class of 2013 ✓

18 | chain reaction

Everyone always seems to be in a rush to finish things, but not Blaise.

For the most part, he took his time, even while tending mundane tasks like sweeping the floors or crossing a line off a list, or shining glasses after he washed them. That's one thing I've noticed—he's a very meticulous person. He moves as if he's genuinely enjoying what life has to offer, whether it be laced in the details and subtle moments or in important milestones. Viewing the world through an artist's lens, I suppose. Whatever it is, I respect the perfectionist in him because damn can he draw.

Craning my head over his shoulder, I intently observe him finish up the shading on a simple sketch he's done of Sazuri, and man it really does look like a spitting image. He started the piece a few years ago if I recall correctly, he just hasn't had the inspiration or skill to be able to finish it. That's another respectable quality—the dedication to his craft. Not a lot of people are willing to wait that long, and as a result, the finished product is a lot more sloppy than it could be.

I'll be the first to admit it, it can be annoying, though. Especially if I'm waiting for him to finish so I can bother him.

"Are you done yet?" I groan, checking my imaginary watch, "I swear it's gonna be dark by the time we get out of here."

"Almost done," he murmurs in response, brows creased in concentration as he stares down at the pages, figuring out what to add.

"I thought you said you don't like drawing people."

"Her birthday's coming up and this is a part of my present for her, so I'll make an exception. But no, you're wrong, I said drawing people is hard because it's hard to capture that type of emotion in a 2d figure," he corrects, twirling his skinny lead pencil between his fingers. "I know her well enough to draw, I think."

I scoff, watching the rest of the track runners start sprinting around the circular path at the sound of whistleblowing from the coach. In my opinion, it's the perfect weather to be outside. You know, where it's so sunny there's not a cloud in the sky while there's a faint warm breeze billowing your hair. If I was into exercising, I'd totally join them. "You better know her well enough to draw. Didn't you guys used to date or something?"

He grimaces. "Yeah, like a million years ago. Wasn't aware you knew of my dating history."

"She told me and I was lowkey surprised."

"Why? Didn't think people could be friends after breaking up?"

"No," I shake my head, "because she can do so much better than you. And aren't you, like, romantically inept?"

"Ouch," he puts a hand over his heart, "I'll just take my time finishing this then."

I raise an eyebrow. "You're telling me you can go even slower than this? Doesn't seem possible."

"You'd be surprised," he muses, leaning back into the steel bleacher behind him. A hollow thudding sounds in the process. "I'd say this is quite fast. At least for me, it is. So if you have something important to tell me, maybe it's best to just say it right now."

Truth is, I didn't have anything urgent I needed to tell him. Just his company is enough, but I want all of his attention, and I don't have it if he's going to be working on something else. "You excited to graduate?"

"Yeah, I guess," he answers, hovering his pencil over the page, but not tracing anything down, "not what I was expecting you to ask, though. You scared or something?"

"Kind of," I admit, resting my chin on my palms; my elbows on my knees, "not graduation specifically. Change in general terrifies and excites me. I think it's the uncertainty that gives me a lot of hope and dread. Having more freedom and being more independent—it definitely requires more responsibility."