there is an ill contained exhale as you listen to him. of course, it’s nothing unusual; there are many who would prefer you to rest than grow. & somehow still, you’re uncertain how to deal with it. to say no would be rude, but to stall in your lessons ‘ so long as you request it, my time is your’s. ’
then he is speaking of painting, and suddenly, you’re warm. ‘ i i am . . . trained in such things, certainly, but i’m no avid painter. you must have heard wrong. ’ teeth to cheek, you’ll pause, as always, to mull it over, eyes making a quick dart to the wall, far away from materials familiar. it is with a clearing of your throat that you speak once more. ‘ though if you are insistent on my removing of stress, i will compromise so far as to watch. ’
short is the span of time that it takes to assess the situation -- belief is fickle & relenting, but he has no cause to make accusations. preferences soar like feathers in the wind through his mind, & indecisiveness might prove worthy of the death of him. own eyes fall, locking with the ground, squinting as if drowned in some flowing contemplation. one hand rests gently on the table before them, & he takes his fingers in a silent rhythm -- 1 , 2 , 3 , 4. a steady tempo.
ah ! a compromise. some tactic of masqueraded agreement that would later unfold into a relished defeat. there is a tiny smirk that pulls, smug, at his lips, but not a moment later it is hidden through a facade of polite consideration.
❝ very well then. if you are willing to take a moment’s rest, i shall begin. ❞
& he fills a thin canvas with a sketch of the room before them . . . his plan has yet to unfold.
❝ so, is studying all you do in here ? it looks like you haven’t slept in days. ❞