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Blowing out a slow breath, I try to push away all thoughts, clearing my mind until there is nothing but the thrum of the music in my ears and the weight of the pencil between my fingers.
I start with a small line, with the curve of his jaw. I don’t know why, but I find it easier to sketch the lower half of a face first and work down through the shoulders. Probably because it’s easier than the details of the face and I prefer to save the more challenging sections for the end because that’s when I feel like I’m my strongest—once I’ve had time to really get into what I’m doing.
Minutes pass in a blur as my hands work furiously across the page. I only look at Archer when I absolutely have to, sketching in a lot of the less detailed parts based on memory alone.
By the time I reach his face, we’ve been at it for over an hour, and even though my hand is starting to cramp a little, I refuse to take a break, too eager to be done with this. If I could, I would draw all six sessions today, but unfortunately, that kind of defeats the purpose of the assignment.
His eyes are the hardest part.
I can ignore him watching me while I work when I don’t have to look at him, but when I do... Well, that’s an entirely different story.
Every time I have to glance back at his face and our gazes meet, heat spreads across my cheeks and down my neck. Like even though I’m supposed to be looking at him, I feel like I shouldn’t be. It’s really hard to explain.
For as difficult as he has been leading up to this point, he’s been surprisingly obedient during our session. Not talking. Moving only when I ask him to. Sitting so still it’s almost like he’s a freaking statue. Honestly, he’s kind of been the perfect subject.
That is, until he opens his mouth.
“Why do I look like the devil?” He gapes openly at my finished sketch, pointing at the soft blends of reds I used around his head.
“The assignment was to draw you as I see you. This is how I see you.” I turn and begin to gather my supplies while he stands in front of my easel, staring at my drawing like it’s some kind of code he has to decipher.
“You see me as the devil?”
“You’re not the devil.” I gesture toward the picture. “Do you see any horns? A pitchfork? Fire?” I tick off things one would typically see in hell.
“Then what’s all this red around my head and why do I look... Evil?”
“The assignment was to draw you as I see you,” I repeat a second time. I can’t look at him, feeling suddenly very self-conscious. “Do you not like it?” I ask, not sure why I care one way or the other. I know how good I am. I don’t need his validation to make it so. And yet, for reasons I can’t fully wrap my head around, I care what he thinks.
“It’s incredible.”
I flick my gaze toward him to see he’s looking at me now, not the drawing.
“It’s just... Is this really how you see me? As some monster?”
“I don’t think you’re a monster. I just don’t think you’re a very good person.”
“And you came to that conclusion how?”
“Look around you. We’re here because you hijacked this project without even consulting me.”
“So I’m a bad person for wanting to work with the best?”
Hisbestcomment sends me for a bit of a loop, but I don’t let it derail me.
“That’s not what I meant. You just take whatever you want.”
“So it’s a bad thing to go after what I want?”
I’m not sure if he’s more offended or amused at this point. My guess would be the latter, given that the further he pushes this, the more flustered I become, and the more he seems to like it.
“No, of course not.”
“Then what is it? Why am I bad person?”
And then suddenly he’s in front of me, so close I feel engulfed by the heat of him.
“I don’t... I don’t know you. This is how I perceive you,” I try to explain, unable to maintain eye contact.
