Staring disappointedly at the freshly painted canvas, Rapunzel keeps on coming back to one conclusion.

Everything is wrong.

There are colours in the wrong place and gaps where there shouldn't be and shapes that don't match and it's all just so wrong.

She has been at this for hours now and somehow this attempt looks even worse than those that came before - the ones that are now lying on the wooden floor around her abandoned. In this attempt, a different brush was used with the intention of improving the flow of the strokes, making them softer, a little more delicate. But it's quite clear now, as she stares at the result, that that little detail did absolutely nothing.

She has been told a countless number of times in class that art gets better with time and that first attempts are always disasters and yet, in this case, things actually seem to be depleting. Almost as if with every fresh canvas she begins, she loses another fundamental art skill. This time around: the ability to hold a paintbrush apparently.

The quickly growing shadow on the canvas lets her know that the sun is starting to disappear for the day and that is a good indication as any to Rapunzel that she's been agonizing over this painting for far too long. The campus outside has now thinned out to only a few lonely stragglers, the professors have all retired for the day and a sharp cramp in her left wrist has quite dramatically taken shape. All signs screaming at her to call it quits.

That is except from the four blank canvases in the middle of the room staring her down, haunting her more like, ridiculing her even. And as the quiet moment's pass, she swears she can actually hear them whispering.

Give up Rapunzel.

You've already failed Rapunzel.

You have nothing left to give Rapunzel.

And when you have three inanimate objects literally talking to you, there is only one option left at this point and that is to believe them.

So she does. She fully accepts that only three weeks into her final year of college she's already failed miserably.

But the thing that is most frustrating about all of this is that Rapunzel is usually pretty good at coming up with ideas, in fact, most of the time she doesn't even need to think about what it is she's going to create. It just happens. One minute she is sat with a clean paintbrush in hand and the next she finds the walls themselves coated in colours and patterns she didn't even know she was creating. Art just flows out of her.

So why was this project giving her so much damn trouble?

Aggravation swarming her, she throws out her free hand, swiping it across the canvas and sends uncomplete work number 13 crashing down to where it belongs - on the dirty floor with the other disasters.

"Lashing out like that isn't going to get it done any quicker."

She's startled slightly at the voice coming from behind her, so lost in her own frustration that she had completely forgotten for a second that she wasn't alone.

Stupid canvases and their stupid distracting taunts.

Letting out a muffled curse under her breath, she flings her too clean brush onto the floor and spins quickly to face her judgemental roommate, finger pointing at her accusingly.

"That is not helping Cass".

Sitting crossed legged on top of one of the paint-stained tables, Cassandra lifts up her last reaming orange slice and pops it into her mouth seemingly unphased by her friend's struggles. If anything, Rapunzel is a little surprised that she's still here.

"You never asked for my help Raps. You said you wanted company." Her hand waves dramatically in a circle around herself. "I'm the company." It's said so smugly that Rapunzel has every intention of giving her the same treatment she just gave to uncomplete work number 13.

"Yes, company, not a judgemental commentary." Rapunzel snaps back, picking up the closest wet rag on the floor and launching it in her friend's direction.

The squelching sound it makes when it collides with the side of Cassandra's face is priceless.

Her facial expression, however, is not and Rapunzel would pay any amount of money right now to avoid the truly pissed off glare she's receiving. The glare that grows even more furious as Cass slaps the cloth onto the table and snatches up the plastic cup beside her, shaking it vigorously in Rapunzel's direction.

"If you insist on limiting me to one coffee during this company thing I suggest you don't try that again."

Rapunzel rolls her eyes at that, bounces towards the table and grips Cass firmly by the chin, swinging her head back and forth lightly. When she speaks her voice is oozing complete and utter sweetness. "Did grumpy Cass not get what she wanted". She throws a pout in there just for fun.

Right on cue, her cooing hands are promptly smacked away by Cassandra's fighting ones and she fully knows she's going to feel the sting later on. But right now she is far too amused with how disgusted her friend looks.

"Did you not just hear my warning?".

Oh, she did, loud and clear, but she's not worried at all.

It's one of the things she loves most about Cassandra, something she discovered pretty early on in their roommate journey. She comes across all vicious and guarded to anyone on the outside, but when it comes to Rapunzel she's nothing but a big softie. Sure there are moments where she squirms and bites and even hisses - quite literally - yet she is undoubtedly the best friend that Rapunzel has ever had. The list may have already started off quite limited but even if there were hundreds of names on that list, this girl would still soar right to the top.

Smile still wide on her face, she reaches out to snatch up the coffee cup and is not surprised in the slightest when Cass lets her, despite only seconds earlier complaining about how little she has had today.

"I'm just trying to avoid another sparring incident" she utters calmy taking a few sips of the far too bitter coffee.

Cass' eyes narrow but a smirk is finally starting to take shape on her lips. "That was an accident and you know it".

"You broke off the leg of an easel and threw it across the room like a javelin."

"Hey!" she calls and Rapunzel swears she can hear a hint of laughter in her voice "I knocked over that statue you hated didn't I? So don't say I never do anything for you."

She's right about that. The wooden spear she sent flying crashed into the centuries-old statue that stood in the corner of the workshop and caused it to shatter into a million pieces. It was beyond hideous and for weeks the whole class kept giving their thanks to Rapunzel for its destruction, but she will never let Cass know that.

Another sigh escapes her lips, it's more defeated this time than anything else and she can't help but smile sadly when she feels Cass' hands land on her shoulders. The much needed calming sensation attracts all her focus that she barely registers her body being turned back around to face the abandoned easels.

In the few minutes of space she's had from the painting it appears to have become even worse.

"Rapunzel" Cassandra begins keeping her voice as quiet as the world around them "do you know what I see when I look at these paintings?"

Honestly, she doesn't know if Cass is actually expecting an answer or is just saying it rhetorically, but she gives a slight shrug of her shoulders just for good measure. She's too defeated to answer verbally anyway.

"I see a work in progress. You've been at this for hours now Raps and I refuse to accept you giving up after all that effort." There's a slight falter in her voice when she jumps up from the table and soon enough is striding past Rapunzel to gather up her materials.

All Rapunzel can do is watch dumbfounded as her friend zooms around the room collecting all the discarded pens and sketchbooks and everything else she threw across the room in her frustration. Most of them landed on the far end of the studio and it shows in Cassandra's face as she returns with two new red splotches on her cheeks. Or maybe its how she's expressing her own frustration because the way she thrusts the supplies into Rapunzel's arms lets her know she's done with the friendly speeches.

"Get off your ass, stop feeling sorry for yourself and go find some inspiration. You are not trapped in here, Rapunzel."

She takes a pause only to move Rapunzel once again, this time pointing her towards the door, and gives her a hearty nudge in the direction of the exit. "You're always telling me that art is a way to express life so get out there and live it. Who knows what you will find."

Seriously, the best friend she's ever had.

Turning her head slightly to peer in Cass' direction, she gives her the widest smile she can muster. "Careful there Cass, you're soft side is showing."

A solid glare and a warning are what she gets in return as she makes her way out the door. "One coffee Raps, one coffee."

.

.

.

.

It takes her exactly four seconds before she realises that she made a huge mistake.

No matter how quiet she had assumed the campus was earlier on, her conclusion of everyone going home was largely misguided. The very first thing she notices when she walks into the library, the only one on this side of the campus, are the large numbers of people.

There are people everywhere.

People crammed onto tables, people squashed into the rows of books, people quite literally jumping on others to snatch up any newly available computer. She can't help but laugh to herself a little as she passes a poster on her way to the back of the library, bold black letters yelling about a campus party tonight. The thought of an empty frat house due to everyone cramming in their last-minute essays is actually quite amusing.

Despite her footfalls being heavy and a little on the clumsy side due to the load Cassandra dumped on her earlier, no one really pays her any attention. Not even the blonde girl she nearly squashes as one of her sketchbooks lets itself loose from her pile and lands directly in the girl's lap. She seems far too interested in the French book she has open on the floor to notice she was almost just murdered. Rapunzel offers up a shy smile anyway and a quick apology before rushing off and disappearing from sight.

She continues to make her way through each section, managing to weave her way past students and delving deeper into the depths of dusty books. Thankfully though, the loud noises of all the fussing seem to fade away the closer she gets to the section that is all things art.

It's no secret that the creative programmes are the least popular at this college, but at times like this, she really isn't complaining. Especially not when she turns into the fine art aisle and finds that there is nothing down here but her and the books.

Well, not completely nothing, because it seems someone else had the same idea as her.

Tucked away at the far end of the row is a brown-haired boy, delving deeply into a worn out book, chewing on his thumbnail as his eyes flicker over the page frantically.

Oh and he's built himself a book fort. A literal fort.

It's about eight books high and six wide, encasing the boy almost entirely and leaving him only exposed from the chest up. It's almost as if he was so afraid of the real world interfering with his story that he just decided to make himself a shield. She can't lie and say that that's not just a little impressive.

By now, all of her attention is on the boy and there's nothing else she can do but simply stand there and study him. It may be the weirdest observation she has ever had, but the first thing she notices about him is his jawline.

Of course, she is very much aware that it's a crazy thing to notice about a person you literally just saw for the first time, but there's something about it that she can't stop staring at. It's shaped in an oddly specific way, slightly crooked to the left side but done with absolute precision that everything else lines up perfectly. All the angles connecting together yet getting there in their own unique way.

Her eyes drag down his skin slowly and across the rounded bump of his chin and all of sudden she's seeing colours. Blues to be exact. Turquoise, teal, sapphire, navy and just about every other shade that comes in between. They're swiping up his jaw and swirling on his chin and dotting down his neck, filling every gap and blooming into patterns she's never even thought of. It's almost overwhelming - all this imagery hitting her all at once.

And the moment her eyes meet his she feels like she drowning. She's lost in swirls of brown and occupied with counting all the individual flecks she can see reflecting off the light hanging above him. Almost too lost it seems, because when the eyes she's so shamelessly ogling grow wide she registers it just a second too late.

The boy no longer looks comfortable and serene as he was just a minute ago, slamming his book closed instantly and jumping, quite vigorously, up from his spot on the floor. The fort loses a couple of books off the top and Rapunzel feels a little guilty for being the cause of the destruction of his hard work. He doesn't seem to mind too much though as his hand flies to the back of his neck, scratching awkwardly, and he becomes far too occupied with being embarrassed.

It's actually sort of cute.

His mouth opens and closes several times without any words escaping and damn it she's looking at his jaw again. The fight she has to have with her eyes to stop them from focusing there again must have looked comical to anyone on the outside.

But since she is the cause of this whole mess, it's now her responsibility to fix it in any way that she can.

A smile lifts on her lips and she's trying the very best she can to focus her brain anywhere but on the boy himself. So she lowers her eyes back onto the floor and points towards the spot by his feet. "Is that a fort?"

If her voice comes out a little too high to be casual he doesn't mention it.

Whatever she was intending to do with that question fails miserably anyway as his eyes fly open wider when he turns to look at the now crumbling fort and she can't really tell if he's upset by the fort destruction or flustered by the awkward situation. Maybe it's both.

He keeps his hand up in his hair as he speaks. "Um...yeah."

A brief pause.

A question asked in return.

"Is that a sketchbook?"

Another answer.

"Yes".

And then complete silence.

Right now she wishes that she was back in the hustle of the main room of the library, giving her plenty of people to escape into and judging by the look now haunting the boy in front of her, she would guess he is thinking the same thing. Once again his mouth is opening and closing but he's fighting a losing battle as still no words seem to make an appearance.

That is until all of a sudden he starts moving, fumbling more like it, to pick up as many books as he can manage without any turning into murder weapons like hers did earlier. When he's sure that the pile is safe, he's snatching up his brown bag resting against one of the shelves and swings it over his shoulder as he rushes up to Rapunzel, stopping abruptly by her side.

That may have been a big mistake on his part because all her attention his right back on his eyes. Eyes that are this time staring right back at her.

"I'm sorry" he mumbles into the quiet stalls keeping his eyes searching hers as his shoulders pull up into a small shrug "about the fort."

Her mouth is opening before she has time to even register what she's saying. "I thought it was impressive."

As the boy brightens up into widest smile she's ever seen, she knows that that was exactly the right thing to say. He nods a few times, one to Rapunzel and twice to himself, before rushing off and stopping once more to pivot in her direction. His hand flies up in the air almost as if it was his body itself reminding him he there was something he forgot to do.

"I'm Eugene." He says it a little out of breath and eagerly as if he really needs to be somewhere else right now.

"Rapunzel" she calls back quickly before he's giving her another shy smile and disappearing completely around the corner.

She stares at the now empty space expecting him to return and when he doesn't she takes a second to wrap her head around what just happened, what it was exactly she had just experienced.

It doesn't hit her when she flipping through art books sitting in the remainder of the boy's fort. It doesn't come when she returns home and tells Cass all about the interaction in the library. Nothing happens when she's mindlessly scrolling through social media to see if she can come across any hint of him.

It hits her almost a week later when after, yet another, long session in the art studio she finds her sketchbooks and canvases filled with sharp jaws and brown eyes.

Her inspiration isn't art books and scenery and life as Cassandra had put it.

It's him.