Thomas kept rereading his notes, but Julian's humming kept breaking his focus. Julian always hummed when he was bored, and Thomas could feel his patience wearing thin as he glanced up to see Julian quietly flipping through his own papers.
Clearing his throat sharply, Thomas waited until the humming stopped.
"What?" Julian asked, eyes meeting his.
"Can you please stop that?" Thomas said flatly, voice low but edged with a hint of irritation.
"Stop what?"
"Be quiet. I'm trying to study." The coldness in Thomas's tone made it clear he wasn't asking again.
Julian shrugged, but after a pause, he said, "Fine." Then, after a beat, "Do you have a pencil?"
"I do." Thomas pulled one from his bag and passed it over without looking up.
Julian caught it with a small, grateful smile and pulled out his sketchbook, flipping to a blank page. He started sketching quietly, his focus shifting but his fingers tapping the pencil restlessly.
Thomas returned to his notes, but his eyes flicked to Julian now and then, noticing the faint crease of concentration on his face-something unfamiliar that piqued Thomas's interest despite himself.
After an hour, the bell rang. Thomas was the first to pack up and stand, his movements precise and controlled. Julian followed, hesitating a moment before gathering his things.
They exchanged no words, no glances-only the faintest tension hanging between them as they headed off in opposite directions.
Thomas felt a flicker of something unspoken but pushed it away, focusing instead on the quiet calm of being alone.
Morning class finished. Both of them had only one class left for the day, but Julian headed back to their dorm first. When he got there, he dropped his bag and sank down on the floor, letting out a quiet breath. He felt restless, a little empty inside, like his mind was full but nothing was really clear. Slowly, he pulled out a blank canvas, brushes, and paints from his bag.
He sat quietly, eyes drifting up to the ceiling, searching for something - inspiration, maybe, or just a way to fill the silence. His fingers brushed over the paint tubes as he thought about what to create. Then, a simple image came to him: a night sky.
Not a starry one, though. Just a dark, starless sky. Something raw, imperfect, like the way he was feeling - restless, a bit lost, and waiting for something he couldn't name. He dipped his brush in the paint, ready to let the canvas take whatever came next.
Julian sat cross-legged on the floor of their dorm room, eyes flicking between the canvas and the scattered paint tubes around him.
The painting was almost done - a wide expanse of night sky, but something about it felt... incomplete. The sky was dark and deep, but empty, starless. Like something was missing.
"Why can't I get this right?" Julian muttered, dragging a brush across the canvas with restless, uneven strokes.
Thomas leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching. He said nothing - just the faintest tilt of his head, like a quiet question.
Julian glanced up. "You know, you don't have to just stand there. You could actually say something."
Thomas blinked slowly, then shrugged. "Not much to say about messy paint."
Julian smirked but didn't argue. "I know what I'm doing. Painting's my thing."
Thomas didn't respond. He watched as Julian dipped his brush again, swirling in shades of deep navy and black, trying to capture the weight of a night sky with no stars-empty and restless, like Julian himself.
For days, Julian worked on the painting. The room filled with quiet clinks of brushes on jars and the occasional sigh of frustration. Thomas stayed nearby, silent, the cold observer. Yet, when Julian wasn't looking, Thomas's gaze softened-intrigued by the way Julian poured so much into something so imperfect.
One late night, when Julian had finally left the canvas to dry, Thomas stepped closer. His fingers hovered above the painting.
He let out a sigh and said. "Too plain."
The room was dim except for the soft glow of a desk lamp. He reached out slowly, hesitating just a moment before his fingers moved.Then carefully dabbed tiny white dots across the dark expanse-stars. Small, precise. Each one deliberate.
He took a step back, expression unreadable.
He looked at man sleeping beside the painting. Paints all over his hands. Then he went back to his desk.
The next morning, Julian returned and stopped dead in his tracks.
"Hey..." he said slowly, eyes scanning the canvas.
"Looks different," Julian said, a slow smirk spreading.
Thomas looked at him. Holding a book, pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Just tiny white dots. Too plain without them."
Julian's grin widened. "You fixed my starless sky."
Thomas's shrug was casual, but there was something quieter beneath it. "It needed balance."
Julian sat beside him, quieter now. "Guess I've got a partner in this after all."
Thomas didn't say anything, but the way he glanced at Julian held a small, rare warmth.
Two worlds - messy and precise, restless and still - had found a fragile truce in a night sky dotted with stars.
"Guess you're not as useless as you act."
Thomas didn't respond. Instead, his eyes flicked to Julian for the briefest second.
The night sky, once starless and cold, now held something softer-a quiet understanding, a fragile connection drawn in paint and silence.
"Clean those mess before you go out." Thomas said coldly.
"Why? You don't have class?"
"I have."
Julian stood up slowly and walked to the small kitchen, the soft creak of the floor the only sound in the room. He moved on autopilot, going through the familiar motions of making coffee - boil water, scoop grounds, pour - but his mind wasn't in it.
When he returned, he sat at the table, his hands wrapped around the warm mug, but he didn't take a sip. He just stared ahead, eyes unfocused, breath shallow.
The silence in the dorm felt heavier than usual. Not peaceful. Just... still. Julian's shoulders slumped, his gaze fixed on nothing. Maybe he was thinking about the breakup - the words left unsaid, the strange hollow feeling that hadn't gone away. Or maybe he was remembering the quiet of the countryside, his parents' laughter echoing in a kitchen that always smelled like something warm and familiar.
He didn't blink. Didn't move. Just sat there, like something had switched off inside him.
From his desk, Thomas glanced over, eyes catching on Julian's still figure. The blank stare, the clenched jaw, the way he didn't even seem to notice the coffee cooling in front of him.
Thomas raised an eyebrow.
"...Weird," he muttered under his breath, returning to his notes - but not without one last glance.
Something about the silence had changed. And for once, Thomas noticed.