Work Text:
“Whatcha drawing?”
Adaine was dragged from her engrossed state, with her eyes on the page and earphones in she hadn’t noticed Fig dropping down from where she’d been hanging by her legs on the monkey bars and walking over to her on the swings.
“Nothing!” Adaine cringed internally at how high her voice went at the blatant lie as she pulled her earphones out, turning the page in her book before realising the next one was just as bad.
As she fumbled, Fig grinned, sliding down onto the swing next to her.
“Ooooh, I love Nothing! Let me see?”
Blushing madly, Adaine flipped her sketchbook closed, gripping it tightly, as if she thought it might be ripped from her hands at any moment.
“Sorry, I um, can’t,”
“C’mon!” grinned Fig as she reached over, playfully trying to grab the battered book from Adaine, but thankfully not fighting too hard when Adaine pulled away, chuckling slightly as she kicked her swing away from Fig’s.
“No!”
“C’mon!”
“No!”
“Please?”
“No!”
“Pretty please?”
“No,”
“Beautiful please?”
“No,”
“Ravishing please?”
“No!”
“Sexually irresistible please?”
“What?”
“Like, I’m being so well mannered and polite, asking so nicely that the ‘please’ is so good looking that it has become sexually attractive that you can’t resist its charms,”
“Oh, I see,”
“So…?”
“No,”
“Ah, come on! I promise I won’t laugh!”
“No!”
“Urrghh!” Fig rolled her head back, looking skywards.
“Don’t make me beg!”
“What has this been so far?”
“Normal curiosity. So come on? It’s fine if they’re bad,” Fig pulled a pleading face which made Adaine snort, “I’ll only tease you a tiny bit?”
Shaking her head, Adaine couldn’t help but laugh at her friend’s antics. It wasn’t because she was worried about the quality of her drawings, she’d improved greatly since Jawbone had convinced her to try an art class, a frivolous subject her parents had never allowed, she wasn’t exactly the greatest artist in the world but now, at least, her pictures were recognisable.
Which was kind of the problem.
“No,”
“Why?” pouted Fig, dramatically, so much so that Adaine knew she was just messing around.
“You let me look before!”
“Yeah well… that was before!”
“Before what?”
“This… prompt… thing…”
“What is it?”
“Well, it’s when you’re given a brief overview of-”
“Shut up!” Fig cut her off, knocking into her shoulder and sending them both swinging slightly.
They both laughed as they regained control of their seats.
“Beauty. That’s the prompt.”
“Oh, and you’ve been drawing Fabian shirtless?”
“Gross!” Adaine squealed, kicking Fig’s massive combat boot teasingly.
“No!”
“I’m just saying…” Fig shrugged, barely suppressing a grin, “I can’t think of another reason you’d keep it to yourself.”
Adaine laughed again and the two lapsed into silence, gently swaying on the swings from which they watched the other Bad Kids lounging on the playground equipment, the setting sun bathing the scene in warm light which had made the perfect snapshot to draw.
Turning the sketchbook over in her hands gingerly, Adaine mused. She hadn’t really intended for Fig to see her recent sketches, but nor had she intended for Fig to become the primary focus of her recent sketches and yet…
Obviously she’d drawn all of her friends a few times but with this prompt, it felt different somehow.
She’d started with things like flowers, the sea, hearthfires.
The first time she’d drawn Fig like this, she hadn’t even realised how well it fit, hells, she hadn’t realised she was drawing her until she was halfway done.
The drawing was supposed to be a vague sketch of the light of a television illuminating a messy living room, with stacks of books, abandoned mugs and cushions strewn haphazardly.
But then Fig had sat down and soon the picture was soon one of the most detailed Adaine had drawn, all the focus on her friend, the way her arms were stretched out along the couch, her back resting lazily against the seat as she sat, uncaringly on the floor, how her legs were crossed infront of her, one knee raised, the other not, her big combat boots with their completely disordered laces.
For ages, Adaine had sat, entranced, as her hand moved of its own accord, capturing the sharp curve of Fig’s chin, the soft swell of her lips, the way the light glinted off her eyes and stray locks of her hair.
Obviously, Adaine had always known that Fig was good looking, but something about drawing her in such a simple moment, and how easy it had been, how effortlessly she’d been able to focus and put her thoughts on paper… it just made it clear that Fig was truly beautiful.
She hadn’t really been able to stop drawing her after that, even when she wasn’t trying to: If she drew eyes then they were Fig’s, if she drew a hand in was Fig’s, if she drew a tree it would have Fig sitting casually on a branch with a leg hanging carelessly off the side, if she drew a fire then it would be twirling around Fig’s fingers.
Even when she was just doodling nonsense absentmindedly then Fig’s familiar smirk would appear among the chaos and, if Adaine let herself, the rest of her face would materialise soon after.
It was like she couldn’t escape her.
Not that she wanted to.
What was worse was she’d begun having thoughts; nothing inappropriate, just imaginings of Fig posing for her, letting Adaine position her, letting Adaine openly stare at her rather than stealing glances because she was scared of getting caught.
She’d picture Fig’s teasing smirk, the way her eyes lit up when she was messing with her, as Adaine blushed, moving Fig’s face to the side, feeling her fingers burn at the touch.
“You can,”
Adaine hadn’t realised she spoke until she heard her words breaking the silence of the evening, despite the wave of panic which immediately threatened to overwhelm her, she doubled down with a surge of courage.
“See. The pictures, I mean, y’know, if you want?”
“Oh, um, I do want to, but I was just messing around, I know you wouldn’t draw Fabian shirtless I’m fine if you don’t wan-”
“No! No, I do, I want you to see them,” with that brilliant line and blushing deeply, Adaine pushed her book towards Fig, very awkwardly.
Fig took the book, a raised eyebrow that Adaine didn’t see because she was staring intently at her feet.
Adaine could hear Fig flicking through the book to where she’d last seen and wanted to grab the paper and run away, she shifted on the swing so that she was sitting on her hands.
Fig was praising the earlier pictures, the flowers, the sea, but Adaine could barely hear her words over the sound of the blood pumping in her ears, she’s just waiting for the inevitable, her body tense like she’s preparing for an attack.
Even though she’d not been able to make out Fig’s words before, when her friend falls silent it is like the whole world stopped moving, the quiet all encompassing even though Adaine could hear the Bad Kids talking and laughing at the edge of her audio range.
She chances a look up, not at Fig’s face, she can’t make herself do that yet, but at the book, just as Fig turns the page from the first picture to one of her sitting in Basrar’s drinking a milkshake through a straw, the bright lights of the parlor casting her reflection clearly in the window next to her.
Adaine looks away quickly but knows the drawing by heart; that image is burned in her mind. It was the first time the two of them had gone to the icecream joint by themselves.
Fig had been horrified by how little Adaine had experienced the world of sweet treats and had dragged her out when they should have been studying.
They’d eaten so much ice cream that their stomachs hurt but it was more than worth it, seeing Fig laugh uncontrollably around her straw when Adaine had said her favourite was still vanilla.
Adaine had drawn that picture from memory, the way Fig leaned over the table, her elbows resting on the surface in a way that Adaine had been punished for doing all her life, her jacket hanging across the back of the booth, the way her face scrunched up adorably when she laughed, how her eyes glinted everytime a car raced past with its headlights on.
Fig turns the page again and Adaine knows she’s looking at the drawing of her, illuminated by stage lights like some kind of Punk Diety, playing her bass and singing into the microphone with a passion that Adaine had no ability to capture.
That first concert she’d been able to make herself go to had stuck with her more than any other. Watching Fig, seeing her so alive, so brilliant, carefree as she embraced her talent. Adaine had been so dazed by the whole thing she couldn’t remember a single word to a single song she’d heard but even so her mind was gripped by the incomparable beauty of Fig’s singing.
The next picture was the half finished one Adaine had been working on before Fig had come over.
It wasn’t shaded and it was still a bit unpolished, but Adaine had thought it some of her best work; Fig hanging upside down on the monkey bars, laughing brightly at something Adaine hadn’t heard, her hair hanging downwards, illuminated by the fiery light of the setting sun so it became a burning halo.
Fig stared at the last one for what felt, to Adaine at least, like hours and all Adaine wanted to do was fall down into a massive hole and never have to look at another person again.
Then she felt a hand brush against her wrist and she slowly pulled her own hand out, feeling a pinky finger wrap around her own.
“Adaine, these… they’re beautiful…”
Adaine looked up finally, Fig’s expression was soft, almost awestruck, her eyes turned from the paper to Adaine who blushed softly.
“Well… I umm… I had a beautiful muse,”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been called a muse before,” Fig laughed, quietly, her hand grabbing Adaine’s more as she did.
“I like it,”