oliver had to say he was pretty excited about being asked to tutor someone. while he had the luck to have a godly parent bless him with natural artistic abilities, he was well aware of the own effort that had to be put in. a little push, some learning about technique and theory, could be needed. helping someone with this, he could definitely do.
then, the door opened and he made eye contact with jonas. and as he heard his greeting, oliver thought that this, he definitely couldnât do.
oliverâs interactions with jonas have been very limited. he knows jonas was⊠something to his best friend, alex. them being âsomethingâ has resulted in oliver only having seen jonas in the progress of avoiding alex, and by extension oliver, leaving room for no interactions. an awkward acknowledgment must be there though, considering the way oliver sees jonas tense.
he can almost feel the awkward tension that has suddenly filled the small studio room. by now, he has probably been quiet for too long than what is considered appropriate. âoh, hi,â oliver greets. he clears his throat, if only to avoid the silence. âdo you, uhâŠâ oliver gestures behind himself, towards the easel he has set up for this. there are two stools placed in front of it. âdo you want to⊠you can paint and iâll, uh, iâll give pointers.â
oliver stalks towards the stools and sits down on one of them without waiting for jonasâ response. he hopes jonas skills are enough for them to spend the rest of the session in relative silence and oliver not having to interfere that much. heâs already exhausted. âjust⊠tell me if you need help.â
   gods, did the fates have fun toying with jonas like this? they must have... otherwise it was divine intervention by his father somehow. it had to be; it felt like a grand prank sprung on him by no other than apollo. jonas was sure oliver was nice and all but there was... awkwardness that spared them from ever having to meet each other, or formally interact like two normal students might have. them alone in the same room felt weird and equally cruel.
   yet it somehow seemed crueler to jonas to up and leave before anything could be accomplished. and he did need the help. so he found himself nodding at the otherâs words, then there was a slowly paced walk to the open stool. âi mean, yeah... iâm kind of, like, totally helpless with the whole art thing,â he shrugged his backpack off and took a seat, gaze dead-set on the easel in front of him. âi donât think i can even really draw a straight line, much less paint, so... donât ask why i signed up for a painting class. i really couldnât tell you why i did.â although jonas talked an awful lot completely unprompted in a space of comfort, his word vomit only got worse when there was the slightest bit of discomfort.
   then, he suddenly turned to oliver, hoping to garner enough attention for the other to do the same. âhow do you get, like... i donât know. when iâm told paint something my brain just goes blank. like, what do i paint?â how do you generate ideas for paintings was the question he was trying to ask.