Kyle Van Allen (arty_kyle) wrote in rrinitiative, @ 2012-10-06 19:52:00 |
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Entry tags: | day five, kyle, kyle and leandro, leandro |
An Actual Conversation
Characters: Leandro & Kyle
Setting: Activity Room, Evening
Merciful dusk was just barely threatening to drop over the walls of the facility, the sun having gone a little faint as if it had been shrouded in wool. Leandro dragged himself through the elevator system at this time, tired but not so tired that he could not keep a date. It was strange, or perhaps just the way of life in here, that he found less skulking to do at night and less reason to stay awake until all hours. He kept falling asleep bizarrely early for him; in his life in Los Angeles he would have happily roamed the streets until dawn. They were his then, after all, when the "normal" people filed away into their houses to hide.
It was also very well likely that the emotional turmoil of that morning was still hanging on his heart. He did what he thought was right but doubt was a sharp thorn. Leandro had so little confidence in his ability with complicated emotional issues. Mostly, he liked to pretend he didn't have any. But with Wren... He couldn't help but try to spare what he could from her. She broke his heart with that teary-eyed gaze. Hopefully the afternoon had put a little bandaid on that and she would sort everything out. Maybe Charlie would be a stand-up guy after all. Leandro left the theorizing at that.
For now he was off to see Kyle, to slip into a more comfortable skin with someone who didn't know what had happened in the kitchen. Kyle thought he understood him now, Leandro thought, and that was mostly very charming. It still remained to be seen how he would react when he had expectations of Leandro's behavior and even those were blown. It wasn't that it was difficult to talk to the artist. He had that sweet face and those eyes, and when he got going about something he knew there was that sparkle to him. He was smart and curious, and that could come to be intoxicating. But it felt distinctly as if he came from a very different world. Leandro wondered if he could get more of that out of him today, even moreso perhaps than drawing advice.
The elevator dinged, door gliding open, and it was showtime. Leandro put on his best face, that lazy slow swing in his step, and sought to find the artist's refuge.
Despite his promises to himself to 'get out more', aside from having breakfast in the kitchen with Adam, Kyle's attempts at being 'social' had ended up simply being moving his work from the solitude of his room to the slightly more public, yet still empty, venue of the activity room. He had set up one if the largest canvases, almost bigger than he was, and he was working on an overly colourful, impressionist style rendering of the New York skyline. Or, that was what it would be, eventually. Right now, it was very much still a work in progress, more blocks of colour then anything else. It was clear from the way the artist was working, though, that he knew what the end result was going to be.
For now, though, he was lost in his work, careless of the world around him.
For once, Leandro was glad that he hadn't gone storming into the room with his clunky boots and the clattery doors and his rough whoops of greeting when he knew what he was walking into. He managed to find himself at the crux of a rather lovely picture. Not the painting, even. So far it was maybe... blocks of light? Panels of color? He wasn't good enough to tell just yet. But it was something forming. The real treat was in watching Kyle.
Leandro switched to walking on the forward pads of his feet so as to avoid his heels hitting the tiles, slowly creeping towards the working artist. He was good, that much would be apparent to anyone, but there was also something sort of poetic about his focus. He looked like he was somewhere else. Somewhere better than here. Leandro wished that he could see that place in his mind.
After standing there some handful of feet away for a time, Leandro decided to finally break the silence. He loved meditative atmospheres, but it would probably be more fun if they could actually share it.
"I like that other one," he said out loud at a moment in which Kyle's brush went for the paint again. He was being contrary of course, playfully seeing if he could get Kyle to second-guess his color choice.
Kyle had been entirely oblivious of the other's approach, right up until the moment he spoke. The way he jumped and turned, almost skittish - though it was notable that he did not drop either palet or brush - made that fact clear. His eyes were wide until he realised who it was, and then the tension suddenly dropped. Kyle's posture straightened as he tried to cling to the shreads of his dignity. Lifting his chin almost haughtily, he glanced down at the paints, then back at Leandro. "Well, when you're working on your own piece, you can choose the colours," he said, determinedly carrying on to pick the paint he had originally been going for, pretending that he wasn't waiting for his pulse to return to normal and that he hadn't clearly just been freaked by someone coming up behind him.
Oh no! Leandro watched the change roll over Kyle's features and thought that if he let himself laugh he might fall onto the floor with devilish glee. There was a bit of a jump there, even if only evident by the wide eyes suddenly focused like high-beams on him. Leandro was sort of impressed that the paint didn't go flying and that nothing had flown into his face in defense, punches or tools. Thank God he didn't immediately see a palette knife anywhere.
That snap back was really funny, too. He couldn't help but just grin away at Kyle in delight. "Ooh, honey," he breathed in reply. "Your brow packs a mean punch!" He was referencing the phrase 'to be brow-beaten', teasing Kyle for that haughty tone. After saying that, he jerked his face quickly as if it was taking an invisible punch, making the "Psshht!" hit sound effect between his teeth. His own eyes widened briefly in a mockery of pain, hand flying up to cover his jaw.
He didn't keep it up for long, though. He was too curious. He was right back up a second later and invading Kyle's working space. Leandro shouldered in next to him to peer at his canvas. "So what do you have going here?"
Kyle finished applying the paint, a ribbon of red snaking across the bottom of the canvas, cutting through the other colours like a knife. He stood back a little and observed the balance before setting his paints and brushes to one side.
"Manhattan," the painter said, finally, turning back to his companion, still giving nothing away. He knew Leandro was after a reaction. This time, he would simply have to be content with the earlier surprise. At least until Kyle got his balance back once more.
Just a one-word answer? Leandro let his eyes leave the painting to glance over at Kyle again, watching his face. God, but he was so stubborn! Not even a crack, a peep, the tiniest laugh. It was too distracting. Though Leandro took in the meaning of the painting, the tall swatches of color making more sense now, he couldn't make up anything to add to the knowledge. Instead he turned a little and held his arms loose at his sides in question. "What, you mad at me?" he asked more quietly. "Come on, I just wanted to have some fun. I liked watching you. You have this really attractive look to you when you're focused. Not that you deserve compliments right now."
Leandro scoffed lightly at that and turned back to the painting, looking at it down his nose. He could snob too, even if his had no background. If they had been fifteen years younger, he might have stuck his tongue out.
Kyle hesitated for a moment, then relented, dropping the icy act with a slight role of his eyes and a quirked half smile. He knew when the admonition was valid. "No - I'm not mad at you. Mad at me, maybe. Shouldn't have put myself in a position when you could sneak up on me like that. Even if you did enjoy the view," he said, rolling with the compliment easily enough today, apparently deserved or not.
He stepped up next to the other man, standing by his shoulder and a little behind. The look on Leandro's face he took in his stride - god, but he wasn't the first person to view his work in with that almost judgemental look on his face, though Kyle figured that with Leandro, he couldn't be sure whether it was serious, or put on. "Can you see it - it's really not finished yet," he said, holding his right hand in a loose fist against his chest, so he didn't immediately launch into a detailed explanation of his work and where it was going. That may be too much.
From the corner of his eye, Leandro viewed Kyle's explanation for his mood. It soothed him over and, not for the first time since they had met, made him think a little. What he thought was that no matter what Kyle said, he actually did seem scared. Maybe very scared, as well he should be. Though they coped with it in different ways, they were both trying to survive. If he really wanted to get to know the artist... maybe he could adapt a little.
Leandro's face softened out to match, his hands going to tuck away in his pockets. He offered Kyle a gentler close-lipped smile and just said, "Don't worry about it," before moving on to the painting. He sighed a short breath from between his lips and put his knuckles to his chin in thought.
"It's very bright. It's luminous... happy. Is this home? The colors are strong but not really confrontational, that I can tell." He was going off of intuition, what he received from emotion. If he had known them, he might have tried using more technical terms. "It's like you have a lot of optimism for the place... But this is odd." Leandro stuck out one finger and pointed to the fresh red line. "Almost like one bloody current under all the happy. What is it?" His dark gaze fully focused on Kyle now, inviting his explanation.
“Yeah, it’s home,” Kyle said, watching Leandro for his reactions rather than the painting he knew so well. He wanted to know what the other was thinking, and how that played out on his features. “The colours - I want to evoke the skyline that everyone knows so well, but the colours are representative of the lives that are going on in the city. Classically, it looks so dark, or at least metal and glass and water. Everyone knows the shapes. I want life in there as well. It’s a living, breathing thing. Hopes and dreams and just... life going on.” He paused, looking away from Leandro, to the painting itself now. The bottom section was slightly darker, the colours a more muted reflection of those above, and slashed right through with the red. “Yeah. That’s odd. It’s meant to be,” Kyle admitted. “The lower half, where the water would normally be - the reflections of all of the buildings... In this, it’s the darker side of the city. The underbelly - pretty literally.”
Kyle reached out, leaning past Leandro to gesture with his finger and trace the red streak, still some inches away from the canvas. “That - that is just the reminder that death runs through it all,” he said, far more quietly, his tone contemplative for a moment before he shook himself out of it and straightened up. “You gonna tell me that it’s all a load of pretentious bullshit now?” he asked, almost challenging.
Leandro was silent throughout Kyle's explanation. There was a sharpness, an angularity to his features that was not quite like his icy moments. This was turned inward. He recognized the metaphor, of those who lived in the rarefied air of the top colors and those who lived in the muck below. Like heaven and hell, with the fleshy, dirty smudge of earth in between.
He stared at Kyle for a while, face still. He didn't seem to be moved by his challenge, neither pushing him nor embracing him on it. He simply shook his head. "You're not... You're really fucking spot on, actually. But I have to ask you, what do you know about that?"
He stuck out his hand and pointed to the underbelly. "Your red line means more than you think, maybe. It's death, literal death, but its also a divider. It's the firing line to keep those who want out of the muddy water from ever seeing the light. The people up here," Now his hand moved in a whirl up to the tops of the buildings. His brow drew bitterly, though his voice didn't raise. "Don't see what happens down below every day. The reflection shows people with hearts and souls and dreams exactly like those of the people at the top, but they spend all their lives trying not to drown. You ever done that, Kyle? Woke up not sure if you were going to make it to see tomorrow?" Though it could have been a challenge, it wasn't forceful enough to be accusatory. Leandro sounded like he was willing to listen at least somewhat.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” Kyle answered, turning to look at Leandro and his explanation. His words not only got what he was trying for, but they added to it as well, saw another dimension in it that Kyle had been reaching for, but hadn’t been able to vocalise in that way. It made him want to be impressed, yet humbled at the same time. Made him want to try and crawl inside the other man’s head for a while.
“How do you see me?” Kyle asked, after a moment, his expression curious, yet still neutral. He said the words before he really thought them through, yet not regretting them. Leandro had pretty much said he didn’t think that Kyle should be able to know the things he had painted, so it seemed important, that Kyle know how he was viewed right now.
Leandro wasn't sure if Kyle's statement really answered his question. He turned fully towards him, feeling certain... He wasn't sure. There was both comfort and scariness in being able to look him straight in the eye. Maybe Kyle didn't think so, but Leandro suspected that they were pretty close to intellectual equals. Funny, that. All the advantages or disadvantages in the world and fate came right through anyhow.
"Lots of ways to get here," Leandro said, meeting Kyle's eyes. He still wasn't pushing him, more as if he was examining all the flecks held inside. "You could have been some kind of ass who defrauded his school or ran away with Daddy's money just the same. Why are you here, then?"
As for the rest, Leandro cracked a small smile. He thought about that for a second, pulling his lip ring around on his lip. "You're a coaster. I knew that from the start. I've seen enough of them in LA to know what one looks like. I mean, the type of person who lives somewhere nice on the coast. Not Midwestern, not at all southern, not quite northern. Very smooth and polished and tidy, and they talk nice to your face if you don't look homeless, but they don't like thinking for themselves. They don't like people who are different. It's because all the money in the world can't buy them back their great-granddaddies' noble titles. But you... You're curious, aren't you? I saw it before, when you talked about graffiti. You wonder what goes down underground. But I don't think you've ever been there. That's why running from the pigs gives you the chills still." To illustrate, he feather-lightly ran his fingertips up Kyle's arm.
“I killed someone,” Kyle told him, his face blank as he took Leandro's assessment, pulling his arm back slightly from Leandro’s touch, though he held his gaze.
“Sure, I came from a nice background. From money. I went to college. I grew up in Manhattan. Smooth, polished, tidy. Like you said. Parents who had friends, who had friends. Circles, where what you were was more important than who you were. Never did sit that well with me. Never did make that much sense. But, it’s hard to walk away from - that support system.” Kyle looked Leandro up and down, without really thinking about what he was doing. “I never - hell, I don’t think I ever knew people who were that different. Not really. But - I never had anything against them. Looking back, even in college, I didn’t know. But... I got into dealing. Short story. I fucked up. Someone died.” And god there was so much more to it than that, but Kyle wasn’t in for that conversation.
Leandro let those words resound in his mind. I killed someone. They made him feel unsteady, but not afraid. He could deal with killers, with mistake-makers, with brutes and thieves. They all made sense. But Kyle...
"Hey. Why?" He didn't want to let Kyle escape his grasp, because now he had to know. When Kyle pulled his arm away, Leandro just reached for it again and wound his fingers around his wrist. Not comfort or intimacy, but an effort to remain engaged. "Why would you deal or even touch drugs if you had everything you needed? Did you even know what they'd do when you started?"
Something about that sort of stung on his lips. Like he wanted to hope Kyle hadn't gone there. Like his life sounded more secure if he'd just been a runaway money thief. His last words were very soft, maybe even sad. "Maybe you shouldn't have been so curious. What did you get out of looking in on us, huh? What do you want from the underbelly?"
“You think that the ‘have nots’ are the only people with problems?” Kyle asked, twisting his arm in Leandro’s grip, but not actually making any move to take his limb back. “Or that they’re the only ones that need an escape?”
Then he took his arm back, gently enough, not wrenching. He turned away, running his hand through his hair as he turned his back on Leandro. “I’m not going to make those excuses for me. It felt good. I felt like it helped me relax. Helped my art. I was stupid. Really - it was easy and I fell into it. Like nothing could ever hurt me. And nothing could ever hurt anyone else and why wouldn’t you?” He looked back at Leandro, his face a picture of sorrow - more emotion than was ever usually portrayed on his face. “Have you ever felt like you’re immortal?”
When Kyle started twisting his arm, Leandro perceived it as a request to be let go, but he held on a moment longer. After Kyle had finally slipped from his grasp it felt a little colder. As if they had been wires channeling electricity through one another with the intensity of their exchange, and the line was broken now, the spark forced to jump. He pressed his lips into a line and shoved his hands as deep as they'd go into his pockets to stave it away. No one had dared talk to him like this before. Everyone else he had known had always been just like him, scraping the bottom of the barrel for their own lives.
"They're different problems," he said vaguely. He shifted his weight on his boots, lowering his chin. "But... nevermind. What were you trying to escape from? What was it that made you want to feel like nothing could hurt you?"
To the last, he hesitated a little longer. This bordered on his own no-man's land, places where he didn't just let people go. But if he refused now Kyle might not continue and they'd gone too far to give up and go marching back to shallow water. "Yeah. For a handful of years I felt that way. But not quite the same. More like, I was pretty sure I was already dead so the pain of actually dying was just a formality. So I broke things. I started to test it. I'm in for arson. I never hurt another human being in my life." A pale smirk curled into his face just very briefly. There was some irony in that, he still thought.
Kyle turned back at that - looking over his shoulder to meet Leandro’s eyes. “I never meant to hurt anyone,” he admitted. That much was clear whenever he talked about this. “I don’t know what I was trying to escape from. It wasn’t anything that made me feel that way, but life. It wasn’t like I was after something to make me feel like nothing could hurt me - I just already felt that way. Like nothing could touch me. Like it made no difference. Like, whatever I did, it was all going to be fine, because that was my life.” He dropped his eyes a little. “Which I know - it’s fucking naive and stupid. I know that now.”
After a moment or two, he looked up at Leandro once more. “Maybe it’s that you tested it from one way. I tested it from another. You wanted to see where the border of death was. I wanted to prove I was alive. Or maybe that is the pretentious bullshit. Maybe I was just pretentious and full of myself and the world wasn’t a real place. I don’t think my life was a real life. I thought once upon a time that I had been raised in a glass bauble and I’d broken out of that by refusing to go to the school my parents wanted. For enrolling in some edgy, out there college.” He laughed, dryly. “I thought I had the answer to everything. I didn’t even know what the fucking questions were. Didn’t know anything until I it was all falling down around my ears.”
Leandro breathed softly from his lips while he listened, the hint of inherent "fuzz" noise deep in his throat creeping into each one. He nodded at length, his form staying still on the floor but inviting Kyle back when he faced him again. He believed him, that he didn't mean to hurt the person he killed. His intuition that told him Kyle wasn't the type. He wasn't that kind of angry.
"So you wanted to see the real world. You kind of... you courted it, invited it into your life, to see if it could touch you. Because you thought that no matter what you ever did, no matter how outrageous, you'd still be the same person you were born as." Leandro actually smiled a little at that. Weak, but still a smile. "In order to think that you had to believe at least a little that people could change. That you could change. You know, there aren't a lot of people who really entertain that idea, no matter what they say. Kind of sweet of you... optimistic. You wanted to know if you'd always get what you've always gotten. I did too."
Here he held out his arms at his sides to illustrate, palms open. "Nothing changed for me. How about you? You feel real yet, baby blue? What are the questions now, huh? Because either way it looks like doing what you're told or else."
Kyle laughed a little at that, shaking his head. "You give me too much credit. For actually thinking that I thought about it at all. Like it was some kind of a plan, or a mission. It was never like that. I didn't think. I acted. I did whatever seemed like a good idea at the time and couldn't imagine why anyone else would do anything differently. I did things just because I could, whether or not I should wasn't anything that ever got considered. So, yeah, maybe in a way you're right - I thought that I'd still be me, no matter what happened. But I didn't think it through beforehand. Not the way you make it sound. I was far more stupid than that. I lived my life like everything I did was the best thing ever, and thinking everyone should be like me. And a really great guy is dead as a result."
He swallowed and gave a small smile that didn't get anywhere near reaching his eyes. "Everything changed for me," Kyle continued, after a moment. "Who I am, how I see the world. How I see myself. That was the worst part - couldn't look in the mirror for so long. Not when I couldn't stand what I saw."
"But you think about everything now." The statement was made quickly, but after Leandro said it he mulled it over further. A glimmer of certainty came to his eyes. "I get it now. Why you're like that. Why you can't just not worry about what you already said, or why my spontaneous attitude scares the shit out of you. You're trying to protect yourself from all that happening again, aren't you? You don't ever want to get so full of yourself again that you have another accident."
Leandro took a small pacing step. One hand came up to smooth over his lower lip in thought. "Yeah. That's it, isn't it? I guess I can't really blame you. I could feel that I scared you. Wasn't sure why, since it wasn't like I followed you back to your room and mouth-breathed through the crack under your door." He paused there for a small smirk. "But no... no, I get it. The thing is, though, is that there's a difference between being an ass and letting yourself feel things, being passionate, just... Being part of the moment. You know? You're not... like... I don't think the feeling behind it is awful. The execution went all wrong, yeah. You're guilty now, and you hate yourself for making that mistake, but... It'd be kind of a shame for two people to die in this one accident, wouldn't it? There can be a balance. And... well, I kind of wouldn't want you to throw yourself away, even if that sounds cold considering."
There was a hint of hesitation from him, his eyes rolling toward the far wall as if in some sort of disbelief for what he was about to say. His hand tracked through the longer bits of his hair and then dropped back to his thigh with an audible pat. "Okay, fine. At risk of putting myself into a really bad place... I get bored and lonely. A lot. It's not a new thing. I just don't meet a lot of people who can keep up with me. Doing wacky shit keeps me on my toes. I don't mean harm from it, unless somebody really pissed me off, but even then like I said. I've never hurt anyone. I kind of singled you out because after I saw what you could do on paper, I kind of thought maybe you were the first person in a long time who could give me a run for my money. You have some cool, rare gifts, and I hope you don't still feel that way about yourself. Who you'll be now... well, whatever it is you wanted to know about the rest of the world, you could ask me. It'll come together for you if you experience it." He trailed off there, silently raising one eyebrow as he waited for a reaction. He hoped that, though the admission felt just as stupid, that Kyle would identify with it somehow.
Kyle considered all of that, but only for a moment before he was replying. “First - I don’t think admitting you get bored and lonely puts you in a bad place,” he said, firmly, eyeing the other man. In fact, he didn’t quite understand why Leandro would think such a thing, though he figured that it probably had something to do with his clear aversion to letting people in in any real way. Leandro struck him as a very definite surface person. “As for me - I don’t consider this throwing myself away. This is a balance - my balance. This is what I needed to do to balance out what I did. But... Maybe you’re right. About letting myself feel things. I never meant to stop doing that, but with what happened, and then the last year...” He shrugged slightly. “It’s easier not to, sometimes.”
Kyle tilted his head and considered Leandro. “You do it too, in your own way. We both react like nothing touches us. Only, for me that’s because I make like I don’t have emotions. And you make like you don’t care about anything at all. You’re too busy moving onto the next thing.” Of course, there was always the chance Leandro simply didn’t care, but Kyle was taking the bet that that wasn’t actually the case.
“I’m not gonna tell you how to live your life and if that works for you, then... Yeah. But, for me - I didn’t mean it to turn out like that.” Kyle glanced at the painting, turning away from Leandro a little. “It feels so good - to be able to do this again. Passion. Expression.” He closed his eyes and inhaled, deeply. “I got lost. Last year. I got so lost.”
Leandro actually laughed at having been called out. It was just a small thing under his breath, but when he turned to join Kyle again at the painting he was still smiling. "Yeah, heh. Jig is up, huh? It's not that I don't care. I've just learned well in my life that not a whole lot is really permanent. You get attached and then the game changes and you're out on your ass again. It's the way the world works. Most people don't survive because they have such trouble changing. They do the same thing over and over expecting a different result by some miracle, but it never happens for them. Doesn't matter if they're the staunchest goodie two shoes you've ever seen. Maybe especially then. They just keep getting screwed. Can't say I didn't have plenty of that too, but eventually I learned to accept always being on the move like that. And not to expect too much from anyone. Dog eat dog, whatever it is they like to say."
He shrugged vaguely, cutting off his diatribe about himself. He wouldn't linger on the subject too long. It was much easier to use his analysis on Kyle. "This suits you, though. Your painting. I know you said before it's not even your main thing but it seems like it doesn't even matter. The nature of it is right. You looked completely different from last night, when you were sitting on my couch with your shoulders up to your ears like you were waiting for me to slap you." He shook his head softly. "I'm not that evil, you know. If you really, really told me to stop and never hit on you again I wouldn't bug you. Anyway, though. I don't know. I like you better this way. Maybe your new balance makes you feel like justice was served but it doesn't look like it makes you really happy. Just my observation there."
The expression on Kyle's face seemed to Leandro like it was so full of longing it sort of hurt. He really did miss this. It was enough to create a rare pang of sympathy in Leandro. "What happened last year...?"
Kyle kept his eyes closed, though his expression changed, closing off a little more. “First year in.” His blinked his eyes open, tilting his head back to look towards the ceiling. “This place - this place is heaven compared to last year.”
Bringing his arms up, Kyle gave himself a little hug, shaking off the thoughts and taking a step or two away before he turned back to Leandro. “I don’t think you’re evil - and I know now that you’ll stop. If I asked you to. Yesterday - yesterday was just a pretty intense kinda day, and not exactly in a good way. You caught me at the tail end of it. Today is a new day. And right now, it’s been so damn long since I could do anything really creative that I’ll take what they give me. Eventually, I’ll remember just how limiting I always found paint as a medium and I’ll get twitchy for more. Right now, it really doesn’t matter.”
It surprised Leandro that something in him wanted to follow Kyle even as he took steps away. These compulsions recently were intrusive and confusing. He tried to hold it off by putting his own arms around himself to match, though his settled more across his chest and was even more closed. He was relieved when Kyle came back on his own.
"I know what that's like," he said. "This isn't my first time in. I was at California State twice. It's rough in there. But I don't know about this either. What would we even do if they let us out and really erased out identities? You're an artist. Your name is kind of important, isn't it?"
But now Kyle was talking about what to do in that moment, and Leandro knew he could shine there. He grinned, feeling surprisingly lighter when he let his mind run. "Hey, you don't have to paint forever. I bet there's tons of stuff we could do. You like metal, don't you? I do too. I used to work in a chop shop. Top class, right? I got pretty good though. I can strip a car in a night. Maybe there's something around here we can take apart and do something with. I saw some stuff in the tool shed that might be useful. I like electricity too. Motors, batteries. Good stuff." He nodded at Kyle with energy, trying to encourage him to agree. When he got going, there was something of a childish bouyance to him, bringing himself up and down on his toes. "You think you can make me an artist?"
Kyle laughed when Leandro asked about his name. “You make it sound like I was already someone famous, successful. I wasn’t - I was a freshman in college. I’ve never even sold a single piece. If they change my name, then I’ll keep working under a different name.” Though he would miss his family. He wasn’t sure if they would miss him though - relations there had gone downhill really damn fast when he turned himself in. “They can take away our identities, but they can’t actually change who we really are.” He smiled, taking in the rest of what Leandro had to say. Seemingly, yesterday’s rollercoaster of realisations had some benefits - it was a whole lot easier today to hear about Leandro’s crimes. “Yeah, I like metal - I like taking something that the world has thrown away, that it thinks is good for nothing at all but the trash heap and making something beautiful out of it.”
Kyle picked up a rag and wiped off his hands, picking bits of paint out from under his fingernails. “And yes - I think I can make you an artist,” he said. He noted the way Leandro seemed to be genuinely excited by the prospect and couldn’t help adding a mischievous, “Can’t promise to make you a good one...” his blue eyes twinkling with mirth.
"You'd just accept it like that?" Leandro wondered. "But it's your name that everyone has been calling you forever. Wouldn't it be weird for everyone to suddenly call you Sam or Joe or something? I couldn't do it." He laughed airily, but there was a subtle darker tone to it, eyes narrow. "I'm no Jose or Pedro. Maybe I could be Jesus though." His voice went over the Spanish names expertly, saying Jesus in the traditional "hey-zus" fashion. Then he seemed to take on a curious look, eyeing Kyle closely. "What's your whole name, anyway. Want to know mine? It's Leandro Rafael Alverio Reyes. Like it? My name's not worth anything either, but it's mine."
Then a soft curl of a smile lit Leandro's lips. It was gentle, and even warm, blossoming under the light in his eyes. He liked what Kyle had said about the metal. It appealed to his own nature. "That's pretty sweet. I really like that, actually. It takes a special eye to see potential in trash." In return to Kyle's sparkling little quip he winked outrageously and added, "By that principle, you should make me the best artist you've ever seen. Make me feel beautiful, baby."
“You calling yourself trash? Tut tut - I would have thought better of you,” Kyle admonished lightly, going for that almost joking route, rather than the pretty direct ‘don’t do that’ tack he had taken with Adam when the man had put himself down. Kyle didn’t like it when people did that, when they chose not to believe in themselves. “You don’t need me to make you feel beautiful. Anyway, I wouldn’t have thought that you would want that kind of a dependency on someone else,” he teased, throwing the painting rag back on the little table he had set up for his paints, by the side of the canvas.
“That’s one hell of a name. My parents didn’t believe in middle names. Or something. Anyway, I’m just Kyle. Kyle Van Allen.” He raised his jaw and took on a purposefully haughty expression. “Of the Manhattan Van Allen’s,” he added, before dropping the expression and rolling his eyes. “In some ways, losing the name would be a relief. There’s a whole lot of baggage with it.”
Leandro rolled a slow step closer to Kyle. At their near matching heights he could look into his face with just a slight turn of his head, which was a refreshing change. "It's not an insult," he purred softly. His eyes were heavily lidded, though perhaps by now Kyle could begin to guess that it was something of an exaggeration. "It's a lifestyle. But everybody needs a change of pace sometime. Maybe I wouldn't mind you making me feel beautiful. You should draw me like one of your French girls."
The movie quote also rolled off of his tongue easily, accompanying a sly smile. "Kyle Van Allen. Of the Manhattan Van Allens. Maybe in return I could ease off some of that baggage for you."
Kyle was, in fact, learning about Leandro’s ways. He returned the gaze, not flinching at all. “I know how that story ends. Not in a good way - especially for the artist. And, anyway, I thought I was meant to be teaching you how to draw, not actually drawing you,” he pointed out, though there was clear humour in his expression. He knew the other man’s game, and not rising to it was done as his own form of teasing. That much was blatantly clear.
Leandro just kept smiling enigmatically, unrepelled by Kyle's reticence. After all, he'd told him to say no, and he wasn't saying no. "Yeah, maybe, but before he dies a horrible death he gets to have hot sex in a nice car. Too bad we don't have a car."
At that, Leandro even pouted as if to plead. He picked up one finger and drew it down the center of Kyle's chest coyly. "But I really do want you to draw me. Can't you teach me by showing me? I can try to draw you too."
Kyle arched an eyebrow. Never dropping eye contact, he reached up and took Leandro’s hand, pulling it away from his chest and dropping it, after a moment or two. Long enough for it not to be a direct refusal. “They say that the very worst way to teach someone how to draw is by example,” he said. “You need to find your own lines. Copying mine will never work for you. All that will teach you is how to be me. A mimic. Not your own person.” He paused and smiled, slowly. “And we don’t have a car - so seems like you’re out of luck. Shame,” he said, smoothly, pulling a similar puppy-dog look as Leandro had tried on him, though it didn’t match his tone at all. That was far less disappointed.
Leandro licked his lips softly, scrunching up his nose and making a breathy "mmh" noise of protest when his hand was dropped. As if it was painful to lose contact with Kyle, he was in such need of it. But he put on a brave face, straightening out. "You're so hard to get! I'll show you eventually."
He shook his head out then as if to cool himself off and then returned to the conversation. "Well, how about this? Why don't we sit and you don't show me and I don't show you, but we draw each other and then trade. What do you say, Professor Van Allen? Give your student a subject he can be enthusiastic about." Of course it wouldn't be over so easy. Leandro grinned at his own re-attempt.
Kyle eyed him for a moment, and then turned away. Walking over the other side of the room, he rooted across a table, coming up with a few sheets of paper, a couple of pencils, and a board for each of them to rest on. “Sure - let’s do that,” he agreed, as he walked back to Leandro, handing over his set with an amused look on his face. “You show me yours. I’ll show you mine,” he joked, sitting himself down in a nearby chair and crossing his legs. He situated himself, clearly getting comfortable. It was a relaxed, familiar position and he looked up at Leandro, waiting for the other guy to do likewise. He was game for this.
Leandro took the board and pencil from Kyle, balancing the board on his hip for now. "Sure, baby. I'll show you mine. Try not to look too surprised. Everyone I've shown it to says they've never seen anything like it."
He took the chair opposite Kyle, slinging himself into it loosely. Leandro gave his hair a sensual flick out of his face. His lips parted briefly, tongue flicking out at Kyle teasingly. That done, he got to work, pulling the board up to his lap just far enough that he could see without obscuring his own face. He flipped the pencil between his fingers and then slid it across the paper, starting with a sweeping line.
“Then I will reserve the right to me amazed,” Kyle said, dryly. “Go on. Impress me.”
Kyle hardly looked down at his paper as he began to sketch. He was half of the mind to make it a caricature. But then, actually he realised, he wanted to impress. Much as he had wanted to with the original sketch of Venus that he had sent to the other man. No - he wasn’t going to make fun of this. He wanted to see an expression of sheer, unadulterated awe on the other’s face. Something real. Something that wasn’t put on. Something that wasn’t faked the way he seemed to fake so much else. So, his gaze intent and probing, Kyle drew.
Leandro too seemed sharp and focused, his eyes flicking up to Kyle and then back to his paper rapidly. He didn't have a procedure, he didn't know what he was doing, so he just felt it out. His arm had a good, instinctive swing to it, but God only knew what it was coming out to look like. At the very least, he didn't look like he was making fun of it either.
The seriousness of focus begged to be broken, though, so at length his voice piped up. "So, professor, am I pretty?" He pouted out his generous lips at Kyle, staring up at him through a fringe of dark eyelashes.
The question made Kyle hesitate, and then change the track of his drawing, an idea coming to him. He didn’t know whether or not Leandro would appreciate it, but if he was going to ask if he was ‘pretty’, then Kyle was going to draw him pretty. He could just deal.
The artist didn’t actually slow down at all, but he did turn his main attention to Leandro as he continued to draw. “Pretty is kind of subjective,” he said, conversationally. “Your look - I don’t think it’s aimed at people finding you pretty.” Certain features, Kyle could definitely agree were pretty, even if he didn’t come right out and say as much. Those lips. Those eyes. The curve of his jawline and cheekbones. But everything was hidden under the additional detail, fuzzed and overlaid with so many layers and extra design. As an artist, Kyle could appreciate the artistry of the additions, but he had yet to land exactly on how he felt about them in relation to Leandro as a person. Yesterday, he had described the tattoos as beautiful, and he stood by that assessment. Yet that had been about the designs, not the person. He still had to make that connection.
Leandro just lifted the corner of his mouth briefly, making sure to return it to its previous position before it was lost and he unwittingly messed up Kyle's drawing. He too wanted to see how Kyle would treat him. He already knew the artist was good, so it was more an exercise on his perception. It would tell him a bit about how Kyle would treat him. He wondered briefly if he'd get some very true and formulaic drawing, something so painfully realistic that it was obvious it was coming from some place of respect or at least artistic integrity, but no chemistry. Or, if he would get something a little more sweet and surreal, something that proved there was some warmth there. Or worse, something perhaps expressive but horror-filled or comedic, something that would show some kind of distaste or shallow assessment.
The wondering finally made him a little anxious, but he kept it quiet by focusing in on a small detail of his own drawing. His hand was flicking some minutiae onto the paper. "Huh," he murmured. "I didn't ask about "people" though. I asked about you. You asked me earlier how I saw you. I answered pretty fairly." He rose a brow at that for a second in a sort of "take that" expression.
Kyle considered it, coalescing his myriad of varying opinions, since his hand was being forced. “No,” he said, after a moment or two. “You’re not pretty.” He added a few more strokes to the picture, in which the pencil-lined Leandro most definitely was pretty. A Leandro from a different, gentler world. Potential, rather than reality. “You’re striking. Memorable.” He looked back down at the paper, concentrating on that. “And I worry about giving you too many compliments. You’re never going to let me forget anything I say,” he added.
Leandro's face actually fell a touch at that. His pencil paused for a second, eyes tracking up to Kyle more slowly so that it was apparent he was looking at him for conversation's sake rather than the drawing. "Really?" he wondered. "No as in, not "pretty" by a certain definition, or no as in "you're not attractive"?"
To the last, he squared his jaw and huffed a bit. "Maybe I won't let you forget but I'll never forget a nice thing you say to me either. How about that?" He seemed to keep the slight bristle in his posture, drawing something swift and spiky on his paper.
Kyle was so intently looking down at the paper, that he missed the way Leandro’s expression abruptly changed. He looked up though, just after. Enough to appreciate that the other man wasn’t exactly with him in this. “No - not ‘you’re not attractive’,” he said, softly. He wondered if he was being manipulated again, but knew that, if that was the case, Leandro clearly knew how to press his buttons to get the right reaction. Regardless of how much he tried to hold back. “Though - I’ll admit that if it was up to me, you’d be getting a haircut. Right now, I feel like you’re hiding behind your appearance.” He looked down and added a few more lines to the now almost complete sketch. “You could be beautiful,” he added, trying to sound like it was an almost absent add-on.
If Leandro was trying to be manipulative, he certainly wasn't taking the opportunity that presented itself. It could have been true that he was actually asking. It was a little rough to hear, even. He pressed his lips together to suppress the disappointment, but pushed on through his drawing. He didn't seem to be as close to done as Kyle, having to work harder to get as far. "Really? I like you as you are. The way you comb your hair is funny, like I wonder if it takes effort to get it to stay like that and not flop over." The jab made him feel a little better, so he gave his excessive hair a toss and finished with, "Alright then. What would you do with my hair to make me beautiful?" His hair wasn't quite as personal a subject as some of this other accessories. Now, if Kyle had said something about his tattoos or even his piercings, he might have been more dismissive. Those were completely personal, and all of them were carefully weighed against his looks. His piercings were meant to bring attention to his features, and he'd already gone through the meaning of his tattoos at least in part to Kyle.
Kyle paused, dropping the sketch down into his lap, though holding it in a way that it couldn’t be seen by the other man as he looked over. His gaze ran over Leandro’s features, as if assessing them once more before he gave up his opinion. “You spend so much time with it covering half you face,” he said, after a moment or two. “You’re lucky that you have the cheekbones to pull it off. But that just supports it - it doesn’t bring out the best in them. You can pull off your look because you are good looking.”
Kyle met Leandro’s eyes. “I would imagine that you have carefully crafted the way you look. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that every inch of your appearance is designed the same way your tattoos are. But how you look - that’s an expression of your personality. It’s about how you want to world to see you. And you’re not looking for the world to see you as a runway model. Or a Hollywood heartthrob. So no, I don’t think you’re pretty. You’re not delicate enough to be pretty.” On a whim, he turned the paper over and started sketching once again, his stokes determined and harsher this time. “I could think of better words for you - but most of them are as much linked to who you are as how you look. And that I’m still learning.” He looked up from the new sketch. “I make snap judgments about people. About everyone I meet. The jury‘s always been out on you.”
For a moment Leandro was simply silent, but it wasn't an unpleasant silence. More like thoughtful. He sat up straighter than before and turned his head towards the nearest table. He spotted something, and with one long reach over grabbed a pen off of it. Both of his nimble hands went to his hair and scooped the long side up, pulled it over his shoulder and behind his ear, where he twirled it in back of his head and then stuck the pen in to secure it at least loosely. Now his face was completely open.
"Hello," he said in greeting for the other half of his face that Kyle complained of never seeing. He smiled mildly, turning his head this way and that for him to see. "How's that? Can you see my diamond-cutting cheekbones now?"
Leandro laughed at that, then glanced at his paper. He wasn't going to start anything more, and he was feeling a bit lost as to how to continue, so he left it alone with a slight shrug. "I don't know, normally I don't give a fuck either. I wouldn't even imagine what it'd be like to be a model, unless it was something awesome like a kink model. Now that'd be pretty hot." Unfortunately, he fell apart at the rest of his explanation, falling into silence. He wasn't sure how to say that he just wanted to know what Kyle thought. Not the rest of the world. And that that was what he meant. Instead, he just leaned back and asked, "Try me? I think I might like that the jury is out. It'd be refreshing from the usual snap judgments. If you had done that to me though, you wouldn't be the first, even if it would have been disappointing."
As if it was simply added on, he then raised his chin slightly to regard the paper in Kyle's lap that he still couldn't see and said, "I like change sometimes too. Depending on what you're doing there, maybe I would let you make me a new haircut."
Kyle looked at him, long and hard, noting the hair, the expression, all of it. And then he turned his attention entirely towards the paper, ducking his head and drawing furiously. “You’re already a model,” he said, not lifting his eyes at all, or pausing in what he was doing. “The moment you let me draw you, you became a model. So - imagine away. Right now, someone’s been judging you just on your looks.” He smirked at the paper, then raised his eyes, if not his head, looking up through his lashes. “Only, not really - I’m not known for drawing exactly what I see.” He put the finishing touches to his, somewhat rough, second drawing. “I’ll show you mine...” he teased, putting the pencil down. “You don’t have to show me yours, you know. If you’re not ready to.” He would never force someone’s hand like that.
"It's different modeling for an artist," Leandro pointed out, pointing his pencil at him. "You're not going to pinch my distended stomach and tell me to go throw up to lose some weight. Although when it comes to awkward modeling situations you could ask me to take off my clothes. Not that I'd say no." To prove his point, he stretched out his long legs as if to casually show off his body.
When he had stretched to his own satisfaction he stood up, bringing his board with him. "It's cool. I don't mind. Here," And with that he held out his board to show Kyle what he'd been doing. There was, in fact, a serious attempt there on the paper. On the positive side it was nicely centered and filled the page. Leandro didn't seem to have the amateur inclination to draw something in one tiny corner and forget about the rest of the paper. There was not much shading involved, and this was where Leandro had gotten stuck. He didn't know how to see the shadows just yet, so he mostly stuck to a linear representation that came out in almost a comic book ink way. Heavy, expressive lines rimmed the outer edges of Kyle's form to separate him from the rest of the world, and the inner landscape was where the smaller lines came into play. Without shadow it wasn't a very good likeness but he did manage to remain mostly in proportion and have things where they were supposed to be. Much of his focus had apparently gone into the eyes, which were far more detailed than the rest. Kyle's hair was just a faint swish of lines atop his head, perhaps meant to represent a shine, but his eyes were wide and sensually drawn, with all of the eyelashes swooping gently and an effort made to express the subtle variations of color in them. It still would have been nicer with shading, but it might have looked good as it was in ink too. Leandro had also apparently given up on hands and left Kyle's body to fade away into ghosts of long lines. There was much affection spent on his face overall, especially a play between his eyes and his lips. An intuitive artist might guess that this was a tactile drawing overall rather than a mechanical effort, with some element of sexual tension in the spots of focus.
"I don't mind not drawing exactly what you see or else why draw? Why not just take a picture instead? I didn't really do that either. But okay, now let me see yours," Leandro said eagerly, leaning over to try to sneak a peek.
Kyle had tucked his own sheet to one side as he reached out to take Leandro’s work, turning it to examine it, critically. He hated that the first thought was flat out relief not to be presented with a stick figure. “Not bad,” he said, encouragingly. “Yeah - we can work with this,” he added, the smile sounding in his tone as he laid the page on his knee and handed over his own piece, the first portrait he had drawn facing upwards.
“You wanted pretty,” he explained. The portrait was clearly that, in the most classical sense. Kyle had managed to take the core of Leandro’s features, his eyes, cheekbones, jawline, the column of his neck - yet he had put them together in a way that was far more feminine, almost verging on elfin. The Leandro in the picture looked younger, far more vulnerable. The hairstyle, tattoos and piercings were all notable by their definite absence.
“If you wanted something that is more how I actually see you - turn it over,” Kyle advised. The portrait on the back was far more rough and ready. A basic sketch, done in a matter of minutes, yet all of the necessary elements were there, drawn by a confident and experienced hand. Kyle had left the other’s man’s hairstyle as he wore it, yet pushed back enough to see all of his features. The eyes seemed to sparkle with something unsaid, the expression one full of promise and suggestion, as though he held the world’s secrets. In this portrait, the piercings were placed, the tattoos present - though there had clearly been little time for actual detail. Somehow, this picture managed to be far more an expression of personality than a truly realistic representation, yet there was no mistaking who it was.
"Thanks," Leandro said in regards to his own paper. He wanted to press for more, but first he wanted to look at Kyle's. He said nothing more until he'd taken it and looked at the front first. A vague smirk of amusement colored his face.
"Man, that's some nostalgia..." he murmured. "I haven't seen myself look like this in at least seven or eight years. Without all the stuff added on. I did look a lot like this once, when I was a kid, and I used to get a ton of shit. You know, before I knew better than to let it get to me. Or learned how to tell people to fuck off."
Then he went to the other side, cocking his head to take that in too. "Look at you, show-off. Two drawings for the price of one. Now, I recognize this guy. He grew all up, didn't he? You kinda did me up with a Mona Lisa smile or something. There's that something about it."
When he took his eyes off of it, he lowered the paper to his chest and asked, "Can I keep it? Just want to commemorate the first time somebody drew a picture of me." His hands clutched it sort of close, perhaps his way of saying that Kyle had had the proper effect. He really didn't want to let it go. It was most interesting to see how someone had cut through his formulated persona and into the truth, something he could not think of anyone ever having done before. He didn't voice this at all, but he did look at the first side one more time, finding the person staring back at him both familiar and strange. He did remember that look in himself, though when he had been in that appearance there had always been a sadness there too. His eyes had been heavier. More weary. Still... it was beautiful. And he couldn't help but reflect that feeling onto the person who'd made it.
“Of course you can keep it,” Kyle said, softly. He noted how Leandro spent more time looking at he first side, the more innocent version of himself. When Kyle had drawn it, he hadn’t actually been thinking that maybe the other man had once looked like that. It simply hadn’t occurred - that maybe once all those extras had been absent. It was strange, thinking about it now he realised that - he had told Leandro that he thought his appearance was a carefully crafted message to the world, which meant that once it hadn’t been there, and yet Kyle had drawn something he never thought had existed. To see that recognised... It made him want to spend the time to produce a better version. If they would give him the right tools... Oils would just be wrong. Pencils, maybe. Or watercolours. Something softer, that would fit a memory better.
“What was life like?” Kyle asked, after a moment or two. Maybe it was the sketch, thinking about the past, the look on Leandro’s face and the way he was acting, but Kyle couldn’t shift the comments he had made. He had to ask. “For you, growing up?” The question was asked carefully, a hesitant tone that suggested that an actual answer was something requested, but that could be turned down. The was nothing demanding there at all, merely a curiosity and wish to understand.
Leandro smiled lightly at permission to keep the drawing as he gave it one last look over. It warmed him somehow, despite the alarm bells that should have been going off at having been seen through. That was true, but someone could also see him, period. It brought to the fore a desire he hadn't even been aware of having, to know someone to whom he was not invisible. Wren was that way too, but she had no context to put him in. She made him feel human in general. This picture... it was a picture of someone in particular. An individual.
"Thanks," Leandro said again, though he felt the paleness of the word on his lips. It wasn't really a matching gift. So against his usual better judgment, he pulled his chair over and slowly sat down next to Kyle, angled to him so that they could watch one another's faces. He was silent while he moved into place and for a moment after, just looking over at Kyle. When he spoke, he did so in a low voice, every so often taking his attention back to the picture as if it helped him remember.
"I was born in the barrio. You know, the hood. If you know anything about Spanish Harlem, you know what East L. A. is like too. There are lots of people like me there. Poor, brown, frustrated. I was in a home for kids. Didn't have parents. Just staff and lots of other little monsters, so this shit-" He waved his hand towards the room. "Been there, done that. I sucked at English for too long past my good age and stuff so I didn't get adopted. Then I was out on my ass when I turned eighteen and that's sort of how I stayed." He paused there, shrugging a little as if to deflect. Hopefully what bare bones of his story he could part with would be a good enough gift in exchange. He looked up at Kyle to see if he had a reaction, or a question.
Kyle listened, knowing that he had no real point of reference. He’d been through the neighbourhoods that Leandro was referencing, but no more than just in passing through. They were hardly the kinds of places that people like him were safe stopping and spending any time in.
As he thought that, Kyle realised that it wasn’t just ‘people like him’ who weren’t safe there. Nobody was, Leandro included in that and he tried to imagine growing up like that. “That must have been hard,” he said. His words didn’t sound enough, and he knew they weren’t. It was just a whole different world.
At Kyle's words, Leandro actually laughed. It wasn't a gleeful laugh, more a drop of his chin and a firm shake of his head accompanied by a shoulder-shaking, worn laugh. "Yeah. Yeah, it was hard," he agreed in between chuckles. "It's all we had though. A lot of us didn't have papers, so I mean... scrubbing the shit off of Mr. Harrington's toilet was a lot nicer than being sent home to be executed by guerillas or something. As weird as it is, I was a lucky one. I had a foot in the system, where at least they feed you and pretend there's laws not to mistreat you." After that statement, his brows drew in an odd way, his fist coming up to cover his mouth. His eyes were hazy, affected. Bitter.
Then in a shock of movement, Leandro let his fist hit the armrest of the chair and sat up straight, laying all of that bare in Kyle's face. "You had any help in Manhattan? Cleaning lady? Gardener? You treat them well? Pay them and give them a day off once in a while at least?"
Kyle jumped slightly as Leandros’ fist hit the chair - the movement was so unexpected and not how he’d come to view the other. That moment passed though, especially with the question. “Yes - yeah, we did. We had a maid,” he admitted, feeling a flash of guilt. “But yeah - she got a decent wage, and time off.” He paused, feeling a little uncomfortable, but more because he’d suddenly found himself well out of his depth and wondering if he was going to say something unwittingly offensive. “Are you - were you, I mean... Illegal?” he asked, tentatively, having no clue about the best way to phrase that question.
Leandro took several breaths before it sank in that he'd even made Kyle jump. His fingers curled around the armrest and he leaned into it slightly, using his free hand to rub his own cheek. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I didn't mean to freak you out. I just... I get angry. Sorry."