Ink's debut

prologue

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

The dripping of the sink clears the ringing in his skull.

Sitting up, he lurches to a stop, gazing into the puddle beneath him. It's paint.
He gagged again, retching against the empty, white void beneath him. Pointless. There was nothing left to spill.
Ink shook, reaching for his brush. He needed to find someone, anyone. After all, he returned for a reason, right?

He clawed at the brush, finally catching it by it's bristles and tugging it towards himself. He needed to leave.

Forcing himself against gravity, he created a puddle. A portal into a new universe, someone he could talk to.

This was, no- not where he wanted to be--
he puked again.

The ringing, it stopped.
"I'm worried about your eating, Ink." His therapist spoke, brushing his thumb over the other's cheek. The taller finished buttoning his shirt, grabbing his uniform jacket from his chair. "your magic...is running thin."

Ink nodded, nearly choking on his own breath. Why couldn't he have stayed?

The darker paused, sighing. "Don't give me that look. We had a nice session today. I enjoyed it."
He turned to leave. He paused when he felt the other's hand grip his sleeve. "I wasn't finished," Ink didn't even turn to look at him. "You need to eat. Take this with you." He pressed a plastic container into Ink's hands. It was salad.
He looked into Ink's eyes before pulling away. "Drive safely."

Ink hissed at the cold, stepping out and making his way to his parking spot.

The artist entered his car, looking down at the salad in his hands. His thumb creased the plastic film in his hands as he looked down.

It was already half eaten.