Breaking the Barriers • BrightWin

Eleven

My Canvas

"Sit still, Bright!"

Lying flatly on his chest on the floor of Bright's home office slash library, Win's head ducked low as his full concentration was on his portrait painting of Bright who plopped down stiffly over the couch, trying his very best not to make any move that could ruin the painting.

Bright was just patiently watching, the back of the canvas facing him as Win dipped and dragged the paintbrush across the surface of the canvas. Every once in a while, Win poked his head out behind the canvas to take a glimpse and study in replicating Bright's features: the fall of his hair, the placement of his ears, the shape of his nose, the pleasant curve of his luscious lips, every curve and lines of his sumptuous face.

Never did Bright understand the concept of art before, but looking at Win tonight, freely and calmly painting as if it was a relaxation technique, it seemed oddly mesmerizing. How he changed the moment he stepped into his personal space — painting; where he was able to meet his real self.

It was a sight to behold. An art-piece created by a masterpiece himself.

Conscious about his own train of thought, his gaze shifted, finding something to look at instead.

Minutes turned into an hour or so without either one of them saying anything until Win broke the comforting silence.

"Bright..." He said in a quiet, soft manner; his gaze fixed on the canvas, a crease coming between his eyebrows, and his lips pouted into what seemed like a frown, as if not pleased with his own work.

On the other hand, Bright's attention automatically moved toward him. "Hmm?"

The painting was now slowly coming together. Not satisfied enough with his work, Win debated on rather showing it to him was worth it — eventually, he set down his paintbrush to rise to his position and sat up, still on the floor but his back leaned on the sofa across Bright.

"What do you think?" He breathed. It took him an age of waiting yet he never received a response. He groaned in frustration as he turned his head as caught Bright just staring at him, unaware of what to do.

A soft giggle escaped Win's mouth before he asked amusedly, "Why are you not moving?"

"Can I?" Bright's eyes widened, looking so innocent like a pet waiting for his master's signal. "I was just waiting for you. I'm afraid I might ruin your work." He stated while walking toward Win's direction.

The moment Bright stepped to the side and collapsed next to him, Win anxiously asked. "So, how was it?"

"It is lovely." He absentmindedly spoke in such a calm breathy voice, eyes darted directly at Win before finally peering at the half done canvas sitting in front of Win. Truth be told, watching it was a different matter indeed. It was breathtakingly beautiful. Win had captured the right natural hues of color in his skin; every detail was superbly copied. It was a perfect carbon copy of his image.

A sweet pleased grin made its way to his lips. "It is indeed beautiful. You've paid so much attention to every detail of my face," he complimented.

A heat to creep into Win's cheeks. He was used to painting sceneries, so he felt an ounce of insecurity crawling through him as this was his first time attempting to paint a portrait, let alone a live portrait. Hearing his compliment and knowing that he was delighted with it sent shivers down his spine in such a good way.

"Have you painted many people before?" Bright questioned curiously.

"You are the first one," voice was barely above the whisper.