Chapter 3

It was a Sunday, the Sunday. The one in which Frank, Pencil and Octavia were to meet up and go tagging. Man, they hadn't done a piece together since forever- well, not forever, but it had been months. Pencil had a bunch of tests and homework the first few months, and then when he was available: it was Frank who was to the neck in tests and short deadlines.

But not that day: that day they made sure the whole gang (the three of them) was able to get together and go tagging.

With the stencils rolled and in Pencil's backpack, him and Frank met up two blocks away from the shop they were supposed to tag. Frank's own bag held a bunch of spray cans as well as the stencil that held his logo on it. The three of them had a stencil of their own, so they could sign their pieces without really being caught.

Frank was quite nervous, as well as excited, because he had never tagged in such a vulnerable place. He mostly did his art in dumpsters or abandoned buildings that were very far from the centre of the city. He had been okay with tagging the containers they were supposed to use, the ones which Octavia had reassured them would be there for weeks; but she had been wrong, and the huge metal containers were long gone the very next day they had planned on going. So, as a last minute decision, they chose this shop.

It wasn't in the centre of town or anything fancy, but it sure was way more in the open than Frank was used to.

The shop was a small little cement lot with very little light and even less customers. Frank was told it was a library/art shop, which was an odd combination, but kind of worked, since bookworms tended to be into art as well. Frank himself proved the statement: a nerd who loved to read and comics, as well as being extremely interested in art. Not like he drew or wanted a career based on art or anything, he knew he couldn't professionally draw or tag for the rest of his life.

But he enjoyed tagging and would enjoy it for as long as he could.

Even if he would never do art as a profession, he couldn't stand people who disliked art. Frank understood not everyone was good at art, and that was okay, he wasn't an excellent artist, per se, but he despised those people who didn't understand how deep a piece could be, how much emotion had to be put into one for it to be truly art. Those people who called tagging a 'crime' and didn't actually see it for what it was: it was beautiful, an anonymous way of expressing your feelings with a stencil and a spray can. A way of showing your art without claiming it was yours.

He preferred to surround himself with people who were as involved in art as he was, like Octavia and Pencil.

That was another reason why he didn't really like hanging out with the kids of his school outside of it: he knew none of them as passionate about art as he did, that no one shared his views or realized how much meaning there truly was behind a simple drawing or sketch or an abstract painting.

In fact, when he himself had discovered he wasn't totally straight, completely heterosexual, he felt his hands itch with the need to work on a piece, to show the world how he felt about this, he wanted to splatter paint into a canvas and turn it into his emotions. He wanted to put how confused he was about his sexuality into a blank page and transform it into the mess that was his thoughts.

With that in mind, he had gone to the closest art shop and bought a medium sized canvas as well as a few paints, since he already had brushes at home. He painted anger, he painted confusion, he painted relief, he painted everything that he had went through, how frustrated he was at the lack of a label he found for himself and what he was, yet how glad he was that he had come to terms with the fact that he liked boys, girls, and a few in between.

After the canvas had been finished, he sat down to examine it.

The picture now hung above his headboard, but a new one was set next to it. This last one he had made a few weeks after the first one, and it was when he had accepted and realized that not everything needed a label, that he could be what he wanted to be without needing something to name himself and his sexuality after. In this last one, he had painted freedom, happiness, and sex.

That was one of the few times he worked with canvases, because he preferred tagging, as expected.

No one truly understood what those two paintings meant, what they meant to him, but that was okay. Frank had made them for himself and no one else, and although he did explain them to Pencil and Octavia (and they both thought the drawings were badass and amazing), he liked having those pieces made by himself, for himself and about himself.

"I'm here, fuckers, we gonna do this or not?" A voice said from next to where Frank was leaning against the wired fence. Octavia grinned at them, a bandana tied around her neck to later cover her mouth so the fumes wouldn't get into her mouth and nose.

"Hell yeah," Frank said, grabbing his forgotten bag from the ground and pulling his hood up to cover his face as they walked the three or four walks that separated them from this library/art shop.

As they walked, they truly looked like a group of gang members or some shit: the three of them were dressed in all black, from head to toe, blending in with the night sky as they made their way through silent streets. Frank and Octavia had their hoods pulled up, and Pencil had his usual black beanie covering his brown hair. The three of them now had their bandanas pushed up on their faces so the material covered their noses and lips, only their eyes visible to the light of the moon and shitty streetlights.

Since the shop was only a few seconds away, they arrived there almost instantly, and were relieved to find the shop closed, complete with its blinds pulled down and its' lights off.

The three of them made their way to the side of the shop, where a convenient alley was stretched, thin but enough to conceal them from the glaring light provided by the street lights.

"Stencil one?" Octavia quietly asked no one in particular as they all laid our three bags on the dirty floor, the sound of zippers echoing on the brick walls. Pencil unrolled the stencil Octavia asked for whilst Frank retrieved a red spray can from his Nike bag. As Pencil and he held down the edges of the white plastic, Octavia got to work on completely covering the shaped holes in the plastic. Next came the brown spray can, which Octavia got herself, as Frank and Pencil were still holding the plastic against the wall firmly.

Pencil pressed his bandana-covered mouth against the crook of his elbow as he coughed, and Frank guessed some paint fumes must've gotten through the sides of the cloth. That's okay though, they didn't really do damage to the lungs or other vital parts of your body unless you inhaled a heavy amount.

When Octavia's done shading the animal's form with the brown, she exchanged places with Frank, who tugged the material covering his mouth even higher, so it concealed his nose as well. Pencil and Octavia put away the stencil so they can unroll the one that would be used for the black lines that go around the colors. When that part is done too, Octavia and Pencil stood up, putting away the stencil's that will no longer be used, whilst Frank got the smallest piece of white plastic and pressed it against the animal's eye, using white to paint the evil glint in its' eye as well as its' tusks.

As he's doing that, Octavia managed to hold up the stencil to complete the figure that went in front of the finished animal, and Pencil was spraying the gaps in with blue.

Frank took his time to admire the animal. It was a boar, an angry boar, made with both red and brown, the fresh black paint glinting against the moonlight. The animal looked angry, furious, and its' position hinted that he was ready to attack, ready to pounce on a prey. The tusks looked menacing and dangerous. His fingers itched to run across the fresh paint, but he didn't want to ruin the drawing, so he restrained himself.

Instead, Frank took a look at what Octavia and Pencil were working on: it was a policeman, running away from the boar as if his life depended on it. And it really did.

The whole tag was decent-sized; you wouldn't miss it even if you were half-blind, and Frank was sure you would be able to see it even from the main street, there wasn't a need to be in the alley to take a look at the piece. The boar's size was about twice the policeman's, even though a real one wouldn't be as huge, but it was art, art didn't have any rules. The policeman was obviously running from the animal, hand on his ridiculous hat to preventing it from falling over, his short legs in the air to form a running position, much like the boar's.

As Frank was bending down to help Octavia hold up the next stencil, the one that would form the black outline of the security man, he knocked down a few cans with his knee, making a loud sound.

They all froze and looked at each other, the sound of their heartbeats and heavy breathing almost audible in the tight alleyway. For a few seconds, nothing happened, and as Frank was thinking that hey, maybe their asses were saved and they would all laugh about this when they were somewhere safe, a light turned on in the shop.

"Fuck," Pencil breathed, and all their eyes are now glued to the shop's wall, trying to listen for any sounds.

"You have to go," Frank whisper-shouted at both his friends, and before they started to protest, he continued, "I'll talk myself out of this one, you guys have to go, come on, there's no time. It was my fault, I might as well take the blame," He gulped, knowing it was the right thing to do, and praying to every God he knew the existence of that the owner of the shop wouldn't be an old bitter grandpa that would call the police on him.

The sound of careful, soft shuffling was heard from the shop, and Frank shot an exasperated look at his friends. Finally, Octavia seemed to give in, and pulled Pencil up by his arm, hauling him to his feet and dragging him out of the alleyway. Before disappearing, though, she mouthed a silent 'I love you', to Frank, which made him want to laugh.

Almost as if on cue, when they were out of sight and Frank was sure they were at least one block away, he heard a door swing open, as well as a small bell going off, like the ones shop have to alert the staff a customer had arrived.

"H-Hello?" A shaky voice said. "Uh, anyone there? I heard you?" The last statement came out sounding like a question, which amused Frank slightly. He also felt quite relieved, since the voice he had heard didn't sound like an old person's, it sounded like a young guy, though quite hesitant. But he wasn't about to come out of his hiding spot, if the guy went back inside without spotting Frank, he would pack up his shit and run away from there, which was honestly the best case scenario.

Watching his feet carefully, Frank slowly took a step back, hoping to be concealed with the shadows, his heart racing as he heard the man take a step as well.

Worst case scenario: he was caught and the police was involved.

"Hello?" The voice said once more, and even more footsteps were heard. Oh boy, Frank was fucking screwed. They seemed to be nearing the alley, though quite hesitantly. Frank shut his eyes as he saw the figure of a man step into his hiding place, and almost flinched when the man emitted a small gasp.

Fucking busted, Frank thought bitterly.

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i rlly like this chapter idk. guess who dis
I WANT AN ONESIE SO BAAD and they dont sell them here plus my mom would never buy me one i want the skeleton one :-(

i send love and shitty smut
-blue