I’m proud. Because the more it looks like him, the more it feels like proof.
That I saw him like this. That I studied every line. That I sat here and memorized him.
I take a step back in my mind and look at the page. His eyes. His brows. His stupid mouth with the ring. His jawline. Gio tilts his head a little.
"How’s it going, Picasso?"
"Don’t move," I say, but my voice comes out softer now.
I keep looking up and down. Gio. Paper. Gio. Paper.
I shade under his eyes, trying to copy the way the shadows fall. My hand is shaking.
"Relax, Weston," he says softly. "You’re red like a tomato."
I snort, not looking up. "It’s because I’m terrified of making you look like shit."
"You’re not gonna make me look like shit."
"You don’t know that."
"I do," he says. I swallow and force my hand to calm down. I go over his lips again, darkening the line of the bottom one, fixing the ring, adding the little shadow it casts.
"Ravioli," he says.
I look up.
He’s leaning closer now. "You’re doing great," he says.
No. This is torture and heaven.
"I haven’t even finished," I mutter. I look back down just to survive the eye contact. I add a few last touches around his eyes, deepen the pupils. A bit more shading along his jaw. A line under his neck.
Done.
I drop the pencil and exhale. "Okay. Now you can look."
He drags his chair closer instead of getting up. He goes quiet. Too quiet.
"…you absolute son of a bitch."
My heart starts beating faster. "That good or that bad?" I ask, trying to sound casual. He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes are glued to the drawing.
"Holy shit, Weston," he says finally. "That’s… that’s actually me."
I shrug, rubbing my thumbs together. "That was the goal, yeah."
He turns his head and looks at me instead. "What the actual fuck? That’s impressive. You got everything. The nose, the eyes, the ring. You even got that tiny mole on my neck. Who the fuck notices that?"
"I do, apparently," I mumble, proudly.
"You’re really good at this. Like, scary good. I knew you can draw, but this? This is insane. I look hot as fuck."
"You already knew that."
"Yeah, but seeing it through your eyes?" he says. "Makes it hit different."
I’m trying not to cry and embarrass myself.
