prompt: (Y/n) paints Tsukishima

warning: none

word count: 963

.・-: ✧ :-　second-person point of view　-: ✧ :-・．

Like a field of wild daffodils, his hair laid messily on his head. Though he put no effort into keeping it neat, it felt like each strand of blond hair was hand-placed exactly where it was supposed to be. It looked soft as spring daffodils too. Even his thin eyebrows looked perfectly put into place.

His eyes were narrow, like honey-covered hazelnuts, and sharp and intelligent; observant and analytical. Perhaps a better term would be judgemental. Though, you hoped that was not his true nature, just a shield he projected.

His face was slim and angular, a pronounced jawline and ears that were tucked under the temples of his glasses. His skin was pale like porcelain. Though it was clear, you saw small marks littered across his skin. You could not quite identify what they were; acne scars, faint moles, or small patches of discoloration.

A frown was settled onto his thin lips. It was a frown that appeared different from the one of annoyance or discomfort you had grown so used to. He wore his resting face, one that conveyed no particular emotion. It would be impossible to guess what he was feeling.

You wondered what he was thinking, praying he was not counting the seconds until he could leave the art club room. He tried his best to remain still, knowing if he moved too much, it might cause you to make a mistake.

You only wished you would be able to capture half of the beauty that sat before you and transfer it onto your canvas.

"When are you gonna let me see this thing?" Tsukishima asked, his calm voice gently cutting through the silence.

"You mean my painting?" You clarified, an amused smile coming onto your face.

"Yeah, idiot, what else?" Tsukishima remarked, resisting a smirk. You let out a small laugh, then shook your head.

"You can see it when it's done," You promised. You dipped your thin brush into a different pigment, one that might capture his delicate eyelashes.

"And when will it be done?" Tsukishima wondered aloud. You hoped he only asked that so he could see the finished product. You feared he might want the grueling process to wrap up swiftly.

"I'm not sure," You admitted, a small shrug. "Maybe another week. If it's not too much trouble." You poked your head out from behind your easel, nervously looking at Tsukishima for approval.

"It's fine," He stated, seeming to be genuine. "I've already sunk three months into this, what's another week?" You chuckled again and Tsukishima felt the corners of his lips twitch. 

It was almost four months ago when your art club had decided each member should do their own unique exhibition. You had decided you wanted to do a portrait, but, then had come the question: who on Earth would you paint?

The question had been swimming in your skull that way, like a lost fish trying to navigate a strong current. Your mind had been flicking through options of people you thought might be likely to agree. Being lost in your thoughts had disconnected you from reality. You had passed the gym, noticing the volleyball that came rolling out.

You had picked it up, your instinct to return it had kicked in and you had stepped inside the gym. You had placed it in the large basket with identical volleyball, not making yourself too obvious. Yet, despite your best efforts not to disturb the team, you had been noticed.

"Thanks," He had said to you, taking a sip from his water bottle. You had looked at him and instantly your question had been answered. You wanted to paint him. You had been shocked he agreed so easily, seeing as how you hardly knew each other. He had been a little... sharp during your initial interactions. But eventually, you had warmed up to one another.

There you stood, four months later, nervously adding the finishing touches on your portrait. You began to worry that Tsukishima would not like the finished product. Would he find your style unappealing? Would he think you were a poor artist if it was not true-to-life? You put your paintbrush down, releasing a deep exhale.

"Okay," You finally spoke. "It's done." You heard the sound of the wooden stool scraping across the art club room floor. Tsukishima stepped beside you behind the canvas, seeing what you had hidden from him for so long. He said nothing. Tsukishima enjoyed the quiet, but he always chose to remain silent. This, however, was the young man being rendered speechless.

"So... what do you think?" You asked, resisting the urge to bite your nails. Tsukishima took his time to formulate his response. The portrait was of him, sure, but the painting was also somehow you. Tsukishima struggled to pinpoint what made him see you in the brushstrokes. He saw you in his own face.

"That's," Tsukishima hesitated, "incredible, wow." A grin broke out across your face, uncontrollable joy overtaking you.

"A painting is only as beautiful as its subject," You muttered, a warm feeling infecting your face. He paused, wondering if he had heard you correctly. In his whole life, no one had ever called him something like beautiful. 

"I actually think a painting is only as beautiful as its artist," Tsukishima smiled.

"I really want to thank you," You told him, glancing at him. "I appreciate you taking the time out of your day to help me." Tsukishima cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Don't mention it," He shrugged. "Surprisingly, I enjoyed getting to know you." The young man faced you. You stood perhaps a meter across from each other, soft and kind looks on your faces.

"In fact, I would, uh... " Tsukishima folded his fingers together in front of him, "I'd like to ask you on a date."