The hardware store Mal needed was just a short distance away, but he wanted to make sure he had enough time to reach a larger store if necessary. He was on the hunt for spray paint, and the colors were straightforward, so he figured the local shop would have everything he needed. If he had to, he could always mix the paints on the fly.
“Okay, so it’s just letters for the company logo. The real challenge is that perfect shade of pink.”
In graffiti art, blending colors to achieve the desired hues and shades was essential. Artists often used a technique known as "can control," manipulating the pressure and angle of the spray paint to seamlessly mix colors directly on the surface they were painting. For example, to create the right pink, an artist might start with a base layer of white spray paint and gradually add red, layering until they reach the perfect intensity. By adjusting the distance and angle of the can and controlling the amount of paint applied, they could create custom shades and gradients effortlessly.
Some artists preferred pre-mixed paint colors or specialized paint markers, which offered a wider variety of hues without the hassle of mixing. However, for Mal, the joy lay in blending colors on the surface. It allowed for greater flexibility and creativity, resulting in unique and dynamic graffiti pieces.
This approach resonated with Mal. He loved immersing himself in the moment, connecting with his art in a way that felt authentic. To him, painting was akin to playing video games—an experience that allowed him to engage as both a spectator and a creator, feeling the art come alive in front of him.
“So, Mal,” Franco started, glancing around the room, “what do we need to do so you can paint in here? You can’t really spray anything with this ventilation, right?”
“Yeah, not unless we all want to pass out from the fumes. Got anywhere a bit more open?”
“Actually, yeah. We’ve got the atrium floor up top. It’s pretty unfinished, but there are these massive windows we could crack open. We could bring up some heat lights too.”
“The atrium?” Mal asked. “What do you use that for?”
“Sculpting mostly,” Franco chimed in, “but it’s perfect for what you need. There’s space, light, and no one's gonna mind a little mess.”
“Sounds like it’ll work. Let’s get this thing up there.”
“Alright, but the print’s huge. We’re gonna need someone else to help me carry it.” Kevin said offering.
They started rolling the large print carefully, the vinyl crackling as they moved. The size made it unwieldy, but with Kevin and Franco working together, they managed to bundle it up. It was heavy, much heavier than they expected, and they took turns hefting it as they made their way upstairs.
Once in the atrium, they set the print down and began setting up sawhorses. Mal grabbed a couple of art easels from the corner, positioning them in place to pin the print up securely. He worked quickly, his focus already shifting toward the job at hand. His thoughts raced.
I can’t mess this up. This has to be good, better than good. They’re watching me now—gotta prove I’m the real deal.
As they set everything in place, Enrique worked on getting the heat lights ready. Momo appeared a few minutes later. “Where can I help?” he asked.
“Go with Enrique to grab more lights,” Mal said, waving him off. “We’ll need at least three.”
Momo nodded, and the two disappeared, only to return a few minutes later with the extra lights. The group finished setting up, pulling wires and plugging everything in.
“Alright,” Enrique said, stepping back to admire the setup. “That should do it. We’ll let you get to it.”
“Yeah, and if you need anything, hit us up. All our numbers are in the student portal. We’re just a text away.”
Mal nodded, appreciating the gesture but eager to start working. “Thanks. I’ll be good up here.”
They lingered a bit longer, chatting about classes and the project, but eventually, Momo glanced at his watch and sighed. “I’ve gotta get to my shift at the convenience store soon.”
“Here—” Mal tossed the keys to his SUV into the air. “Take my ride. I’ll have Sumi or Riko grab me when I’m done.”
“You sure?” Momo asked catching the keys mid-air. “I can come back when I’m done I only work until 10, and I know your dumbass’ll still be here when I’m done.”
Mal shrugged. “Nah, you’re good, just come get me in the am.”
“Cool,” Momo nodded, slipping the keys into his pocket and heading out.
As the door closed behind them, Mal turned back to the massive canvas in front of him.
Alright, time to prove it. No more messing around. He flicked on the heat lights, grabbed his mask, and prepped his spray cans. There was no turning back now.
The concrete walls and floor were bare, reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights overhead. The room, designed as a controlled space was devoid of decoration, its sole purpose evident in the array of sawhorses set up to hold various pieces of clay and paints.
Mal had arranged the large section of the banner sideways on the sawhorses, creating the appearance of a wall. With his spray paint cans and supplies spread out around him, he settled into a folding chair, his MP3 player providing a steady stream of music through his headphones. As he meticulously worked on adjusting colors, his thoughts began to drift.
This place is so clinical, he mused, but at least it’s quiet. I just need to get these colors right. He knew the pressure was on, and every drop of paint had to be perfect to salvage the banner and meet the tight deadline.
PG.09A
Mal had carefully covered the majority of the logo with newspaper cutouts, creating a makeshift barrier that allowed him to focus on the center of the letters without distraction. The crinkled paper lay flat against the vinyl, shielding the surrounding areas from accidental splatters and giving him a clearer view of the intricate details he wanted to perfect first. He found it easier to concentrate on the core of the design this way, ensuring that each stroke of paint was precise and vibrant, setting the stage for the bold statement he intended to make. He was lost in the music streaming through his headphones, his mind racing with thoughts of impressing Nezami. He imagined her reaction to his artwork, picturing the way her eyes might light up when she saw the vibrant colors come to life on the vinyl. Would she think it was cool? The prospect sent a thrill through him, and he found himself almost secretly lip-syncing the lyrics to an imaginary vision of her, his body swaying to the rhythm as he painted.
“Nez is gonna be super happy. This looks freaking awesome so far. Dude, you're a rock star,” Franco said as he strolled into the room, a wide grin on his face.
Mal, who had been hunched over, quickly took off his headphones, which he'd kept low enough so he could still hear if anyone came in. He hated being caught off guard, especially when he was deep in concentration… or lip-syncing. The door to the open-air studio creaked loudly enough on its own, but still, better safe than sorry.
"Thanks, man. I appreciate it. Glad I could help. Plus, it's for Nova, he’s a homie, so there’s no way I was gonna half-ass this for him."
"I mean, seriously, though. You crushed it. Nez is gonna lose her mind when she sees this."
Mal smirked, running a hand through his hair. "Well, hopefully, the rest works out, this is just the lettering centers I still need to fade it into the background and make the whole scene fit.”
"Yeah, I totally get it.”
Mal gave a little shrug. "I just hope Nez likes it too. She seems like kind of a perfectionist."
Franco laughed. "Dude, if she doesn't like it, then there's no pleasing her. But come on, it’s Nez. She’s not as intense as people think."
"You say that, but I’ve had her look at my sketches like they were criminal offenses."
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
"Fair point. But hey, she’s got high standards because she’s that good. You wouldn’t want it any other way, right?" Franco chuckled.
Mal thought about it for a second. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Keeps me on my toes."
"Exactly. If anyone can handle her feedback, it’s you."
Before Mal could respond, Enrique stepped into the room, his voice filled with admiration. "Finished or not, that already looks fantastic, bro. I’m seriously impressed."
"You think so? It’s okay?" Mal asked, glancing over his work, still unsure.
"It looks great! Those letters came out perfect, man. You nailed it," Enrique said, nodding with approval.
"Glad to hear it," Mal replied, relieved. "I think we should get some fans running overnight, though. It'll help clear out the extra dust from the spray paint."
"Yeah, no problem. I’ll go grab the fans," Enrique offered.
Franco, checking the time on his phone, added, "You need any more light or a heater? I’m heading out soon. My brothers have a game tonight."
Mal’s eyes widened. "Wait, what time is it?"
"It’s after five. You’ve been at it for hours," Franco said, chuckling.
"Feels like I’ve been in a time bubble," Mal muttered, realizing how long he’d been working. He quickly pulled out his phone to text his sisters, letting them know he’d be home later than usual.
The fans hummed quietly in the background, circulating air to clear out the lingering paint fumes. Mal stood back, admiring the mural he had worked so hard on. The vibrant colors popped against the wall, and the intricate lettering he'd spent hours perfecting now glowed under the dimming overhead lights.
Mal stood in front of the mural, carefully inspecting the dried center. It had come out perfectly, and now it was time to move on to the outer layer of the logo. He grabbed a roll of tape from the table near the open windows, where piles of newspapers waited to be used as covers. He wore headphones, but the music from Social Distortion was cranked so loud that anyone walking by could hear the faint echoes of it floating across the quiet campus.
Every time he returned to the table to grab more tape or newspapers, he paused, gazing out over the quiet grounds like he was taking in the adoration of a cheering audience. With the evening sky dimming to twilight, the campus felt almost dreamlike, the perfect backdrop for his imagined concert. He could see the distant streetlights flicker, like lighters illuminating his imaginary performance.
As he worked, Mal found himself pacing back and forth between the mural and the table, every few steps turning into an impromptu performance. His lips moved silently to the gritty lyrics of “Cold Feelings,” his hand instinctively lifting like he was gripping a microphone. The atrium became his stage, the empty campus below his imagined crowd. He stood tall, chest out, channeling the energy of a rock star playing to thousands.
Mal lip-synced with fierce determination, his body swaying in time with the beat, occasionally throwing a glance upward to the reflection of himself in the glass. He smirked—caught up in the absurdity of the moment. The music was still thumping in his ears, but to anyone else, it was just a low, pulsing hum carried by the wind.
With a playful grin, he stepped back toward the mural, still riding the high of his imaginary performance.
Does she even likes this kind of music? he wondered, a grin creeping onto his face as he imagined them sharing a laugh over his spontaneous dance moves.
The vibrant colors began to take shape, blending seamlessly as he poured every ounce of his focus into the project. He was so engrossed in his thoughts—and the music—that he didn’t even notice Nezami standing a few feet behind him, holding a plastic bag.
Nezami watched Mal with amusement for quite a while. She didn’t want to startle him; she understood how immersed someone could become in their art. She didn’t want to risk him ruining the crucial project he was working on for her. But more so she wanted to let him finish whatever song he was so joyfully singing. Taking a moment to appreciate the dedication and passion he poured into his work, she couldn’t help but smile at his unexpected dance moves.
What a dork she thought to herself. A cute dork, but all the same
After a few more minutes of observing and enjoying the show he was unknowingly putting on for her, she cleared her throat softly, hoping to get his attention without alarming him. When that didn’t work, she took a step closer and raised her voice just enough to be heard over his headphones.
“Mal,” she called, her voice gentle yet teasing.
He didn’t hear her at first, still lost in his thoughts and the music. Nezami took another step forward, waving the plastic bag slightly in his line of sight.
“Mal!” she called again, a bit louder this time.
Finally, Mal turned, startled to see Nezami standing there. He quickly pulled off his headphones, the music still faintly audible as he let them rest around his neck.
“Oh, hey! Sorry, I didn’t see you there,” Mal said, a bit flustered. “I was just…um…working…”
“Mmmmhmmm yes I can see that,” she said smiling and holding up the plastic bag with a playful glint in her eye. “I ran into Momo earlier, and he mentioned you love this noodle place and would be hungry. So, I thought I’d bring you something to eat as a thanks and a sorry for being a bit of an ass earlier.”
she asked Mom about what I like to eat. He smiled inside, but his eyes lit up as he glanced at the logo on the plastic bag.
"You know, this is actually my favorite noodle place. I go there all the time."
“I just picked it because Momo said you liked noodles. He seemed really enthusiastic about it.”
“Yeah, their ramen is amazing. You should definitely try it,” Mal replied, still a bit amazed by her thoughtfulness.
To his surprise, Nezami looked around and then sat down on the tarp nearby. It was dirty and covered in paint dust, yet she settled down without a second thought, her good clothes brushing against the paint-dusted surface.
Wow, she’s really down to earth, Mal thought, “sitting on a filthy tarp just to hang out with me. Who would’ve thought?
Nezami opened the bag and took out two containers, handing one to Mal. “I got one for myself too, so it better be good,” she said playfully, a smirk on her lips.
Mal took the container, grinning. “You’re gonna love this. The miso ramen is fantastic.”
Nezami’s expression was earnest as she glanced at Mal. “Hey, I just wanted to say... I’m sorry for not giving you enough credit for your art. I didn’t realize how talented you are.”
Mal shrugged, a grin creeping onto his face. “It’s no big deal. I get it; I’m not exactly the first person people think of when they hear ‘artist.’”
“But you should be,” she countered, “I mean, look at this! You’re practically making magic happen with those spray cans.”
He chuckled, a warmth spreading through him. “Well, I’m just glad I finally have the chance to prove it to you.”
It was awkward, but not enough for him to care. He knew she had just witnessed him transforming into Mike Ness…
It was the fumes, ya…ya that was it… you’ll forget all of this tomorrow. He smiled to himself.
They both started eating, the rich aroma of the noodles filling the air. Nezami took a bite and her eyes widened in delight. "Wow, this is sooo good! I can't believe I’ve never tried this place before."
“Told you. It’s the best in town,” Mal replied, savoring his noodles, his heart racing as he caught her eye.
“You know, I could get used to this,” Mal continued “Me painting and you bringing you food. It’s almost like a date.”
Nezami felt her cheeks heat up at his words.
“Yeah? Don’t get too ahead of yourself, but, I’d say this is definitely the best date I’ve had in a while,” she shot back, a playful glint in her eye.
“Well, you clearly aren’t dating the right dudes then.”
“I think that might be the understatement of the year, and for sure no dates that would have my art and project as the most important thing.” She responded nodding toward the mostly covered banner he was working on.
Mal shrugged, feeling a flush rise to his cheeks. “It’s important to me to get it right. Especially for you.”
What the hell did I just say? He felt heat creeping up his neck.
They shared a nervous laugh, the playful banter easing the tension that had been building between them. Nezami leaned back, taking another bite, her eyes never leaving Mal's.
“You know, you might be onto something,” she mused, twirling a noodle around her chopsticks. “If all dates involved watching someone painting, eating ramen, and in the solace of an art atrium, I’d say it’s pretty perfect.”
Mal grinned, resting his chopsticks on the edge of the container. “You’re not wrong. I mean, if this is what working on art projects together is like, I might have to start making it a regular thing.”
Nezami’s lips curled into a smirk. “So, are you saying I should keep bringing you food, or is that just your way of asking me out for another round of ramen?”
His heart skipped a beat, but he quickly recovered, leaning in a little closer. “Depends. Are you gonna keep pretending like you’re just bringing me food for the art? Or are we finally admitting this feels like more than just ‘art’?”
She met his gaze, the playfulness in her expression softening slightly. “Maybe I’m not just here for the art. But I guess you’ll have to keep impressing me to find out.”
Mal’s smile widened, the air between them charged with something unspoken, yet undeniable.
“Challenge accepted.”
Nezami stretched as she stood, glancing at the half-finished banner and then back at Mal.
“I should probably head home. I’ve still got a ton to prep for tomorrow.” She fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve before awkwardly clearing her throat.
“But, um… just in case you run into any problems, could you, you know, call or text me?”
Her voice trembled slightly, betraying the calm she was trying to maintain. She quickly extended her phone toward him, her hand shaking just a little.
Noticing the hint of hesitation in her voice, Mal smiled and gestured toward his phone resting at the edge of the table.
"Hey, why don’t we just exchange contacts? It’ll save me from messing around with these paint-covered hands," he chuckled, nodding at the phone. "No lock screen or anything—feel free to add yourself."
Nezami moved closer, her heart pounding as she picked up his phone. Holding their phones together, she added her contact, feeling the tension in the air rise. She hesitated for a moment before stepping back, biting her lip.
“There. You’re all set,” she said, forcing a small smile, though the heat rising in her cheeks was giving her away.
“Anyway, these fumes are starting to give me a headache…” She trailed off, knowing it was just an excuse for the nerves that had suddenly spiked.
Mal chuckled, glancing around the room. “Yeah, these fumes’ll mess you up. My sisters like to say that’s why I’m the way I am.” He shot her a playful look.
Nezami let out a genuine laugh, the tension breaking for a moment. “Well, I’ll leave you to get more brain damage then… and back to your concert” she teased, backing toward the door.
“Yeah, I figured you saw that… I was kind of hoping you didn’t”
“You could be a rockstar so don’t be embarrassed.”
“Appreciate it,” Mal replied with a grin, watching her retreat. “And, hey, if I mess up, you’ll be the first one I call.”
Nezami paused at the door, smiling over her shoulder. “You better. Just don’t ruin that banner before I see it again.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he called after her, his heart racing as the door clicked shut behind her.
For a few moments, the room felt quieter, the only sound was his headphones still playing music. Mal looked down at his phone, her name now saved in his contacts.
“Nez (heart)”
He couldn’t help but smile.