Everett wasn’t an artist and he certainly didn’t see fit to consider himself much of a critic. Growing up alongside Julien, he’d absorbed a limited vocabulary. He could point out a figurative piece or an impressionist one. He could use the terms, “perspective,” and “proportion” or suggest that some technique looked as though it must have been intricate -- words Julien used (often with frustration aimed inward). Still, at the end of the day, Everett knew what he liked and he knew what he disliked. He knew when to raise a brow and admit that he didn’t understand. And, he knew that that glare Julien fixed on the sheet was a hint that it wasn’t time to press the matter.<br/><br/>The door swung open again. Maddison was the next to arrive, briefly relighting the room before falling into the same trap as Everett. The second remark about Julien’s drawing prompted their mini lesson on the art of perfectionism before Julien slipped the piece away. Fighting the smile that worked its way to his lips, Everett put on his best sympathetic face as he brought his hand up onto Julien’s shoulder with the hopeful interjection, “good practice, right?”<br/><br/>He thoughtlessly let that contact linger, maybe too long, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb, subconsciously hoping to relieve some of that tension Julien softly remarked on just a moment earlier. The final member of their party entered, a little delayed though Everett didn’t mind the extra time. Everett greeted Juno with a friendly smile, only then thinking to remove his hand from Julien’s shoulder.<br/><br/>Julien initiated the conversation, turning first toward Everett and then looking back toward their friends. Julien began with a stutter and grasped at his sleeve. Everett twisted his arm away just enough to reposition Julien’s hand so he could take hold of it entirely – interlacing their fingers and praying that Julien wouldn’t be too offended by his sweaty palms. Everett looked down at their hands and then back up, between Maddison and Juno, unsure just how much more needed to be said.<br/><br/>“So,” Everett cleared his throat, “Julien’s my hot date to homecoming.” He paused again, expression softening with worry as he searched for some confirmation. He hadn’t formally asked – not yet – and maybe it was a big assumption.<br/><br/>“Probably,” Everett added quickly.<br/><br/>“Because— I mean—” Taking a page from Julien’s book, he resettled with determination to be straightforward. “Because we’re dating. And have been. For a year.”