It is now the fifth time Elouan has travelled to the castle for work. The architectural guild has been rather accommodating; letting him start late as compensation for the long commute, and even paying for his tram ticket. Marcel's absence the week before was an anomaly. Every lunchtime since he's arrived like clockwork, and the two chatted as they ate in that secluded little courtyard again. This had become something of a habit, it was something of a bright spot in Elouan's week, that he'd look forward to, thinking about Marcel each time he took the train up to work, wondering what he had been up to.
The boy rests with Elouan beneath the tree, sitting close like he did the last time they met. It's weird, Elouan thinks; he had become very used to the distance that adults - especially men - tend to hold from one another, how they'd never sit too close or hug too long. At some point in growing up everyone seemed to eventually reframe physical touch as something uniquely adult and sexual, and so any display of closeness became presumptuous and aggressive. In that way Marcel has the demeanor of someone much younger, as if totally oblivious to the implications of his body-language; it reminded him of being a child, when boys and girls regardless of gender would happily hold hands and rest their heads on one another. Overcome by a feeling of innocent, gentle warmth projecting from the boy, Elouan slides towards him until their shoulders are a breath away from touching.
"I didn't see you at the class last week," Elouan says, unwrapping a flatbread, "I thought you said you were going to be there?"
"What? Didn't you -" Marcel stops for a second, "oh of course, no I had something else going on that night."
"Oh," Elouan sounds a little dejected, "that's unfortunate."
"It is, I'm sorry. Did you find your way around alright at least?"
"Kind of. I'm not used to big spaces full of people like that, and I didn't like not knowing anybody there. I found some people to draw with though, I did a bit of a still life."
"Oh yeah, they love that stuff there, bowls of fruit and such, totally riveting. Who did you meet?"
"A couple of people, Amelia and some others who I didn't catch the names of, or maybe I forgot, I'm not sure. There was this other girl though, she talked to me about life drawing. I think I came off a bit cold but she was really nice."
"I might know her. What did she look like, was she cute?"
"She was uhh, kinda average height, I couldn't really tell, but her hair was ginger, kind of a similar colour to yours, but um, longer and a bit more red." Elouan feels a warmth building on his cheeks. "She was very well dressed too, quite fancy clothes and nice makeup. Very, you know - looked pretty. She sat next to me and we chatted for a while. It was nice."
"Sounds cute."
"Maybe a little" Elouan says in a small voice, and Marcel raises his eyebrows and smirks in response. "What?" He's too flustered thinking about it to look at the other boy, "why do you care?"
"Your voice is all over the place. It almost sounds like you've got a little crush, it's sweet." Marcel says in a tone that Elouan isn't sure is teasing or sincere. He's being bolder than usual today.
"I talked to her once, it's nothing." Elouan feels an embarrassing burning feeling in his cheeks.
"She's called Myra, she goes there quite often, so you'll see her again. Oh wow you do have a crush don't you?" Marcel touches his hand against the other boy's bright-red face, still turned away out of embarrassment as it flushes even brighter.
"Look, I just don't feel like this very often."
"Feel like what? Don't they have many cute girls where you're from?"
"No, not really no. Girls don't usually have that effect on me, I'm kind of surprised."
"What effect?"
"You know…" Elouan murmurs, isn't it obvious what he's talking about? He waves his hands around in a meaningless gesture. "Physical attraction."
"You're not attracted to girls?"
"Not really? I mean I had a girlfriend for a bit when I was younger, but that was because she asked me."
"And people who aren't girls?"
Elouan squints. "What's that supposed to mean?"
The taller boy shrugs. "Just trying not to make any assumptions." There is a moment of silence, then Marcel speaks again. "Really though, you should try talking to her again. The last I heard from her was that she's actually pretty lonely outside of those classes, maybe you two would get along."
"You think so?"
"I can't make you any promises, but, yeah. Probably. There's going to be a life drawing class this week and she hasn't missed one of those in months, so I bet you'll see her there."
"Right."
"So that means you'll get an excuse to stare at her," Marcel says gleefully, "maybe naked."
"Oh shut up."
The taller boy just laughs. It's a cute, honest laugh, and Elouan struggles not to grin at least a little.
"Do you draw then?" He asks, eager to change the subject.
"Ah, only a little, I'm not nearly as good as most people there though."
"What medium do you use?"
"Mostly pencil, a bit of charcoal. Not paint though, not yet."
"Why not paint?"
"You can't erase it. I'd be scared with every brush stroke that I was going to ruin the picture forever."
"Well, if you want to get your strokes right the first time there's really only one way to get better."
"Practice, right?" The redhead says in a defeated tone.
"Yeah, but no matter how much practice you do with a pencil it won't make you good at painting. You have to actually paint to do that."
"But I'm bad at that."
"Right now sure, but if you did a hundred bad paintings then the hundred-and-first one would probably be pretty good."
"Yeah but I really don't want to make a hundred bad paintings," he pouts. "That's humiliating."
"That's learning, I guess."
There is a pause, neither boy knowing quite what to say next.
"Oh, Marcel, you didn't have anything else to eat did you?"
"No, why?"
"I uh, brought you this." Elouan reaches into his bag and produces a second paper-wrapped flatbread. "You said mine looked nice last time, I thought you probably weren't going to have much food again, so you can eat this."
"Oh," he doesn't seem to know how to respond, "thank you." The boy gingerly unwraps his meal, hesitates for a moment, takes a bite, then another, and before long he's finished one of its halves. He smiles in gratitude, a few crumbs still on his face.
"I like you." He says.
"Huh?"
"Elouan, I like you. I want to spend time with you outside of work."
"You- you do?"
"This weekend, I'd like to see you."
"Sure." He's in mild disbelief, nobody's said anything like this to him since he was a kid. "What do you um, want to do?"
"I was thinking about what you said about practice, could you teach me more about drawing?"
"I doubt I'm a very good teacher, I don't think I'd be much help." Elouan starts to say, about to reject the offer, but he doesn't want to. He hasn't made a single friend his age since moving here, or for years before then for that matter. Marcel is a bit strange, but he's nice, the boy talks to him like he's actually interested in what he has to say, he's actually making an effort to spend time with him. "But I can try," he says gingerly, "it could be fun."
Something lights up inside Marcel, a sweet, gleeful look plays across his face.
"Hey so I need to check my calendar before I commit to anything, but are you coming to life drawing again? We could pin down some plans then."
"Yeah? Will you actually come this time?"
"I will, I promise."
"Okay, if you promise. I'll be there then."