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viviartsy · 20 hours

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Gassed Up: Ignition.

(Dubz fic)

Chapter 2: In which Dubz faces a gallery commotion.

Words: 2386.

Warnings: None that I can recall. I mean it's Dubz so like, that's the warning. If you see anything though please do let me know.

(There's no art for this one. So sorry, I'm extra busy)

He hadn’t expected to see her there, looking like the only thing he'd spend hours admiring in the whole damn place. But, to be fair, what did he know about art anyway?

Dubz wasn’t there to admire the exhibition pieces—well, the ones that should have been there. To him, it all resembled something kids would conjure up. Something they likely spent ten minutes on before dashing out to display, grinning toothlessly. They'd say something like “That’s you in a proper car!” before scampering off to paint on the walls or the floor.

No wonder people spent hours studying that sort of thing; there truly was no other way to decipher all that nonsense.

But her? Her, he could learn. He could see himself wasting time learning every sigh or breath from her lips, every single curve and dip of her body, every mole, and until the last lash, if need be.

The young man hadn’t realized he was staring at her, his eyes glued to her profile. She wasn’t wearing lip gloss that day, and she bit the skin off her lip as the man in front of her talked. Her eyes met his once, and Dubz snapped out of his trance.

“Fuck.” He rubbed his eyes under the protective glasses, fingers leaving a dark, soiled stain under each.

“She’s a pretty little thing, man. But nothing to lose your fingers over.” When Dubz looked at him, the big man offered him the welder he had been using. It was burning to the touch, and he realized the thing must have been on the whole time he had been looking at Noa. “Or your job.”

He almost struck him with an iron bar, one he could swear he had already welded against the bigger structure. It even had the little mark he had made on every piece he had already worked on.

“What the-?” Taking hold of the bar, he turned it around in his hand. “Are you sure this is mine, man? Swear to God I had put these together already.”

“Clearly not. You’re too busy looking at the missus there to put two and two together.” As he kept talking, Sam went back to sawing some wood they needed for the base of the tricky structure. “Know her?”

“She’s a neighbor.” He quickly confessed. “She lives next to Gladstone, down Dollis Hill. Her grandpa’s a friend. I’m not trying to catch a case, though.”

Sam barked a hearty laugh and shook his head, taking a quick look at the girl, who was still standing in the middle of the room, looking like she’d jump out of her own skin at any second.

“She’s about my daughter’s age, you bastard.” Sam kept laughing so hard, he had to drop the handsaw on the rusty bench. “The lady just looks like nothing you’ve ever gotten lucky with.”

Dubz raised his brow and put the plastic glasses down his nose. “Excuse me? And how would you know? I’m quite alright in my book.”

“In my book, if any of my girls got close to you, I’d be the one catching a case: manslaughter. So don’t get me started. Us fathers raise our girls so they don’t end up like their mothers.”

Dubz didn’t know if he should get offended. Sure, he knew he was not in the running for a woman like that, but being told off so harshly by a man like Sam wasn’t exactly his favorite thing. Either way, the man clearly could tell, as he added: “You’re a nice kid, Dubz. You’ll find someone great, God knows I did, but when you have children, you understand, there’s just nothing too good for your kids out there.”

He didn’t want the man’s pity. “Nah, mate. You’re right, nothing for me to do with girls like yours. They couldn’t keep up anyway.”

He winked an eye at Sam, and the man started cussing and huffing, talking about his mother and some other crap. Dubz simply went back to welding, so whatever he said, he wasn’t sure.

When the professor mentioned an expo, she wasn’t expecting this.

The place was massive, composed of three large halls with four white walls each. There was supposed to be a big metal structure in the center, taking the spotlight amid the amalgamation of paintings and a few smaller pieces.

The noise from the construction was deafening. Noa couldn’t hear her own thoughts over the clamor, let alone decipher what the posh, petulant man in front of her was trying to communicate. He gestured wildly, giving instructions that she suspected were meant for her to memorize. All she really wanted to do was to tell him she did not, in fact, work for him.

“I was thinking the first model could go right over there, so you can get a broader view of the finished product from any of its parts.”

“Sir…” Noa tried to draw his attention back to her.

“You see, my work is a lot harder to read, to understand, if you don’t know the steps. The hard work that was involved in getting to the final idea. To the finished product.” Noa’s voice failed her as she tried to call him again. “I think you probably studied about how, in most pieces, the process is always as, if not more, important than the end product itself. That’s why it is so important for me to showcase it.”

Noa could feel the anger running through her as the man kept talking. She had spent a long time going back and forth with her father and friends, to get to this point, to be able to show herself at the gallery, to own up to what she said she would do. She was fighting her hardest to not break down right then and there. Her chest felt heavy like someone was sitting on her, making it hard to breathe. Her mouth tasted like iron and she could feel sweat drip down the back of her neck.

She had it all planned out, she had gone over it over and over again. All she had to do was get ready in the morning, hop on the bus that would take her to the station. There she had to get on the tube, get down at the exact stop the professor had told her, use Maps, get inside the building, cross the hall and behind the door to the left, meet the art curator for the exposition. Then all that was left to do was to ask for the information she needed for the essay she had to deliver after the whole thing was over.

But of course, the man in front of her would just not shut up.

“That’s not my damn business!” she cried out loud.

The room fell silent, and the dread sank in so fast it left her feeling cold. Everyone was looking at her, she could not see them, but she could feel their stares, how once more she had made an utter fool of herself.

If her cheeks reddened or her eyes welled with burning tears, she could not tell. Damn this excuse of an artist and his noisy team, and the fact he thought the young woman would be the slightest bit interested in the work he put all these people to do for him. Like she was some flimsy assistant for him to underestimate and talk over.

“I just came in to check with the curator, if you’ll excuse me.” She walked past him, her head low, fists tight around her handbag.

The man would probably talk to the curator himself, if not directly to her tutor and the other professor in charge of the project. They would kick her out and it would affect her grades, if she was lucky; she’d lose her whole internship, if her luck ran its normal course. She’d be kicked out of the program. But no chance she was giving the bunch of men in the room, the chance to see her break down.

As soon as she got in the bathroom, she whimpered as she tried to take in a breath. The anxiety was eating her up from the inside, hands clammy as she fished the phone out of her bag and quickly searched for her father’s contact. The device beeped once, twice, three times, then six with no answer.

Someone knocked on the door and she jumped. She was so startled; she dropped her bag from her knees and all her stuff fell onto the floor around her.

“Love,” The voice behind the door almost felt sweet, but in her state, she could not tell. “You in there? Well, of course you are. You alright?”

She didn’t answer, unsure of who it was on the other side. Dubz knocked again, still trying to be as careful as possible. It felt like he would startle her. As far as he was concerned, she was one nervous little thing who would probably jump and run out the door at any given chance.

“I just wanted to check if you’re okay,” he fiddled with his fingers, picking at the skin around his nails. “I’m Dubz. I gave you back your keys the other day. Remember? I live up the street and, uh, yeah.”

She finished picking everything that was left on the floor in silence, before getting up and opening the door. Behind it was the same guy with the platinum hair and the quirky smirk. Only this time he was smiling down at her, and his eyes crinkled at the ends.

“Hey there,” he said, and he moved to the side to let her pass. He was big, or at least that’s what it felt like to her, almost covering the whole door from shoulder to shoulder. She looked at the tattoos on his arm, trying to avoid looking him in the eye again. “Feel any better?”

It was not hard to tell that she did not, in fact, feel any better. Her dark eyes looked around her, jumping from place to place, her lower lip was trembling, and he could tell by her cheeks alone how hard she was grinding her teeth.

"You're okay," Dubz insisted, his voice a reassuring anchor in the tumult of emotions swirling around Noa. "That guy left. Nothing else he had to do here, I guess."

Noa glanced down the small hall to where the man had been. She wanted nothing to do with him, yet it felt too awkward to remain next to the young man who had once again gone out of his way to help her.

She should thank him, shouldn’t she? She should probably be much more polite than she had been up to that point. Avoiding his gaze and not even acknowledging him as he kept talking, almost whispering, to her. He was being extremely nice, overly so, she didn’t understand why, but she could admit he was.

"Thank you," she mumbled, finally turning towards him and meeting his gaze.

They were blue.

"I told you, if you ever need a hand, you can ask." He let his hands fall down either side of his body, smiling at her. "Sometimes knowing someone around comes in handy."

They were the kind of blue that could easily go unnoticed. Warm, soft, and heavy-lidded. She couldn’t have known if he hadn’t been so close to her, not with the ceiling lights directly above their heads. His pupils covered a good amount of the blue, making them appear darker than they would’ve been under proper light. People with blue eyes tended to revel in sunlight, as if they were aware their eyes were the most desirable shade.

He looked like the kind of person who would have warm, honeydew eyes, yet the contrast of his light eyes against his slightly bronzed face made him appear kinder. It was as if he wasn’t aware of how captivating his eyes were, as they wrinkled at the ends while he smiled and the apples of his cheeks made them close almost to half their size.

He had the kind of eyes one could get lost in. The kind that she wouldn’t mind getting lost in.

Dubz chuckled, a mixture of flattery and embarrassment washing over him as he noticed her gaze, lips parted, breath still heavy, lost in her own thoughts. His laugh snapped her back to reality, causing her to look away and back to the end of the hall.

"I should talk to the curator," she mumbled, pointing awkwardly at the door in front of them.

The young man only nodded, clearing his throat, still a bit embarrassed by the situation. He stepped forward and knocked on the door for her. When the voice inside answered, Noa straightened her back, stealing a quick glance at him before opening the door herself.

She didn’t say anything else, stepping into the room as Dubz made sure not to get in her way by standing behind the open door. Once it closed, and the girl was securely inside, he let out a deep breath.

That had been far more nerve-wracking than it should have been. But he refused to dwell on it, to let his thoughts wander as they usually did if he allowed them to. Preferring to shake his head, as if that would shake his thoughts away, and return to work. To keep his hands busy, his mind blank.

Sam had a grin far too wide for Dubz’s liking as he watched him return. His beard was singed at the bottom, and he exuded an air of amusement, like he knew exactly what had transpired. Like he knew more than what had actually happened. Old man that he was, he reminded Dubz of a sailor in a tale, as if he was about to spear a great white whale.

"Keep your mouth shut," Dubz warned once he had settled back at his station.

"I didn’t say nothin'," the old man replied, utterly confident.

"I can hear you thinking."

The 'sailor' erupted into a hearty laugh, his laughter reverberating through the room as he grabbed his substantial belly and bent backwards, completely at ease. Dubz felt as though he had just skewered him, and the satisfaction of his victory washed over him.

Comments: Thank you to the few people that have been so sweet with me. I'm not sure if you mind being tagged, as I don't want to be a bother. But thank you, really. I don't think I would've ever posted this if it weren't for you.

#dubz #gassed up #dubz fic #taz skylar fic #taz skylar #sanji taz skylar

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