A/N: I'm sorry! I know this chapter took me forever to write, and I don't really have an excuse! (Unless you count the fact that last week I had to finish my Sealand cosplay so that I could go to an anime convention last weekend!) I hope you guys can forgive me! I really am sorry! :O
Chapter 10: A Clean Canvas
I honestly did want to help Hong Kong make a new painting, but as he rushed around pulling out paints, paintbrushes, and a canvas, it occurred to me that I have no art skills. Sure, I like to doodle on the back of my classwork, but I don't have any painting skills. What was I thinking, offering him my help? I don't even like the guy, so why did I just agree to spend my entire Saturday with him? I sighed and sat down on a stool that was in front of the work table. Hong Kong climbed onto the stool next to mine. I never realized how short he is! I mean, I'm usually the shortest person in the room, so this is weird! I laughed as Hong Kong straightened on his stool. He raised an eyebrow in my direction before he turned to the materials spread out before us.
I hadn't noticed that Hong Kong had grabbed two small pallets, but now he was squirting paint onto them. He filled both pallets with white, black, red, brown, green, and gold acrylic paints. He handed one pallet to me as well as a tiny paintbrush. He positioned the canvas between us and then smacked his face in frustration. He mumbled under his breath as he stood up and crossed over to the sink to fill two cups with cold water. I watched him and felt a small smile form at the corners of my mouth. Why am I smiling? Hong Kong is a jerk! This doesn't make any sense... I never smiled in public. I rarely ever smiled. So why was I opening up to this punk so quickly? I don't know him, so I didn't understand why I'd actually smile at him. He's only getting water! That's not even funny or anything!
While this confusion swirled through my head, Hong Kong finished getting water and came back to the table. He placed one cup next to his paint pallet and the other next to mine. He got onto his stool again and said, very seriously, "That dragon took me forever to paint, so we're going to make something that's simpler. You know what Chinese flower paintings look like, right? The ones with white backgrounds, pink flowers, and dark branches? That's what I'm talking about. You start by painting the background white, while I mix the pink color." With that he turned to his pallet and began swirling some red and white paints. I picked up my paintbrush, but realized that it would take me forever to paint the entire canvas if I used that tiny brush. Now it was my turn to stand up. Hong Kong heard me and looked up from his paint mixture. "Is something wrong?" he asked.
"No, I'm just gonna get a bigger paintbrush. Over here, right?" I asked as I stepped over to where I had seen Hong Kong pick up the paintbrushes. He nodded before he spoke.
"Oh, sorry. I guess I didn't really think of that." He smiled at me as I grabbed a large brush, and then he went back to his work. I returned to my stool and got to work painting the canvas a pure white. It didn't take too long to do, so when I finished I looked over Hong Kong's shoulder to see how much he had done. On his pallet I could see three slightly varying shades of pink. At the moment, though, he was occupied with mixing the brown paint with black to get a very dark color, presumably to paint the branches with. I watched him for about a minute before he slightly smiled, satisfied with the color he had created, and turned to face me.
"So, how are your painting skills? Do you at least have a steady hand?" He tilted his head and suddenly grabbed my hand. He held my right hand within his own. He slowly turned my hand over as his eyes methodically trailed over it. His touch was cool and his skin was smooth. He used his thumb to rub at the creases on my palm and fingers. He looked over my knuckles and then he studied my thin wrists. This is really weird... But I didn't say anything. I didn't want to make Hong Kong madder at me, so I bit my tongue and just watched the smaller person get familiar with my hand.
After what seemed like an hour, Hong Kong's gaze shot up and he blushed. "Ummm... sorry about that. I just wanted to see your hand so that I could get a feel of what kind of painter you are." I stared at him with a blank look. Thankfully, it seemed that he understood that I had no clue what he was talking about, since he continued to say, "I can make a good guess at an artist's skills by looking at their hands and reading them to see how that person functions. Like for you, the callus on the side of your middle finger is pretty small, meaning you have a really loose grip on your pencil. Because of that I can guess that you hold a paintbrush the same way, indicating that you'll have a light touch. That's a good thing!" He looked at me and then, finally, let go of my hand.
"Ummm... well I'm really a terrible painter. Sorry, I guess I should have told you that before offering my help. I don't think I'll be of much use... other than painting the background. But I think that's the only part I can help you with." My voice stayed flat, but for some reason I could feel a twinge of guilt as I spoke. I'm probably just going to ruin this painting, too...
My fears of ruining the painting all came true. I didn't actually destroy this one, but I might as well have. First, Hong Kong painted the branches, starting above the bottom left corner and spreading up towards the top of the canvas. His brush barely hit the surface as he made swift, deft, movements, leaving a trail of brown after each stroke. Once he had finished with the branches, he demonstrated how he wanted all of the flowers to be made. I watched and tried to copy, but my flower was just sad and uneven whilst Hong Kong's was full and beautiful. It was a very simple design, but every flower I attempted was somehow askew from what I knew it should look like. After failing to make about five flowers, Hong Kong had sighed, chuckled, and said, "Why don't you mix a dark green color for us to use for the leaves? I'll finish the flowers."
I grabbed my pallet and mixed green and black (as instructed to do so by Hong Kong) paints together. As I swirled the pigments I watched Hong Kong add the last few flowers. The way his hand flew over the canvas was like how a dancer leaps across a stage. My paintbrush's swirling motions slowed as I got entranced by the Asian's amazing art skills. Without realizing it, I had slowly stopped stirring the paints entirely. Just watching the way Hong Kong so easily made flowers appear along the canvas made my heart beat hard against my chest. He's so majestic... I shook my head, disgusted with myself. What's wrong with me! What am I saying? I just think that Hong Kong looks so... uhhhh... talented. I mean, he's a good artist and everything.
"Are you done making the green?" Hong Kong asked, looking up after he painted the last flower. He glanced at my pallet and frowned. I looked down too, and I blushed ever so slightly. I had stopped mixing the paint when I was watching Hong Kong, and now he looked at the half-stirred mixture quizzically. "Oh, I see you have to finish mixing it," he laughed. I hurriedly swirled the paints together and then handed my pallet to Hong Kong, though I kept my eyes trained on the table.
Hong Kong proceeded to lightly apply the nearly-black green around a few of the flowers. He told me to try painting a leaf, but as I was slowly marking the canvas, my hand leaned into some wet paint (from the flowers) and smudged all over the surrounding area. I apologized repeatedly as Hong Kong used white to cover up the splotch. I was still apologizing the entire time that Hong Kong was repainting the flower. He had said that it was fine, but I felt awful. Once that was cleaned up, I looked at the clock that was hanging on the wall behind the teacher's desk; 5:43 PM.
Dinner wasn't that far away, (since dinner is served anytime between 6:00 and 7:00 PM), which was good, because I was already really hungry. I hadn't eaten lunch because I was too lazy to go to the cafeteria today, and now I was regretting it. My stomach grumbled quietly as I turned my attention back to the freshly repaired painting. Hong Kong looked at me for a second before he said, "Wow, I thought you were just being harsh on yourself when you said that you're a bad artist. But you weren't exaggerating." He started to laugh like he had earlier. The sound filled the room with its reverberating lightness. I cracked a tiny smile.
Sarcastically I responded, "Thanks for the encouragement." I let out a tiny laugh, which caused Hong Kong to tilt his head in surprise. He looks shocked at the fact that I can laugh. The thought made me chuckle again before I asked, "So what else do we have to add to the painting?" I knew it wasn't done, but I hoped that we were close to finishing.
Hong Kong tapped his chin with his right index finger for a moment while he thought. He quickly looked at the painting as he calculated what had to be done. "Well," he said, "I still want to add some more leaves around some of the flowers and then we have to add all of the highlights and shadows." He furrowed his large eyebrows and pursed his lips for a second before he added, "It will probably take us about... an hour." Internally I groaned. I guess that means I'm gonna miss dinner, too.
"Okay, well let's get back to work."
We probably could have finished by 6:45, if it wasn't for the fact that around 6:15 my elbow knocked into my cup of (now brown-ish) water. My reflexes were fast and I caught the cup, but only after half of its contents were dumped onto the top right corner of the canvas. Hong Kong laughed, which made me feel worse. Why can't I do anything right! I'm usually not a klutz... I blinked. Does it have to do with Hong Kong? It was weird, considering the fact that I still wanted to punch Hong Kong every time I had to look at him, but I felt my heart beat a bit faster ever since I ran into the Asian boy. Am I nervous or something? ...No, it can't be. It's probably just due to my frustration about having to spend my entire Saturday with this hálfviti.
By 6:45 we had cleaned up the spilt water, but while we had been doing that Hong Kong decided he wanted to add some more shadows. I rolled my eyes jokingly, and then we spent the next half hour adding small details. Hong Kong's subjective eye scanned the canvas before he made us spend another ten minutes doing the finishing touches. Finally, about 7:25, Hong Kong deemed the painting worthy of being given to his friend China. "Yay!" I said dryly at the announcement. I smirked, "but today was actually pretty fun. We should hang out again sometime." I was surprised that I honestly found my words to be true. I guess I never really had a reason to be so cold towards him... Hong Kong's a pretty nice guy.
"Yeah, but under different circumstances," Hong Kong laughed. "Seriously, we need to stop meeting by walking into each other." I nodded and then we both started to clean up our paint supplies. Hong Kong and I both washed our own pallets, paintbrushes, and water cups. Hong Kong put those away while I grabbed a sponge and wiped down our work table. I moved the painting to a different table so that it could dry and stay out of my way.
When Hong Kong returned from putting stuff away I had finished cleaning the table and I had put the sponge back on the counter next to the sink. All that was left were the big bottles containing the paint. Hong Kong grabbed half of them and I grabbed the other half. "These go in the closet," Hong Kong said as we picked up the bottles. I followed him as he entered the closet and we started to put the paints back onto the shelves. I was turning to leave the closet when I heard a loud bang and saw the closet door swing shut.
We were locked in.
A/N: Well, what do you think? I hope you liked this, though I know it probably wasn't worth the long wait! Just as a reminder, I don't own Hetalia or anything else I might reference!
Thanks walroose, Lycoris1305, Wisely-san, and all of you for reading! I love you guys!
Review, da? Thanks! (I plan on getting the next chapter up much faster!)