Work Text:
It was not until he’d been naked for around an hour and a half, barely covered by a too white to not be new sheet and reclining in a purposefully ridiculous sofa, that Yesod allowed himself to ask the question he’d been meaning to since the beginning.
“Wasn’t there… anyone else who’d let you paint them?”
Netzach’s face popped out from the left side of the canvas he’d been covered by. It technically wasn’t a canvas, at least in the traditional sense — rather than cloth, wood or some other material of that sort, it appeared to be one of those completely white puzzle sets, placed on an easel with a base behind it for support.
Actually, Yesod wasn’t entirely sure why he had accepted to model for him, if he was completely honest. Netzach had simply been so… adamant, so utterly sincere in his request, that he found no reason to say no, besides the fact that he’d be forced into unnecessary nudity for a couple hours.
“Hm, probably.” Netzach shrugged, taking a bit longer to disappear behind the easel. “I would never ask something like this out of Angela, though—” Which seemed quite understandable. “—or Hokma, for that matter.” Yesod couldn’t imagine the man agreeing to something like this, either. “Binah would’ve said yes, I guess… but I don’t know how I’d feel about it.”
For no more than a second did Yesod consider the mental image of a nude portrait of Binah. It didn’t sound terribly unappealing but perhaps too many would die, or be temporarily booked, in the process of its creation.
“Chesed would also be fine with this, but then I would need to deal with Roland begging to keep the portrait for himself.” Netzach sighed, sounding surprisingly tired, almost as if the topic of Roland wishing for nudes of Chesed was both common and had overstayed its welcome some time ago. “Gebura is more likely to pull Mimicry on me, Tiphereth would kill me if I ever asked—” Yesod outright chuckled then, careful not to move, thanks to the delightful image of Tiphereth pulling Gold Rush on Netzach. “—Hod would lose consciousness out of embarrassment as I ask, and Malkuth is too high energy to stay still.”
“What about Roland?”
“I already painted him.” One of Netzach’s hands pointed, popping from behind the canvas yet again, at a framed painting on the far left of the room.
He’d paid no attention to it, but now that he turned ever so slightly to look, he could recognise that it was a relatively large and extremely naked portrait of Roland, showing… everything that could be shown, when it came to frontal nudity.
“If you’ve been wondering why Chesed visits my floor so much lately, that’s why.” Netzach finished, quietly returning to working on his current project.
Those two couldn’t act like normal people towards one another, could they?
No matter, that was hardly Yesod’s problem. It was surely better if he didn’t get involved with their shenanigans more than necessary, unless he wanted to end as exasperated as Netzach sounded each time the subject came out.
They would deal with their… issues eventually, by themselves, without causing any sort of untenable destruction to The Library. Hopefully.
(They would not do that. Especially the part about untenable destruction.)
“So I was your last option, it’s what you mean?” Yesod asked, looking up at the wooden beams running through the ceiling of The Floor of Art. They were more comforting than looking at the cloth covering him, or at his own skin — the scars were still left there, and while he had fully accepted them, something about them was still too heavy to just stare at them like one would a wall or anything equally mundane.
“… In a manner of speaking.” Netzach’s response was weirdly nonchalant, though Yesod wasn’t going to question him unnecessarily about it. “If you’re tired, you can nap. I finished the sketch… I do need you here to reference the shadows and colours still, but it won’t matter much if you move.”
Yesod took those words as permission to stretch, he’d been in the same resting position for most of this session, although he returned to a similar pose once he’d finished. There was no reason to make Netzach’s work harder, otherwise Yesod might’ve found himself being requested for this a third or fourth time, just so he could finish a single piece of artwork.
Admittedly it was a tad difficult to relax, with someone’s stare clearly directed at him like Netzach’s was. To be expected, he supposed — if anything it would’ve been quite strange had Netzach’s eyes not been constantly settled on him. Part of the business, when agreeing to be someone’s model so readily… or as readily as Yesod’s original response had been at the time, anyway. He’d somewhat guessed he was Netzach’s last choice since the beginning, if he was asking Yesod at all, so he had accepted mostly to take Netzach off his back.
Perhaps that was a bit cruel. It wasn’t as if he disliked spending time with him, when Netzach wasn’t blackout drunk and/or creating a ruckus with Roland. Or Binah.
(And the fact that Binah drank enough to cause ruckuses, even if it wasn’t often, was quite terrifying in and of itself.)
He still wished to take the opportunity to rest, no reason not to close his eyes and attempt to nap, if he was already wasting his time by laying on this couch. Yesod had actually asked what was up with the entire set up, before Netzach began sketching. His response had been weirdly non-committal again — something about these sorts of works requiring decadently looking furniture, — though he was fine with Yesod refusing to be painted fully nude, as it was probably traditional, which he had appreciated, if sincere.
And his pose had been nowhere near as ridiculous as Roland’s… although something told Yesod that Roland had chosen the ‘pose de jour’ in that case, as Yesod imagined he’d say.
A light crack could be heard as Yesod finished manoeuvring himself on the couch, a combination of a similar enough pose as to what Netzach had requested and an actual, comfortable laying position finally achieved. What had cracked had been his back, loud enough that Yesod had opened his eyes in surprise, finding himself with Netzach staring at him from the corner of his easel.
“… You alright?” He asked, sounding just this side of worried about Yesod’s health.
Not that it mattered much in The Library, but it was kind of him. Also, if Yesod was fair, it had been at least a little disturbing to notice how much of a mess his back was.
It would be smart to ask for a massage, one of these days.
“I’m perfectly fine, thank you.” Yesod purposefully stretched his back a second time, no more pops or alike accompanying the movements, ultimately resting it properly on the couch once more. “You can continue.”
Netzach disappeared behind the canvas yet again, even if his eyes continued observing Yesod with the consistency and tenacity of a man dissecting a specimen. Eyes closed, Yesod silently thanked Netzach’s floor wasn’t particularly cold… only a sheet barely covering his privates was not exactly a reasonable way to keep warm, so the current temperature being moderate was truly close to gift.
Long, tortuous minutes passed like that, Yesod quietly trying to fall asleep with the weight of Netzach’s gaze on him; admittedly it wasn’t unpleasant, even if he would’ve preferred to nap when completely alone. Perhaps what made him more uncomfortable, and consequently unable to entirely relax, was Netzach having a total view of his scars — it was a tad different to go from simply not hiding them to having them fully on display for someone, especially a person openly interested in observing them and Yesod by association.
Yesod would later laugh, thinking about it, but when he’d finally begun to fall asleep — or something like it, as his brain appeared to avoid not working even when resting, — there was a light change in the air around him, the softest series of creaks from the wooden floors underneath being its only prelude.
A prelude that, it was worth mentioning, Yesod had hardly noticed, much too occupied with his own thoughts.
Next, the tip of a finger, lightly pressed right over a scar on his shoulder… There were only two people in the room, before Yesod had closed his eyes, so it was quite obvious who was touching him. He had to wonder what was going through Netzach's mind though, to do that.
The finger ran the length of that scar, jumping to the closest one available and making him shiver in the process. Those touches were purposefully delicate, somewhat hesitant, Netzach perfectly aware that he was overstepping a boundary or twenty.
“What are you doing?” Yesod asked, around a minute or two after Netzach started touching him, causing him to freeze. He didn’t open his eyes yet, but he could hear Netzach breathing deeply to try and calm down, or at least to give himself the time to figure out an excuse for his behaviour.
“… I thought you were asleep.” He said, sounding surprisingly not agitated.
“I was about to fall asleep, before you began poking me.” Yesod continued keeping his eyes closed, only opening them as he felt the couch’s seat dipping down as Netzach sat down.
“Ah, man…” Netzach stretched his arms and back, unceremoniously resting the second on against the couch, his ass more or less pressed against Yesod’s knees. “I guess I’m worse at this than I thought I was.”
Those words were not exactly what Yesod had been expecting to hear.
“Can I ask what this is, precisely?” Yesod demanded, pulling the sheet to fully cover his upper body, crossing his arms underneath it afterwards. It was beginning to get a little cold, now that he reconsidered it.
“I might have lied, just a bit, when I said you were my last option.” Netzach said, so matter-of-factly that maybe he had hoped that was enough explanation for Yesod to be satisfied.
It wasn’t, of course.
“Yes, I’m sure that’s become obvious at this point.” Yesod sighed, staring straight at Netzach the entire time, his glare only slightly less heavy than the one Netzach had directed at him minutes prior.
Another minute passed by like this, the most awkward series of seconds to ever exist, or so it appeared to be for Netzach, who slowly blushed enough to be worthy of note.
“… I asked you to pose because I’ve been keeping that canvas empty, for you.” He muttered the words into the room with a strange sort of tone, not embarrassed but regretful, like a mystery that wasn’t supposed to ever be discovered. “Not that I think my guesses on everyone else’s reactions are that far from what they would’ve been.”
Neither did Yesod, to be honest, but that was hardly the point of this discussion.
“That doesn’t really explain why you were poking my scars, Netzach.” Yesod finally took his eyes away from him, hoping he’d feel more at ease like that. He probably wasn’t as upset at Netzach as he should’ve been, somewhat hypocritical of him to be otherwise, when Yesod had been given a conversation or two about violating people’s ‘personal spaces.’
A sigh, long and almost agonising, awkward secret turned confession.
“I might be… interested.” He turned to look at Yesod. “In you, I mean.”
“In me?” Yesod raised an eyebrow at him, perfectly aware of what Netzach was saying but preferring to insist for a more thorough description, just for the sake of clarification.
“Romantically.” Netzach rolled his eyes, knowing that Yesod was forcing him to reiterate himself for what he personally imagined was no good reason. “Ass.”
“You are interested in my ass romantically? I apologise, but since it is attached to me, I will not permit it to date you.” He smiled, playfully shoving Netzach on the arm. It wasn’t often that he allowed himself to relax so much, but Yesod had been naked for the last hour and a half… he had a right to make at least one completely off-colour joke, as a little treat to himself.
Netzach pfft’ed, shoving him with the same force and gaiety, the blush that had been covering his cheeks for a while reduced in intensity ever so slightly.
“Here I am, trying to bare my heart… and you joke about it. Man, you’re cold when you want to be… Should’ve fallen for someone else.” His tone was so light that it was impossible to read it as something other than jest, Netzach’s smile a comforting reminder that time eventually permitted everyone to move on and heal.
“You probably should have, my ass is not as good at providing as you’d think it is.” Yesod sat straight on the couch, no longer fully horizontal. “I do want to ask, though… Sincerely, why now?”
“Dunno.” Netzach shrugged, a little stumped. “I’ve been looking at that white canvas and feeling like I’ve been losing my mind lately… Had it saved for you, thought maybe if I finally painted it I would keep it together.”
“And I’m assuming it didn’t work.”
“It was working, up until you started to look relaxed and like you were having a good time, I think.” He grinned at Yesod, a light twitch in Netzach’s hands that could be easily read as a controlled attempt not to touch him. “I… didn’t mean to be a creep…”
“I didn’t mind.” Yesod said, a bit too fast for his own taste, immediately correcting whatever assumptions Netzach could’ve had. “The posing, I mean. The touching… I would’ve preferred it had you asked for permission, beforehand.”
For the first time since Yesod had walked into the room currently serving as Netzach’s studio, conversation stilted and awkward but ultimately fine, they both looked at one another directly, forcing themselves to not avoid equally judgemental stares.
Their relationship had always been somewhat pretentious, like many ‘working relationships’ were — if one could even call what went on in Lobotomy Corporation that. Perhaps calling it a ‘relationship’ was far too deep a kindness, too much for the damage both of them would carry, however long they lived. One way or another, Yesod didn’t dislike Netzach as much as he had once thought, and if anything the memories he had of their interactions back then were filled with a bitter yet faint sort of regret.
When everyone was broken, but you could only concentrate on your own brokenness, it was quite easy to forgive oneself for offences caused… at least that was what Yesod felt now, looking back on it all.
No apologies had ever been exchanged among any of them, perhaps finding them meaningless. There were many lost memories in those never ending cycles, some of which they could grasp and a painfully large section which they couldn’t, ultimately leaving them as strangers in their own past interactions.
The point still somewhat stood, in Yesod’s mind. He did enjoy Netzach’s company more than he had originally guessed, as long as he wasn’t drunk or procrastinating to the point of causing issues to everyone else.
He could even acknowledge he didn’t so much mind Netzach being drunk in and of itself, as much as he simply found it annoying that he did so while they were supposed to be working, or that he used his hangovers as an excuse to avoid cleaning duty — or worse yet, that he avoided cleaning duty all together to drink.
“I’m assuming—” Yesod began, the response once more quite obvious to him, but wishing for clarification all the same. “—that whether or not you were correct in your assessments of everyone else’s responses, you only asked me to pose for you?”
“… Yep.” Netzach practically shrugged, the ‘p’ at the end popping as much as it could be forced to, when spoken so casually. “Roland almost begged me to paint him, though.”
“The morbidly curious part of me sort of wants to know why, if I’m honest.”
“He said he wanted to feel pretty.”
For some reason that made perfect sense, even if Yesod had difficulty imagining Roland asking Netzach to immortalise his figure for the sake of self-assurance. Everyone needed to feel pretty… or whatever equivalent they preferred sometimes, though. It wasn’t often, but even Yesod himself needed to boost his own ego, on occasion.
Netzach continued speaking, completely unprompted and uncaring for Yesod’s current train of thought.
“Does it bother you? That you were my first choice…”
Did it? He’d hardly considered if it did or not. Yesod couldn’t find any reason to be upset, even if he’d been technically lied to. It definitely wasn’t unflattering — Netzach was an attractive man, after all, and most people tended to notice it, — but Yesod had to admit he’d only found himself in these sort of situations a couple of times in his life… and never when completely naked since the start, which meant he had less than a preferable idea of how to answer that question.
Mayhaps he simply needed to be direct, mortifying as that felt in their current circumstances.
“It… doesn’t bother me.” Yesod said, eventually, his hands laid on his own lap, the white sheet still covering him, if lowered back down slightly, the only thing protecting Yesod from touching his own skin. “I don’t suppose there were other ways you could’ve told me this without coming up to me and asking—” He coughed softly into his closed fist, his next words in the best imitation of Netzach’s voice he could muster. “—could you model for me, this one time?”
“I wasn’t planning to have this conversation, to be honest.” Netzach poked Yesod right in the centre of his chest, a little pout on his face. “And that was pretty lacklustre, I don’t sound like that.”
“Not all of us have Malkuth’s uncanny ability to imitate everyone’s voices perfectly.” He smiled, moving ever so slightly so now his head was resting right on Netzach’s shoulder.
Yesod noticed, from that position, that Netzach’s hands were trembling. Perhaps they’d been trembling the entire time, with him none the wiser. How strange that he was the calm one, that wasn’t usually Yesod’s position when stress ran high — not when they were being genuine with each other, Yesod was made of stress and compulsion when at his worst.
He pressed one of his hands lightly over Netzach’s own, the quivering disappearing slowly, their fingers curling around one another. Yesod could’ve defined it as intertwining, but that felt strangely more intimate.
With the hand that Netzach still had free, he moved Yesod’s hair away from his face, a large strand pushed behind Yesod’s own ear, ultimately returning to its original position seconds afterwards. Both his eyes were still on display, even with his hair refusing to give away its shape under Netzach’s ministrations.
“Do you use The Light or something to make sure your hair stays in place?” He muttered, perhaps sounding a tad offended at the unruly strand.
“That’s for me to know and you to find out, I believe the phrase goes.” Yesod wasn’t about to reveal if he used The Light for completely ridiculous reasons, after all… it was one thing to do so, and another to have people know.
This caused Netzach to laugh for some reason, smoothly twisting himself while his giggling continued, until the two of them were more or less chest-to-chest, his head laid carefully over Yesod’s.
“I thought this would be a lot more awkward…” He muttered, his lips moving slowly against Yesod’s hair.
“How exactly could this be more awkward?” In Yesod’s mind this could’ve only turned worse if he’d not been allowed to cover himself with a sheet, or with anything really.
“Well, the E.G.O. in your floor are all very dangerous and—”
“Netzach, we’re not even in Technological Sciences.”
“Maybe you brought some to Art, for protection.”
At this point Yesod wasn’t sure if he should’ve laughed or rolled his eyes as hard as humanly possible, but he supposed Netzach had no reason to believe Yesod wouldn’t be painfully and literally blunt with him, if he were to reject him in first place — and he had no reason to believe Yesod wouldn’t reject him, either.
Ultimately, Yesod simply sighed. This seemed like the sort of situation where he had to somewhat admit defeat, or at least meet Netzach halfway.
“That’s… a bit of an exaggeration.” He said, trying not to sound insulted. “I do apologise, if you really thought that’d be my reaction. It was not my intention to come off that way, about that sort of thing.”
“Hm.” Netzach did nothing but hum in response, something close to a shrug in his tone.
It was as much of a response as Yesod was going to get to his apology, but he was perfectly alright with that.
They stayed like this for several more minutes, goosebumps temporarily covering Yesod’s naked skin — even if it wasn’t necessarily cold, it wasn’t warm either. He separated slowly from Netzach, his head no longer resting on Yesod’s, finding his hands comfortably laid on Netzach’s shoulders next. He had temporarily forgotten about their height difference, silly as that sounded.
With hands surprisingly calm, perhaps because he was holding onto something, Yesod pressed their faces together, lips meeting lips and noses accidentally hitting noses, not that Netzach seemed to be bothered much about that last part. It was a soft, awkward contact, maybe even worthy to be called childish, had their circumstances been slightly different.
As their mouths separated, noses still firmly touching one another, Netzach put his hands on Yesod’s waist, the sheet he’d been using to cover himself not discarded but pulled slightly aside, to make it easier for Netzach to make contact with his skin. He was blushing too, a shade lighter than when Yesod last had seen him drunk off his ass.
“Is this… alright?” He asked, unashamedly looking down to Yesod’s chest, although his blush did not subside.
“I will tell you, if it’s not.” Not that such words would be enough for Netzach, or so he assumed, but these sort of things required some amount of inherent risk, in Yesod’s opinion — Netzach would’ve to live with that fear, until proven wrong.
The next kiss was a little bit more secure, mouths pressed harder, the warm touch of lips sliding against each other. To that kiss followed another one, this time on Yesod’s jaw, Netzach’s hands still firmly on his waist. It wasn’t until Netzach had moved promptly to his neck that Yesod noticed a very peculiar detail… This was that Netzach was specifically taking the time to kiss and lick at his scars, of all things.
He had to admit that a part of him wanted to reprimand Netzach, as ridiculous as it sounded, but something about the care and effort he put in every brush of his mouth against his skin stopped Yesod from doing so. It’s not as if he disliked the touch or anything of that sort, he just found it inherently overdramatic.
If he’d moved on then attention like this should hardly matter, whether or not he appreciated it.
But he did appreciate it, quite a lot in fact, so he said nothing and allowed himself to be laid properly horizontal on the sofa once more, the position not that dissimilar to the one Yesod had been in when posing. At least until Netzach pulled the sheet off, leaving him entirely naked.
That was, obviously, quite different.
“At least take your clothes off too, if you’re going to do that…” Yesod looked up at him, only mildly serious. He didn’t particularly care if Netzach preferred to do this with his clothes fully on, although it felt less daring to not be the only one naked.
Netzach simply nodded, first and foremost taking off the apron he’d been wearing — no matter how much The Library could fix as far as clothes went, it surely was for the best to avoid paint stains, — followed by his necktie and shirt. He’d forgo his coat entirely, hastily thrown when Yesod had walked into the floor, by a pile of books.
(Maybe after they were done he could have a conversation with Netzach about his ‘organisation methods’ or lack thereof… people were usually much more amenable after enjoying themselves, after all.)
It appeared this would be as far as Netzach would go, as far as taking his clothes off went though. He returned to the labour of kissing every scar he could find on Yesod’s body, moving from his neck down to his chest, and next to his navel. Yesod took a deep breath as he shivered at the first contact of Netzach’s tongue with his lower abdomen.
He was quite sure he had barely a scratch from his first life there, but he was unsurprised Netzach wanted to pay so much attention to that particular area.
Another full body shiver took over him, as Netzach put his hands on Yesod’s hips to keep him in place, his mouth finally making contact with Yesod’s cock. A twirl of his tongue around the head, followed by just enough sucking to make him moan… It’d been quite a long time, since his first life — since James, even — as much as Yesod didn’t wish to admit it.
Closing his eyes, Yesod allowed himself to loosen up, or as much as one could ‘loosen up’’ in this kind of situation, while Netzach practically worshipped his cock, long licks beginning from the base and followed his tongue wrapping around the head, lapping at its meatus, precum coating his tongue in the process. One of Yesod’s feet slid off the couch, rapidly tapping the floor as Netzach continued, a hand now covering his mouth to keep his moans from filling the room.
Yesod would much later, with his mind clear of all the euphoria he was currently feeling, be surprised with how little complaints he received for attempting to stay quiet — which were, to be precise, absolutely zero. Netzach was happy enough simply turning Yesod into a pile of mush and sweat, with or without a loud variety of noises involved.
A painful sounding groan caused Yesod to open his eyes, for the first time noticing that Netzach had moved one of his hands from Yesod’s hips into his currently half opened pants, quite obviously touching himself as he took Yesod’s cock completely into his mouth. That was… Well, Yesod wasn’t sure how to describe it, but if he’d been as inclined to the arts as Netzach was, he would’ve considered painting or maybe photographing such a scene.
It looked like the sort of thing that deserved to be visually immortalised, in some fashion.
Coming happened shamelessly fast for him, and right inside Netzach’s mouth without a warning, which Yesod had to remind himself to apologise for later, once his brain decided to be functional again. He stared at Netzach the entire time afterwards, cum dripping down the corner of his mouth as he moved back up over Yesod’s body — the movements of the hand inside pants doubling in speed.
They kissed yet again, the taste of cum hardly unexpected but still a tad jarring, Yesod attempting to get one of his hands on Netzach, trying to offer him a little help. Not that Netzach seemed to care much, appearing practically uninterested in Yesod’s own hand right over his own. He was much more interested in kissing Yesod and laying on top of him, chests pressed tightly together, until Netzach came in his own pants.
This wasn’t exactly how Yesod had been expecting to get laid after ten thousand years, but he had very few issues with the event… perhaps he needed to plan for their next time, remember to get some lube or the like.
Something to consider, when the embarrassment and awkwardness had disappeared.
“Don’t be disgusting…” Yesod groaned as Netzach had the gall to clean his cum-covered hand on Yesod’s naked skin, right over his waist, completely ruining the moment in the process.
“Too late.” He shrugged, the most relaxed smile Yesod could ever remember seeing on Netzach painted on his face, promptly disappearing against his neck, playfully rubbed against it. “You can shower later.”
He was right, but that didn’t mean Yesod liked it…
Sighing, actually a lot less tired than he sounded, Yesod decided to just give up, wrapping his arms around Netzach’s shoulders — it felt like the right thing to do anyway, to leave the actual complaints for when the mood was less comforting.
It wasn’t often that a mood like this one happened between them, though hopefully this was the beginning of such things changing.
Many long minutes passed by, Yesod wasn’t sure if it’d been ten minutes or an hour, only their breathing and the soft steps of those green, slimy thingies that lived in Netzach’s floor walking about interrupting the heavy silence.
Until, with a loud inhale beforehand, Netzach spoke right over Yesod’s jugular.
“I…” He began, cutting himself short before anything of value or with meaning was said, reconsidering his entire speech. “I hope you don’t mind, that I actually plan to paint all of your scars. I know you’re fine with them now, but it’s…” A difficult topic, I assume — or something along those lines, Yesod guessed.
“… Did you sketch all of them?” Yesod asked, trying to sound unaffected. It was a difficult topic, sometimes.
“All the visible ones from that position, yes.”
“That’s… commendable.” There were, after all, a hilarious amount of scars to draw.
“I don’t want to embellish you, I don’t see a point to it—” Netzach chuckled, something like whimsy in his tone. Mayhaps he was trying to imagine what such a version of Yesod would look like. “—‘imperfections’ give life to art like this.”
He was at his most beautiful when at his most naked, metaphorically of course.
(And literally, at the very least to Netzach.)
“There’s no point in lying and telling you that it’s not difficult to talk about.” While he could exist in his body without hiding it as he used to, there was still a weight to the past that didn’t just disappear with a couple of personal revelations. “But… I think a part of me would’ve been offended, if you’d attempted to paint me and avoided those.”
Yesod left it at that, unwilling to add more to his side of the argument — if this could’ve been called an argument in the first place.
Without saying a single word, Netzach got up and grabbed the sheet he’d thrown off Yesod, offering it back to him before walking towards the canvas. Yesod covered himself with it, observing him with open curiosity as Netzach grabbed the easel and turned it around, showing the current state of his work to Yesod.
It was nowhere near finished, as anyone who knew Netzach would’ve expected, since he regularly insisted he was a slow painter.
But even the parts that were still nothing but a sketch had an impressive amount of detail, to the point Yesod wasn’t sure what to think… there was sincere love, a very peculiar kind of adoration, given to the piece he was looking at. It wasn’t simply an attempt to capture his likeness, but the very struggle of creating a reflection of the emotions he brought out of Netzach, or so it felt when looking at it.
Blinking mindlessly, unsure of how to answer a question that hadn’t even been asked out loud, Yesod opened his mouth and spoke words he would feel quite ashamed of when he had the time to think back to them.
“I’m… I’m glad that you…” A gulp, nervous and strangely timid. “I’m glad that you saved that canvas for me.”
Netzach stared right back at him, blinking in the same silly fashion as Yesod had for a second, before offering him a bright, lovely grin, a light blush covering his cheeks. What pride he felt came entirely from the ridiculous reaction he’d caused on Yesod, and he could hardly fault Netzach for that.
He would never voice these thoughts, but Yesod was actually quite excited to see the finished product now, no matter how long it took to complete.