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Going out practically nightly had him behind in his assigned projects, jewelry, language and musical studies. He was BEHIND in everything. And apparently, given that he'd not slept in order to try to make up for some of that, he'd gotten on the 16 instead of 19 bus and then had to make two extra exchanges.

Should have just ridden your bike, Quenton. It's not THAT cold out yet. This outfit would have been warm enough, plus biking is exercise and warms one up anyway. As it was, he was stuck finishing what he'd derped into. He sent an apologetic message to at least keep the other informed -



He faithfully sprinted from the bus stop the two blocks to the door and looking every bit the 8 minutes late that he was.

So much for the track record of having been early to the first date. But his date wasn't hard to spot in a crowd- seeming to always have an aura of presence that kept others outside the personal bubble like fame or a catwalk might demand. Quenton paused a few moments, catching his breath before crossing over to see him face to face when he could be dignified and talk connectedly, "Alexandre, I'm sorry I'm late. I caught the wrong bus and had to back track. "

"Classes going well? " And it was Alex's first semester wasn't it? It was hard to believe he'd been showing the other around the college not long ago.

"Would that I could look so effortless walked from dreams," taking Alex's choice in fashions in by eye was always a pleasure. He'd probably only never been head hunted for the industry because of height, which was just as well and lucky for hopeful suitors as far as Quenton could tell. It meant they had a chance.

To the suggestion Quenton gave an assenting nod, starting the walk to the illustrious inside of the museum. The compliment was welcome, though odd- he wasn't used to people taking much note of his appearance other than his hair being so long. His clothes usually blended into the world, and by default he did as well. It earned a small smile, but that was quickly replaced by chagrin, "Well...studio assignments are only marginally behind in process. I've gotten them in on time, so far, just always behind schedule and pulling late nights. What's suffering is the performance minor. I owe two compositions and two performances that I haven't touched as far as figuring out times and dates....or pieces. "

"I try to practice as often as I can and keep up a membership with the DCU Early Music Ensemble. Maybe something with them for the holidays. It's Madrigal season anyway, and I know they always do a joint one for charity with one of the choral groups. Lots of places book live musicians for christmas music ambiance as well. "

"If you want tickets, I'll have a handful for giving away to family and friends?"

"Ah, yes. Among all the rest, I'm trying to get credits for minor in musical performance, specifically I play various sizes of the recorder in the medieval mode. I can play the shawm as well, which is like the predecessor to the oboe, but my control on the reed isn't professional yet...double reeds take a lot of embouchure to properly control the vibration without letting air escape."

"I'll get you one then. Do you like medieval music, though?" Quenton beamed over at the other. The over was heartwarming, whether Alex did or didn't. "You needn't if you don't. I know classical is pretty much outmoded to the public eye anymore."

"Have you been to the museums before? What exhibit would you like to see first? One of the temporaries or the permanent collections?" It took practice to learn that gentile behavior also required the ability to accept generosity gracefully, not just to be able to give it. It was a modern problem that no one expected 'anything for free' or wanted to 'owe anyone', which made just plain generosity difficult or impossible. This was Alex's date as much as his own had been the Ropes course. "Thank you for buying. Especially the idea...I love the museum. It's exciting to get to share it with someone instead of just wandering around looking at stuff with no one to talk to about the objects. Someone to experience it with."

It was strange to be taken out, but very pleasant.

The decision of exhibits made, Quenton started them walking in the direction to the west wing hall where the temporaries were hung as he listened. They lucked out, maybe, for something closer to Alex's own kind of art than Quenton's personal practices. The primary display was an exploration of a range of drawings and watercolors – both highly finished works and preparatory studies – which from Victorian masters. There were pieces from Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Edward Poynter, Edward Burne-Jones, John Singer Sargent, and William Morris among many others. The exhibition summary banner, which he paused to read, proudly proclaimed that the show was selected and on loan from the collection of the National Museum & Gallery, Cardiff, Wales. There was a brief note as well that it was a tour of works and the presentation there was organized and funded by a generous grant by the Destiny City chapter of International Arts & Artists Foundation. " I think my cousin has a membership in that. Your family?"

There was a chance of it, with an artist son and having money. The upper echelon circles tended to enjoy the sort of philanthropy that involved museum displays.

"Have you studied any of these artists already? John Singer Sargent seems like a good example of transition into the sort of loose, but rich technique that bridges the delicate landscape and still life you do with what is possible in figural studies. "

"Only you could joke and be serious all at once of going to Wales. " The hand-holding was a pleasant surprise. Welcome, warming, and exhilarating like a gift found on the street with his name inexplicably on it.
"But DO. The United Kingdom is wonderful, familiar and different all at once. I haven't been to Wales...but someday I'll get there. "

"I haven't seen an opera- something about the superscript board in most that gives liner and translations felt too third grade. But I have been to the ballet. It was hard not to want to pull out a sketchbook." But Quenton listened carefully otherwise to the explanation of family involvement in support of the arts. It wasn't unusual that it was just a past-time used for networking.

"Well, I could go on about the look of the whole exhibit seems to lean towards a discussion of ethnography of the Victorian period being split into a dialogue between a romaticized nostalgia for the past which contrasts the reality of the grind-soul industrialization and strict social codes. Like this piece, " Quenton played along, good natured and warmed that Alexandre was comfortable enough and saw through his love of learning as something to be teased about and not something to just be bored or offended at. " The exotic fabrics, more expressive pose, spontaneous rendering...its positively risqué how low the neckline plunges. It's celebrating the innocence and sexuality of the sitter all at once, and no one of the time it was painted would dare wear their dress do in public. Its like the whole society was so desperate for air from their long-line corsets that they were willing to Trompe-l'œil windows on the walls."

He stuck his tongue only briefly out at the smaller youth. "You laugh now, but I might be your TA in a couple semesters."

"I can't pretend to know Italian yet, maybe someday. Just what I've studied in shakespeare studies with venetian costuming. " There was some debate among travelers whether it was French or Italian that was the true language of love. Words came ready to mind either way, readier than usual, as soon as Alex had kissed him.

My words have somehow brought him so far and close, I should not abandon them so soon, perhaps. He leaned closer again, speaking as he drew his own lips like a breath across Alex's, then along the shorter youth's jaw to his ear, "Dubita che le stelle siano fuoco... dubita che il sole si muova... dubita che la verità sia menzognera... ma non dubitare mai del mio amore.*"

The last words were spoken against the porcelain ear, knowing that much of Italian was well since entered into the American common argot. "Attention to long dead paintings pales with living art embodied so near and fresh faced... "

Quenton pulled back to the distance Alexandre had established as comfortable, "Yet pursuit is a delight I would not miss. I can't help but wonder if I'm delusional and am the prey. You're too fast by half."

"I would be stone, if I could say at such an offer of choice I would not want the fastest hope to feel you near. I cannot lie and say desire is not some part of the Youth in me, quickened hot as new steel forged from the first. You are a dream I would not wake from if dreaming can be said of anything fair in windfall beyond expectation. "

"Of pursuits? Well...we are the masters of our wills, to give them rein in youth's brass abandon at a draught, or to practice restraint and sip from the cup of Love as dainty and thrilled by small revelations as we study here. I am for either, both, but only never neither. "

"As I am glad to command or be commanded. To court you earnestly to win whatever I could in a night, and night and night and night again after without tiring......but I do not want to ruin things. I am ....very nervous. I don't want to offend or hurt you, or give any impression that I would seek love and leave come morning light as a conquering general on a field."

I do not have set preference, nor in thought have found objection to being with one who would. Do you? He couldn't tell, new enough to relationship already more spoken for than high school dance and stolen kisses of what felt like years and silent film ago. Alex was at times solid and powerful a presence as marble. Other times he seemed ephemeral as light on a stream to be pursued with summer feet and caught as Apollo finding Hyacinthus before their tragedy. That part wasn't pressing to know in that very moment. It was something that could be gladly explored with gentle laughs and eager kisses in due, and chosen, time.