Work Text:
The paintbrush swirled around and around creating new crevices and lines. There was a simplicity to painting this way, and yet, Ben couldn’t find it in him to be relaxed by the nonsensical manner that his paintbrush moved.
“There is a subconscious meaning behind each movement I think.”
Rey spoke from beside him. He had come to know her since he started taking this class almost a year ago. He thought she almost qualified as a friend if you could call their random conversations and one coffee meeting a friendship. Regardless, Ben enjoyed spending the class next to her, especially when Rey knew just what to say to get him to laugh when his frustration with his work struck.
“Okay, sure.”
Rey glared at his response. It was the type of look he came to know meant get your head out of your rear and have fun, Ben. He only halfheartedly smiled back at her while their professor droned on and on about some fancy artist with a last name Ben would never be able to pronounce.
She smiled up at him from her stool and canvas, and god he didn’t think he would ever know how to handle that smile. “Want to test my theory?”
“Oh, there is a theory now?” Ben sniped back, a small grin now spotting his face. Rey smacked his arm. She quickly looked up to make sure their professor was preoccupied before hopping off of the stool and scooting it over to Ben’s canvas.
“Okay, look here.” She pointed at where his red paint had smeared over the black base he had chosen. “I think this symbolizes passion.”
Rey was so close he could smell her shampoo. It smelled like roses.
He felt her lean over a little closer, shifting to point at the grey smudge at the bottom right corner. “This,” she said, “This shows serenity, but only around some people.”
“Hmm.”
It was the only response he could think to say. Rey couldn’t know how right she was. How Ben realized over the last three months that he was at peace. Always at peace, around her.
He tried not to focus on that thought, around the implications that it could hold. Instead, he focused on his art.
The canvas before him was so different from Rey’s. His was crafted of deep shades of red and blue. It was all harsh lines and black background. Her art… Well, Rey’s was always perfect, but then again when was it not? Her canvas burst with color of every shade and tint. It held emotion, thought, and meaning. Whereas his just looked angry—like a little kid took a paintbrush to his bedroom wall.
“This line right here,” Rey continued, pointing to his most recent blot of deep blue, “it’s my favorite.” She looked around quickly, almost as if she was making sure she wouldn’t be overheard.
“Why’s that?” His words came out as a whisper.
“Because… I think it shows who you really are.”
All Ben could do was stare.
She went on, hurriedly. “I think it shows that you hate the rain, but love the snow. I think it says you want to succeed, and be the best for everyone around you. I think it shows you got through your own hell. That you rose above it.”
Ben’s breath caught in his chest. That tight feeling he had become so familiar with as a child came back, like a fist closing around his heart. He stared at Rey—at her bright eyes that flickered below him, at the hair that fell out of the bun on her head. He stared at all of her.
She moved abruptly as if his actions caused her reaction.
Rey grabbed her paintbrush off of the shelf and ran it over his painting. Splashes of bright blue and yellow, pinks and greens, smattered themselves onto his canvas.
She turned back to him, paintbrush in hand and a grin on her face.
“And that line says I want to go out with you.”
Ben smiled brightly at her. He took his paintbrush and dipped it in her gold paint before smearing it right next to her mark.
“I’d love to.”