hmmm hello?? for the cliché prompts: 44 for joe x nicky if it speaks to you 😊💜
brielle ty so much for the prompt!! this was so fun to write! i did change the prompt slightly because i ran with the idea before double checking the prompt. hope you like it! also this got lost in my drafts for a bit so yes i know this was from soo long ago 🤣
44. i’m your new neighbor and i got locked out, help!
Yusuf could think of nothing else other than his painting. The soft brushstrokes, the feeling of the bristles gliding across the canvas as the colors blended together at the tip of his fingers, the idea in his mind slowly taking the shape of something complete, something real, something magnificent.
Or it would as soon as he got up these fucking stairs.
Three days he'd been holed up in his apartment working on a new project, sudden inspiration chaining him to the easel and he was all too willing to let it hold him captive, the paintbrush cuffs around his wrists. He was utterly and completely consumed by it, to such a degree that it was all he dreamed about during the few hours his eyes managed to slip shut despite his best efforts, and all the coffee in his apartment.
Then right as he could practically see the finished product before him, it was missing something, a very specific shade of green so perfect in Yusuf's mind he spent two hours attempting to bring it to life. Paint tubes littered the floor around him, half empty and some dripping onto the ground in what he took to be a mocking manner as he failed each time to make the color he could see so clearly in his mind.
Three art stores later and he could only pray that this time he could create the green he so desperately sought. His fingers were itching to get ahold of his brush, his feet bouncing quickly up the last few steps, once again cursing his decision to live on the third floor of a building with no elevator. But the view of the nearby park could not be beat.
He was in such a hurried daze coming up the stairs that he ignored the noise across the hall from him, juggling armfuls of supplies because even if he was just there for paint he could not let the sale on canvases go unnoticed, nor the new clay glazes they got in.
His breathing was nearly ragged, his hands patting down his pockets, only finding his wallet and not the telltale jingle of his keys. His movements became so desperate he let his stuff come crashing down to the floor, his knees coming down right after, his hands searching inside the bags but the keys were still nowhere to be found.
Now the noise got louder across the hall, he could hear some people talking before he caught sight of someone walking towards him from the corner of his eye. He let his head hang in his hands, mumbling to himself that he swore this wouldn’t happen again after the stairs incident of 2015.
The stranger approached him and spoke with such sincerity that Yusuf froze in place.
"Do you need some help?" His voice was calm and unbearably soft as he spoke, an Italian accent heavy on his tongue. Yusuf let himself laugh a bit at himself, because even if he wanted to say no, anyone could see that he needed it. After a moment he let himself glance up at the stranger who was looking down at him with concern. He just stared for a second before remembering you were typically supposed to answer when someone asks you a question.
His face was shadowed as he leaned down over Yusuf, but he could still admire the strong shape of his jaw that sloped down to impossibly broad shoulders.
"I uh-seemed to have forgotten my keys." He could barely manage the words, his breath stolen by the stairs and captured by the man before him. A man he realized he'd never seen before. "I'm sorry, who are you?"
He took a look at Yusuf's door before answering, "I'm your new neighbor it seems. I'm Nicky." He sticks his hand out and Yusuf takes it, suddenly remembering he's sitting on the floor as he reaches up.
"Yusuf. Oh sorry--" he pulls back quickly once he sees his hands are still coated in paint, his mad dash out the door didn't include washing his hands first, "--I'm in the middle of a project."
"You are an artist then I assume? Or is there some other use for all the supplies?" Nicky asks eyeing the, quite frankly, ridiculous amount of supplies scattered on the floor around him. Yusuf stood up, suddenly feeling mildly embarrassed as he tried to put everything back in the bags with as much dignity as a man in his position could muster.
"I am, or I guess was trying to finish a new piece I started, hence-"
"Forgetting your keys?" Nicky laughed and Yusuf's heart skipped at the sound. "I can't say I've done the same for art supplies, but I understand feeling when I'm cooking. Can I ask what it is?"
"I don’t usually like to discuss my pieces until I'm done," Yusuf replied before he even realized what he was saying. It’s not like it wasn’t true but the last thing he wanted was to come off as rude to his beautiful new neighbor. He smiled awkwardly as he finished grabbing his things; never one to be nervous he found himself double checking the paint lids with painful slowness before setting each one back in the bags and leaning them carefully against the wall. It felt like it took him hours while Nicky watched.
"It's fine. But I would like to see it when it's done if that's alright."
Yusuf just nodded. He realized his desperation to get back into his apartment had paled now, pushed into the back of his mind as he spoke to Nicky, feeling something stir within him. There was an earnest calm about him, words careful and eyes searching, posture tall though his frame shortened by the breadth of his shoulders.
"Would you like some coffee while you wait for a locksmith?" Nicky offered and Yusuf was in no position to refuse, not like he would anyway but that soft Italian voice pulled at his chest in a way he didn't think he could refuse if he wanted.
"Yes, that would be nice. Thank you...," he whispered, words trailing off when Nicky bent down to help him with his bags, his face catching the sunlight from the window as he stood. His cheekbones complimented his strong jaw, his nose so perfectly highlighted by the light it's as if he was looking at a painting. But it was his eyes that Yusuf could not look away from. A soft green, the color of the shallow waters of the Mediterranean, of sea glass, of the moss that covers the forest floors.
The perfect shade of green.
