happy birthday clive <3
trying to get back into writing aaa
based on a prompt i’d written few years ago but never actually used
this is in an au where clive and the reader are not friends from childhood but just classmates in high school
clive donovan x artist! reader
You weren’t trying to be creepy.
It just sort of…happened.
Clive sat in the desk diagonal to you in every history class and somehow, your hands always started moving before your brain caught up. The lines would start with his jawline, the fall of his hair, the quiet seriousness in his eyes as he listened to the teacher. Soon, you’d have little pages filled with sketches of him, sometimes in different art styles, sometimes a little more realistic. Something you’d never show to anyone. Especially not him.
Which made it all the more horrific when your sketchbook slipped from your arms and splayed open on the floor—Right in front of him. Clive bent down before you could, his fingers brushing the paper as his eyes scanned the page.
He blinked. Then looked up at you.
You didn’t wait to see his reaction. Your ears were burning, heart racing, brain hardly forming a coherent thought so your legs decided for you— to bolt it.
You Bolted out of the cafeteria and up the stairs, until you reached the rooftop, a strange feeling of embarrassment and guilt mixed with the coldness of the empty rooftop taking up your thoughts. You didn’t know what you were doing. Just that you did not want to be seen.
Of course, that didn’t last long.
The door creaked open beside your tensed figure sitting on the floor. “Hey…” Clive’s voice was quieter than usual, like he was being cautious. “You left this.”
You turned hesitantly, and there he was, holding your sketchbook. His fingers tapped the edge of it nervously, a tinge of redness adoring his cheeks.
“I didn’t mean to snoop…” he said, eyes flickering to the rooftop floor, then to you. “But I saw a few pages. They’re… good. I mean, really good.”
You swallowed, preparing for embarrassment to eat you alive. “I- sorry... I shouldn’t have- drawn you like that. I just- It helps me practice. I didn’t mean for you to see it.”
Clive took a step closer, then sat down beside you.
“Well” he said, pulling something from his own bag. A notebook, worn at the edges. “It’s only fair I show you mine.”
He flipped it open, and to your shock, there were drawings—of you. Rough sketches, details of your hands when you were writing, the way your hair sat when you leaned over your desk, one even highlighting your smile when you were focused on a book.
“I guess…now we’re even..” he softly mutters, with a shy smile. You look at him with widened eyes, “How- when did you even…” You’re unable to form a proper sentence as he cuts you off, “You’re not the only one who notices things y’know” he said, not looking at you, his thumb brushing over one of the pages.
Silence stretched for a second.
You couldn’t bare the silence, a small sense of courage finding its way in you as you say “Maybe next time-” he glances at you sideways, “-we could draw each other… on purpose?” you say, a little unsure yet determined when you notice a genuine smile on his face.
And just like that, the rooftop didn’t feel so cold anymore.