Work Text:
"Look, Roman, I am trying!" Logan grumbled angrily, his next strokes with the paintbrush mirroring the anger in his statement.
Roman shook his head fondly, walking behind Logan. “I see that, sweetheart, and you are doing wonderfully.”
“It’s terrible.”
“Art cannot be defined by the words of the close-minded. I think it’s great.”
Logan turned to face Roman. “You’re wrong.”
“Opinions aren’t statements of supposed fact; they can’t be wrong.”
Logan kicked over the easel in response.
“Logan!” Roman gasped in horror, watching the painting hit the floor.
“What? It was terrible. I shouldn’t be painting.”
Roman took a step back, crossing his arms. “Not true. You should be painting, and you shouldn’t discard art like that.”
Logan shrugged. “What’s done is done. The only thing you should be worried about is the paint on the floor. However, we have covered the floor under our easels with paper because of what happened with Remus two weeks ago. Ergo, we have nothing to worry about.”
“Except getting you a new canvas.”
Logan shook his head, walking away from Roman and to the door. “I shouldn’t be painting.”
“Yes, you should,” Roman argued, grabbing his wrist.
He dragged Logan back to his easel, putting it upright and replacing the old canvas with a blank one. He put the paints back on the easel and positioned a stubborn Logan in front of his canvas. He stood behind Logan, wrapped one arm around his waist, and used the other to place the paintbrush in the logical side’s hand.
Roman rested his head on Logan’s shoulder and guided Logan’s painting arm to the canvas.
“Now, paint with me.”
“But what if it’s not perfect? Roman, it won’t be perfect and it needs to be perfect-”
“Hush, my love. No art is perfect.”