“I want you to protect me.”

Logan recalled the ultimatum Dakota had given him as he stared out the classroom window. He tapped the end of his pencil against his cheek, zoning out as he was taught WWII all over again. 

“If I’m your bodyguard, I’ve got to be by your side constantly.”

A cluster of birds flew by in their signature boomerang formation. His leg bounced, shaking the desk.

“Only in the halls. Don’t loiter outside.”

Logan jumped from his seat the second the bell rang. 

“Where’s your bag?”

“Don’t have one.”

“Take notes. Or the deals off.”

He tucked the notebook Dakota had given him under his arm and slid the pencil into the rings. The first few pages had been covered in Dakota’s sketches. Silhouettes of men and women in different poses, all without faces, but the emotions were so strong that Logan would have called them masterpieces. He felt privileged to hold them in his possession but also upset that Dakota didn’t see the value in keeping them. 

The halls seemed to be more crowded than ever before. It didn’t take long for him to get annoyed with everyone who was blocking his path. He shoved through the throng of students, pissing most of them off. He simply didn’t give a shit about any of them. 

His unease didn’t settle until he spotted Dakota waiting for him outside the last class he had. For a moment, he’d thought Dakota would have left him behind. He wouldn’t have blamed him. He still didn’t understand fully why Dakota would trust him after all this time. If the roles were reversed, he would have beat Dakota up and spat in his face.

But that was the reason why he’d ended up this way in the first place. He didn’t know how to make amends without getting so heated.

Dakota looked out of place amongst the teenagers who fed like bottom feeders. He was detached from the social circles that formed to keep others out. Logan didn’t know if he had any real friends. There was a girl he used to hang out with, but she’d moved away Freshmen year. 

Logan couldn’t help but watch Dakota from afar. He looked around, wanting to know if anyone else had noticed Dakota. Every single person who passed by didn’t so much as glance in his direction. Anger swelled inside him. He frowned. His mood had soured.

He looked back at Dakota and sucked in his breath when those piercing green eyes were looking right at him.

Those eyes captured him at the end of a hook. He was weak-willed enough to let himself be reeled in. 

“Sorry,” he said with a grin. “Didn’t mean to make you wait.”

Dakota studied him like he’d grown a second head. “I didn’t wait long.”

He turned, not waiting for Logan to follow, and started down the hall. Almost as if they were repelled, the other students went around Dakota, never once coming into contact with him. Logan didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed that Dakota was almost like a pariah to everyone else. He’d been so focused on Dakota that no one else had ever crossed his mind.

Logan had to keep a fast pace so he didn’t fall behind. Dakota’s legs were long and his strides were wide. Logan wasn’t much shorter, but it still gave him a challenge to keep up enough so he could talk comfortably with the other boy.

“Where are we going? Your house?” He’d always been curious what the inside of Dakota’s house looked like. All the houses on that side of town were nice and probably looked even nicer on the inside.

He also wanted to know what Dakota’s room looked like. He imagined a large room with huge windows that let it the most perfect amount of sunlight. Canvases of all different sizes were propped up against the walls. Some were finished and some were either in the process or abandoned. Sketches covered the walls as if Dakota had woken up in the middle of the night and scribbled something before plastering it next to his bedside. 

The smell of paint wouldn’t be overwhelming as he kept the windows or maybe even the doors to the balcony open. 

The other way Logan imagined Dakota’s room was posters of art everywhere. Not his own, but others, though he would still have his desk where he kept his supplies. Even then, Logan imagined that Dakota’s was always working on his art. He could just tell that he lived and breathed it.

Dakota crushed his dreams of finding out. “No.”

Logan wanted to ask why not, but kept his mouth shut. He also wanted to ask where exactly they were going, but figured that he shouldn’t piss Dakota off too much. The boy could put an end to their deal before it even started and then Logan would have to go back to sneaking around like a weirdo.

Dakota lead him through the school, passing by the gym, and the flight of stairs to the second story. Logan had thought that they would go up since the art room and storage area were located there. Instead, Dakota went for the set of back doors next to the stairs. He pressed through, briefly holding the door open for Logan who bashfully mumbled a “thanks”. 

The warm air caressed his face, hiding the way his face had blushed. 

They walked through the track and field, then across the ditch Logan had first found him and the others fighting. His mind went back to that moment in which he saw Dakota again. He felt his chest tighten, thinking about what if he hadn’t stopped Matthew and Nate from destroying the painting. He couldn’t be positive that was the point in which Dakota’s life would change, but he felt like it played a large point in it.

He shook his worrisome thoughts away and focused on Dakota. 

Like brushstrokes, Logan mapped Dakota’s form with his eyes, memorizing every little detail as if he would paint him. He studied him as if he would find an answer for every problem within him. It couldn’t be ruled out—as silly as it might have seemed. Who knew how this worked? Logan traveled through time. He couldn’t be sure about anything.

He did know for sure that he could look at Dakota all day long and still not find it boring. There were little details that he was still discovering. The way he walked, ever so gracefully, the fact that he had freckles above his elbows, and that he fidgeted constantly at the ring on his right hand. 

The road ended near a cluster of trees that hid a weathered shed. The windows were still in-tack and the door only looked like it was hanging by his hinges. Logan was just about to point it out to Dakota when the boy turned and started toward it.

“Wait. This isn’t the place right?” He jogged up to Dakota, lifting his hands when he accidentally started to reach for him. “Is this a joke?”

Shit. Dakota had brought him out here for his revenge. He was going to lock Logan in the shed and take off. 

Logan shivered as he thought about the cruelty when Dakota grabbed the lock on the door. He pulled out his necklace that had been tucked under his shirt and unlocked the padlock. The door creaked open with a hard shove. 

Dakota slipped inside first, leaving Logan outside. Logan stood there for a moment, peering into the shed as if something else was going to come out and eat him. But when nothing happened, he swallowed down his fear and stepped inside.

The first thing he noticed was that it was clean. He’d expected dust, cobwebs, and lots of bugs. Though the floor wasn’t in the best of shape, it had been swept and maintained to his surprise. Even more surprising were that the windows hadn’t been broken. On further inspection, he realized that the windows were all different like someone had replaced them with random ones. 

His eyes jumped from the windows to the sheets covering what he could only guess were canvases. His heart sped up as he continued to look around and found a large desk covered in art supplies. Tubes of paint, brushes, pallets covered in paint, and an apron draped over the back of a wooden chair. Closer to the windows was an easel and a stool. The sunlight streaming through the windows landed perfectly on the easel. 

It was better than his imagination. Better than the idea of what he thought Dakota’s room looked like. Secluded from the rest of the world, it only made sense that Dakota would need this place to let his creativity flow.

Dakota dropped his bag on the ground next to the desk. He placed his sketchbook next to the paint pallets. 

“Strip.”

Logan whipped his head toward Dakota. “What?”

Dakota grabbed the apron and slipped it over his head. He nodded toward Logan. “Take your shirt off. You’ll get paint on it.”

Logan looked down at his t-shirt with a dumb tractor logo on it. “Uh. It’s fine.”

He was not going to take his shirt off in front of Dakota. That just felt…wrong.

Dakota shrugged. “Do you know anything about painting?”

Logan scratched his face. “You smear it on a canvas?”

For a brief second, he thought he saw Dakota’s mouth twitch, but Dakota turned toward the desk and started grabbing brushes. 

“Today we’ll go over supplies. Grab one of the smaller canvases.”

Logan assumed they were under the fabric tarp. He lifted the edge and searched for one of the smallest canvases. 

Angels. Hundreds of them. They were all looking at Logan, wondering why he was disturbing their slumber. He fumbled as he grabbed the nearest canvas—a half-finished landscape—and jumped back like he’d been bitten by a snake.

Dakota saw the whole thing. He raised a brow when Logan came back with the canvas. 

“You—uh—really like angels.”

The tips of Dakota’s ears turned red. He lowered his gaze to the brushes in his hands. “They’re like humans. But better.”

He took the canvas from Logan and placed it on the easel. “Sit.”

Logan was handed the brushes as he went to sit on the stool. Dakota moved back to the desk, grabbed a palette, and squeezed some paint onto it.

“Do you not like humans?” Logan adopted a gentle tone. Not that he was talking to Dakota like a child, but he felt like this was the time to be quiet. Even without the angels right next to him, he felt like he was in a cathedral. 

Like god was watching him right now. 

“Is that surprising?” Dakota came back. “Take this.”

“How should I hold it?” Logan didn’t know if he should put his thumb in the hole or not. It felt awkward.

“It doesn’t matter. Set it on your lap if it’s hard to hold.”

Logan followed the suggestion. “It’s not surprising. You not liking humans. I don’t like them very much either.”

He gave a smile though it felt kind of forced. But not really? He did want to smile, but he didn’t know if he should when he was around Dakota. Again, it felt disrespectful. 

Logan was getting used to this unsettling sort of silence. It was different when he was alone. His thoughts occupied him well enough, but he found that when he was Dakota, he was easily distracted by him. 

Dakota opened his mouth then closed it. “We’ll start with this brush.”

He prodded one of the brushes with his finger. “Dip it lightly into the paint and give it a gentle stroke on the canvas.”

It was awkward having the palette on his lap, the brushes in one hand, and one in the other. He dipped the brush into the dark blue paint and, as Dakota said, stroked it gently across the canvas. 

The glide of the bristles was effortless. With a simple motion, he cut through the beautiful scenery that Dakota had painted. It felt horrible. 

“It’s ruined,” he whispered. 

Dakota dipped his finger into the paint and smudged it across the meadow of white little flowers. “Now it’s really ruined. Better?”

Logan turned his wide eyes up at Dakota. He couldn’t help that he gaped, feeling dismayed by how destructive that had seemed. 

Dakota raised his brows. “You’ve ruined far better paintings than this one. I’m giving you permission this time.”

And Dakota drove a stake through Logan’s heart with those words alone. He was still getting over the horrible feeling while Dakota had already moved on. 

“Pay attention to the types of strokes the brushes make. Also how bold they are. Different brushes can be used in a variety of way and aren’t mandated to certain techniques. The more you paint, the more you’ll discover the way in which you interpret their uses.”

Logan didn’t have a chance to catch his breath. He was already moving onto the next brush, listening attentively to what Dakota was saying. The information overloaded his brain, but in a good way. The more he completely gave his attention and focus, the more relaxed he became. The tension in his shoulders dissipated, the hard grip he had on the brushes lessened, and he stopped thinking about the outside world entirely.

Eventually, they made it through all the brushes. The sun had dipped and shadows impeded. The shed was too dark and soon, Logan wouldn’t be able to see the canvas. 

“You can go now,” Dakota said, taking the used brushes from Logan’s hand. 

Logan didn’t want to let go. His grip tightened for a second, then loosened when Dakota pulled again. The boy walked to the desk and cleaned the brushes with a bottle of water. 

“I’ll wait.”

Dakota stilled.

“I don’t need your protection outside of school.”

The way he said it, Logan almost thought the opposite. 

“That’s true,” Logan replied. The main threat was himself and his friends. 

He yawned and stretched his arms over his head. “This place is cool. Did your parents fix it up for you?”

One of the brushes dropped out of Dakota’s hands and clattered onto the table, splattering blue water on the floor. 

“No.”

“You did it yourself?” Logan looked at the shed with refueled admiration. “A skilled painter and a carpenter. Is there anything you can’t do?”

Dakota slammed the brushes onto the table and whirled around to face Logan. 

“Is this part of your plan? Are you actually fucking with me?”

Logan, bewildered, stuttered. “I didn’t—”

His words had been thoughtless. He was prodding open wounds. He kept forgetting that just the other day he’d just been another bully. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he quietly said. “I do think you’re amazing.”

It was strange how he could easily say these things when he hadn’t thought about them ever. He hadn’t even thought about Dakota once during those ten years of running away. Had this always been at the back of his mind? Is this how he truly felt all those years ago?

“How come you’re saying all this now?” Dakota asked. He was sincere and honest. He was almost begging for Logan to answer. 

Logan picked at his cuticles. “I don’t know. Maybe with graduation coming up I don’t want to leave this place with regrets. You know, maybe I’m just tired of being a shit person.”

The look on Dakota’s face was sad. Logan wished he hadn’t caused it. 

“I want to believe you.”

Those words hurt more than any fist.