My Muse
Civilian stared at the blank canvas in front of them. It sat deserted in the corner of their art studio, untouched by its artist for more than a few weeks until they finally gathered enough motivation to go and take a look at it. Safe to say, the lack of activity was evident in the room.
Freckles of dust and other particles coated the white sheets of Civilian’s canvases. The used paint brushes and glasses of dirty paint water from their last project still lay messily on the table. Even the fairy lights strung across the brightly painted walls couldn’t seem to revive the room.
After weeks of agonising Civilian had finally gotten out of bed, determined to paint something. But as they sat on the stool, finger tracing idly over the canvas, they had no idea what that something was.
Perhaps a landscape? No, it was way too realistic for their condition right now. Something cartoonish then. Maybe a drawing of a cat or a pixie? No, not that either.
Civilian sighed and pinched the bridge of their nose. Frustration boiled deep beneath their skin, fuelled by the indecisiveness of the past few days.
Why couldn’t the bloody canvas just paint itself?
Groaning, they banged their head against the easel, not bothering to pick it back up.
A pair of arms wrapped around Civilian’s waist and a chin came to rest on their shoulder. They didn’t have to turn back to know who it was. They would know that touch anywhere.
"What’s wrong, love?" The nickname Villain had for them still gave them butterflies.
"I have no clue what to paint. And frankly it’s quite vexing to sit here and stare like a statue."
Villain chuckled at their dramatics, nuzzling their face closer to Civilian’s neck. Their quiet voice exhaled warm breath over Civilian’s skin, making them shiver.
"Just paint something. Anything you do is a work of art." Civilian rolled their eyes at the super’s flattery, feeling, rather than seeing, them grin.
"If only it were that easy." They were feeling more enticed by their bed by the minute, wanting to slip under the cold sheets and dream the art block away, "Pretty sure my motivation is going down the drain."
Villain hummed, mindlessly stroking Civilian’s waist, "Try painting something you love or what you’re passionate about. That way, maybe you’ll want to finish it."
Civilian racked their brain, deeply immersed in the given advice. What was the one thing that made them happiest?
Civilian’s eyes lit up, an image becoming clear in their mind. It was so simple. Why hadn’t they thought of this before?
They finally lifted their head off the easel, turning to look at Villain with a huge, idiotic smile on their face. Villain took note of their expression and laughed, head thrown back, "I’m assuming you have an idea?"
Civilian nodded, still grinning, and pulled Villain in for a kiss. Villain’s grip on their waist tightened and they tugged their lover closer, deepening the kiss. Civilian pulled back after a while, resting their hands in Villain’s hair.
"Well, I’m expecting to see that painting by the end of the week." Villain gave them one last peck on the cheek, happy that they were able to help them, before leaving Civilian alone with their newfound excitement.
The artist tightened the apron around their waist before picking up a new, fresh paint palette.
Next week, the city’s greatest criminal would find a very handsome painting of themselves on the shared bedroom wall, captioned by it’s artist, "What makes me the happiest."
