Work Text:
The apartment always smelled like a comfortable collision of worlds.
On one side was the scent of lavender laundry detergent, of fresh paper and sharpened pencils, of warm bread and the lingering sweetness of the morning's almond croissants. On the other was a the scent of freshly cleaned linen, of the seabreeze, with a constant hum of music, whether it be from a guitar or the bluetooth speaker playing a soft ballad.
Shion leaned closer to the canvas, her nose nearly touching the bristles of her brush as she meticulously rendered the curve of an almond croissant. It was part of a larger composition titled Sunday Morning Rituals, a visual ode to the pastries that fueled her creative process, and the comforting golden light that would wash over her face in the morning as she looked at the roommate beside her.
Shion smiled faintly as she recalled the image of Lynn — all five feet and seven inches of her, with black ink crawling up her left arm and piercings in her ear, no doubt inspired by 'Kotone-unnie', the keyboardist of Lynn's band. She could picture the young Japanese girl's fingers curled around a tiny gray plush Totoro like a giant child, and almost giggled at the image.
People were always intimidated by Lynn, with her combat boots and silver streaked hair, and the sheer physicality of her presence, she commanded attention in any room, and whenever she wasn't smiling, looked ready to punch someone in the face. But Shion knew the truth, she knew that beneath the imposing exterior was a woman who's smile lit up Shion's entire world, who cried during the sad parts of Kiki's Delivery Service.
She knew the Lynn who baked cookies for the entire neighborhood during finals week, who would rest her head against Shion's shoulder and do aegyo to get what she wanted, and whose guitar playing was the gentlest, most melodic sound Shion had ever heard.
Lynn’s acoustic guitar sat precariously on its stand next to Shion’s easel. The instrument, a beautiful, aged cherry wood dreadnought, was perhaps Lynn’s most prized possession outside of her limited edition My Neighbor Totoro blanket and the sprawling army of Sanrio plushies that occupied their bed. The guitar, nicknamed ‘Cherry,’ was rarely this far from Lynn’s side, but she’d left it out after a late-night practice session before collapsing into sleep.
Lost in thought, Shion reached for a palette knife resting near the base of her easel. Her hand brush lightly against the edge of a large, half-full can of azure blue paint. It happened in slow motion. The can tipped, wobbled, and then overturned with a sickening, heavy splat.
Shion's stomach dropped, and she turned, slow.
The paint didn't just drip. It poured. A cascade of brilliant, bright azure blue saturated the upper half of Cherry’s polished cherry wood body, coating the delicate strings and splashing down onto the stand itself, and a gasp slipped from her throat. The painter's heart seemed to stop. The brush slipped from her frozen fingers.
Silence filled the room, heavy and oppressive, pressing down on the back of Shion's neck as a lump grew in her throat. The vibrant blue paint looked alien and violent against the natural wood.
“Oh no,” Shion whispered, her voice cracking. “No, no, no, no.”
Panic surged, cold and immediate. She grabbed a handful of paper towels and began to frantically dab at the mess. Unfortunately, it only served to make the mess worse. The absorbent towels became saturated within an instant, smearing the paint into the dark grain of the wood. The paint, designed for a professional canvas, was already beginning to stick and stain on the polished surface. The tall girl tried using her palette knife to scrape it off, but that only succeeded in making shallow scratches.
Tears sprang to her eyes, stinging and hot. Lynn would be devastated. This guitar was her voice, her connection to her band, her comfort. And Shion, the girl who wouldn't even step on an ant, had ruined it. What would Lynn say? Could Shion handle the sight of the taller girl crying? She blinked, eyes stinging.
The sound of the front door turning felt like a physical blow. Shion froze, her paint-stained hands trembling. The heavy door to their bedroom swung open, and the afternoon sunlight was momentarily blocked by Lynn’s form. She was carrying a paper bag that smelled delightfully like warm bread, the kind Shion treasured, and her heart squeezed.
“Shion! I got the good sourdough from the bakery down the street that you lik—” Lynn started, her booming, cheerful voice cutting through the silent room.
She stopped abruptly. Her gaze dropped.
Shion was on her knees next to the guitar, looking up at Lynn like a condemned prisoner. The blue paint was smeared on Shion’s face and hands. Cherry, once pristine, was half blue and half wood, looking exactly like a disaster.
“I… I didn’t mean to, Lynn,” Shion stammered, her voice barely a thread. “The paint… it just fell… I tried to clean it… I am so, so, so sorry…” Her words almost collapsed into a sob.
Lynn stood there, motionless, the bag of bread forgotten in her hand. For a second, her face was unreadable, blank with surprise, as if she hadn't heard the quiet stammers of Shion's voice. The silence felt eternal. Shion braced herself for the anger, for the disappointment, for Lynn to yell — something she had never actually done, but this was Cherry.
Then, Lynn did something unexpected.
Her gasp, sharp and loud, cut through the air. She dropped the bag of sourdough. But she wasn't looking at the paint with horror. She was looking at Shion, eyes twinkling. A slow smile spread across Lynn’s face. It was radiant, unexpected, and completely disarming. She clapped her large, calloused hands together.
“Shion!” Lynn exclaimed, her eyes sparkling. “Are you customizing her? For me?”
Shion blinked. The tears halted mid-roll. Customizing?
“I… what?” Shion squeaked.
Lynn was grinning broadly, hopping up and down, looking from Shion to the paint-covered guitar as if it were the most wonderful gift she'd ever received. She seemed entirely oblivious to Shion’s panic.
“I thought you were painting your croissants! But you were surprising me!” Lynn said, stepping closer, careful not to get paint on her boots. “Oh my god, Shion, you shouldn't have! I’m so sorry I walked in! I ruined the surprise!”
She reached down, not to touch the guitar, but to gently wipe a smear of blue paint from Shion’s cheek with her thumb.
“You’re so sweet, baby,” Lynn said, her voice dripping with affection, gaze soft and warm. “I won't look anymore, I promise!" She giggled, "I’ll go to the living room and listen to some music with headphones so I don't hear anything. You just do your thing!" She stood, hands on her hips, admiring Shion's 'handiwork'. "Wow, that azure blue is gorgeous against the wood. It looks so modern!”
Shion stared at her girlfriend, completely bewildered. Was Lynn serious? Was she so pure and trusting that she automatically assumed an accidental paint spill was a grand romantic gesture?
…
…
…Nevermind, that actually made entirely too much sense. Lynn picked up the bag of bread and began to back away towards the bedroom hallway.
“Take your time!” She giggled, a surprisingly delicate sound coming from someone her size. “I’m so excited! Thank you, Shion!” She winked, blew a kiss, and disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her.
Shion was left alone in the living room, surrounded by the smell of paint and sourdough. The guitar sat there, a vibrant disaster. But the crushing panic had evaporated, replaced by a strange, bewildered relief and a massive, unexpected responsibility.
She looked at Cherry, and sighed, the panic now dimmed and diluted into something cooler, less of a rushing rapid and more of a slightly disturbed lake. The damage was done, and Lynn now believed her girlfriend was customizing it. If Shion confessed now, the disappointment would be twice as bad. But if she actually customized it...
Shion stood up slowly. She was an art student. This was what she did. She took colors and shapes and made them beautiful. She took accidents and turned them into the most human acts of expression. This wasn't a ruined guitar, this was a challenging canvas, even more challenging than when Nien had made her use her toned back as a canvas, and Shion suppressed a shudder at the memory.
The Korean girl went to her supplies and found her finest brushes, the ones she saved for hyper-realistic details. She pulled out tubes of deep cobalt, shimmering turquoise, and stark white. She looked at the blob of azure paint on the guitar body, jaw briefly tightening. If she was doing this right, then she needed a consistent colour scheme. The 'blob' wasn't just a stubborn stain of paint — it was a starting point, the beginning of a new creative wave that would wash over—
Wave… her eyes widened.
Shion spent the next four hours working with a focused intensity she usually reserved for exams. She couldn't undo the azure blue, so she blended it into other shades of darker and deeper cobalt, and paler turquoise. She painted depth into the color, turning the accidental spill into a crashing, dynamic wave that seemed to rise up the body of the guitar, and Shion could almost smell and taste the salted air of the beach.
She used a lighter cyan to create the crest of the wave, adding tiny dabs of white acrylic to mimic sea foam. The paint itself provided a unique texture, making the wave look dimensional against the grain of the wood, and Shion's eyes widened.
"Maybe I need to decorate more of them…" she hummed to herself, smiling.
As she worked, the concept evolved, and she found herself frowning. What was an ocean without any fish? The empty and rushing swathes of blue needed something else, something distinct that both Shion and Lynn adored. Her eyes searched their bedroom, and settled on a plushie staring down at Shion from the top of one of their shared shelves. A blacktip reef shark, one Lynn had bought from an aquarium.
Sharks… Shion always likened them to Lynn. Big, scary looking, always feared by others, always misunderstood. In reality, much like those sharks, Lynn was only scary if you have her a reason to be, and in reality, the girl was far more adorable than anyone would ever think of.
Sharks it is then.
Using her smallest brush and deep grey paint, she carefully rendered tiny, stylized blacktip reef sharks navigating the turquoise depths. She painted a hammerhead near the edge, its silhouette instantly recognizable as a blue-gray creature amid the deep indigo. She added speckles of shimmering sand along the lower edge of the guitar, blending the paint back into the natural cherry wood so it looked as if the beach was meeting the sea.
She worked around the strings as best she could, meticulous with every stroke, though knew replacing them would be inevitable. The neck of the guitar remained untouched, a clean contrast to the vibrant scene blooming on the body. The work was intense and delicate, a strange blend of art and damage control, but it was working. When she was finished, Cherry didn't look broken. She looked intentional. She looked like a masterpiece of functional art.
By the time the final shark was painted, the sun was setting, casting long, purple shadows across the room. Shion cleaned her brushes, her hands still faintly blue but her heart lighter than it had been all afternoon. She set the guitar carefully back on its stand, and gave it some time to dry.
The living room was quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the soft, rhythmic clicking of the heater. Shion took one last look at the 'ocean' she’d created, the tiny sharks seemed to shimmer in the low light, before heading toward the living room. She found Lynn exactly where she expected: buried under a mountain of blankets and plushies on the sofa, the glow of the television illuminating her sharp features and the silver rings in her ears.
"Is the masterpiece resting?" Lynn asked, her voice dropping to a low, cozy rumble. She lifted the edge of a heavy blanket, an unspoken invitation.
"It needs a few hours," Shion whispered, sliding into the nest of comfort.
Lynn didn't hesitate — she wrapped her long, tattooed arms around Shion, pulling her back against her chest until they were perfectly slotted together like puzzle pieces. Despite her intimidating height and the leather-and-studs aesthetic she wore to band practice, Lynn felt like a giant, sun-warmed marshmallow, soft and far too cozy. She rested her chin on Shion’s head, her breath ruffling Shion’s hair.
On the screen, the vibrant, hand-painted waves of Ponyo began to roll. It was the perfect choice, a sea of animation to match the sea of acrylics drying in the next room.
"You still have blue on your knuckles," Lynn murmured, taking Shion’s hand in her much larger one. She didn't let go; instead, she began tracing the stained skin with her thumb, a gesture so tender it made Shion’s heart ache and her skin tingle. "My hardworking artist."
Shion leaned back into the warmth, feeling the tension of the afternoon finally melt away. She felt small and safe, shielded from the world by the woman who looked like she could break a door down but spent her Friday nights crying over a magical goldfish. They stayed like that for a long time, sharing a bowl of popcorn, acting out a few scenes with Lynn's plushes, and inevitably whispering about which plushie deserved the 'Best Supporting Actor' award for the evening.
Every time a particularly beautiful sequence appeared on screen, Lynn would squeeze Shion just a little tighter, a silent thank you vibrating through her chest. Shion closed her eyes for a moment, listening to the steady beat of Lynn’s heart. It was a soft, grounding rhythm, the only music she ever really needed.
Eventually, it was time for the piece to be revealed. The pair began to change, slipping into silk pyjamas, and Shion disappeared into the bedroom. The paint had now dried, and she gave a quiet sigh.
Now or never… “You can come in now, Lynn. The ‘surprise’ is ready.”
The door opened instantly. Lynn stepped in, having changed into a Studio Ghibli pajama set, looking like a large, relaxed cat. Her eyes found the guitar on the stand.
Lynn stopped. The genuine smile was back, but this time it was different. It wasn't just anticipation; it was awe. She walked over slowly, as if approaching a skittish animal.
“Shion…” Lynn breathed, her voice dropping to a whisper.
The guitar looked incredible — the azure blue spill had been completely absorbed into a sweeping, dynamic ocean scene, the wave washing over what had once been the barren and dry brown of wood. The water seemed almost alive, flowing as though it were real, and the seafoam seemed to almost glitter and shine beneath the warmth of their bedroom lamp. The small sharks swimming throughout added a layer of personaly that felt almost quintessentially Lynn.
“It’s… it’s beautiful,” Lynn said, running a gentle finger along the top of the headstock, careful not to touch any of the remaining wet paint. She crouched down to see the details better. “The sharks! You painted little sharks! Shion, how did you know I loved blacktip reef sharks?”
“You have a plushie of one on the shelf,” Shion said, smiling faintly, "You told me like, five fun facts about them at the aquarium."
Lynn stood up, her eyes bright with tears. She didn't look intimidating at all; she looked overwhelmed and deeply touched.
“This is the most incredible thing anyone has ever done for me,” Lynn said, wrapping her arms around Shion and pulling her into a tight, warm hug that smelled faintly of baking and shampoo. “I was worried I was being silly, getting so excited over a guess. But you did this. You made my Cherry into art.”
She held Shion close for a long moment, burying her face in the crook of Shion’s neck. The hug was comforting, safe, and solid.
Then, Lynn pulled back slightly, her expression shifting from pure joy to something softer, more thoughtful. She pushed a few stray hairs out of the painter's face, sighing. She softly giggled at Shion, holding her face between her large hands.
“You know, sweetheart,” Lynn said, her voice dropping to that gentle tone she rarely used with anyone else. “You didn't have to do that.”
Shion blinked. “What do you mean?”
Lynn smiled, a small, knowing, slightly lopsided smile that always seemed to make Shion feel dizzy. “I know what you're like when you're painting,” Lynn said. “You’re meticulous, you don't have messy palettes or spills, you've got this intense focus in your eyes," she sighed, "You didn't have that earlier. The way that blue paint was spilled… that looked like an accident. A big, scary, ‘oh my god I knocked over the can’ kind of accident.”
Shion’s heart stopped for a brief second, her breath hitching as her brow creased. “You… you knew?” Shion asked, her voice cracking.
“I knew the moment I walked in,” Lynn admitted, her fingers gently stroking Shion’s hair, an attempt to smooth over the oncoming panic. “I saw the look on your face. You were about three seconds away from a complete panic attack… You looked like a terrified deer.”
“But… you clapped,” Shion said. “You said I was customizing it. You apologized for ruining the surprise.”
“Of course I did,” Lynn said softly, chuckling. “If I had gasped, or got upset, or asked what happened, you would have felt awful, and then I would have felt awful.. You would have spiraled, and you would have blamed yourself. I… I didn't want you to be scared, Shion," she leaned forward, her forehead touching her girlfriend's, "Not of me, and definitely not of making a mistake. At the end of the day, Cherry is just wood, just strings, but she's not you, and she could never replace you.”
Shion stared at her, the final pieces of the afternoon fitting into place. Lynn hadn't been oblivious — she had seen right through it. She had chosen to believe a gentler narrative, a version of events that spared Shion’s feelings and gave her space to fix the mistake in her own way.
The gentleness, the profound empathy behind that simple, spontaneous lie, washed over Shion. The tears that had been held back by focus and determination finally overflowed, but they were no longer tears of panic.
Shion laughed, a wet, watery sound. “So you left me in here for four hours, sweating over this thing, just to save my feelings?”
“You did a great job, though!” Lynn grinned, wiping Shion’s eyes again, laughing now. “The sharks are so cute! And I genuinely love the blue, I think it’s a massive upgrade!"
Shion looked at her girlfriend — the tall, imposing girl whom everyone was afraid of, who collected plushies, loved Ghibli, and would happily lie to her girlfriend rather than see her upset. She thought of the way Lynn would always buy the sourdough bread she knew Shion loved, how she'd always remember exactly what pastires she adored. She thought of the way she looked at Shion, with eyes so warm, and that seemed to sparkle whenever she was around the art student.
Shion knew she had never been more in love.
She reached up, her fingers trembling slightly as they bunched the soft cotton lapels of Lynn’s pajama shirt. With a determined tug, she pulled the taller girl down into her space.
The kiss was sudden, a messy collision of apology and overwhelming relief. It tasted faintly of the sourdough Lynn had brought home and the lingering salt of Shion’s own tears. At first, it was a frantic apology, but as Lynn’s large, warm hands found Shion’s waist — grounding her, pulling her flush against that solid, protective frame — it slowed into something much deeper.
It was a 'thank you', it was the sound of their hearts finally finding their synchronised rhythm again.
Lynn made a soft, contented sound in the back of her throat, her thumbs tracing slow, rhythmic circles over Shion’s hips. She tilted her head, deepening the connection with a tenderness that made Shion’s knees feel like watercolor paint. For a long moment, the world was just the scent of lavender detergent and the shared heat between them, the accident of the afternoon completely forgiven and transformed.
When they finally pulled apart, they didn't go far. Their foreheads rested together, their breaths hitching in the small space between them. Lynn was grinning again, a playful, lopsided sparkle in her eyes that reached all the way to the tiny silver hoop in her eyebrow.
“I bet Cherry will play even better now with the power of the ocean on her side,” Lynn joked, looking at the guitar.
Shion laughed again, cleaner this time. The smell of paint was beginning to fade, replaced entirely by the scent of warm sourdough and the comforting presence of the girl who would never hurt a fly.