Work Text:
Jonathan had been staring listlessly at a notebook, pondering what more to write about their eventful day when Edgard spoke.
“Stop staring at that and come here.”
“Huh? Oh, yes.” Closing the notebook, Jonathan clipped the mechanical pencil to the cover. Laying it on the bed, he descended the pillowy mattress and walked to the desk where Edgard stood. Edgard pressed his hands on Jonathan’s shoulders and sat the younger one into the chair. Across the desk were strewn a variety of palettes and brushes. There was also an upright mirror, converting the desk into something of a vanity.
“I told you I would paint if we lost.”
Without another word, Edgard tucked the soft strands of Jonathan’s hair behind his ears and quietly observed for a few moments. Decision made, he picked up a brush and opened a palette, dipping the brush into a light green. He traced out leaves all along the side of Jonathan’s face, angling the brush under the arms of the glasses. Frowning, he removed the obstruction and laid it carefully to the side. Dipping into another color, he continued.
The thin brush tickled as Edgard traced out a large white chrysanthemum.
“Why flowers?” Jonathan whined. “This isn’t some carnival. I bet I look dumb.” He tried to catch a glimpse in the mirror sitting at the back of the desk, but couldn’t see well enough without his glasses to judge the veracity of his statement.
“Hush. I’ll remove it once I’m done.”
“Fine.” Jonathan was pouting as Edgard filled in a petal. A few more white flowers, and he moved on to red, the little buds like fresh wounds. He then started painting the calming green of the accent leaves, dashing them on here and there. At last, he filled in with sprigs of baby’s breath, dotting them in with a silvery wintergreen.
“The bouquet of Olympia,” Edgard muttered, “is finished.”
Admiring his work, Edgard stood in silence for a moment before scooping up Jonathan with a “time to clean up.”
“Monsier!” Jonathan nearly shrieked.
“Can it. What kind of artist would I be if I didn’t carry my own canvas?”
“You could be elderly, or have an injured shoulder-” Jonathan’s objections were paused with a swat on the back of his leg.
“At the very least, why that painting? There are so many better options if you were thinking about flowers.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
Upon reaching the sink, Edgard let down his charge. He removed Jonathan’s glasses, setting them on the counter, and picked up a few clips. With ease, he clipped Jonathan’s hair behind his ears, swept the hair off his forehead, and clipped those strands on top of his head. He took one jar of the prince’s expensive collection and applied the cold contents to Jonathan’s face, gently rubbing at all the pigment until it blurred together, muddy brown from temple to chin. Wetting a cloth, he patted the now oily skin until it was damp. Using another bottle, he applied cleanser delicately.
“Close your eyes.”
Jonathan did as told and Edgard wet the cloth again, swiping away his paints to reveal slightly reddened skin. At last, he took a bit of lotion and smoothed it over the clean skin, letting his palms warm Jonathan’s cheeks for a bit. He removed the clips and the fine strands of Jonathan’s hair slipped into place with little effort. Picking up the glasses, he settled them into place, and Jonathan looked up at him, faintly disgruntled.
“What is it, puppet?”
“Nothing,” Jonathan sniffed. “I think I’m going to go over my notes again, then sleep.” He made to take a step, but Edgard trapped him with a hand on top of his head. There was no way he was letting the kid go to bed pissed at him, for any reason.
“Go to sleep. Let’s get up early tomorrow and head to the museum before the first match. Find some new art.”
“Pardon?”
The hand on his head got to ruffling, sending his hair every which way. “You heard me. Museum. Tomorrow. We’ll leave here at 8. Okay?”
Jonathan looked at him, big eyes clear and cheeks still pink from washing. “Yes, Monsier Edgard.” Edgard could have sworn the twerp knew what he was doing, given his skill as a data analyst and how much time they’d all spent observing that damn ninja guy.
Brushing it aside, Edgard said a terse good night. Despite the fatigue and disappointment after losing a hard match, Jonathan smiled brightly as he said his own good night.