debate this with you. This is your dream, Luke, there’s no way I’m going to get in the way of that.”
“What the fuck, no! You deserve this just as much as I do! You can’t just give up because of me, that’s not fair.” There’s absolutely no way that he can let Ashton pull out of the show, not when he was just as excited at the opportunity as Luke was. The guilt would eat Luke alive and Ashton could very easily come to resent Luke for taking away the opportunity. There isn’t a good answer as to what they should be doing, but giving up without a fair fight isn’t the right one.
“I don’t want this coming between us though,” Ashton says, turning slightly on the bed to better face Luke. Their knees knock together through the blankets and Luke traces his eyes across Ashton’s face. His sleep mussed hair falls wildly across his forehead and he keeps swiping at a piece that won’t stay out of his eyes; eyes that lack their normal sparkle, droopier and more subdued in a way that they never are in the morning. Ashton meets each day with uninhibited excitement, ready to create and grow, but this is already dulling his energy.
“It’s not going to happen if we don’t let it. It’s just work, it’s not personal. I know I’ll probably be a little disappointed if I don’t get the spot, but I’ll be so much more proud of you than disappointed for me. Whoever has the most close to theme piece of art will get the spot, it’s nothing more than that.”
Ashton’s apprehension bleeds out of his face a bit, melting into something more accepting. “Are you sure? I don’t want it to hurt us, I’ve only just got you so I really don’t want to lose you.”
“That’s really fucking sappy,” Luke laughs, teasing to break the tension. “But you’re not going to. If I was going to end things over a gallery spot, that would be really shitty. I’m not even sure the universe would let that happen honestly.”
“The universe shouldn’t have let this happen in the first place,” Ashton huffs, but there’s no real frustration in his voice, only resignation that this really is their life now.
“You’re an insanely talented artist, it would be a shame for you to drop the opportunity for something huge just on my behalf. We’ll both work on our art and fate will go whichever way it wants. I promise, we’ll be okay.”
With a nod, Ashton leans across the remaining space and presses a light kiss to Luke’s lips before resting their foreheads together. “Okay, then we better get to the studio and start working, time is gonna fly.” With nothing else to say, he jumps out of bed and heads to the bathroom. They’ve got work to do.
｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆
Luke never typically has a problem coming up with inspiration. He’s oftentimes found color palettes in the world around him, shapes in the clouds and thoughts just popping up out of nowhere as he reads through articles online. He’s been privy to an endless wealth of possible themes for his projects over the years. Random people on the street serve as means of figures to draw, the colors of the ocean waves offering studies on depth and dimension, the sun's rays showing off the most authentic highlight he's ever come to know. He's never, ever had a problem finding a muse.
But somehow, he’s at a complete loss for the gallery piece.
There’s far more pressure than there was before, what with the deadline rapidly approaching and now the added stress of trying to come up with a piece that rivals Ashton’s. He’s tossed countless drafts into the trash, getting more and more frustrated as the days tick by. There’s only a week left until The Temporary is going to judge which piece is worth a spot in the gallery and it’s, for lack of a better description, fucking with Luke’s head.
One part confusion, one part frustration, and one part annoyance keep Luke from coming up with anything worth moving outside the pages of his sketchbook. His mom insists that anything he does will be worth the gallery’s time, but he can’t seem to come up with that same unrestricted confidence in himself this time.
Deep down, Luke knows that it’s Ashton’s fault. Not his fault, necessarily, but his doing. If Luke was competing against anyone else for the spot in the gallery, he would have no problem coming up with a grand idea that would be more than worthy of a place amongst the other paintings. But this is Ashton, this is his fucking soulmate that he’s working against, and he can’t shake the guilt everytime he tries to come up with a good idea.
Ashton refuses to mention the gallery too, which isn’t helping the situation. He won’t work on his piece when Luke is around, won’t give into the casual conversation about what he’s working on when it’s just the two of them alone at night, and won’t show off a single piece of his mind. He hides his work the moment that Luke so much as shows up in his space and hasn’t put anything up on the critique wall in ages. It’s driving Luke absolutely insane.
He’s not being any better, not with how he’s been throwing away every single paper before anyone has a chance to see it rather than hold onto the drafts and iterations the way he used to. He’s gone as far as lighting some of them on fire to make sure that no one rummages through the trash just to see what he’s working on. Or, really, not working on.
Not that he thinks anyone cares that greatly about all his failed attempts, but he’s self conscious about his work in a way that he’s never had to be before. It’s never been this high stakes before.
The burden weighs him down more every day, impacting the way he carries himself around the studio. Luke never thought that anyone would notice it, but Calum loves to prove him wrong.
“You’re in a funk,” he states blandly when it’s only him and Luke in the studio one afternoon. Ashton had to run to the store to get something for a commissioned piece he’s rushing to finish on a deadline and Michael tagged along just for fun. Luke hadn’t thought anything of the separation until now, but he’s starting to believe that his friends are staging an intervention.
“I’m not,” Luke mutters, rolling his eyes as he crumbles up another shitty draft of a project that will never see the light of day. What the fuck does To Move and To Live mean anyway?
“Sure, if that’s what you want to believe. You’ve never thrown away so much sketch paper in your life. No, actually, you never throw away anything, so I’m concerned.”
“Well thanks mom, but I’m fine. I just can’t get the gallery piece right.”
Tutting under his breath, Calum clicks his tongue. “I knew it was the gallery. What’s the issue, you’ve never had a problem with coming up with an on theme piece before this?”
Shaking his head, Luke stands to toss another paper into his never ending supply of fire kindling. “There’s no problem, everything is fine.”
“Luke,” Calum says, unimpressed. He sits soundly in his chair, hands folded over the table ahead of him. It’s almost too calm, too collected, considering how much frustration flutters through Luke’s thoughts.
What is he even supposed to say, though? His soulmate is ruining his inspiration? He can’t wrap his head around the idea that he’s supposed to be competing against someone that he’s slowly coming to love? Someone that the universe chose specifically for him, matched in every way possible? It’s bullshit and it’s unfair.
“I’m just stuck coming up with a concept,” he says quietly, sitting back at his chair with a pencil in his hand.
“It’s got nothing to do with Ash then?”
“Why would it ever have anything to do with Ashton?” Luke says, sarcasm dripping through his tone unintentionally.
Calum snorts humorlessly. “Don’t get snippy with me. It makes sense that this would be harder than normal, with you having to compete against each other. It’s clearly bugging him too.”
Luke pauses. “I doubt it’s bugging him.”
Through another dry laugh, Calum shakes his head. “You’re both ridiculous. Just talk to him about it, it’ll probably help you both get past this weird artist’s block.”
“He doesn’t seem to be having a hard time creating anything,” Luke mumbles, sketching out the basics of a hand on his page. Nothing but a few lines and some cross hatched shading, but he already hates it from the moment the pencil scratches against the sketch paper.
“Have you talked to Ashton about it at all?” Calum says, a touch of knowingness coating his words. It’s almost condescending in an annoying way. Luke breaks the tip of his pencil on the paper.
Tossing the pencil down on the side, he sighs. “No, he won’t talk to me about anything art related. Hasn’t either since we got the calls. What am I supposed to do when he’s hiding all his stuff from me?”
“You talk to him, that’s what you do. Communication is key and all that bullshit. You won’t be able to get through this on your own, not if he’s the reason you’re struggling.” Patting his hand on the table, Calum stands. “Just try to talk to him. You’re lucky to have a soulmate that understands what you do, he’ll get where you’re coming from.”
Without another word, Calum crosses the room and leaves the studio. The only noise that remains is the distant humming of the exhaust fan and the chorus of car horns on the street below. Luke sighs, swiping through the graphite dust sitting on the surface of his paper, smudging grey across the hand he was sketching.
Ashton’s hand. The drawing is Ashton’s hand, unmistakable as Luke blinks down at it. Of course it is.
｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆
Cooking dinner used to be one of the worst parts of Luke’s day. Recipes are frustrating, too many steps to follow and too many things that can go wrong. Freezer meals are no better, bland and unsatisfying. He’d rather just throw a bunch of things together and see how it works out, but that can be a disaster. When he spends all day doing random things to make art pieces work out, conforming to a list of ingredients sounds tedious.
He’s been spoiled lately with Ashton making meals for him more often than not. Of course he would be paired with someone who loves to cook, a match perfectly coordinated where dishes are exchanged for hot, delicious meals.
So why Luke is in the kitchen surrounded by random vegetables and sauces when he could just wait for Ashton to come home, he’s not sure. Maybe it’s because Ashton is later than normal, likely at the studio working since Luke isn’t there to bother him. Maybe it’s the need to have some control over a moment when he’s been freefalling so helplessly recently. Maybe it’s just for fun.
The last part is a lie.
Luke has the music blasting so loud in the kitchen that he doesn’t hear Ashton come in and stop by the countertop until he turns around with a knife in one hand and a head of cauliflower in the other. He gasps, startled by Ashton’s presence but more struck by the confused look on Ashton’s face.
“What’s going on?” Ashton asks, nodding his head at all the food on the countertop.
“Trying to make dinner?” Luke says, unsure of himself.
There’s a heavy pause. “Why?” Ashton finally says, huffing out a slight laugh. Blue paint stains his fingertips.
Luke shrugs, chopping a piece off of the vegetable. “Just wanted to.”
Ashton hums, nodding slightly. “Can I help?”
A whirl of contradicting emotions runs through Luke’s mind. Sure, he’d love Ashton to help with dinner because he has no fucking clue what he’s doing or how he’s supposed to do it. But at the same time, he wants to do this on his own, to problem solve and prove that he’s able to figure things out himself.
“What are you making?” Ashton says again, moving to the sink to wash his hands when Luke doesn’t immediately say no.
“Honestly? No fucking clue.”
Ashton’s laugh rings through the music, drawing a smile to Luke’s face immediately. It’s comforting, the twinkling noise that settles deep in his chest, at home in his heart. He’d recognize Ashton’s laugh anywhere at this point, no matter what else was happening. It’s the most easily distinguishable sound.
“Okay, we’ll work together to figure it out.”
They do, making some kind of vegetable stir fry that theoretically should taste horrible but somehow is incredible. It has to be all Ashton’s doing, Luke insists, but Ashton is adamant that there’s no way he could have completed the meal without his partner in crime.
The television plays low in the background while they eat, though neither of them pay any mind to what’s crossing the screen. Now that the smoke has settled around them and they’re no longer wrapped up in the motions of cooking together, there’s something constricting the moment. It lingers, tightening its hold around their necks until they’re forced to cry out for mercy.
It’s Ashton that inevitably breaks the ice with a quiet, “I might go back to the studio tonight.”
Luke grumbles under his breath before replying. “Cool, I assume I can’t come with?” It’s a touch more aggressive than necessary, coated with pent up frustration and annoyance.
Ashton recoils, knitting his eyebrows together in confusion. “You could if you wanted to?” he says carefully.
“You haven’t been working around me recently, so I figured you didn’t want me seeing whatever it is that you’re working on for the gallery.”
“It’s not that,” Ashton sighs. “I’ve just…” he trails off, picking at the skin and dried paint around his nails. “I can’t seem to make anything worthwhile. Everything I touch comes out shitty and it’s pissing me off.”
A familiar sense of understanding washes over Luke as he nods. “Yeah, I’ve been struggling to create for a while too.”
“I’ve noticed that you keep throwing pages away, you probably used up a whole tree by now,” Ashton teases lightly, smirk catching the corner of his lips. He softens his facial expression into something more concerned. “But you’re throwing things away, that’s not like you.”
Luke shrugs. “I hate everything I’ve been working on. All of it looks like shit and I never want another person to see any of it. Might as well pack up and just let you have the gallery spot.”
“Hey, if I wasn’t allowed to give up without a fair fight, neither are you. We can’t give up.”
“It’s not giving up, it’s giving in. Into the pressure and the annoyance because my brain won’t fucking work the way it’s supposed to. I’ve never had a problem coming up with a concept before, why is it so hard now?”
Ashton huffs out a laugh, shaking his head sadly. “I wish I knew the answer, because everything that I’m creating is just missing something too. I can’t get anything to be fully complete and I’ve never had that problem, either. I know when works are done, but everything I’m doing right now is half-assed and lacking spirit.”
“I wish you had told me that instead of hiding what you were doing,” Luke says quietly, playing with the hem of his hoodie sleeve.
“I knew you were struggling too so I didn’t want to give you more stress.”
Luke blows a raspberry. “You gave me more stress by not talking about it.”
“I’m sorry,” Ashton says, sincerity evident in his voice. “It’s hard. I’m not used to sharing this much with someone and sometimes I try to bottle stuff up to keep others from getting hurt. It’s not you.”
“If your next part of that was going to be “it’s me,” I’m breaking up with you,” Luke teases, trying to bring some light back into the situation.
Ashton laughs, shaking his head. “It wasn’t going to be, but noted. I really am sorry, I should have said something.”
“And I could have said something too. It’s not just you who was being shitty at communicating, so don’t put it all on yourself.” Luke sighs, tilting over so he lands with his head in Ashton’s lap. Ashton’s hands instantly go to Luke’s hair, fingers twirling through the blond strands as he works through light knots. Luke hums in contentment and his eyes fall shut.
“I still might go to the studio,” Ashton says after a few quiet moments of just the television for noise. “Please come with me, if you want.”
Blinking his eyes open once again, Luke takes in the private smile on Ashton’s face, tracing the slope of his nose and the tiny dent of his dimple in his tan cheek. His eyelashes fan over his skin, casting miniscule shadows on the tired bags under his eyes. Luke reaches a finger up to trail across the skin. “Sure, let’s go.” He goes to sit up and leave, but Ashton’s arm falls over his chest.
“Let’s just stay for another minute, there’s no need to rush. The studio will be there when we’re ready.”
Luke rolls his eyes playfully, if only to disguise the way his heart flutters at the sentiment.
｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆
Ashton flicks on the lights when they walk into the studio an hour or so later.
The overhead lights buzz softly as they walk into the room, weathered sneakers tapping against the concrete. Everything is more still at night, quieter and more intimate than it is in the daytime. The large window that looks out over the city is bathed in inky darkness with only a few dots of light amongst the miles of blank space.
It’s still one of Luke’s favorite times to be in the studio, only emphasized by being there with Ashton.
“What were you working on?” Luke asks, sitting a stool left in the middle of the room from when Calum was positioning a lamp for his drawing.
“Okay, I don’t want you to think this is so fucking cheesy, but I’ve only gotten this far with the project,” Ashton says, walking to his station and returning with a large five or six foot canvas that mostly obscures his whole body as he marches it over to the open wall.
He places the canvas against the wall and backs away, letting Luke take in the scene in front of him. It’s not much, at least not to him, just a soft blend of a few different colors, much like what they’ve both been doing lately in terms of shades and softness.
“It’s pretty?” Luke says, unsure what Ashton thinks is cheesy about the painting.
“It’s the colors of your soulmark,” Ashton offers, shrugging as he scans the canvas himself. “I keep finding myself drawn to your colors whenever I’m working on anything and I just can’t help it. I don’t mean to, but my only inspiration right now is you.”
“Okay that is fucking cheesy, I love it,” Luke laughs, leaning over onto Ashton as they stare at the painting.
He’s right, it is the exact colors of Luke’s soulmark thrown up onto the canvas ahead of them. They’re even more beautiful when they’re not tainted by the slight redness of Luke’s skin, shining radiantly on the white background. The very idea that Ashton is only able to work on things related to Luke is adorable, albeit a little stupid, but adorable nonetheless.
The more Luke thinks about it though, the more he agrees. All of his warm up drawings recently have been Ashton, whether it’s him standing directly in front of Luke while he works or if he’s just using the memory of Ashton to sketch out shapes and designs. He’s managed to complete a few commissions in the time since they found their marks, but none of them have been up to Luke’s normal standards of work. It’s hard when all he wants to do is make stupid little pencil drawings of his partner.
“I just don’t know what else I want to do with it. This is elementary, a literal child could do this. It’s lacking any type of emotion or direction.”
“I don’t think I’d take it that far,” Luke counters. “It might be a little basic, yeah, but you already had a meaning behind it when you said it was my colors. What’s more emotional than intimacy and affection? It might be a cliche, but it’s a start.”
Ashton hums, twisting his hand around to lace their fingers together. Luke takes his hand and squeezes lightly.
“Sure, but it’s not enough. I need more. I want more. This definitely does not deserve a spot in the gallery.”
“It’s better than my whole lot of nothing,” Luke says, frustration dripping through his tone.
“You don’t have nothing,” Ashton tries to say, but Luke cuts him off by walking to his desk and fanning out the remaining pieces of paper that he’s been sketching on for days.
There’s a few of some trees like his initial idea, weeping willows with bending branches that kind of move, but not in the way that he wants it to. There’s a couple with some sea scenes, imaginary metal fish swimming behind blue stained glass that would be an interactive exhibit for the patrons. They’re okay ideas, but not anything that he’s excited about or willing to put more time and effort into in order to get it ready for judging in just about a week. He’d have to work non stop every hour of the day to get any of those finished.
Ashton pushes some of the papers around, tapping on different aspects of some sketches— the silver vines of the tree, the thick outlines of the fishes, the color swatches for pieces yet to be decided upon. He slides a few more sheets around, stopping on some at the bottom of the stack. He pulls them out, smiling softly as he recognizes the sketches on the paper.
“You’re still drawing me, huh?” Ashton says, not a single hint of joking in his tone, only appreciation.
“I can’t help it, I try to just use you as a warm up, but then I get stuck drawing you for way too long instead of doing other work.”
“Now who’s sappy?” Ashton laughs, flattening his palm over one of the sheets showing him painting.
“We’re both equally smitten, I think,” Luke argues, sliding another paper out from below the pile. That one is just Ashton’s eyes from memory, with thin lines of marker catching some of the colors of his irises, but not quite getting them right. There’s nothing that exactly matches the true hues of Ashton’s eyes.
“Fuck the gallery, let’s both just spend the rest of our lives making art related to one another, who needs money or food or housing when we can use our canvases as shelter? I wonder if lemon yellow paint tastes like lemons too?”
“Oh fuck off,” Luke laughs, collecting his sketches back into a pile. “If only that could work.”
There’s a moment of quiet between them, with just the heating blowing through the vents as means of sound. It’s peaceful, just them together in the studio without the chaos of the daytime to distract them. Nights alone in the studio used to be Luke’s thing, but now it’s easily become nights in the studio with Ashton that bring him the most joy.
It’s almost comical to see how his priorities have changed over the months, initially focused on only himself and his work, but now spending equal time on his own development as he does the advancement of his relationship. Work is fun with his person here with him and his relationship is work that they’re both happy to do. It’s easy to combine the two.
“Wait,” Luke suddenly says, spinning on his chair to look at Ashton with a wicked grin. “I have an amazing idea.”
｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆
The Temporary Gallery is packed on opening night.
It seems like every single person in the art community is here to see the new set of exhibits, all supporting their friends and colleagues at such a fine moment. Luke opens the door with clammy hands, hit by a wall of chatter and laughter as he steps inside and brings his jacket to coat check. He waves at a few people he knows, clapping others on the back as he passes through the crowd to pick up a program. He knows where he’s going, but it doesn’t hurt to hold onto the memorabilia of the most exciting moment of his life and career thus far.
Climbing the steps to the second floor, Luke turns down the hall that leads to the area where he knows his work is. His boots click against the stone flooring as he walks, announcing his entrance before he even gets into the room. Waiting for him are Calum and Michael, both grinning in congratulations at Luke as a small smile breaks across his own face.
“Man of the hour!” Michael cheers, wrapping Luke into a hug the second he’s close enough to reach.
“It’s one piece, Mike, it’s not that exciting.”
“Like hell it isn’t,” Calum complains into his own hug. “This is fucking huge dude, you’ve been trying to get in here for ages. I’m so proud of you.”
Luke bows his head bashfully. Calum isn’t wrong, this quite literally is one of his biggest dreams come true. He’s happier than he’s ever been and even more proud of his work that’s hanging on the wall. In his humble opinion, his piece matches the theme perfectly.
A warm arm wraps around Luke’s torso, hand splaying over his hip where his tattoo sits and curling into the fabric of his teal silk shirt. Luke sags back into the body, not needing to check who he’s leaning on as Ashton’s aftershave hits his nose. A wider smile makes its way onto his face, eyes squinting with the force of his happiness.
“Look who decided to show up,” Luke teases, turning a bit to catch a glimpse of Ashton’s profile. His freshly dyed hair glitters under the light, vibrant primary red radiating against the simple black jacket he’s wearing over a polka dot shirt.
“I’ve been here a while, sizing up the competition downstairs while I waited for you to finally show up.”
“And by that you mean trying to convince someone that neon paint needs to be normalized?” Calum jokes, looking between Ashton and Luke with fondness in his dark eyes.
“Damn straight. If I get my way, the entire gallery will be neon by the next time they rotate out the paintings. They’ll have to give me a decent cut of any sales that happen though since I’m the one giving them such an incredible idea.”
Luke shakes his head before stepping away from Ashton completely, putting a bit of distance between them. He pretends that he’s not missing Ashton’s warmth the moment they’re apart. He drops his hand out between them, requesting Ashton’s to find its place intertwined with his. “Let’s go look at the piece.”
“We’ll see you both soon,” Michael says, smiling coyly as he lets them walk away together, Calum waving next to him. Luke thanks them silently for letting the two of them have a moment away, even when there’s multiple people standing around in front of the art when they finally get there.
And well. It’s even more breathtaking than Luke remembers it being a week or two ago.
It’s Ashton, or really, multiple iterations of Ashton doing multiple different things. In one, he’s seated at his drawing table with a paintbrush hanging out of his mouth. Another has his form reaching to paint a tall canvas, but void of all details. Another part is his sleeping face, peaceful with his lips parted slightly around what Luke remembers to be a soft snore.
The large framed paper has many versions of Ashton inked on its surface, all in different states of completion and action outlined in black ink or paint. Luke studied his body and the way it moved for hours before he finally chose a select few poses that best encapsulated what he sees of Ashton each and every day.
But what really makes the piece special is the background.
Vibrant pastel pinks and oranges mix together with yellows and blues to depict the most serene, abstract sunset that Luke’s ever seen. They twirl around, blending together in all the right places; a flick off the end of drawing Ashton’s paintbrush, or thick spirals of acrylic coloring in the outline of his hair as it falls in waves across the pillowcase. The colors stretch across the paper, highlighting some of the more intensely drawn lines of Luke’s drawings of Ashton while softer, pastel washes highlight the more intimate scenes.
It’s perfect.
“Wow,” Ashton whispers, and when Luke looks up, he’s smiling through a hazy look in his eyes.
“It’s…” Luke trails off, at a loss for words.
“Yeah,” Ashton agrees, and they lapse into silence.
They stand there for some time, admiring the piece and silently picking out all the details that they love the most. Luke can’t keep up with his running list of important parts, but he doesn’t have to, not when the real thing is standing next to him. (That, and the pictures that live in his phone forever and ever). Luke’s free hand finds its place on Ashton’s arm, thumb perfectly resting on top of the sunset tattoo.
He’s never been more proud of a work in his entire life. It’s everything that he wanted to create and more, living and moving and breathing right off the canvas. The perfect combination of mediums and designs after countless undeserving drafts that thankfully live in his sketchbooks rather than in the trash like the rest of his failed attempts.
“Excuse me,” a woman says, smiling at them both. “Are you the artist?” She’s looking at Luke as she talks, eyes twinkling under the spotlight.
“We both are, actually,” Luke confirms, biting back the smile that wants to split across his face.
“Oh!” she says excitedly. “Amazing, I love this piece. It’s the perfect mix of realism and abstract and it really captures the love you have for the subject.”
“Thank you for your kind words,” Ashton says, dimple popping in his own cheek through his smile. “It’s our first time collaborating on a piece so we’re happy to hear it’s well received.”
“Absolutely, you need to keep working together. There’s something magical in this work and I can only imagine what the future holds for your work. Are you taking commissions? I’d actually love to get something similar done for…”
Luke tunes her voice out as she keeps talking, knowing that Ashton will be more than happy to continue the conversation and probably work out some of the details of their future piece. Luke’s gaze gravitates towards the piece again, catching the small Ashton Irwin & Luke Hemmings signatures in the corner of the piece, along with the monogram of their intertwined initials as the new marking of their partnership, both in art and in life.
It was a risk, putting both of their styles together when they’re both so vastly different, both creatively and personally. Working together, like actually working together rather than just working in the same room could have been a relationship ruining disaster if they didn’t have the love and respect for one another that they do. Instead it was a near perfect collaboration between soulmates, both getting to showcase the inspiration that the other holds for them.
They made it work, neither one having to give up on their dream.
They’ll definitely be making more pieces together, hopefully for the rest of their lives. There’s no one Luke would rather share a magical sunset studio with.