Work Text:
There’s this girl.
Ty Lee sees her every week. She sits at the back of their art class, poised and perfect, with long bangs obscuring her eyes. She doesn’t look up, doesn’t participate when their teacher asks questions. She just does the work and goes.
But God, is she talented.
They share an art class. Ty Lee doesn’t know her name, just knows that she’s always there, dressed head to toe in black. And her artworks are always beautiful.
Sharp, sure strokes, with lineart that looks like it was carved with a knife. She never uses bright colours. They’re always dulled down, or sometimes even in monochrome. But they capture your attention anyway. And however harsh her art looks, Ty Lee always notices the little details. The details that probably took hours of care and love to create, things that you don’t see unless you know to look.
Ty Lee wants to know her name.
She gets her opportunity the next week.
They have a pair project to do for their grade this term. Their teacher is assigning their partners. Ty Lee must be extremely lucky, because she’s paired with the one girl she desperately wants to know about.
She walks over to the back of the class, easel tucked under her arm. She sets it up next to her and beams, waving. “Hi! I’m Ty Lee—”
The bell rings, and the girl immediately gets up to leave. She doesn’t spare a glance back.
Ty Lee doesn’t get her name.
Their project is to create an artwork inspired by each other.
They have a month to complete it. Every week, Ty Lee enters the room and sits next to the girl, trying and failing to hold a conversation. She never replies. It frustrates her to no end.
The girl works quietly on her piece, occasionally sparing a glance at Ty Lee. But she never lets Ty Lee look at what she’s doing.
Ty Lee usually fiddles with her own pencils, unsure of what to make. She had chosen water colour as her art medium, but the more she looks at her partner, the more it doesn’t feel right.
At one point, the girl pulls out a knife and starts scratching on her artwork. Ty Lee swivels and stares with round eyes. “Is that allowed?”
The girl raises an eyebrow.
“I mean—not that you can’t use a knife. But aren’t sharp objects banned from school?”
She gives her a look that says ‘so what?’ and Ty Lee frowns, all the more curious.
Ty Lee changes her medium halfway.
She knows it’s reckless and probably stupid, especially because she only has two weeks left. Her teacher chides her for it, discourages it. She glances at her partner, pinning her with an unreadable look. Ty Lee takes a breath and tells her teacher that she’s made her choice.
She returns to her seat at the back and catches her gaze.
Her eyes.
They’re a light brown, so light that they’re almost gold in colour. They sparkle with curiosity. Ty Lee leans in, captivated. “I think I’ve figured out what to draw,” she tells her, even though she didn’t ask. She didn’t have to, though. Ty Lee could see the question in her eyes.
Her eyes, her eyes, her eyes.
The girl turns away, a lock of hair shielding her face. Ty Lee caught the hidden smile anyway.
With a satisfied smile of her own, Ty Lee picks up a piece of charcoal.
At the end of the month, Ty Lee finishes her piece.
She’s spent hours on it, going home every day to fill the canvas with more. Her fingers always end up covered in black dust, but she ignores it to draw and draw and draw.
She draws a girl with a knife covering her nose and lips. She creates her hair with sharp flicks on her wrist, trying to encapsulate the artworks she always creates. She draws thick eyelashes and a lidded gaze that hide more than they tell.
Most importantly, she fills the eyes with warm, golden paint, the only bit of colour on the otherwise monochrome canvas.
When Ty Lee brings her artwork to class the next day, she sees the girl’s eyes widen.
“It’s not my usual style. What do you think?” Ty Lee grins.
The girl continues staring. Ty Lee takes the opportunity to peek at her artwork, laid bare on the table for her to see. She stiffens.
The girl had covered almost her entire canvas with knife scratches with no observable pattern. They’re everywhere, framing the canvas. They surround the centre of attraction that’s glued to the middle.
A single pale, pink flower.
The girl finally glances back up. She hesitates, and then says her first words to Ty Lee.
“I grew that flower specifically for this,” she confesses. Her voice is raspy and deep.
“What’s your name?” Ty Lee asks, desperate to know.
This time, the girl doesn’t hesitate. “Mai.”
Mai tells her that the knife scratches represent Ty Lee.
“I couldn’t figure you out,” she says, “you’re unpredictable.”
Ty Lee holds back a laugh, stroking the pink petals with awe. “Then what about the flower?”
Mai looks away. “Uh. It was pretty. And it reminds me of you.”
Ty Lee can’t hold back her laugh this time. She feels giddy, alight with happiness. She reaches out to brush Mai’s bangs to the side.
“I drew your eyes because they’re so pretty,” she admits. A lovely blush paints Mai’s cheeks.
“Get coffee with me,” Mai blurts. Ty Lee freezes, her hand still hovering over Mai’s hair. “If, you know, you want to.”
Ty Lee’s heart beats out of her chest. “I’d love to.”
One week later, Mai asks Ty Lee to be her girlfriend.
She does it with a bouquet of flowers in her hands, the same flower she used in her artwork. Ty Lee says yes before she can even finish asking.
Mai gives her the bouquet, which Ty Lee hugs to her chest. She gets the flowers dried and presses them into an empty sketchbook.
For the next two months, Ty Lee fills the sketchbook with little things that remind her of Mai. She draws her sharpened knives, her glossy hair, her slender hands and delicate fingers. And of course, she fills in pages and pages with just her eyes.
Because as emotionless as Mai seems, her eyes always tell a different story.
After two months, Ty Lee gifts the sketchbook to Mai. Mai sits them down and opens the book with trembling fingers.
It’s the start of many stories to come.