The nights have lost their minds
The question makes Nate snort, and turn back towards Bastien, his brow raised. "Well, we're living together and sharing a bed, so I'd say I know him pretty well, yea." Though he hadn't expected the question to be a fucking trap, an unavoidable segue into a lecture he hadn't asked for.
Nate stays knelt where he is, eyes locked in Bastien, half interested and half bemused, the look on his face a little helpless in the face of the artists passion. "I never really... considered the things I liked to be art." He offers at first, voice uncertain. "But I do like music, and... pictures, I guess." Something told him most of his favourite stories wouldn't be considered art even by the other man, tales of stupid decisions and illegal shenanigans, and Nate wasn't sure he'd ever even noticed perfume beyond the distant memory of his mother in her church clothes. "I thought art was just the kinds of things they put into museums though."
Nate stays knelt where he is, eyes locked in Bastien, half interested and half bemused, the look on his face a little helpless in the face of the artists passion. "I never really... considered the things I liked to be art." He offers at first, voice uncertain. "But I do like music, and... pictures, I guess." Something told him most of his favourite stories wouldn't be considered art even by the other man, tales of stupid decisions and illegal shenanigans, and Nate wasn't sure he'd ever even noticed perfume beyond the distant memory of his mother in her church clothes. "I thought art was just the kinds of things they put into museums though."
And the mornings are unkind
NATE
