[it's a terrible time of year to hope for good natural light--or it would be in the Six Duchies, where Fitz demonstrably isn't anymore, so what does he know? and so he sits where he is instructed within the little living room of his cottage and obediently turns his chin this way or that way until Huaisang finds his pose pleasing. and then, well. then he must simply be still, and watch Huaisang as he arranges his supplies and then settles in to work.
he does quite a bit of watching, dark eyes all softness--consider the screeds of introspective navel-gazing his mind must be subjecting himself to--and whatever he's mulling over must be something.. nice. he drops his eyes down to the floor, then over to where Nighteyes has sprawled himself in a patch of diffuse sunlight through the window. the wolf snores very softly in his dreamless (for now) sleep. Fitz clears his throat and tries to fill the silence with words--to distract himself while he gathers his courage.]
Did you paint portraits often? In your world, I mean.
[It's always a little bit cold and a little bit dismal in The Unclean Realm, and Huaisang has made peace with bad lighting as a result. It doesn't particularly matter right now, for this piece, because the point is not the mastery but the making— the quiet comfort of it, painting portraits.
Not to say that he isn't putting his whole chest into the technique, because like, of course he has to produce the best quality art he's capable of or he'll have a small tantrum, but. It's mostly the work, and the way Fitz absolutely keeps looking at other things, which is at least not fidgeting - and so on. The cottage is warm and Huaisang has smudges of ink and paints on his face and fingers remarkably quickly, and it is Nice. So.]
Hm? No, not really. No one wanted to hold still long enough. [A beat.] Ah, sometimes I would sketch...? I'm terrible at following a long lecture.
[And all of his classmates were super duper hot, so yeah, he absolutely sketched the homies while he was supposed to be learning Lan Rules, or whatever. Those times were markedly not like this.]
You don't need to convince me, I believe you, [said with a crooked little grin that brightens his eyes even in the poor lighting, because he's clearly trying not to laugh at such an earnest declaration. it hadn't occurred to him to doubt that Huaisang's work would be beautiful, because he's seen the beauty that he can create with a brush in hand and inks at his disposal. ...ink that has now left little smudges of colour on Huaisang's cheekbones and above the soft curve of his eyebrow.
it takes him another moment to realize that he's staring--gazing--and sheepishly drops his eyes back to the floor, before chancing another glance up again. El and Eda, if he'd always been like this, no wonder the Fool had been so wounded by his short-sightedness, no wonder... well. what was it Nighteyes was always telling him about gnawing at the past's bones? besides 'stop it,' of course. hasn't Fitz earned the right to let those old wounds heal? perhaps this is the first step of many he'll take down that path, if he can just steady his nerves enough to say what he wants to say.
he adjusts his posture where he sits and clears his throat, scratches at his beard briefly, and begins with a succinct and very clever-sounding,] Huaisang, there's something I've been meaning to--[no, that's not the right way to go about it. he stops himself, grimacing, and tries again with an ineffectual little gesture with one hand. (so much for not fidgeting.)] That is to say, I've been thinking, [he begins, slowly.]
Clearly not, [comes Nighteyes' drowsily unhelpful contribution, an eddy of affectionate and acerbic warmth through both their minds, as he stretches to make himself more comfortable on the floor. Fitz shoots him a flat look of displeasure, face flush with embarrassment, because thanks for that.]
Nighteyes..! [well that's taken the wind out of his sails a bit. Fitz glances self-consciously Huaisang's way again, then aside, and then pushes a hand through his already messy hair as an outlet for the nervous energy his first interrupted attempt at a confession has left him to manage.]
[Huaisang has been gazed at like this before, sure enough, but this will be the first time his errant ink smudges are the cause. He thinks little of it now, looking back to his work with a little hum and a divot between his brows, half focus and half acquiescing - yes, yes, Fitz will say nice things about his art no matter what, but what of his own personal criticism...
Like, what if he makes Fitz less handsome in ink than he is sitting in front of him, incapable of forming whole sentences? That would certainly be criminal. Unforgivable of an artist of his caliber, obviously, and—
Ah, wait. Hold on. It's Nighteyes' teasing that draws his attention away from the art again, leaning back around to glance between Fitz and Nighteyes with eyebrows raised. He was just going to let Fitz come to the end of his meandering sentence journey on his own, but, hm...?]
What? [His mouth quirks at the corners, the click of his tongue and faux scolding, You've messed up your hair again, I have to start over! not immediately following. It's there. In the quirk. It's implied. But what, sir, is all this then. There's far too many flushed cheeks in this room for Huaisang to think something is wrong, like perhaps he's overstayed his welcome in this cottage, so...
Well, now he clicks his tongue. Nighteyes, please.]
Night-gege, give him an earnest chance. I'm curious now.
[he has messed up his hair again, hasn't he, but in all fairness, it's always a bit of a curly and tousled mess, blown hither, thither and yon by the wind even if he isn't raking his fingers through it. still, he's grown well versed enough in Huaisang's little reproving looks that he knows when he's been scolded, even affectionately. with muted huff of laughter at himself he drops his hands back down and laces them together, elbows on his knees.]
Very well. Sorry. [Nighteyes' apology is a quiet and sleepy-sounding thing even when it can't be spoken aloud, and maybe it's a mercy that his wolfish consciousness is already lapsing back into a deeper, dreamless sleep. Fitz watches his Wit partner with lingering, exasperated affection, before looking back to Huaisang again. he chews at his lower lip absently, frees one hand to scratch his beard again, and takes a breath.]
It's been--enjoyable, for me, having you here. I know it isn't much, [a somewhat self-conscious look around the interior of the small cottage out in the Trenchwood, humble in its furnishings, but warm and comfortable even with the press of darkness outside the windows,] certainly it can't compare to your rooms at the Red, but I've... I've liked it quite a lot, actually--your companionship, sharing what I have with you. I think--
[a beat of silence while he plucks at a loose thread on his sleeve, studying it before he makes himself look up again, to risk a glimpse of Huaisang's expression while he says,] ...I think--that is, what I'm trying to say, Huaisang, is that I'd like you to--to... [no; the thought is simpler than what his verbose subconscious keeps trying to spin it out into. he reels it back in, endeavouring to be patient with himself, and says simply instead,] ...I care for you. As, [another slightly awkward pause, twisting his hands together,] more than a man cares for a brother, or a friend.
[there, that wasn't so hard, was it? ...maybe it was, given he's staring self-consciously at the floor again.] I think I have for a while now, but only just-- [a vague gesture,] figured it out myself.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gay art time 🎨
he does quite a bit of watching, dark eyes all softness--consider the screeds of introspective navel-gazing his mind must be subjecting himself to--and whatever he's mulling over must be something.. nice. he drops his eyes down to the floor, then over to where Nighteyes has sprawled himself in a patch of diffuse sunlight through the window. the wolf snores very softly in his dreamless (for now) sleep. Fitz clears his throat and tries to fill the silence with words--to distract himself while he gathers his courage.]
Did you paint portraits often? In your world, I mean.
no subject
Not to say that he isn't putting his whole chest into the technique, because like, of course he has to produce the best quality art he's capable of or he'll have a small tantrum, but. It's mostly the work, and the way Fitz absolutely keeps looking at other things, which is at least not fidgeting - and so on. The cottage is warm and Huaisang has smudges of ink and paints on his face and fingers remarkably quickly, and it is Nice. So.]
Hm? No, not really. No one wanted to hold still long enough. [A beat.] Ah, sometimes I would sketch...? I'm terrible at following a long lecture.
[And all of his classmates were super duper hot, so yeah, he absolutely sketched the homies while he was supposed to be learning Lan Rules, or whatever. Those times were markedly not like this.]
It will be good! I swear!
no subject
You don't need to convince me, I believe you, [said with a crooked little grin that brightens his eyes even in the poor lighting, because he's clearly trying not to laugh at such an earnest declaration. it hadn't occurred to him to doubt that Huaisang's work would be beautiful, because he's seen the beauty that he can create with a brush in hand and inks at his disposal. ...ink that has now left little smudges of colour on Huaisang's cheekbones and above the soft curve of his eyebrow.
it takes him another moment to realize that he's staring--gazing--and sheepishly drops his eyes back to the floor, before chancing another glance up again. El and Eda, if he'd always been like this, no wonder the Fool had been so wounded by his short-sightedness, no wonder... well. what was it Nighteyes was always telling him about gnawing at the past's bones? besides 'stop it,' of course. hasn't Fitz earned the right to let those old wounds heal? perhaps this is the first step of many he'll take down that path, if he can just steady his nerves enough to say what he wants to say.
he adjusts his posture where he sits and clears his throat, scratches at his beard briefly, and begins with a succinct and very clever-sounding,] Huaisang, there's something I've been meaning to--[no, that's not the right way to go about it. he stops himself, grimacing, and tries again with an ineffectual little gesture with one hand. (so much for not fidgeting.)] That is to say, I've been thinking, [he begins, slowly.]
Clearly not, [comes Nighteyes' drowsily unhelpful contribution, an eddy of affectionate and acerbic warmth through both their minds, as he stretches to make himself more comfortable on the floor. Fitz shoots him a flat look of displeasure, face flush with embarrassment, because thanks for that.]
Nighteyes..! [well that's taken the wind out of his sails a bit. Fitz glances self-consciously Huaisang's way again, then aside, and then pushes a hand through his already messy hair as an outlet for the nervous energy his first interrupted attempt at a confession has left him to manage.]
no subject
Like, what if he makes Fitz less handsome in ink than he is sitting in front of him, incapable of forming whole sentences? That would certainly be criminal. Unforgivable of an artist of his caliber, obviously, and—
Ah, wait. Hold on. It's Nighteyes' teasing that draws his attention away from the art again, leaning back around to glance between Fitz and Nighteyes with eyebrows raised. He was just going to let Fitz come to the end of his meandering sentence journey on his own, but, hm...?]
What? [His mouth quirks at the corners, the click of his tongue and faux scolding, You've messed up your hair again, I have to start over! not immediately following. It's there. In the quirk. It's implied. But what, sir, is all this then. There's far too many flushed cheeks in this room for Huaisang to think something is wrong, like perhaps he's overstayed his welcome in this cottage, so...
Well, now he clicks his tongue. Nighteyes, please.]
Night-gege, give him an earnest chance. I'm curious now.
no subject
Very well. Sorry. [Nighteyes' apology is a quiet and sleepy-sounding thing even when it can't be spoken aloud, and maybe it's a mercy that his wolfish consciousness is already lapsing back into a deeper, dreamless sleep. Fitz watches his Wit partner with lingering, exasperated affection, before looking back to Huaisang again. he chews at his lower lip absently, frees one hand to scratch his beard again, and takes a breath.]
It's been--enjoyable, for me, having you here. I know it isn't much, [a somewhat self-conscious look around the interior of the small cottage out in the Trenchwood, humble in its furnishings, but warm and comfortable even with the press of darkness outside the windows,] certainly it can't compare to your rooms at the Red, but I've... I've liked it quite a lot, actually--your companionship, sharing what I have with you. I think--
[a beat of silence while he plucks at a loose thread on his sleeve, studying it before he makes himself look up again, to risk a glimpse of Huaisang's expression while he says,] ...I think--that is, what I'm trying to say, Huaisang, is that I'd like you to--to... [no; the thought is simpler than what his verbose subconscious keeps trying to spin it out into. he reels it back in, endeavouring to be patient with himself, and says simply instead,] ...I care for you. As, [another slightly awkward pause, twisting his hands together,] more than a man cares for a brother, or a friend.
[there, that wasn't so hard, was it? ...maybe it was, given he's staring self-consciously at the floor again.] I think I have for a while now, but only just-- [a vague gesture,] figured it out myself.