Work Text:
Sunlight dusts Ohse’s room so beautifully, every corner appears so warm, so wonderful, it’s like a scene straight from a movie - and he is filled with inspiration to paint. Perhaps he’ll paint a sunset, sun slipping below the horizon, its rays of light reflecting gently on the shimmering water. The amber and pink hues would blend into each other, stretching for miles, further than one can comprehend. Or maybe it’ll be rows of cherry blossom trees in an endless field, with petals drifting through the soft breeze.
Well, whatever scene he ends up choosing, it’ll be easier to paint at the table in the main room. There’s more space in there, and better lighting. He doesn’t want to intrude, though, so it is quite lucky that everyone else is on a walk right now.. he declined the offer to join them, of course - despite what Rikai tries to tell him, Ohse knows he doesn’t deserve to accompany the others. He’ll just drag them down.
Ohse begins gathering his materials - a rather large canvas, some acrylic paints, paintbrushes.. he’ll need a glass of water, too, but he can find that in the kitchen. As he carries everything through the hallway, more ideas hit him - he hasn’t had this many different concepts in ages! A bottomless black hole, a vast, limitless galaxy, a burning comet.. whatever he decides on, he hopes he can pull it off.
But as he goes to set down the supplies, something seems to be in the way.
A handheld mirror.
Terra probably left it there by mistake.
But Ohse is startled out of his thoughts and concepts by the image of his own reflection, and almost immediately, it is like the illusion of thinking he’d be able to create a painting as perfect and detailed as he had in mind is lifted. The thought of putting his paintbrush to the canvas, something that usually brings him comfort, is now repulsive. He does not deserve to experience that comfort. He wants to look away, but something’s holding him there. Gluing him in place. Forcing him to stare into his own reflection and fall deeper into the hole of self loathing. The walls feels like they’re closing in. He can’t look away. He can’t do anything. He’s so useless, useless, useless -
Though Ohse had set out to create something he could almost be proud of, set out to cover a canvas with carefully planned brushstrokes, all he’s managed to do is stain it with tears.