Work Text:
One evening, Papillon rounds the corner and finds Louis painting in the living room. Well, it’s technically "painting", but all the brushes are still in their can on the ground.
Louis is bare from the waist up. The house is comfortably warm but not with the furious pace at which he’s working. Papi watches him smear red paint into the canvas with his fingertips, stopping periodically to dip into the paint can sitting at his feet. The only light in the room is from a lamp in the corner, but it’s evidently enough for Louis to see by. Papillon enjoys the play of shadow and light over Louis' back and shoulders as he moves.
Papillon has seen him like this before, when the confines of his sketchbook are dissatisfying and he must move to the larger space of stretched canvas. But he doesn't merely "paint" on it; in fact, Papi has few memories of ever seeing Louis use his brushes since they've lived here. No, Louis must drag the pigment across blank space, moving full-bodied to work the color into whatever his mind sees with his bare hands. Papillon had asked him once why he paints that way.
Louis had responded, "Well, how would you expect an animal to paint?"
Anyone else would have thought that was a joke. Papillon knew better, and thought it best to let that particular sleeping dog lie, at least for the time being.
The painting gradually takes shape, and Papi realizes it's a portrait of him. It's him sitting at their kitchen table, hands around a mug of what’s likely coffee. When Louis gets to the face, he switches gears. He takes his time refining the details, lovingly tracing Papi's jawline, the shapes of his eyes and nose. Papillon can almost feel the ghost of Louis' touch over his own skin.
Louis looks up and catches sight of Papillon standing in the archway that separates the living room from the hall. Whatever creative spirit had possessed him flees, leaving embarrassment in its wake.
---
Morning finds Papi looking at another one of Louis' sketches. This one was done in the large sketchbook and torn from it. It's the same subject as last night, but done far neater and with pencil and charcoal. The lines are even, varying in thickness to lend visual interest. Smudges and smears of charcoal add shadows and depth, and Papi wonders when he started appreciating art in terms other than "good" or "shitty". The painted canvas from last night is nowhere to be seen.
"You like it?"
Louis' voice comes to him softly but he still startles a bit. Papillon turns around to find him standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He pushes off the wall and strides over to survey his own work, and Papi watches him, curious about something.
"Where'd the other one go?" Papi asks.
"Other what?"
"The painting. You know, that one you did in red last night." Their house isn't cramped, but it's not sprawling either. There's only so many places to hide a canvas.
After a long hesitation, Louis answers. "I just put it up somewhere. I ended up not liking it, there was too much..." Papi watches a mix of emotions cross his face. "Well. The whole thing was too much, really. Sometimes you leave a little too much of yourself behind. You know, on the canvas, and you need to pull back."
Papi is certain he's not just talking about the painting, but he lets it go. He's not privy to everything Louis went through while they were separated, but he figures when Louis is ready to talk about it, he will.