Words: 620
Summary: Blaine's scrolling on his laptop when inspiration hits him right in the face
A/N: There's this awesome project going on on tumblr called the 'Klaine Advent Christmas Drabble Challenge' where a new prompt is given every day and then writers and artists try to fill it. Amazing stories come from it - go check the rest out! These are my drabbles though that I hope you'll enjoy. They'll be posted on my tumblr (bust-my-buttons . tumblr . com) as well if you like that layout better. The prompt of December 1st was Artist.
It was late. Too late for anyone to still be working. Yet there he was. His face only lit by the bluish colors of the computer screen in a room of total darkness where colors were the main ingredient.
Tiredly Blaine took off his heavy glasses and rubbed his eyes a lot harder than his doctor recommended.
"You have to take care of yourself, Mr. Anderson. We all have to care for our eyes, every day," she'd said with a sickening smile on her face that told him she was going to write a number on his bill he would have to go hungry for a week to pay.
Never in a million years had he imagined the pressure that came with being a sculptor. There was never enough money for rent, food, art supplies or even electricity. He finally understood Mark's embarrassed look when the homeless woman he was filming asked him for a dollar in the movie RENT. Hey artist, you got a dollar? No, Blaine did not have a dollar.
With a sigh he returned to his work, scrolling down the endless page of cheaper models who were just as desperate for a job as he was. One botox-filled face after the other stared back at him as his inspiration died while the time inched closer and closer towards three in the morning.
His next piece was suppose to be presented in only two weeks, and if he didn't find a model soon, he could kiss his only chance of a contract and his studio apartment good bye.
"Fuck," he mumbled as he kept on scrolling, barely paying attention to the many faces flying past his eyes.
Then just as the clock went from 3:59 to 4:00 Blaine came face to face with an angel. An angel from hell, Blaine decided, because any other description was too vague. This K. Hummel's face featured two sides of a human, one soft and beautiful like his full lips, clear blue eyes and cute pointy nose, and one sharper than a knife like his stiff, pink and black hair, the piercings in his ear, eyebrow and nose and the scar that ran from his neck to his cheek. The picture was cut at his collarbone which displayed a great deal of skin – enough for Blaine to know about several tattoos that covered a great deal of his left shoulder. Blaine had to squint his eyes to be able to read them, and though a few letters weren't visible in the picture, he was pretty sure one tattoos said Kill me by the rainbow. The man's eyes were heavily framed by black make-up and shy blue colors that made him look out of this world along with his snow white skin.
Skin the color of the clay he had lying around.
Blaine knocked over his chair in his effort to stand, but didn't care as he ran to the shelve where he kept most of his sculpturing stuff. A glass broke when he tipped it over, but the Blaine who cared about material stuff and money was gone, replaced by a Blaine the studio hadn't seen in months.
Watercolors. Crayons. Black feathers. Rhinestones. Pieces of leather. Black. Pink. Blue. And Blaine was working.
His fingers found their way into the clay with little effort. The coldness felt good when he placed his palms against the big chunk. He could almost feel it breathing.
"Kill me by the rainbow," he sang in a made up tune into the darkness. He let his hands massage the white clay as he looked to the computer screen, thanking K. Hummel for taking this picture, for existing, for making his muse purr in delight.