Mew pushed open the heavy door to the Sculpture workshop, the familiar scent of damp clay and sawdust hitting him like a hug from an old friend. His boots left muddy tracks on the concrete floor, and he shrugged off his soaked jacket, hanging it on a hook by the door. The rain still drummed against the tin roof, a relentless backdrop to the low hum of grinders and chisels.
"You're late, again" Tor's voice cut through without looking up. He was hunched over a half finished statue of some abstract figure probably another one of his "perfect human form" experiments adjusting his wire rimmed glasses as he meticulously smoothed a ridge with a sponge. Tor's hair was always neat, even in this chaos, and his apron was spotless except for a single clay smudge he hadn't noticed yet.
"Rain" P'Mew muttered, dropping onto a stool at his workbench. He grabbed a lump of clay, kneading it absently to warm it up. His mind flickered back to the courtyard collision the way that Painting kid's eyes had lit up like wet fireworks. "And some clumsy from painting who nearly took out my armature"
Tor finally glanced up, one eyebrow arched in that signature serious frown. "Clumsy? That's your excuse? Midterms are in two weeks, Mew. We've got that massive installation due, and you're out playing hero in puddles?"
From across the room, Gun let out a bark of laughter, his chisel pausing mid strike on a hyper realistic bust that looked suspiciously like their dean. Gun was the opposite of Tor in every way hair spiked with gel that somehow survived the humidity, a perpetual grin, and an apron covered in colorful stains from god knows what experiments. "A clumsy cutie from painting? Oh man, mew, you gotta spill the deets. Was he cute? Fluffy hair? Big eyes? Come on, give us the goods."
PMew shot him a glare, but there was no heat in it. He wedged the clay harder, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease just a bit. "Drop it, Gun. Just some second year who can't run in the rain. Sketchbook casualty."
Tor sighed, pushing his glasses up his nose again. "Distractions like that are why sculpture always outshines painting. Focus on the work, not the drama" He went back to his statue, but Gun wasn't done.
"lighten up, Tor-tor," Gun teased, tossing a clay scrap that Tor swatted away mid air. "Mew needs some fun. All work and no play makes him dull sculptor. Bet this Nong Pim or whatever has you smiling under that grumpy cat face."
Mew snorted, a rare half-smile cracking through as he started shaping the clay into rough curves. "Not smiling" But even as he said it, the image lingered those sparkling eyes, that flustered blush. The workshop banter flowed on, chisels chipping away, but for the first time in a while, Mew's walls felt just a little less solid.