Broken painter

Salvador Curtis, broken 27 years old man who learned to love and then broke his heart. A meltdown, drugs, bipolar disorder - these things all together made him end up going into St. James Infirmary.

[rainbowsmile-deactivated2020032]

[robdowneyjr]

Aaron Taylor-Johnson for Gentleman Givenchy

[magicofthestars]

[brokenpainter]

eightysixed:

They sat ridiculously far apart —or at least, currently it seemed like that to Cillian. At the very least, you could definitely sit another person in between them comfortably. And though the blonde forced his eyes on the TV screen, all that was going through his mind was what had happened earlier, the feel of his Dali’s lips, his heart betrayed by a fast beating but it wasn’t like Dali would notice that. He felt his hand grazed and without turning to look reciprocated the touch, going one step further to link their hands together. It felt silly, childish even, to be like this, but Cillian had not had feelings for anyone like this for the better part of a decade.

It was so weird to feel so nervous and giddy at the same time. Dali wasn’t like that. Then why did he suddenly feel like he was some teenage girl? Not that he knew how it was to be like one, but movies always showed them being all over the place and giggling and whatnot when they were around someone they liked. A smile spread on his lips instantly when he felt Cillian taking his hand and he had to glance down to their hands to make sure he wasn’t just imagining the touch. It was just a simple gesture, but it made Dali smile fatuously happy. His heart felt warm and things just felt good in general. Dali looked back to the TV, but after few minutes he scooted over to get closer to Cillian. His arm brushed against Cillian’s and he moved their hands on his leg since there was no couch left to keep their hands on it. The stupidly happy smile still stayed on his lips as he looked at their hands and he gently brushed Cillian’s skin with his thumb.

[natashamaximova]

Aaron Taylor-Johnson for Gentleman Givenchy 2017 Eau De Toilette

[brokenpainter]

eightysixed:

It was ridiculously ridiculous: the moment he decided to let go, and surrender himself to it, the emotions, whatever, the big swirl in his head that looked a lot like this: jf3£@*($’s!!d8@£* — the moment he did that, he became a hundred times more nervous. Having hung up his still damp coat in the hallway, he returned to the living room to find Dali on the couch. “Err, yeah, sounds like a good plan,” he said, smiling, heart still fluttering in its cage about a million miles a minute. “Anything’ll do,” he added, knowing with some certainty that he wouldn’t quite be able to concentrate, whatever the movie was. It was still an early time to sleep, half past ten or thereabouts now, so it was probably the thing to do. And something, call it a gut feeling, told Cillian that he probably wouldn’t be going home tonight, either.

If Cillian was nervous, then look at Dali. He wasn’t sure in what position he should sit on the couch -- should he have his legs on the couch or not or should he lean against the arm rest or just scoot to the other end of the couch so Cillian would have a spot on the end of the couch you could easily move to and not circle around Dali.. He didn’t come up with any answer but when Cillian agreed on a movie Dali just grabbed the remote control and put the TV on. He had no idea was there even coming any sort of movie from the TV right now but probably there would be something on some channel at this hour. Once Cillian was sitting down Dali stayed still and quiet on his side of the couch, but then slowly he moved his hand closer to Cillian’s and touched his hand softly, almost like asking a permission for doing that.

[brokenpainter]

eightysixed:

Shyness was not a quality Cillian was often prone to, nor had experienced often in the past few years, but it had broken out in full force now. “Err, yeah, we should—” he laughed, cheeks blushed rosy pink, looking down again. Gently he pulled away from the embrace, not quite sure what to do with himself in the particular moment, until he made a serious of wild gesticulations. “Left the coat in the, err— room,” he gesticulated again, remembering that he’d carelessly slung his jacket over the arm of the couch. Extricating himself once more, he went to hang it up properly on the coat rack in the hallway.

Cillian was so freaking cute when he blushed. Dali just kept on looking at his face and smiling that smile of an idiot. He nodded a bit at the jacket situation and a bit hesitantly let go of Cillian letting him to do whatever he was planning to do with it. Dali looked around him a bit and then decided to just sit on the couch because he didn’t really know what else to do right now. It’d feel a bit weird to go to his bedroom right now, so it was better to just stay in the living room for sure. “You want to watch a movie or something?” Dali asked since that was sort of the only thing that came to his mind right now.

[brokenpainter]

eightysixed:

The words came from Dali’s lips, that unmistakably American, no, Californian accent so contrasting with his own soft one. “Yeah,” came his own reply, looking up and nodding as the same cheesy, too-wide smile that was on Dali’s lips was mirrored on his face. Maybe he’d forgotten how a lot of things were done, but he hand’t forgotten this feeling, this one right here, the one that made his heart feel light and fluttery and like it didn’t belong in his body.

The expression on Dali’s face was extremely stupidly happy, but he couldn’t help himself. He just felt so happy that he wanted to dance and sing and do all possible silly things they did in the movies. But instead of doing any of such he just stayed there, watching at Cillian and smiling at him all happily. Until he started to think how stupid they probably looked like just standing there smiling at each other.. Dali chuckled and lowered his gaze. “...do we continue standing here or should we sit down or something?” Although Dali didn’t really feel like letting Cillian go from the hug, but they still should consider some other option than just standing.

[brokenpainter]

eightysixed:

Dali held him tight, and a laugh slipped Cillian’s lips, feeling slightly ticklish but warm in his embrace. “No,” he shook his head, “no, I’m not going to disappear. If I do, I’ll give you a heads up,” he added, smiling. He wasn’t the type to ghost anyway, had never been, and he wasn’t going to start now. He liked to confront issues and feelings head on, he didn’t like to let them sit and fester. 

“I meant it when I said I have no clue what I’m doing,” he confessed, still smiling sheepishly. “I mean bloody christ, it’s been…” he did the mental math, “seven years? Yeah, seven years since I properly been with someone.” Since Delilah, he’d never really developed feelings for anyone, or consciously stopped them from happening —as had been the attempt here (which failed, quite obviously). “You’ll have to forgive me, I might be a little rusty on some things.”

Cillian’s reply brought even bigger smile on Dali’s lips. Cillian wasn’t going to disappear. He wasn’t going to leave for weeks. He was going to stay around. There was this bubbling feeling of happiness inside of Dali and it was impossible to keep that happiness just inside him. Cillian could easily see from Dali’s eyes and from the size of his smile how happy just such a simple promise meant to him.

There was a moment of an apologising look on his face at the amount of years Cillian mentioned. Dali had a memory of Cillian mentioning his ex, seven years was a long time and both of them had the situation of broken heart in the game, but since Cillian didn’t seem to feel bad about speaking about it so Dali felt like it was okay to continue smiling again. He chuckled softly at the comment of being rusty and he just shook his head softly. “Then there’s two of us. I guess that just means we can learn the stuff together. Be less rusty. Yeah?”

[brokenpainter]

eightysixed:

First impressions of people could oft be wrong. This had been the case here too, naturally. The moment he laid eyes on Dali, addressed Salvador by the nurses who didn’t know any better, Cillian dismissed him as yet another, rote patient. Yet another yank. Why they brought so many to Menston every year he had no clue, didn’t America have its own hospitals, with much better, more capable professionals?

Whatever the case, he hadn’t paid any more mind to the fact of his existence in St. James. He was quiet, almost selectively mute like some of the others on the men’s ward, and Cillian did things to get a rise out of him, like he did with so many others. The teasing, the taunts, and one near-broken nose later, they somehow became unlikely friends.

Never had he imagined this. Not in his most arcane, coke-fuelled dreams. 

Dali’s laugh was Cillian’s laugh, a rare moment in which the blonde male looked down, blushing scarlet. “In my world, casual is code for absolutely no feelings whatsoever. But I reckon we’re past that.” It felt like the warmest balm and the sweetest honey, hearing that Dali wanted him around. It felt like the start of something.

First impressions surely could be wrong -- at first Dali had just been extremely annoyed by Cillian and the way he acted. He couldn’t stand Cillian and his arrogance, or whatever it truly had been. But things change, the views change, people change. Not sure that Cillian changed, but Dali knew he himself had. Plus in all honesty, the more days went past and the more Dali saw the life at St. James his view of those people living and working there changed as well. But honestly he had never thought he would be in this situation with Cillian right now. But now that he was in that situation he wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else.

Dali couldn’t help but keep on smiling as he looked at Cillian. The way he blushed and pressed his head down only made Dali’s smile grow a tad bigger. “In that case I guess we are way beyond that”, he commented moving his arms a bit to make sure Cillian couldn’t escape anywhere from there. Dali wanted to keep him there, close to him, just so he could watch him and feel the warmth of his body. 

“So.. you aren’t going to disappear for weeks or months?” Dali wanted to be sure Cillian really would stay around, even better if he would promise he wouldn’t disappear. Though Dali would also need to know where the hell Cillian was even staying at the moment and what had he really been doing lately. Dali knew he hadn’t been doing anything different from what he had been doing before, but finally he was starting to get to that point when he actually did want to do something with his days, get a job or something. He’d need to talk about it to Poppy, but it probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to talk about it to Cillian either -- if he really was going to stay around without disappearing acts.

[hickeypoet-deactivated20180821]

for him- troye sivan

[eightysixed-a]

@brokenpainter

[aarontjsource]

What’s your idea of the modern gentleman? x

I believe the contemporary gentleman is caring, compassionate…is chivalrous, optimistic even and has a charm. 

[hanukkah-hotties]

[brokenpainter]

eightysixed:

He was breathless, scared, a petrified rabbit. It felt like an actual eternity since he did this, opened himself up to someone and the possibility of being not completely alone. There was that fear, but then there were all the other, colorful, overwhelming feelings taking over like a whirlwind hurricane, trapping him in the eye of it and making him feel more alive than ever.  All from the light touch of his hand down Cillian’s back. 

Emboldened by the fact his feelings and thoughts were reciprocated, he got more gutsy. A smile almost as brilliant as Dali’s that he tried to match with — not that he even had to try, it was hard looking at him and not feeling the very same thing he felt. A hand went up to his face, and Cillian pulled him in for a bolder, deeper, more rushed kiss, no worries about the rest of the world, or Poppy coming home and finding theme like this; no worries at all. That was the overwhelmingly insane thing: when he was with Dali, he had none. They didn’t exist.

Dali wanted to point out if they were going to overstep from the lines of a friendship -- or whatever they had and were -- Cillian had to promise he wasn’t going to appear only once every few months, because Dali wanted to have Cillian around way more than that. He wanted to get to know Cillian better, he wanted to know everything about him. And he wanted Cillian to know everything about him too.

Cillian’s hands on his cheeks, his lips on his lips.. Dali had to move even closer even though there wasn’t much space between them in the first place. There was the odd tingle on his lips and actually all over his body and in such a long time Dali hadn’t felt this good and well, happy. The kiss continued quite some time but eventually Dali had to pull away because he suddenly felt like laughing. “You know.. I guess we can forget the whole ‘casual’ thing. I mean, I don’t want casual anymore. I want to have you around. More than once every few months.” Okay, now he had said it like he had thought, but he wanted to make sure Cillian really was going to stay.

[brokenpainter]

eightysixed:

Cillian hadn’t felt this way in quite some time. Truthfully, he hadn’t felt this way since the last time they’d kissed. That alive, soaring and yet absolutely terrifying, jolting feeling. His heart bounding all over the place, struggling to break free out of his chest and go tapdancing somewhere. The first time he had felt it that night, he got scared and ran, but this time, he simply accepted it. It was a wonderful feeling in fact ( and one he hadn’t felt since Lilah ), and one he would welcome in his life, along with this, him, all of it. Dali’s hands were around him, and Cillian’s brain just wouldn’t shut up about that fact, among other details. How quiet the moment was, compared to how loud it was inside his head, his heart.

 When they finally pulled apart for that much needed rest, his heart did another flip, now potentially scared at having to look into Dali’s eyes, what he would see in there. But fuck it, that fear could go do one. “I owe you an apology,” he said, eyes almost watery and dancing, teeth edging softly into his lower hip, hesitation in his whole body but at the same time a kind of new feeling of being set free. And he hadn’t even touched a drink. “When you said all those things, I knew you were right. Knew you were right and I was wrong but I was still scared. Or maybe you’re wrong and I’m right and life’ll bite me in the arse and say told you so. But living scared isn’t living at all, so fuck it—” he took a deep breath, still not quite ready to meet his eyes, but it was going to be inevitable in a moment. “I want…” he took a big breath, delaying the moment of scariness of what he might say in response, “…this.” And when Dali would finally look into his eyes, he’d see a different Cillian, maybe one he hadn’t even seen before. The youthful lad of his earlier twenties who still dared and dreamed and hoped and felt like all of life was head of him.

Dali’s heart started to beat faster and faster the longer the kiss got. He had almost forgotten how he had felt the first time he and Cillian kissed. How it felt like everything suddenly had colors, how his stomach was full of butterflies, how his body tingled just for being that close to the other. Oh how he wished this wouldn’t be just a dream or just a test for something. He wanted to be able to kiss Cillian later on too and not just this one time. Dali knew he personally was a bit of a mess, but so was Cillian, and they both knew each other’s flaws, so in a way the situation was balanced. They could color the world together, Dali was sure of it.

He pulled back a bit when Cillian did so and Dali noticed he was actually a bit out of breath because of the kiss. His gaze lingered on Cillian’s lips and chin, he didn’t dare to look into his eyes, because he wanted to stay in this feeling of happiness that was in his heart right now. He didn’t want to look up to notice the happiness wouldn’t last. Cillian had kissed him before too and that hadn’t ended that well, so it was understandable why Dali wanted to keep in the false hope. Although when Cillian started to talk Dali had to look up to his eyes. Did Cillian really say he wanted... that he wanted to be with Dali? Be something else than just a friend? Did it mean Cillian didn’t see Dali as a broken person who would be nothing but trouble? The confirmation to it was loud and clear. ‘I want this’. That was honestly all Dali would have needed to hear. A smile lit on his face, probably biggest one there had ever been when he’d spent time with Cillian -- although it clearly wasn’t the biggest possible there could be, but it was still a lot bigger than before --, his eyes were twinkling and you could see the smile all the way in his eyes as well. “I want this too.”

[brokenpainter]

eightysixed:

It was a strange feeling that came over him when Dali said that Poppy wasn’t home, and Cillian likened it to relief. Relief that they were there alone, although there was nervousness mixed in with his relief, but that feeling had been present since the moment he’d walked into the restaurant and saw Dali. He followed Dali down the hallway, and was standing mere feet apart when Dali had opened Poppy’s door to check. Even closer as he closed the door once again and turned to face Cillian. So close. No, he thought, he didn’t want tea, or coffee, or anything like that. What he wanted was the person before him and before he had the time to rethink or  pull back, Cillian gripped Dali by the arm and yanked him in for a kiss. He didn’t know what he was doing, in fact he was pretty sure his heart was about to have a stroke with how fast it was beating, but he kept going.

Dali had thought Cillian was still somewhere by the front door and when he turned to look at the other he was a bit surprised to see Cillian was actually just an arm length away. Or even closer. His brow raised at that, waiting for some sort of explanation or something for being so close but then he was suddenly yanked closer and kissed. Both of his brows raised out of surprise, but then lowered back to their normal level as he replied to the kiss. His arms wrapped around Cillian to hold him closer, just to make sure he couldn’t just run away from him. His heart felt like that tiny bird whose wings were finally flapping again.

[brokenpainter]

eightysixed:

He stole the occasional glance as they walked, but not to be overtly suspicious, mostly kept his eyes on the darkened path before them. Barely anyone else was out while they cut a path to the block of flats, the rain having chased most everyone away. “It does sound insane,” he agreed with a chuckle. “But we lived in an insane home,” he added, by way of a shitty joke. “Maybe some of the mental really did rub off on us.”

[walky walky timeskip]

Finally they arrived, made it all the way upstairs and into the flat —which had been the goal, of course, but now that they were here, Cillian didn’t know what to do with himself. There was a deathly silence to the place which made him surmise Poppy either being out or asleep; knowing her, either was possible. “Here we are,” Cillian said, pulling back his hood and shaking out whatever light droplets of rain had gotten caught in his hair. Now came the slightly awkward part; should he stay, if yes, for how long, and what to do in that time? Too many questions and no answers.

Dali wasn’t sure was Poppy even at home, she might or she might not, you couldn’t really never know. Poppy was a bit odd for being an old lady since she was always somewhere doing something instead of spending time at home knitting a sock or doing things you’d think someone of her age would do. Once they got to the apartment Dali wasn’t quite sure even then was Poppy there or not. He took his shoes off and his jacket and was about to take it straight to the bathroom so the water wouldn’t trip all over the floor, but stopped on his steps when Cillian talked. “Yep”, he replied and walked to the bathroom putting his jacket in there and returned to take Cillian’s -- yes, he was deciding Cillian was staying at least for a bit -- and put the jacket in the bathroom as well. Then he walked to the living room, checked towards kitchen to confirm Poppy really wasn’t in there, so he walked to her bedroom door, knocked and when no one answered he opened the door and peeked in. No one there. “Seems like Poppy is somewhere”, Dali said and looked at Cillian. “You want tea or coffee or something?”