Work Text:
Canvas Town was made for artists. It lived up to its name; the city acted as a canvas for all artists, promising every citizen the ability to use their artistic abilities to create. Most artists resided in Canvas Town due to the creative freedom and the endless amount of muses and inspiration. A city that catered to everyone seemed like a dream, right?
Not for Zanka. The art was beyond beautiful, but he couldn't help but dread each visit. He could easily admit that Canvas Town lived up to its name; the city grew in its decorative paints every time he visited, and he was impressed at all the work. In fact, he appreciated all the hard work the citizens put into their creative fields to make the city feel more alive. But God, Zanka hated the harsh smells of fresh paint, and there had been a few awkward interactions here and there after accidentally tripping over or bumping into artists and throwing them out of their creative flow - oops.
And, for some reason, he always dreaded the interactions. It was always a mixed bag: one moment he could be trying to drag a response out of an introvert, and the next moment he can't get a word in with an extrovert. He preferred the others in the group to do the talking, mainly Enjin, which happened almost all of the time (unless he really couldn't hold back a sarcastic comment).
He loomed behind Enjin and Rudo as the group looked for the young spellcaster of Canvas Town, Remlin. Everyone knew that Remlin was a sweet kid with the energy of a packet of sugar, and despite the heavy responsibility on their shoulders, they make everything worthwhile and turn the worst situations into something fun and exciting. They bounce back quickly after every bad moment, and their cheerful energy was bound to rub off on all of them.
"Damn, where's the Mayor?" Enjin muttered, more to himself, as he ran a free hand through his hair, the other hand on his hip as he stopped to look around at their surroundings. The rest of the group stopped with Enjin, and Zanka glanced to the side to set his eyes on a street artist that was sitting in front of a blank wall.
The street artist was crouching in front of the empty wall, the bare canvas practically a taunting reminder that the artist's responsibility was to decorate and create - it seemed more like a chore to this artist than a hobby. The artist clutched a spraycan, internally praying that the walls would paint themselves. That time never came, and all the artist could do was look down at the floor and huff as they struggled to start.
The truth was that they were lacking a muse. They had stared at their friends' creations prior to finding their own canvas and they just couldn't find an ounce of inspiration from their work. They tried to find random pieces of junk to spur their creative mind. They tried to think of words that could spark an accidental idea. Nothing came to their mind, and they were about to put down their can until they felt a pair of eyes burning into their back. They turned their head and narrowed their eyes at Zanka as if he was expecting judgement.
Zanka whipped his head away. His mind screamed at him to keep his eyes away; no way in hell was he going to have another awkward moment with someone in Canvas Town. But, of course, he couldn't help himself, and he looked back over.
The first feature that Zanka noticed were the incredibly long dreads that were hid underneath the man's purple hoodie. The dreads shielded half of his face, and the golden cuffs were decorated with tiny bits of paint from previous creations that never washed off. The eyes were next. Bright in colour, hot pink, but exhausted or unamused; Zanka couldn't tell the difference. And the jewellery - chunky wooden bracelets and silver rings on all of his fingers, paired with a few hand tattoos that caught Zanka's interest.
The artist was shamelessly eyeing up Zanka, giving him the same treatment he was getting. Blue tassel earrings, dragging along a staff, some blonde-ish mullet with brown poking out underneath, and the noticeable uniform of a Cleaner. The artist's eyes widened as he watched the group shuffle along, and he scrambled to his feet to rush over to Zanka.
A grab on Zanka's wrist caused the man to instantly pull away. The artist reached in to grab his hands, clearly ignoring the subtle hint Zanka displayed. The artist's eyes were different this time, though; lively. No unamused stare or exhausted drag was hidden behind those eyes that should belong to Cupid, and Zanka was taken aback by the sudden switch in attitude. The man, who was brooding a second ago over an empty canvas, was now bouncing on his feet to get a closer look at Zanka's features, mainly the tassel earrings that swayed once Zanka turned his head back to the group.
"Jabber," the artist rushed out of his mouth. He shook Zanka's hands enthusiastically, his breath stroking Zanka's cheek. "Can I draw you?"
"..What?"
"Let me draw you."
Zanka's eyes darted back over to the group. He noticed Enjin glance over once, purse his lips, and then look in the exact opposite direction with an innocent whistle. His arm was tugged roughly by the eager artist, clearly becoming some sort of artistic experiment upon first glance, and he could only think one thing as he nervously followed Jabber: what a dick.
Jabber's rings nicked at Zanka's skin as he let go and pushed him down into a sitting position against the wall. Zanka was the muse of the moment. The figure of a mannequin, the eyes of The Fallen Angel, the dangling earrings of Johannes Vermeer's Girl with a Pearl Earring - Jabber was mesmerised and beyond lucky that he had found his muse. Hell, his muse was sparking drawing after drawing in his head without saying a word.
Zanka frowned as the sun stung his eyes. He raised his hand, covering the sun to shade himself from the pain, and he heard the quick slash of Jabber's hand whipping up to stop him from moving.
"YES! Exactly! Keep that pose - where are my cans!?"
Jabber raced around, stumbling over his other art supplies and snatching the spraycan he was holding earlier. He shook the can, kneeling down and shoving his face right in front of Zanka's. He grinned and whispered with a sensual tone.
"I will capture you perfectly."
..Okay, weird, but Zanka had already concluded that Enjin and the group wouldn't try saving him from an eager artist that had snatched him like free food. He let out a sigh as soon as Jabber stepped back and began spraying a few messy strokes onto the brick wall. He picked up on soft mutters from the artist - beauty like the Mona Lisa, appearance and colour scheme like The Starry Night, and something about water lilies.
Jabber glanced over a few times to make sure he was capturing the beauty of his subject. His muse. If he could, he would drag Zanka along the streets of Canvas Town and paint him on every surface he could reach. He'd climb buildings to create a mural of this Cleaner, use mediums he's never used, and go all out just to capture this man's beauty, if that was even possible.
Zanka's arm was growing tired and he ended up slumping his arm back down to his lap. Jabber snatched his wrist and pinned it back in place with his right hand, his attention still glued to the wall that was getting steadily decorated by a crazy artist.
"I told you to keep your arm up!"
Zanka scowled but didn't do anything to fight back. He raised his arm slowly, ignoring the sting that followed. A few more minutes, he told himself, but God knows how long Jabber would stay like this. An artist is always ruthless after they discover their own muse.
***
"Think I'm done," Jabber whistled as he tossed the half-empty can onto the floor. He took a step back, admiring his creation. It wasn't the next Renaissance painting, but it was something he was proud to call his own.
But, of course, no artist is fully satisfied with their work. Jabber bit his lip as he stared at the drawn eyes - so ugly under his hands, a grotesque comparison to the true beauty of the blonde boy's eyes. He watched a splotch of paint dribble down the wall from the hand. Jabber huffed and put a hand on his forehead. The longer he stared, the further the painting looked morbid, wrong.
Zanka dropped his arm with a relieved groan. He slouched forward to stretch his back before turning his head to glance up at the graffiti work. He was sitting at an angle, unable to see the full creation from the floor, but he could tell it resembled him. It looked like him and it held the exactly same pose as him. He stumbled to his feet and stepped back, his staff laying flat on the floor from the remnants of his position. Zanka tilted his head.
"Looks good," Zanka nodded as he looked over at Jabber. He quickly looked back over to the purple paint that plastered his poise onto the brick. He could see a few random bits of paint here and there, but it gave the drawing life. He focused on the eyes - was this really how Jabber saw his eyes? The paint pictured his eyes as a void of beauty, a satisfying collection of hues shoved into one ball.
The silence was dragging a bit too long for it to be called comfortable. Zanka turned his attention back to Jabber.
"My eyes. They're nice."
Jabber whipped his head around to face Zanka. He burst into awkward laughter, his hand snaking up to rub at the back of his neck. He grinned.
"I know, right?"
"You guys done?"
Zanka and Jabber both looked to their left to see Zanka's group approaching. Finally. He could tell Enjin was holding back a massive smirk, trying his best to hold back a laugh as a teasing comment after he saw Zanka get dragged away earlier. He narrowed his eyes and kneeled down to pick up his staff.
"Yeah, we're done. You couldn't find the kid?" Zanka questioned with a spin of his staff. He glanced down at Jabber's rings, then at the quivering fingers that threatened to lash out and grab Zanka.
"Wait, I wanna draw more."
The two locked eyes. Zanka could only rip his eyes away as the silence was broken by a cocky laugh from Enjin. He huffed, hands clenching into fists and feet moving away from the artist. He loved the piece - it made him look pretty.
"Another time," Enjin shrugged as he pointed his umbrella at Jabber. He set it back down with a click, leaning against it like a walking cane. "I'll drag him back tomorrow, we need that Remlin kid anyway."
Tomorrow? Zanka coughed, his eyes narrowed and his hands clutching at his staff as he shifted it from one hand to the other. He definitely didn't look in Jabber's direction, expecting some disappointment that would probably shatter his eyes altogether if he saw it. But he nodded. He had no self-control to say no to the proposal, and it wasn't like he hated the idea.
Jabber followed the group to the gate of Canvas Town, as if he was a puppy begging for attention from its owner. Before they crossed the invisible barrier and hopped into their vehicle, Jabber couldn't hold back the urge to call out for Zanka.
"Hey! What's your name?"
Zanka stopped walking for a moment. He looked down at the staff he was clutching. He could hear Enjin snickering beside him, gently poking his arm.
"Dude, you didn't tell him your name? Wow."
To avoid even more embarrassment, Zanka calmly slammed his elbow into Enjin's side. That only caused a few more laughs to erupt from him though. He looked over his shoulder and tilted his head, his tassel earrings whipping to shield his flushed cheeks.
"Zanka."
Jabber grinned. He raised his arm up high, waving back and forth like his life depended on it. He didn't know if Zanka was really going to come back tomorrow, and he didn't know if this would become a regular routine. But he prayed to himself that his muse would come back. Those eyes would stay plastered in his head until their next meeting.
"Bye, Zanka!"
Those tassel earrings - Jabber stared at Zanka, watching the earrings shake after every small movement in Zanka's body. Even when Zanka walked away, he knew he'd try and perfect the way he captured the way the earrings moved, even if his art could only be captured on a still canvas. He memorised the shape of the eyes, and he promised to himself that he'd perfect them before Zanka returned.
As soon as the car began to zoom back to their headquarters, Zanka slumped against his seat and sighed. He could feel Riyo looming over his shoulder. He muted the group's conversation, ignored the short glimpses Enjin gave him, and closed his eyes.
He looked forward to tomorrow.