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"I don't think that."
"— and maybe I am but I just thought I could help you get back from your slump."
"I am not in a slump!"
Dicky merely raised an eyebrow.
Maddison sighed. "Alright, fine. Maybe I am. But what is it to you?"
"Well, for one, I am the president of the art club and I have the responsibility to take care of my members and make sure everyone is doing their work okay."
"You don't have to."
As if not hearing what Maddison just said, Dicky opened a drawer under his own desk. He then handed Maddison a watercolor palette.
"Take this. I have an extra set back at the dorm."
Maddison just stared at the palette. It's a pretty one but Maddison just stared at it.
"I have cold pressed sheets if you need them."
"I don't..." Maddison scowled. "I don't use watercolor."
Dicky gave him the smallest of smiles and Maddison was bewildered. "You should try it. I think it's easier to manipulate than acrylic and it's relaxing to use. There are tons of watercolor tutorials on Youtube if you don't know how to use it."
Maddison wanted to ask him how he knew Youtube since he seemed like he was from the stone age but didn't. Instead he said, "I know how to use it. It's just not my medium."
"It's always nice to try something new, Flynn."
And with that, Dicky left him, alone again but this time with a new watercolor palette.
When he got back to his room, his backpack felt heavy with his new paints and sheets of watercolor paper. He refused to ask Dicky for some so he went to the nearest art store and bought the materials.
Sitting by the window, he set up his little studio, turning on his lights and filling up cups with water. He stared at the palette again. He never liked watercolor. It was fun back in elementary but ever since he discovered the beauty of oil and acrylic paint, he stopped using it. Watercolor dried faster, and for Maddison, it was harder to manipulate. But he could try again. Maybe Dicky was right. It wouldn't hurt to try something new.
He could paint flowers again. Or a landscape. Twilight, perhaps...
No, he knew what he was going to paint. Just because he was moving on didn't mean he'd stop using his muse as his inspiration.
An hour later, Maddison decided he liked watercolor again. Maddison also decided that yes, he was, without a doubt, still very much in love with his best friend.
Staring at Sam's figure by the bridge and against the twilight of his painting, Maddison sniffed and rubbed his eyes at his long sleeve. He missed him. So fucking much. And great, there's a big lump in his throat and he wanted nothing more than to get on that train and go home and cross that street to knock at the Baileys' residence and hug the life out of his best friend. Maddison's vision blurred and he was surrounded by intense longing.
Why did he have to suffer like this? He wished he didn't fall in love with the only person he considered his best friend. He wished they were young again so he didn't know things like crush or love or jealousy. He wished he didn't tell Sam that it was alright to accept one of the girls' confessions. He was so dumb. Letting his feelings for Sam ruled over his emotions was dumb.
He wiped his face and grabbed his phone. Going through his messages, Maddison felt awful. There were about fifty messages from Sam from the day he left his house. The unanswered texts and missed calls lasted for a week until it stopped. When it did stop, Maddison had bawled his eyes out because he knew Sam finally gave up and it was all Maddison's fault.
He didn't tell Sam he was going to Wellspring and based on the texts, he had only found out through Maddison's mother, who then contacted Maddison, confused as to why Sam didn't know about his decision.
Maddison didn't receive anything from Sam after that week. No contacts were made. Maddison was lonely and upset and feeling guilty but he did it so he could move on. As futuristic as it was, Maddison couldn't accept seeing Sam with another girl, getting married and having children while he stood at the sideline, watching and waiting for Sam to give him scraps of his attention because by then Sam's focus wouldn't be on Maddison any longer. And Maddison was too selfish to stick around and let that happen.
The last thing he knew about Sam was the practice match Hillwood had with Wellspring. Sam was the captain now and Maddison wanted to congratulate him but he couldn't face him. Hillwood went to Wellspring for the match but he didn't see the game, although he'd gathered from his classmates that they lost the match despite their captain and ace's nonstop scoring. Wellspring was just too strong.
He took a deep breath to steady himself and hid the painting under his desk, deciding to start on a new one because he couldn't just submit it to Mr. Collins. It was too...intimate and personal and only for Maddison's eyes. He picked up his round brush and began a landscape the same color as Sam's emerald eyes.
"Much better."
Those were the only words the teacher said when Maddison handed him the painting the next day. He used watercolor again and while Mr. Collins raised a brow, he didn't say anything and Maddison sighed in relief.
