Cracking Zeenath

December 3rd, 2015: Tell Me, Show Me

      Tuesday's class passed, Wednesday crawled by, and Thursday rolled around the corner, finding me sitting in art class, for the last time. I worked vigorously, pencil gliding across the page, stopping to think and stare every few minutes, trying to put to use everything he'd taught me. Hold your pencil like this. Don't make the lines too heavy or dark first. You can work your way up. Short lines can combine to make bigger ones.

I narrowed my eyes at the page. If you squinted and tried really hard...it kinda looked better. I think.

I sighed and put my head down on the table. Damian shifted in front of me, poking my head with a pencil.

"Hey, pick your head up. I can't see your face."

"Mmrgh."

Just draw it however you want. It ain't all that anyway.

I groaned and sat up, looking at him, tired. "Better?"

"Smile a bit."

I stuck my tongue out, wrinkling my nose.

"Tch."

I giggled.

"Better."

I raised my head in surprise, but he was already busy working. Huh.

Twenty minutes later, the professor called time. This was it. Our last project was gonna be turned in, now. I got up and stretched, yawning. Euh...I'm done.

Damian stood up, his chair screeching against the floor and I winced. He picked up his paper and turned towards the teacher.

"Aren't you gonna show me?" I asked, pushing in my chair, leaning against it.

He raised an eyebrow over his shoulder. "You curious?"

I paused for a moment, and nodded, peering at him through my glasses. He turned around, fully facing me and tilted his head. I watched a few strands of hair fall onto his forehead.

"Fine, here's the deal. I'll show it to you if you show me yours."

I nodded again, harder this time. I'd done it with him in mind anyway.

He seemed surprised and straightened his head, eyes studying me. After a moment, he extended his arm, paper in hand, face down, dropping his eyes to the table. I took it from him, hesitant, curiosity burning in my chest. When I flipped it over, my heart stopped.

It was me alright. Good Lord.

      He'd drawn it in such detail...I was sitting behind the table, head tilted to the side as I stared at the paper in front of me. My hair fell over my shoulder, a few locks dipping down in front of my face, getting in my eyes. One hand was buried in my hair, fingers tangled in the tresses, elbow resting against the table. The other was tapping my pencil against my pursed lips, my brow slightly furrowed, eyes on my paper.

The slope of my nose, curve of my lips, my hands...they were all drawn perfectly.

This was me.

Except...prettier. Not quite the way I'd been seeing myself. Different.

A smile tugged on my lips, a soft heat crept up my cheeks. I looked up at him. He was studying the black tabletop between us.

"Thanks," I whispered, rubbing my eye.

He looked up and gave me a smile. "You saw mine, now your turn."

I tilted my head, watching him for a second. I sighed and handed him my work, face down, just like he'd done.