Perhaps it had been something of her fault—attention had been paid but her mind had yet wandered into unbidden territory without her express consent and, at times, it was difficult to track just where her mind was going. To what realms imaginings were disappearing off to and even as she walked across the campus which was still so new to her, arms laden down with her canvases that she had brought for the sake of saving some money, if not all that much. And to that end, perhaps it was her fault.
But then—she had looked up as she heard the sound of wheels scraping against pavement. By that time, it had been too late, though.
The crash itself did not hurt—not terribly, anyways. No, it was mostly the impact which jarred her, which caused pain to race up her spine as she fell to the ground, but her mind did long linger on the discomfort for very long. How could it, when she could hear her canvases falling to the ground? Clattering and scattering and some breaking because bodies had collided with them in between and she was not quite sure if it was panic that filled her throat, or a sense of hopelessness.
Still there was that horrible, terriblesense of hope that maybe they were not as ruined as she thought, that maybe most of the canvases were okay, but that hope was dashed the moment she opened her eyes. For how could she keep up that hope when she saw wooden frames broken, some splintering, the untouched, stretched fabric torn on some of them. Yes, there were some that remained alright but—
Most of them were g o n e, and probably could never be restored ever again. Certainly not the one which had been practically stabbed upon the young man’s hand, the one who had run into her on his—skateboard? A longboard, most likely, considering its size, but that was not what truly mattered at that moment and while she was not angry she felt incredible disappointment.
( Yes, disappointment in herself— and she supposed, this young man. )
Slowly, she began to retrieve the canvases once more, piling the ones which she could reach carefully in front of her, as if that would stop them from being any more damaged. And a shadow fell upon her and she peered up at the man with sandy blond hair who looked a cross between apologetic and sheepish and her fingers dragged lightly over the rough texture of a mostly unharmed canvas, as if trying to draw comfort from it. Palms itched for a brush, a pencil, a piece of charcoal—
Art was her reprievein stressful situations.
”—It’s… okay.”
( It wasn’t. )
He was late. A curse or a blessing, he had no idea, honestly. Freshman orientation, and he’d fussed for too long about rolling in his bed sheets with head turning to and fro. Several knocks of the snooze alarm later had left him frazzled and in a rush to make the several block dash that would lead from his apartment dorm to the campus grounds. Casually jogging along had allowed him to see the situation as it happened.
A longboard, a girl, a boy with headphones playing too loudly, a bunch of canvas. All were included in the collision, and just as he’d witnessed it, the two were left to their own devices with retrieving the damaged squares from the ground. Hands reached up, and Aster found himself speeding up as he pulled his own headphones from the crown of his head to rest around his neck. He missed being able to offer her a hand up, but those who had been right there had neglected to offer at all, so he figured he wasn’t too much of a bad person.
He didn’t normally like to help people, though. People dug their spines into others and one day they dug themselves so far in that removal was f a t a l.
His shoes stopped just behind her, however, as he knelt down and pulled at a few of the canvas squares that the young woman had neglected to see fall just short of her ankles. The white fabric was now not so white, some torn or stained, and others held damage to the wooden frames that kept them uniform and taut. As he extended them back out to the stranger, though, he was captivated, just for a moment, on the shade of her hair.
Like a canary, such a vibrant shade of blonde she was! He’d always had a soft spot for birds, though, while others found them annoying…
”… Here. See ya.“ Not that he intended those last words, though, as the moment he was relinquished of his duty as her helper, his feet carried his body onward and into the building. He’d rather have spoken up, but obviously, as a boy who came to school in September wearing a white button down with the sleeves rolled up, a black and red sweater vest, not even to mention the slacks, it was quite obvious where he stood against those athletic types. He’d just adjust the scarf around his neck, dip his chin back into the vermilion shelter, and act as if it didn’t matter.
[ It definitely did, though.]
What reprimand he had expected was nonexistent. Rather, the girl kneeling before him had given him reassurance that everything was fine. It almost made him feel guiltier about the collision. He could see the damage on the hemline of her previously all white dress. Seeing the stains from the nearby dirt and grass, he looked to his own apparel, realizing that his grimy tank and jeans were also suffering. However, he lacked enough concern to return to the dorm and change.
Outwardly p a s s i v e, as if no collision had happened, or like the canvases she had so delicately collected were unchanged, as if Vaan hadn’t just r u i n e dthem.
Noticing the girl’s fingers gripping the edge of the canvas in her hands, Vaan could sense her hint of anxiety. The blonde was probably just being polite… At this point, what was there to do anyway, besides acquire replacement supplies? That’s how I could fix this mess. Surely some of the art rooms had unused canvases he could get for her.Before mentioning this, though, a strangely formally-attired young man interceded, jogging, onto the scene to hand more of the scattered squares to the artist.
Some jogger, swooping in from the sidelines to collect remnants of the scattered canvas, as if taking break in his schedule to merely lend aid, then j o g away.
Why the hurry? – Wait. Damn it. The orientation – and he had already been late… Pulling his phone out of his pocket to check the time, he blurted to the girl before giving her a chance to reply, “Sorry again! I gotta go, but I totally owe you and will pay you back!” – Someday.
He would have to make a mental note to remember that promise. Perhaps after orientation he could find some around, should he recall the need to search for them…
Sprinting in the same direction as the formal runner, Vaan began toward the campus auditorium to sneak through one of the side doors. Scanning the dim room, he hovered near an empty space on the shoulder, noticing the outline of the jogger also entering the other side of the room as the speaker before them droned on about some student honor code. This would only get worse. Resigning to the imminent fact that his boredom would make his mind wander anyways, the long boarder prepared himself for the long spiel of student expectations and school history, all of which burdening the weight of his eyelids to be heavier and heavier.
