I ignored the way my chest tightened and worked on the other eye.
Once I was satisfied, I rummaged through the kit until I found a small jar of fine gold pigment and a bottle of mixing liquid. I poured a little of each onto a metal palette and stirred until it looked like molten gold.
“Perfect,” I murmured.
When I turned back to Bodhi, he was already watching me, eyes intent, curious. Then he closed them and tipped his head back, offering himself up without a word. Just like he’d done many times before.
I studied my canvas, glancing between his skin and the product, weighing my options. I wanted it messy but deliberate. Cool. Avant-garde. Not like a three-year-old discovering paint for the first time.
In the end, I ditched the brush and dipped my finger straight into the mixture. I pressed it gently into the inner corner of his eye, leaving a small bloom of gold on his lid. With a clean finger, I smudged the edges just enough to soften them, careful not to dull the shine or let it disappear into the black beneath. I repeated the motion, working towards the centre, then added a smaller touch at the outer corner.
I layered until it looked wet, molten. Alive.
When I finally stepped back, the image in my head matched what I saw in front of me.
“All done.”
Bodhi opened his eyes and stared into the mirror. He didn’t speak right away, his expression unreadable as he took it in. My heart thudded against my ribs. It might’ve looked good to me, but it was his face. If he hated it, I wasn’t sure how I’d handle that.
“Iggy,” he began, and I swallowed.
Here it comes.
“I fucking love it.”
Relief hit me so hard I almost sagged. Bodhi stood and dragged me towards the photographer, who cut off his conversation with an assistant mid-sentence and slapped his cheeks dramatically, suddenly looking like the kid fromHome Alone.
“Meine Güte! Bodhi, you lookunglaublich.”
I didn’t know what the last word meant, but his grin said enough.
He turned to me. “This is your work?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
“Good, right?” Bodhi said, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “Think it’ll photograph well?”
“Auf jeden Fall!” The photographer herded him back towards the backdrop. “Position,bitte.”
Bodhi posed, and under the lights, the gold looked like it was melting, as though it had been poured straight onto his skin.
An idea struck me so suddenly I gasped.
“Wait!”
Every head turned.
I bolted for the makeup table, grabbed the pigment, mixing liquid, and a small spatula. I returned a few minutes later, small tub of my creation in hand.
“Would you mind if I try something?” I asked, nerves buzzing.
The photographer studied the metallic liquid, then smiled. “Natürlich.”
I joined Bodhi on the backdrop.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
I nodded. “Just experimenting.”
