Greenhouse || Xavier Thorpe x Male Reader

everything beautiful || chapter 33

about halfway through the chapter my writing SERIOUSLY shifts (likely due to the amount of more classical novels I've been consuming as of late) so uh... be warned.

 Xavier knocks on the greenhouse door after school that day, a bag of textbooks over his shoulder.

"Hey, [Y/N]!" he greets me as I stand in the doorframe. "I thought if you have time we could go to the Weathervane and start on some work for our SMNC things?"

State-Mandated Normie Classes are the ones we're both the furthest behind in, so I happily agree and lock the door on our way out. We make our way down to Jericho, walking quickly to maximize the amount of time we can spend there. Given the fact that the Weathervane is a pretty popular location and hangout for students and adults alike, it's open pretty late, but Xavier and I would still like to get there before the 'oh shit I forgot dinner' rush starts.

When we arrive, we sit down in a booth and he pulls out the stack of textbooks. A barista comes over to take our order, and once the drinks arrive we begin to work. The subjects are easy by themselves but when you put them all together it's a nightmare. Somehow, Xavier understands Geometry, so he gives me tips on that. In exchange, I help him with some assignments in the language field.

We're about halfway through our material when he pauses and looks over at me. "Thanks for agreeing to do this."

"Of course," I respond. "You could have asked me to go to a pink boutique with you and I would have agreed."

"Pink boutiques aren't exactly my style, but I'll keep that in mind," he laughs. We continue our work, soon finishing the material we needed to complete.

The brisk evening air escorts us on our walk back to the school, so I am happy when we can step back into the warmth of our dorm.

~=~

In the morning, I accompany Xavier in his shed as he paints one of the pictures he took in the flower field not too long ago. His shed is still as messy and cold as ever, but I still don't mind.

I sit on a chair near a cluttered table and watch as he, masterful as always, resumes his painting. The lush greens and specks of color in the grass stand out against the blue background of the river and sky, with some dark green evergreen trees blending the two.

It continues to take shape as blobs of color become blobs with more shadows and highlights and eventually take shape into a coherent picture.

The process in itself is beautiful, almost as much as the person painting it. I find that I am not transfixed on the image becoming clearer and clearer, but moreso on Xavier and his movement against the canvas and inside the brush strokes. He is the art to me.

Even in his dreary attire, a plain gray sports shirt and black sweatpants, he seems to radiate light and color into the air around him, giving off an almost mesmirizing quality. Though his talent, shining through the picture behind him, is immeasurable, I cannot bring myself to look at it for that would take away my ability to look at him.

"Well, [Y/N]?" he asks, piercing the trance I have fallen into. "What do you think so far?"

I turn my gaze over to the painting, visually tracing the outlines of the various trees and flowers. He truly has created a masterpiece in my mind, and it's not even finished yet.

"It's amazing. It really encaptures the essence of that day," I respond. He chuckles.

"Encaptures the essence? You've been reading too many classical lit books."

I shrug and he leans against a rack of canvases. "You know, we should go back sometime."

"Where?" I ask, slightly confused.

"The field. I liked it out there, and it is fun to paint."

"Oh. Yeah, I'd like that."

Noting the lack of enthusiasm in my voice, Xavier walks over and takes my hand.

"Are you okay?" he asks, tilting my face upward to look at him. "Normally you'd jump at the opportunity to go to a field full of plants."

I nod. "I'm fine. It's just a little sad that the year is ending so soon."

"I understand. It's always hard to go back after such a long time, especially when you have just gotten used to life here."

"At least we'll see each other in the summer," I add.

"Yeah. That will be good."

"I love you, you know."

"I love you too."

He smiles slightly and leads me out of the shed, back toward the field we were in and he has been using as a reference to paint. I don't object, as he is right in the sense that I enjoy the opportunity to go to a plant-life-filled space.

The spring air is tinged with a slight warmth, though it's still far too cold to truly call it 'warmth'. Even so, it adds a strange feeling of life to the surroundings, casting everything into even more vibrant shades of green. It's a welcome atmosphere, almost exactly like the one Xavier was painting.

Everything, down to the flowers in the grass of the field, appears to have been taken from the picture and made into 3-D. In this moment, everything that I see as beautiful is in one place. The wide sky, deep emerald evergreens, crystalline river, scattered pastel blooms in an otherwise vibrant green grassland, and him.

~=~

As the golden rays of sunset began to show on the horizon, we are already in our dorm. He is, as always, painting while I read. We had stopped by the shed on our way to the dorm to carry his painting over so he could continue to work on it, which is precisely what he was doing.

A record plays in the background, and I envelop myself in the synthesizer-heavy beat as well as the words of the novel I'm reading. I have yet to find something to rival this feeling of total immersion in a story and a song, and I doubt I ever will.

I am so focused on reading, I almost miss it. But when I look again, a familiar phrase jumps out at me.

"You're not asleep, and you're not dead. I'm here, and I love you. I have always loved you, and I will always love you. I was thinking of you, seeing your face in my mind, every second that I was away."

I break the spell the music and words have on me with a deep laugh. Of course. That was the quote Xavier paraphrased two days ago. Of all the things he could have said, he chose to quote a book.

"Xavier," I call across the room and hold up the book. "Did you mean to tell me you loved me by quoting Twilight at me?"