(FLUFF AND THINGS)
???? A (very short) concept
(Artist!Josh and Author!Tyler)
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Most of the time, they find themselves...coexisting.
Tyler's perched on the windowsill, nestled between the floral-patterned pillows. Legs pulled to his chest, creating a valley in which his moleskine journal lies, a pen grasped between his index and middle finger.
Josh's sprawled out over the floor below him, lying on his tummy, hands barely shielding his sketchbook from the glaring sun. He's got his paints out, too--watercolours, soft and fading out on the paper.
Tyler writes. He writes about Josh. He writes about the crinkles by his eyes and the smile-cresents in his cheeks and the way his pink hair falls over his eyes. He writes about it needing a new dye, and he writes about the evenings, where Josh's lying in his lap and Tyler's reading a book. Evenings are nice. Josh is nice. Josh is more than nice. Josh might be the best thing in his life right now.
Josh paints. He paints the glimmer in the soft shades of Tyler's irises. He sketches with his pencil, the tufts of brown hair atop his head, and the callouses on his oh-so-soft hands, on the days when he gets caught up with writing and doesn't stop until he can't feel his fingers anymore.
Tyler writes about Josh. Josh doesn't know he does.
Josh draws a million tiny Tylers in the margins of his papers. Tyler doesn't know he does.
The room is dim, slightly dusty, cluttered with Josh's paints and easels, and stacked to the brim with Tyler's books and the random newspapers he collects because they have good articles.
Two beings, two separate hearts, two minds so stupidly wrapped around each other, without the least bit of awareness about it.
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