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riseofamoonycake · 8 months

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Artwork

♣️ Pairing: Human!Choso x Paintress!reader

♣️ Warnings: Mention of angst

♣️ Notes: this is what happens when you study art and you decide to know more about Francis Bacon.

One night is enough to fall in love with Choso: even if you don’t know him yet, all your artistic cells start vibrating as soon as … ― who? Who is introducing you to each other? It doesn’t matter now ― introduces you, and you see in that boy with a tired and reserved expression, and such a silent but powerful energy, the universe and the reality you have always aimed for. You don’t talk much to him in those hours; but you observe him for a long time, there in the penumbra in which he is immersed, distant from the others and beating like a heart that no one knows ― but you can hear it, you see it clearly in front of you like dawn at the end of the winter solstice, and your thoughts unroll like fabric, your fingers tremble with the desire to tighten around a brush and throw all your sensations on a white canvas, unable to really understand why.

The spring is enough to realize the influence that Choso has on you; years later, people will say that was the year in which your art began to express in its full strength, originality and intensity, but only you will know the precise moment in which it all began. On the night of the change, at the end of the evening with friends, Choso takes you to your apartment almost by chance; he shares the road with you mostly in silence, listening to you talk about the Caravaggio exhibition for which you spent a fortune and embarked on an almost sixteen-hour journey, to then look at you with his deep dark eyes and ask only a curt, whispered question: «Why then, if everything in your life is so full of color and meaning and affirmation, are you here with me?» There is no answer to this ― at least, not verbal; because as soon as he leaves you in front of your house, you rush inside, run to the studio and without even undressing, regardless of the new coat and the state it will be in afterwards, you start preparing the colors, grabbing the first canvas you find and then another and another, dipping the brushes until you get to the heart of the color and starting to paint without brakes, panting, almost crying, breathing with difficulty in the freezing room, feeling the heart give way, open up, blow up. Creating a work of art is like making love, you once heard a professor whispering at the Academy, in the end you are never the same as before, you die and reborn different. It is a carnal, bodily and mental act, sacred and dirty at the same time, which involves every part of us, tears us inside, floods and consumes us. And if it doesn’t drive us crazy, then it’s just a smeared canvas and unimportant sex.

And in your head, and with your hands, throughout the night you make love countless times and give vent to the spirits of your world; so much so that when the morning comes and you finally stop, exhausted and out of breath, you can hardly believe that you have been able to create what the sun is lighting up, still dripping with color and your tears. And each work can only bear one name.

«Do you really want to come with me?»

Choso turns to look at you for an instant, inscrutable and measured as always, then nods and looks back at the paintings you have done, neatly displayed in the art gallery that has been collaborating with you for years. «You mentioned your desire to travel to Europe and America, to see the works of your favorite artists… and I simply found it interesting. If you go there, and if you want, I could go with you.» A pause, then his calm voice resumes speaking: «I still don’t understand much, but I shouldn’t have any problems with an expert like you.»

You stand behind him, speechless, then blush hard and look away. «It will be a long journey, which will last months... and it won’t be easy. Think about it», you murmur, trying not to feel the anxiety build up and hold off the many thoughts that have started racing through your head like galloping horses. You and him alone in the major temples of art; you, him and the works you have always admired from afar... a dream ready to come true, but also to become fragile, trembling, an illusion.

«I’ve made my decision. Now it’s up to you whether you want to go alone, or want me for company», he murmurs, taking a step back and looking at you one last time before moving his gaze to the next work, seeming not to notice the blush on your cheeks and the eyes wide open, incredulous, slightly absent. You don’t speak, already knowing where you will arrive; and he keeps silent, without interrupting the words that overlap inside you or upsetting what you are feeling.

… And again, Choso surprises you a little, and mostly confirms what you saw in him.

As you predicted, the journey turns out to be long, through countless cities, museums, collections, art expositions and sensations. There are so many stories, countless shapes, styles, uses of color, entire decades and centuries of art unfolding before you and empowering your imagination; and profound words with which you describe them to Choso, who observes everything and, you realize it right away, becomes both even more taciturn than his usual, almost disturbed, and even more obsessed than you by the paintings he has in front of ― especially by the darkest and most tormented ones ― so much so that he ends up being the one who remains in the halls for hours, chained to the works before him, forgetful of everything. After each experience, his questions are endless; and this, if on the one hand it pushes you to smile, on the other it makes you silent too. «Choso… is something bothering you?», you soon start asking him, hoping to try to move him at least for a moment, at least with a word; but beyond when he asks you for interpretations and explanations, he never replies, he doesn’t even look at you. There is no room in his mind for you now ― so you think; and it is only at the end of it all, in the last museum you visit, that Choso holds you back. «Y/N… why do you artists have so much power and are you so scary? How can you peer so deeply?»

You look once more at Francis Bacon’s painting in front of which he has been standing for almost an hour, and you realize that he is not seeing it, but beyond; far beyond what one might think, and that can be explained with little. «Sometimes we don’t want to, you know; sometimes, bringing back what only we see, or that we have the courage to face, is the only way to get rid of our demons, to exorcize pain and help others. When the world forgets that we all feel the same, we remember.»

«And in your case? In your case… what is it?»

Without thinking twice you hug him from behind; you wrap your arms around his waist and just rest your head on his shoulder, but you don’t even have time to notice what you have done that he takes your hands and holds them tightly. «In my case it’s a bit of this…», you murmur indicating the painting with your chin, then turn around and push Choso to do the same, and look at the art work opposite it: triumph of gold and red, orange, summer, light. «… And a little bit of that. I was lucky enough not to experience what many artists had to suffer, yet…»

«Yet life knocks on anyone’s door, bringing colors you don’t expect.»

You are surprised for a moment by the words Choso has just uttered, so wise and precise, then you nod and smile sweetly; neither of them shows any sign of letting go of the other. «I think you will become a good art critic, if you continue like this», you finally comment, chuckling, «and above all, you will remain the good person you have always been; you will remain human, and you will never be alone.»

Choso doesn’t reply anymore, and you let him think, feel in silence. You wouldn’t trade this moment for anything else in the world, not when this is your moment, the artwork you create.

«Why do you say that the critics have not understood anything about your art exhibition? The works that you consider minor are simply beautiful! They’re not original and mind-blowing like the ones you create now, but…»

You listen to Choso’s words, busy watching you paint with a grimace and arms crossed on your chest, and you glance at him. Since he made that journey with you, the boy has started to open up more and more: you didn’t force anything, you just let art work its magic and make him find the best way to get to you, and you waited on it. You suspect that there is a lot that he still has to reveal to you, but you are not afraid of this: investigating, experimenting and bringing to light is your job, with patience and gentleness you will succeed.

You let him talk, then you answer quietly. «Because critics enjoy saying and reiterating that I immediately revealed myself as one of the most brilliant souls of my time, the last beacon of ancient, old and modern art, and the gateway to the new…», you quote, intentionally marking the words in a stilted voice, «… and none of them has yet realized that, actually, my paintings don’t have a soul. The older ones, at least.»

«But why? They are bright and elegant like you, they are well-kept and do not lack originality. What is missing?»

You take a deep breath, then stop and turn all the way to him. All the stars that are not yet in the sky are reflected in your eyes, and more are added when you smile and open up honestly: «You, Choso. You were missing in my life... you weren’t there yet.»

The boy’s eyes widen and he looks away as he blushes, as he always does for some time, and you can hardly help laughing as you return to your painting. There are truths that sting your tongue, pawing to come out, and in the end you let them go, because you have held them back for too long and it is been days, weeks, now that you are tired of keeping them at bay. «Because while I was painting, you weren’t here, making love to me.»

«… What?»

You don’t deny anything, even if this time it is you who blushes; and when the young man takes you by the shoulders to turn you around, you are ready to poke a clean brush at his face, making him jump in surprise but not flinch. «Careful, this one has the ability to trap people», you murmur to him, and he backs away slightly in response, looking into you. «You… have you always considered me so important to you?»

You advance calmly, the brush extended towards him, until he stops and decides to let you touch him; and then you run it over his forehead and cheeks, trace the profile of the nose and caress the mouth with slowness, vague sensuality and a pinch of mischief. «You live inside the brightest and happiest part of my soul, Choso», you whisper reaching towards his ear, gently sliding the brush along his neck, collarbones and chest, up and down on his heart as when you are intent on creating and your hands respond by themselves to the forces of the mind ― and of love, «and this is why with all my soul, dark and bright at the same time, I ask you… do you want to make love with me and to be my masterpiece?”

#jujutsu kaisen #choso kamo #choso #jjk choso #choso x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen choso

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