The particular curve of Iris’ smile began to work its way into her paintings, the melody of her song stayed behind long after she stopped singing, playing through her head on an endless loop. She hadn’t had it this bad in a while. It was a dangerous state to be in for someone like her, too much uncertainty in it.
Much to Drew’s surprise, it’s Iris that strikes up a conversation first after yet again stumbling into each other in the hall.
“So you’re an artist?” she asked, after nearly a month of getting tiny glimpses of stacked canvas behind a hastily shut door, the curiosity had gotten to her.
“Oh. Yes. I am.” Drew stammers for just a moment before regaining her composure.
“Can I see some of your paintings? Please?” Iris peers around past her shoulder to get a better look inside the room.
“…Sure.” Drew nervously wonders if Iris will somehow recognize the exact color of her eyes swirled into the paint of her latest piece (a part of her almost hoped so, it’d taken her ages to mix that color exactly. Such an odd shade of blue.) “My room hasn’t been cleaned in… a while.”
“I’m sure it’s not so… Oh.” She trailed off, distracted suddenly by the sight of scattered art supplies, chipped coffee mugs full of paint-water, old take-out boxes, and whatever else had managed to make its way to her bedroom floor.
“Warned you.” Drew nervously raked a shaking hand through her short-cropped hair, as Iris lost interest in the mess in favor of picking through a pile of mostly-finished pieces. Napoleon growls lowly but doesn’t get up from his spot in the corner.
“I wish I could paint.”
“Well. I wish I could sing.”
“…You’ve heard me sing?”
“Thin walls.” She says, and Iris gives her an odd sort of look that she can’t quite identify, then she went back to the looking through the canvases. Almost as if she may have been searching for something in particular.
“Don’t you ever paint people? Everything here is so… abstract.”
“Not since… probably art school. Models are expensive, and I don’t have the money.”
Iris’ eyes lit up like that’s best news she’s ever heard.
“Really? Would you paint me?”
Drew felt an odd mixture of excitement and worry bubble up in the pit of her stomach, “Are you sure you’d want me to do that?”
“Yes! God, yes. I’ve always wanted a real portrait of myself done. I might even come up with a way to buy it from you once you’re finished…” she said, sighing dreamily. Drew tried to swallow the newly formed knot in her throat, but to no avail.
“Well. Then. I’m sure we could work something out.”