▪︎No matter how good the hero is, he is still a villain in someone's story▪︎
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A story of anti-heroes. Two people with a strong dislike for the world learn to thrive together in an arranged marriage.
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A brother with a s...
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I cover up the final portrait, my last one for the season and pack it up. I have a show planned in a couple weeks and I have to get all my work into the gallery by tonight. I see all the details of my exhibitions by myself till the very last day. Just so I don't have to show up on the day of the exhibition and socialize.
Soft hands curl around my torso and a warm body crashes into mine from behind. I smile when she sighs. "You're affectionate today, pineapples." And I love it. I bask in all the attention she gives me like being away would be difficult.
"I am just bored." Fuck her.
I roll my eyes and pull her arms away, or atleast I try to. Her grip tightens and I feel her smile against my back. "I hate you, you annoying piece of shit." She bursts into a laugh. Her grip tightens further and she puts her chin on my shoulder and looks at me. I tilt my head and stare from the side. Her smile is so bright it melts my fucking heart.
"I love it when you get annoyed."
"Why?"
"Because you look hotter." I stare at her, unamused and her eyes brighten. "See. That look. Love it."
"Are you making fun of me Veera?"
"No. How could I?" She is getting too mischievous. I turn around and hold close to my front. "You are chipper today."
"My album sold out!" She jumps in my arms like a little girl. "They literally cleared it all, I can't tell you how happy I am." I wanted to buy hundreds of vinyls and dvds of her album to keep her hopes up and cheer her up but I honestly had to fight for the only one I bought. People went crazy over her music and me, her own husband had to struggle to get her album set.
She doesn't need me or anyone else. Veera's work speaks for itself. She is hardworking and talented and so in love with her job. I've heard all her song, over and over again, memorizing them all. Because I loved them all. Even the two songs she wrote about my brother. They weren't difficult to distinguish, especially if you know her. But I very specifically loved the songs she wrote about me.
"I am proud of you pineapples. You deserve this win. I heard your songs, they were lovely. All of them."
"Even the one where I called you a narcissistic bastard?"
"That one's my favorite." She laughs again before pushing her forehead against my chest and sighing. It's like she wants to say something but is holding it back.
Me too pineapples. Me too.
"Alright now, shoo, I have work to do." She scowls at me before pulling away. I give her a soft kiss before a movers guy comes in to take the last canvas. Then I am out the door behind him.
🎶
Foreboding. Just a feeling that something bad is going to happen. I look around the now empty gallery. The paintings are in place, price tags hanging from them all, except one. And I wait. I wait for the bad to come. For the bad could fight but it could never win. Not when it fights against evil.
