Aracrowe + magnificient please and thank you <3
Works in Progress (Aracrowe, 1500 words, SFW)
Aranea walked briskly from the bus stop to the shared studio space. It was just a few blocks from the river, and as the moist air touched her face, she could feel herself begin to relax already. It was different here, right down to the smell of it, and she looked forward to shedding the city and the job she did to pay the bills. She hated it, mostly because it required being nice to people all day. She stretched, and nodded at a woman coming out the front entrance of the old converted factory where Aranea’s studio was.
She felt her false smile and tense shoulders fall away as she entered the building. A series of small spaces wrapped around three floors with a large, glass-sided staircase winding up the middle in a squared-off coil. She waved at Wedge closing up the gift shop and skipped up the stairs, the ten-hour shift on her feet all but forgotten.
The smells of paint and clay mingled, welcoming her into the small room - previously white-walled and plain, but now adorned with paintings, all in the same style. They reflected movement and passion, both in the brush strokes and the colors. Most depicted people, but some were of scenes, haunting and angry and poignant and peaceful in turn. Aranea rolled her sleeves up as she rounded the partial wall that separated the shared space, and opened the small refrigerator on her side. She eased out the tray with her current project on it, set it down, and flexed her fingers before reaching for her bucket of clay. The high ceiling allowed the last of the sun’s rays to stream in, and Aranea pushed her hands into the clay, smoothing and shaping with practiced ease.
Aranea was lost in her work, using the side of her hand to shape a delicate slope, when she heard the door open. She smiled, but didn’t break her focus on her sculpting, concentrating.
“Hey Crowe.”
“Hi Aranea.” She heard the smile in the other woman’s voice and it was enough to make her look up in the hope of catching it. She was rewarded, glancing at the curve of the smile and the swell of Crowe’s lower lip, envisioning just the right pressure and movement to duplicate it in her clay. She cleared her throat and wiped her hands. This was a business arrangement - there was no way she would have been able to afford this studio space alone, and it was nice to have company. That’s all this is, she told herself sternly. No need to make things weird.
Crowe let out a tired puff of air and leaned more than sat on a stool. “How was your day?”
Aranea thought back to the hours at work and shrugged. “Fine. Annoying. Looks like you had a heck of a day.”
Crowe rolled her eyes and swiped her arm across her forehead. “People are awful. You’d think they’d be happy to be out for a nice meal, but it’s shocking how many of them seem to make it their goal to make me miserable.” She stood up and started pulling out paints and brushes methodically. She always did this in the same order, every time, and by the time she had everything out, she had calmed. Aranea watched her in quiet admiration, trying not to stare too long.
Aranea thought for a moment. “I know what this calls for.”
“Pizza?”
“No. I mean sure, but that’s not what I was thinking.” Aranea moved to the center of the room where the small speaker they shared was perched, and pushed the button to connect it to her phone. She tapped on her screen for a moment, then looked up with a smirk.
Their eyes met as guitars crunched and voices growled from the speaker, and they grinned at each other. Odd hours and a willingness to share had brought them together, but their shared taste in death metal had kept them happily sharing this studio space for the past year. Fortunately, the late evening hour tonight made it unlikely that any of the other artists would complain.
And Crowe was easy on the eyes; Aranea couldn’t deny that. Aranea had been on the verge of saying something to move their relationship beyond just friendly more than once, but had backed down every time out of a healthy mix of cowardice and a desire to avoid upsetting the status quo if things went wrong. She watched Crowe watch her canvas for a moment, admiring the striking tones of bright red she could see, accented by a stroke or two of deep blue. Most of the painting was blocked by Crowe’s body, which relaxed visibly as the music rolled over them and she lost herself in thought.
Aranea turned back to her own project and fitted her thumb back into the groove she was shaping, her eyes occasionally darting over to the other side of the room.
A couple of weeks later, and Aranea could plainly see what was influencing this project. It was embarrassing, and juvenile.
And almost finished.
She dreaded finishing it, even though the two of them usually enjoyed sharing completed work with each other, both observing the unspoken rule not to peek at works in progress. Crowe hadn’t mentioned much about her current painting, but she’d seemed happier than usual working on it, so that had to be a good sign.
It was a rainy, early Sunday morning, and Aranea was alone in the studio. She pulled the tray out of the fridge again and sighed. The bust was just shoulders and neck and the back of a head, with a mass of hair partially pinned up and partially falling down in wisps. From the curve of the neck to the shape of the ear, it was glaringly obvious what Aranea’s hands had been busy smoothing and shaping these past few weeks. They were the same graceful lines she furtively peeked at every time Crowe came into this room. She sighed. Way to ruin a good thing, subconscious. As it turns out, it was probably best she’d decided not to sculpt a face.
Aranea braced herself to just get it out and get it over with. She just hoped they could keep things normal afterward.
The soft click of the door pulled Aranea from her thoughts. Crowe stepped into the room and set down the paper bag she’d been carrying, which Aranea eagerly noticed smelled of donuts and coffee. Instead of starting her usual routine, though, Crowe walked over to Aranea and took her by the wrist, leading her over to Crowe’s side of the studio.
She didn’t know why Crowe was so purposeful, and Aranea was excited and terrified at the same time. Her pulse thudded, and she was grateful for the clay on her hands - otherwise there was no question her sweating palms would have given her away.
Crowe pulled Aranea in front of her latest canvas. “This one’s finally done, and I wanted you to see it.” Her voice was soft.
It was a pair of hands - that was it, but they took up nearly the entire canvas. They were strong, and active - muscle and sinew stood out, and their black and white tones contrasted with the bright red background Aranea had spotted earlier. The way Crowe had captured movement and power was beautiful, and the care and detail on each fingernail and knuckle was stunning. The hands appeared to be reaching out for something, and Aranea opened her mouth to ask about it, when Crowe took her hand instead of her wrist, heedless of the squish of the clay.
“It’s magnificent.”
You’re magnificent, Aranea wanted to say, but didn’t.
“Aranea, look.” Crowe looked down at the hand grasped in hers and looked back at the canvas, and Aranea’s gaze followed.
“Oh.” Oh. Those were - her hands? Aranea’s mouth stayed open, and her eyes went wide. Crowe had been watching her just as closely, it seemed. Terror eased its way out of her chest, to be replaced with a flutter of excitement and a rush of elation. She pulled Crowe’s arm now, hustling over to her own side of the studio to wordlessly gesture at her work. A quiet laugh burst from Crowe’s chest, and long, dark eyelashes brushed down to highlight the pale pink flush at the tops of her cheeks. A heartbeat passed, then another.
“So, what are you doing later?” Crowe’s tone was lightly teasing.
Aranea regained enough footing to tease in return. “I don’t know - probably working on some stuff, listening to some metal. Maybe going on a date?” She squeezed Crowe’s hand and laughed as the clay squelched. She continued to smile as she stepped forward half a step to brush her lips gently against Crowe’s - lightly, tentatively.
“Yeah, I think that would be nice.” Rain danced softly against the skylight, and Crowe reached up to kiss Aranea more fully, without letting go of her hand.
