Re: Quiet Home: Misha & Oliver
Oliver couldn't tell entirely, but he thought that Misha might have seemed pleased with the way that he leaned back against the table, using his hands like leverage to be kept behind him. It wasn't something that Oliver thought he could draw, even if he memorized the posture and the precise blue of Misha's eyes, and how they looked at Oliver right now. He had a feeling that it wouldn't turn out right, that something would be missing, no matter how much cadmium blue he used.
Instinctively, he glanced over to the stool where his little sketch with the music notes sat. It seemed really inadequate, compared to the way that Misha was leaning against the table and looking at him while they discussed who was to kiss who. Well, it wasn't much of a discussion yet, as Oliver belatedly realized he'd been staring at the crazy boy and not saying anything himself. "No, it wouldn't be lying, if we really did…" He thought that was the point, and it made sense even if it also seemed a little convoluted and maybe not the best idea after all.
As for who was to kiss who? "No, I'll do it." Maybe he said it a little too quickly, but it wasn't because Oliver was necessarily eager to kiss Misha. More like, it felt as if it'd be easier to control if he was the one doing the kissing, or at least initiating it. Besides, Crazy was leaning against the table like that, and Oliver was still thinking about all of the ways he couldn't pinpoint why he liked that, or why he couldn't stop contemplating over cadmium blue.
So, Oliver stepped closer. The air between them was shrinking, and the artist thought of it like water that dried up slowly. From an ocean to a lake, a puddle to a drop to a nothing. Because there was nothing between them when Oliver closed his eyes and leaned in, pressing his mouth against Crazy's.