England One shots

Two To Be Admired 「Ｐａｒｔ❶」

*•.Inspired by a guy that hates the living shiz nips out of me but I somehow respect him for some odd reason....•*

You were an artist. A pretty quiet one at that, but an outstanding artist nonetheless. Normally you would not show people your art work because of one very important reason. They hated you for it. Anyone who saw your artwork always seemed to hate and despise you for how talented you were. They would even go as far as saying that you show it off just to get attention. The thing is, they were kind of right.

When you were younger, it was obvious that you were talented in the arts. Everything you sketched, painted, and even colored was worthy of being framed and put in a museum. Everyone used to always be happy about seeing your artistic abilities grow and give you praise for it. You loved that attention, but not in a hogging way. Attention was something that was lacking in your day to day life, so when you got praised it was like a gift greater than gold.

Unfortunately, that gift only lasted for a while before it started to fall apart. As you got older, interest started to decline and praise became rare, until it was no longer there. The smiling faces that shown when you created something spectacular became jealous glares and bitter words. Nobody seemed happy about your achievements anymore. No one payed any attention to you at all. The only way they would have any interest in you is when you fail.

It's now the end of the school year, summer peaking right around the corner, but you still had three more normal school days left. Next week would be finals week so everyone had to finish up handing in assignments and finishing projects before friday. You were almost finished handing in all your final projects, except for your art final. The day the project was assigned the teacher said, "if you finish this before finals week, you do not have to come to class to finish it up the last week," so you were determined to finish it. There was not many people you talked to in that class on a friend-to-friend level, so it would be more comfortable for your to just stay home. Sadly, you had no idea what to draw. The assignment was to draw someone you admire who is alive and not a historical figure. The only problem with that was that you don't know who you admired. Like, you respected people but did you really admire them? You would draw one of your relatives, but you already drew them for last month's assignment, a realistic portrait of your family tree. Now you had to find someone to draw and quick.

You sat at your lonely table, near the window of the art studio, and stared blankly at the white canvas in front of you. "Who can I draw?" you thought as you tapped the eraser of your pencil against your chin, "the art teacher? No, that would look like I'm just sucking up to them..." The sound of light conversation between your fellow classmates is drowned out by your own thinking as you tried to come up with a person to sketch out. "I have to draw something!" you shouted in the deepest recesses of your mind. Suddenly you noticed a dark shadow lingered over your canvas from behind you. Your shoulders stiffened, knowing who it was. "Your canvas is still blank?" the class' second top student mocked. You glanced behind you to see none other than Arthur Kirkland smirk down at your cleared canvas. This guy always seemed to think that you tried to purposely compete with him in art when, in reality, you really never wanted to compete with anyone. It did not help either that the art teacher had a liking for your artwork more than his, even though you believed that your art was simple compared to Arthur's spectacular works of creativity.

"I can't think of anyone," you said, your quiet voice only making you look weak under his gaze. Arthur walked up next to your canvas and laughed, "I have already finished my painting and gave it to the professor just a minute ago." You nodded and tried your best to prevent your voice from wavering as you asked, "really? Can I see it? I bet it looks amazing." It was true what you said. You were truthfully interested in what he painted. His art always had a positive feel to it, which made it so irresistible for anyone who knew of his skills. Arthur gave you a shocked look as you glanced back up at him before staring down at the HB pencil in your hands. "N-No, you might steal my idea, w-wanker!" he huffed, cheeks red--probably from anger-- as he marched off to his seat on the other side of the room. You looked up and scanned the area around you for any onlookers but there were none. Sighing, you turned your attention to the back of Arthur's head from across the room.