Work Text:
Ruby’s brush dipped into the palette again, quickly and expertly finding the shade of yellow she wanted before layering it back onto the fast-drying artwork. In front of her, the girl being painted shifted on her seat, twirling one of her pigtails with slim fingers. “How much longer?”
“Not much,” Ruby promised. “I promised twenty minutes, you’ll get twenty. It’s only been fifteen.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” The girl fidgeted. “People are staring.”
Ruby smiled despite herself. “You should’ve known that before you agreed to have your portrait painted.”
“True,” The girl nodded. “I just feel exposed, I guess.”
“Don’t worry,” Ruby assured her as she added more details onto the painting, then switching to a smaller, finer brush. Her hands were damper than she realized, however, and the paintbrush slipped out of her grasp, rolling, to her dismay, farther and into the walking crowd. Ruby left her seat, chasing after it, when someone standing a few feet from her picked up the brush. He held up the paintbrush, asking in a deep, even, voice: “Is this yours?”
Ruby barely had time to look at him properly, only registering the camel-toned overcoat as her eyes traveled upward, landing on the brush.
“Yeah, it’s mine. Thanks.” Ruby met his gaze—golden strands breaking the blue of his eyes, only a few tones lighter than her own portrait. And yet—
Alright then, let’s get started.
It’s a painless procedure, Ruby.
No—listen—I know you think it’s wrong for you to do this, to just simply erase him, but do you really want to feel this broken all the time? You’ve stopped eating, drinking, you haven’t touched your sketchbook in a long time… Ruby, this isn’t like you anymore and it’s terrifying… I promise it’ll be over before you know it.
I’m worried for you, you know—you’ve been crying over him for god knows how long, it’s scaring Roger—
I… I saw him with someone in the arcade last Monday—what, she said she wanted to know how he is! Fine, fine, I’ll shut up…
One more drink, Ruby. Then you’ve got to stop.
Fine. I don’t love you anymore. That’s what you wanted to hear, right?
She was feeling perfect alright, and yet she stumbled backwards.
“H-hey,” The man reached out to keep her steady, and Ruby shook away from his grip, raising a hand in protest.
“It’s cool—I’m fine—my eyes just strained, that’s all.”
“Will my portrait be done today?” Her customer called over, a tinge of annoyance in her voice.
“It’s all good!” Ruby promised her, straightening up once again and taking the paintbrush from the man’s hands, determined not to look at those curious eyes again. “Thank you sir.”
“Sure,” She heard the man say. Then, “Nice painting.”
“Thanks again.” Her mind—or maybe her heart—she wasn’t sure which one made the decision—either way, it was rebellious, the way she looked up at his face again, this time quietly noticing the sculpture-like features and the was his lips curled up slightly as he regarded the painting. His hair shaded over his eyes, preventing a glint from the sun—pretty, nevertheless.
He’d be a really good sketch model, Ruby thought absently, even as she dipped her brush into a clean jar of water, the man’s figure leaving her line of vision slowly, as though all to unwilling to leave.
Then the moment ended, and her mind was on the sketch again, absentmindedly agreeing to give the customer a small discount. It had only been seventeen minutes out of twenty, but she was too flustered to argue.
That night, she found herself facing the easel again, furiously blending shades of blue into her palette. She only had—what, three, four seconds?—worth of memory to go by, and still she continued mixing, scraping, unsure of what she would do next.
Her hand paused just before applying the finished paint onto the canvas.
You can make money with this…
I would, but that’s not an option anymore… besides, I don’t like spending hours waiting on a sidewalk for people to have their face drawn by me…
Where did that come from?
I think you’re somewhat just right. Like a perfect blend.
Are you implying I’m coffee?
I’m implying you’re perfect.
I just found out—I think I love you.
Ruby dropped the brush back onto her easel, letting the paint dry out—she’d deal with the mess in the morning.
When she woke up the next day, her eyes were swollen, and the pillow was damp.