face painter!charles and single dad!max wip as a reward for watching the boring ass spa gp (1419 words)
When Charles put all of his time, blood, sweat and tears into finishing his architecture degree, he never imagined that his life would consist of staying outside, with colourful splatters of paint and rainbow smudges on the back of his hand. Or that all the art knowledge stored in his brain would be used on painting flowers and rainbows and Minecraft creepers on children's faces.
Life is unpredictable like that.
No matter how much he had tried to get his elbows out, the industry was cruel. All the internships in the world could not have been enough for him to find a job. And he had tried; Years being underpaid and overworked, having his projects stolen by the senior architects, being given no credit for his work, no recognition besides lukewarm Keep up the good work and then maybe you’ll get a permanent spot here.
So he simply… changed career paths.
Replaced charcoal with face paint, canvases for children’s faces and all the thoughts of monetary stability for earning just enough to keep himself afloat. But the kids were lovely, if a bit underwhelmed when he sometimes only had minutes to make them into princesses and Spider Men.
It wasn’t what he had imagined, but Charles had grown to love it. Had grown to accept that he loves it so much he wouldn’t change it for the world.
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Weekends at the fair tend to be his favourite, no matter how exhausted he is by the time Sunday evenings roll around. Painting hundreds of children and getting to see their reaction is worth having the fatigue buried deep into his bones, bags dark under his eyes.
“Papa, I want to be a skeleton! Can I be a skeleton, please?”
Those are the words that keep him going, batteries recharged as soon as the girl’s delighted shrieks reach his tent. Charles pushes the glasses higher up his nose, smiling to himself as he continues cleaning the dirty brushes. He hopes her parents will not intervene and try to steer her towards having a unicorn drawn on her face instead of her wish to become a skeleton.
“I don’t see any images of skeletons, but you can always ask the nice man if he can paint one, Julie,” comes the father’s answer. Softer than his daughter’s demand, Germanic accent and slight lisp making the words sound rounder than they should.
At last, Charles turns to face the duo. He’s not a man to fold easily, but the sight before him may reconfigure his entire being: the little girl – dressed in the cutest black dress, one that would put every witch out there to shame – is perched on top of her father’s shoulders, tiny hands gripping the man’s blond hair and steering him towards Charles’ tent like a slightly-bigger-and-less-hidden-under-a-chef’s-hat Remy. It’s the cutest sight he’d seen in a while, and Charles sees tons of adorable toddlers. It’s not just the little girl that makes him do a double take.
The father… Charles is only a man, if a little repressed from years of hiding his sexuality to have a chance of success in a cutthroat industry. Even with his minimal experience in the field, Charles knows he wants this man. Immediately, preferably yesterday. As if a switch has gone off in the back of his mind, throwing all previous inhibitions out the window, Charles stares at the man shamelessly. He’s absolutely gorgeous, broad and soft around his stomach and pale enough for Charles to know he must blush beautifully. A marble sculpture carved by the Gods themselves come to life, walking into Charles’ face painting tent. Charles wants to climb him like a tree, bite into his arms and thighs and other unholy places he should not be thinking of during work.
God, he must have somehow gotten a heatstroke, otherwise Charles cannot explain why his face is heating up the closer the two are getting, nor why his mind is reeling with such thoughts about a man he’s never met before.
“Go on, Juliette,” the man says once they reach the high chair next to Charles’ station. “What do you want to be painted as?”
“A skeleton!” For how small Juliette seems to be, her voice sure carries a lot of decibels. Charles should be used to it, how loud kids can get when they’re excited about something, but the sheer volume of it never ceases to amaze him. From the look on the father’s face, he too is taken by surprise, eyes closed shut as he tries to regain his ability to hear.
“Like a sugar skull?”
On her father’s shoulders, Juliette shakes her head so strongly that her human mode of transportation moves with it. Finally, the man reaches up to place her on the chair, procuring a headband – is that meant to be a goth unicorn? – from who knows where and using it to push her blonde hair out of her tiny, round face.
“I want to be a scary skull! With blood coming out from my mouth and eyes! And– And wounds on my face! So that the other kids will scream when they see me!”
Charles gets many strange requests from his lovely children customers, after all kids have vivid imaginations and no one can really tell what’s going on in those small heads of theirs, but being asked to paint a scary skull that will make the other kids scream is a new thing for him. He just knows that this may be his first truly unique experience.
He doesn’t need anything else to be swayed into it, design already forming in his mind. “Sounds like a plan, cherie!” Charles turns to face the father, who is already watching them with a soft look in his eyes. “Is it fine with you if I film it?” He points towards his glasses, making it less obvious for the vibrating child in his chair. “I have a Tiktok page where I post them, but you can say no, of course!”
The man considers it, brows pulled into an adorable frown Charles wants to smooth off. Totally normal thoughts to have about a parent, of course. “No creeps on it, I hope,” he settles on saying.
“Oh, no! It’s mostly other face painters. Like a community, you know? I can film it, you can check the page while I make her into the scariest skeleton, and if you’re not fine with it by the end I’ll delete it. Sounds good?”
It’s what he always tells the parents before they start, knowing that if his hypothetical child were to be filmed and posted online, he’d throw hands before the first view came in. Alas, the parents appreciate the clear ask for consent, and the man next to him seems to do it just as much as the rest.
He looks at his daughter, then he questions her, “Juliette, do you want to be filmed?” The little girl poses, brings her hands under her chin and winks at Charles. She is so cute, Charles is about to combust. “I guess that’s a yes, then. Go on.”
Turning the recording on is quick work, movement ingrained in his brain by now. He hopes the camera is focused, but he will only know for sure when he’s editing the footage. Juliette looks to be in her element, legs swinging back and forth as she watches Charles pick up the black paint, along with a thin brush.
“Alright, cherie, keep your eyes closed for me please.”
The girl does as told, leaning into Charles’ touch when he lays his hand on her chin to guide her into proper position. “What’s your name, sir?” She asks, voice full of childlike innocence. “We are Julie and papa!”
“Nice to meet you, Julie and papa!” Charles laughs. “My name is Charles.” He pronounces it the right way, but he doubts she will be able to say it, not with the accent she must have picked up from her father.
“It’s uh… It’s Max,” the man – Max – adds lamely. He is actually going to be the end of Charles, if he keeps up being such a cringe-fail Adonis. It’s those types of men that are Charles’ weakness and he really doesn’t wish to fall like that for a possibly married man. He’s better than that. He’s had plenty of hot dads around him and not once had he been rendered uselessly gay, but there’s something about this hot man.
“Nice to meet you, Max,” Charles winks at him.
