Whispers of the Wind
Cyclone
"Now hold still, beautiful, we don't wanna mess this portrait up when it's nearly finished..."
Cyclone had a grin on his face, licking his lower lip as he stroked his brush across the canva with effortless precision, capturing the breathtaking scene before him. His eyes lovingly lingered on your figure, sitting gracefully amidst the lush, rolling meadow, as he meticulously rendered your features — your expressive eyes, small nose, and your stubborn lips that he secretly longed to kiss at the moment. Only then did your complaint disrupt his dreamy state, snapping him out of it.
"I know but you've been saying that for hours, Cy!" you complained, shifting a movement with your hand supporting your weight on the ground and the other holding onto your hat, worried that it might be blown away — making a slight difference on the initial pose you were asked to do. "And the wind is getting rather brisk right now!"
"Ah, but a masterpiece like this cannot be rushed, my love," he replied smoothly, flashing you a charming grin, while his brush stroked across the canva and focused on enhancing your features that he had committed to his memory, even without having to look at you the entire time. "Besides, I like the way the wind plays with your hair; it only adds to your captivating beauty."
A huff of frustration escaped your throat, the puff of air ruffling a few strands of hair that had escaped your hat. "A masterpiece — I fear that my hat would probably be halfway to the next town before you're even done!" you expressed dramatically, unable to hold back the hints of a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.
"Patience," he replied again, his brows furrowed in an exaggerated display of seriousness and amusement, no doubt picturing the adorable little frown he knew was forming on your face. "As they say, patience is a value."
A roll of your eyes was made in exasperation. "It's virtue, not value!" you retorted, though the laughter in your voice betrayed your feigned annoyance as the playful spark in your eyes met his instead.
"Oh but they're just the same thing!" he laughed, giving a dismissive wave of his paint-speckled hand, his focus shifting back to rendering and perfecting your likeness on the canvas before him; the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the tip of his tongue peeking out between his lips, only made your heart flutter with affection for this incorrigible boy.
With a final, decisive stroke, he stepped back to admire his work, his eyes sweeping across the wonderful nature he had captured. The rich colours danced across the canvas, from the lush, verdant landscape to the breathtaking subject at its heart — you. He studied the way the light seemed to emanate from your very being, bathing you in an ethereal glow and radiance. The delicate details of your features, the softness of your expression, the way your elegant pose seemed to radiate an almost divine grace — all proved that this was no mere painting, but a labor of love.
Finally, he sighed with satisfaction and pulled his eyes away, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he looked to you, his muse, his inspiration — the true heart of this creation.
"Come on, love!" he exclaimed, a triumphant grin spreading across his face as he beckoned you over. "It's finished!"
As you finally heard the words you had been hoping to hear, you let out a sigh of relief and allowed your body to take a moment to relax, clearing out the tension. When you regained your composure and stood up, your boyfriend approached you and took your hand along with him. His guiding movements caused the delicate fabric of your dress to billow and sway effortlessly in the wind as he escorted you back to where he stood, both of you letting out carefree laughs that belied the hours of patient waiting that had come before.
