Parody

*There are suicide or self-harm triggers in this sot

Blue, like the sky.

It was the right words to describe him, or at least his hair. It was a shock of bright periwinkle, at the consistency of dry straw from being bleached too much. I sometimes miss running my hands through it, but shame, for I will never see him again.

He was standing in front of my work, and being the only one there, he stood out like a highlighter. He had been there for a good 5 minutes. He had done the same thing the last time he'd been here, just with a different painting. I silently stood beside him, trying to get the same view, wondering what made it so fascinating. The scent of cigarette smoke and cologne wafted over gently.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

His voice stated smoothly, his intense eyes never leaving the painting.

"I'm not so sure."

He glanced at me, raising an eyebrow. "Why so?"

"... The lines are too harsh. What she was trying to draw was light seeping through the windows, but nothing's glowing. And the apple," I cringed. "Let's just not talk about the apple. Everything's just... trapped in formation."

"I thought it could've been done on purpose." He argued. "In a philosophical view, this reveals her feelings down to the bone. It's not just the painting that's "trapped in formation", it's the artist."

"... very interesting."

"Anyway, I like this one. It's my favorite one here." He rambled on a little, looking back at the painting. "I don't understand why it's not out in the front."

"It's not good enough." I muttered.

He turned towards me, obviously annoyed. "If you're going to shit on somebody else's painting, maybe do it alone. I like this one, and that's final."

"... what's your name?"

He looked at me in disapproval. "Max. Max Fauvel."

"I'm Annika Wilson."

He blinked. "... seriously?"

"You have an eye for art." I said, smiling. "And thank you for appreciating this one. I wasn't lying when I said I didn't like it."

Flustered, he ran his fingers through his hair. "... I didn't know... wow, do people tell you you're a great artist? 'Cause you really are, you're one of my favorites, I come here every time they're showing your work." The sparkle in his eyes was almost an exact imitation of the way sunlight reflected on the sea. "Oh, god. Can I get an autograph?"

"Yes, of course. But could you do something for me?"

"Of course!" He tugged at his hair, tucking a blue strand nervously behind his ear. "... what can I do?"

"Would you mind modeling?"

"... for your painting?"

"Yes."

His eyes smiled wider than his mouth. "Really?"

I nodded, infected by his smile. "I – I'm drawing portraits for my next exhibition, and you have a great color pallet, really."

He laughed nervously. "Thanks. It's the hair, right? It's the best thing I've done in my life." He confessed.

"So, when are you available?"

"Anytime, really." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Currently on a... short vacation."

"... you know what, I'll check my schedule and get back to you. Can I have your number?"