Sketch

Sydney Alexis

His side had long since grown cold by the time you register from his absence. Your body takes note, and, slowly, you're roused from your dreams. Turning sleep heavy eyes towards an unfamiliar light, you see him bathed in the white-blue glow of the monitor. Mouth tight in a firm line, he struggles to guide the stylus across the screen.

You smile to yourself slightly as you remember he called it an electronic color box not a few hours before.

Slipping from the sheets, you edge toward him with due care; he's jumpy as shit these days.

The moment you see the image on the screen, your breath catches. The lines are a little crude and the shading is not up to par, but you can't help but think it's the best work he's ever done...

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You knew he'd waking up eventually; he's a freakishly light sleeper, but you were hoping to finish before then.

The electronic version of Brian is rudimentary, unbalanced, and out of proportion. It's also the first piece you've actually came close to finishing since the bashing; every other sketch fell victim to muscle spasms and your short temper.

As the real life Brian moves towards you, he intentionally makes noise so he doesn't startle you. It's a habit he picked up before the bashing when you'd sit on his sofa and sketch for hours. Something he did because you'd get so sucked into what you were working on that you wouldn't hear your name when called and you'd jump and squeak--fucking squeak--when he'd touch you.

The hand that wraps around the base of your neck is comforting. The intake of air as he sees your work is unexpected.

"It's beautiful," he whispers, warm breath tickling the hair around your ears.

You roll your eyes, but smile anyway.

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