#im so glad i ended up passing the acrylic stands; these

[aikotos]

What if we held hands (and we were both plushies)

[ghoulangerlee]

So I can't help but think Schling went through rehab (per the boys' request) and in Adam cubed I can imagine him asking Adam for paint and supplies and Adam is confused at first but slowly starts to realize that the one part of Schling's program he stuck with and that actually helped was art therapy (Also thank you for turning me onto the wonderful world of Adam cubed)

!!!!! (for the record i know nothing about rehab but i do know art therapy haha. also, im glad you’re enjoying this world, anon, i super enjoy writing it!

also, putting this under a read more just in case--brief mentions of Schling’s time at rehab, but nothing too in detail

-

Schling fidgets on most days, fingers moving restlessly, a stray pen clenched in his fingers as he scribbles on paper, on the backs of receipts and napkins when they’re out eating dinner, sometimes on his skin, but rarely with ink, his skin gets makeup and so does Koko’s, fingers grasping his chin and tilting his head as he draws swirls along his cheeks, carefully as if he’s an artist working on a masterpiece. 

Sometimes he gets longing looks when they happen to pass by the arts and crafts section, an easel and acrylics set up on a display has Schling’s steps faltering and Adam wonders how much of Schling, the real Schling, is from the narrative and how much is just Schling. 

Adam, his voice is low, careful and Adam glances up from the tablet he’d been working on to see Schling standing at the bedroom door--he’s relaxed for the night, sweats and no t-shirt; his hair in a bun and he looks like he’s trying to shrink in on himself. Look hey, I. Koko and I don’t really have jobs here so we don’t really have money...and Adam can tell he’s stalling some, trying to figure out how to ask without; Can I borrow, until we figure all of this out, some money. 

When he doesn’t specify what for, Adam, well, he’s not suspicious but he is curious; Yeah, sure, he says and digs around in his wallet, Don’t get lost, he says and Schling looks relieved, grins wide and nods, No problem boss! 

(He doesn’t see Schling again until he gets home from work that afternoon and there, in the living room is a tarp and a canvas on an easel; Schling’s wearing a t-shirt that has a paint splotch across the front, his face contorted into a concentrated expression as he drags a paint brush across the white of the canvas, leaving behind a dark red trail as it goes.) 

Huh, Adam says, out loud and Schling stops, turns his head far enough so he can see Adam and then grins, waves his free hand, briefly before he goes back to staring at the canvas--of all the things Adam expected him to buy, paint wasn’t it. 

He paints freely most of the time, never using a reference of any kind unless its to match colors, I’m partially colorblind, Schling admits sheepishly and Adam watches as Koko points out the difference in the reds and greens, wonders how, they look a like, the three of the, but they’re all so different. 

(Adam won’t bring it up, won’t ask where Schling learned to paint, to draw lines across a canvas, building something from streaks of color, something akin to a masterpiece once he’s done--swirling colors melting into one another, abstract at best but its compelling in a way that should be captured in a museum.

He tells Schling as much and Schling just laughs, blushes and wipes at the paint drying on his cheek.)

Shortly after I passed out on stage, Spunkie says I died, Jamez told me that I needed help and he was serious, you know? He dropped the accent to tell me, s’how I know he was serious, Schling speaks slowly, quietly over the television, Koko’s leaning against Schling’s side, half asleep but still listening--Adam’s watching from the corner of his eye, doesn’t want Schling to feel like he’s under a microscope, so I went to rehab, it was rough because I kept relapsing and it...tore the band apart. 

Adam sees Koko shift, watches as Koko’s fingers close around Schling’s fidgeting ones and he waits, patient, Jamez found me and dragged me off somewhere up north, he had a friend up there who’d gone through something similar and we stayed in a cabin that his friend’s parents rented out. It was...rough, there were trips to and from the local clinic every day, tests to make sure I wasn’t using still...

He almost wants to tell Schling he doesn’t need to tell him, but he can see the determined set to his jaw and well, there’s a power to talking about things that happened to you, compartmentalizing them until they don’t really bother you as much anymore. 

One of the counselors at the center, they suggested painting as a way to cope, something to do with my hands when I felt the itch to use and I’d always liked putting make up on, doing mine and Jamez’s, even when I was high as a kite it was still my favorite thing--painting is similar, minus the skin as a canvas thing, but it’s...just as nice, relaxing, a way for me to just, get all my frustrations out in bursts of color. 

Schling’s quiet for a while after that and Adam thinks the story’s done, an open ending to something that still seems to weigh on Schling’s shoulders, and then, Things weren’t easier after that though, I still had relapses, still...had problems and weaknesses but, it helped and eventually, right before I came here, I’d gotten my thirty day coin. 

(There’s a piece of leather string around his neck, Adam’s seen it before, attached to the string is a coin--he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Schling take it off.) 

Congratulations, Adam breathes, finally looking over at Schling who looks like he’s trying to sink into Koko’s side--Adam feels a surge of protectiveness, the urge to move close, he doesn’t want to overstep his boundaries though. 

Schling grins a little, although it’s strained, Still a long way to go, he says quietly, But I’m getting there. 

Koko murmurs something in German, voice tinged with affection and Adam turns away, lets the two of them have their moment.