Canvas

39: Bed Cuddles

ATLAS

"Stay put," is what Raven told me as he dashed into his bedroom to grab something.

I was forced to be frozen in place, wondering what the hell he was up to. I should be used to his sudden changes in plans, making me change poses, stay put, or wear something else. It took him a good long minute, on the hunt between his bedroom, then the storage, back and forth.

"Here it is!" I heard him say.

He walked back into the living room, nearly out of breath. He kneeled down to the trash can and blew dust off of whatever he was holding. It seemed to have a lot of dust, as it danced in the air before slowly falling into the can. Raven sneezed into his elbow, then stood up.

"What is it?" I asked.

Quickly he covered it up with his fingers. "Something that'll help me. Now stay still, just like that."

He hopped back on the chair and began painting at a more frequent pace than I've ever seen him. He wasn't popping out to look at me as often, raising more of my curiosity. The sounds of a brush sliding along the canvas became more apparent as the seconds ticked by. I could hear him tapping his brush against the cup full of paint water, shifting in his seat, then painting once again. Did he finally find his inspiration?

After what felt like forever, he stopped painting. Stood up, walked towards me. I blinked, remaining still as a sculpture. Then he handed me something.

A compass.

It looked ancient, made of sturdy wood, crafted as more than just a cheap souvenir. I've never seen a compass made of wood before, let alone a compass in general in a long time. The carvings were delicate, the dial had a black and white pattern, and the needle shook from movement. It pointed north.

"Hold this in your hand, like that," he said as he adjusted the position of my hand. "Perfect."

In seconds he was back on the chair, painting away. I saw him more often, as he angled the easel so he could get a better view of me. He still hid behind it when he was painting, but as soon as he stopped, he looked at me with sheer determination in his eyes.

Raven has a way of leaving me spellbound. It wasn't my worries that grabbed my attention. In that moment, it was the delicate compass in my hand, and the man behind the easel painting me.

My back was aching for a break, but I still stayed still.

Seeing Raven like this was something I didn't want to interrupt.

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He was covered head to toe in splatters of paint, but it didn't bother him at all. I still told him he needed to take a shower, since he got paint on his skin, his hair, clothes, and only just barely missed his glasses, somehow. While he was taking a shower, I took the chance to sneak over and have a peek at what he was painting. Stunned is an understatement.

The background was a mess of colour, all seemed like experimental blues, greens, red tones. The main focus was me. It was no longer red strokes that made up my figure. I am filled in with colour; blue, red, yellow, a splash of purple. The compass is in my hand. But it wasn't just in my hand, it also made the shape of my head. My whole head was replaced with a compass. I blink, tilt my head a little to see it differently. This is unlike anything I've seen from Raven.

It is just that: experimental.

"What do you think?"

I almost jump out of my skin. I hear Raven laugh at me, so I turn to see him emerge from the bathroom, half-naked, with a towel wrapped around his waist. His muscle build is slightly toned. The steam escaping the bathroom makes him look mythical. He's vigorously rubbing his hands through his hair, speckles of water dropping to the floor every time he does it. I swallow, my heart's beating fast.