𝐎𝐁𝐑𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀 ➤ sanzu haruchiyo.

Two.

02. DREEBLISA

——

Running a hand through her hair, Y/n stared outside her office window with a horrified expression.

Did she just fall asleep? With no pills? Without forcing it?

She was astonished to found out that it would still be possible after months of having a fucked sleep schedule and restless nights.

And what made her eyes glow and fingertips shaking was the fact that she was able to experience dreaming again.

The constant flow of colors, geometric shapes, images, and inspiration came crushing at the back of her mind. Her slender calloused fingers itching to paint the moment her eyes opened.

"But who was that?" she murmured, standing up from her swivel chair, massaging her arms that also fell asleep.

Approaching the open window, she could see how the clouds turned to a color of amber, the sun already setting down.

She's been asleep for a while, approximately 9 hours, since she went to work at 8 o'clock then woke up at quarter to 5.

A sigh lingered on her lips before she closed the window and turned back to her desk. She grabbed the empty canvas together with her handbag which she tucked some brushes and paints in.

As she walked out of the office, she saw some janitors cleaning thoroughly, making her smile. On the contrary, the employees upon hearing the sound of her heels flinched and frowned.

"Good job today," Y/n voiced out before she completely left the art gallery— her pride.

Returning home, she feels groggy because of her unusually long sleep. She planted her butt on her soft bed and stared blankly on the wall of her room, remembering how the creativity flowed within her.

On instinct, Y/n's hands moved on their own, setting up her canvas and from there, she mixed colors and shapes, adjusted the shadows and lighting— slowly and ever so gently, the pigments started to have a vivid shape, as if coming to life.

To her surprise, the image created on her recently empty canvas was a face of a man, a stranger's to be exact.

But not exactly a stranger as in a completely new face to her, but rather a stranger whom she already met— not personally but through a once in a while inspirational dream.

She gasped, her brush falling on the bottom, paint splattering on her tiled floor.

The oil painting exhibits the bizarre pinkish blonde of the male, his bluish eyes that makes her wonder if it contains the seven seas, and what makes her searching for more and admiring her own illusion was the unsavory— yet a sur​re​al​is​ti​c beautiful scar near his lips.

If she was a little drowsy or her mind was a bit clouded, she'll mistake her painting as a real-life person, staring and smiling at her, pure of care and love.

The more she stares at the canvas, the more she feels the strange longing she has for the imaginary man. Her eyes feel heavy and the corner of it burning, as tears started to swell.

"Is it okay for me to try and pretend you're real? Even if you're just a product of my far-fetched dream?"

A sarcastic laugh escaped her lips, closing her eyes tight before she opened it again to look at the portrait with a more intense passion.