"Well," he began, cocking his head as if seriously considering it. "I would offer to let you go first, but I'm kinda afraid you're gonna start crying, so why don't I go first, and then you, and then you can cry as long as you want without feeling guilty about it."
It wasn't that he wanted her to cry, or ever set out with the intention of making her cry; he just had a tendency to get her thoughtful gifts she'd appreciate, which inevitably led to said crying. He didn't like to see her cry, but perversely, if she did, it meant that he'd done something that touched her, and that's what he wanted. In an odd sort of way, if she ever stopped crying, he'd be worried he was losing her, because it meant she didn't care anymore.
This time however, he'd gone and done something that might genuinely upset her. He hoped she liked it, he'd spent a lot of time racking his brain trying to come up with an idea. And then how to implement said idea once he had it, where Rogue couldn't see it, since she was in his apartment so much. Thankfully she mostly left his studio alone, so he'd been able to stash the painting in the closet. He would've known if she'd seen it - she wouldn't have been able to hide her reaction, even hours after the fact.
Now, it rested propped against the wall beside the tree, a large, fairly thin package, and if one knew what they were looking at, obviously a 16" x 20" canvas, wrapped up in shimmery green paper with faint silver filigree, and a gold ribbon and bow affixed in one corner.
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
branchandroot
no subject
Date: 2017-01-05 11:57 pm (UTC)It wasn't that he wanted her to cry, or ever set out with the intention of making her cry; he just had a tendency to get her thoughtful gifts she'd appreciate, which inevitably led to said crying. He didn't like to see her cry, but perversely, if she did, it meant that he'd done something that touched her, and that's what he wanted. In an odd sort of way, if she ever stopped crying, he'd be worried he was losing her, because it meant she didn't care anymore.
This time however, he'd gone and done something that might genuinely upset her. He hoped she liked it, he'd spent a lot of time racking his brain trying to come up with an idea. And then how to implement said idea once he had it, where Rogue couldn't see it, since she was in his apartment so much. Thankfully she mostly left his studio alone, so he'd been able to stash the painting in the closet. He would've known if she'd seen it - she wouldn't have been able to hide her reaction, even hours after the fact.
Now, it rested propped against the wall beside the tree, a large, fairly thin package, and if one knew what they were looking at, obviously a 16" x 20" canvas, wrapped up in shimmery green paper with faint silver filigree, and a gold ribbon and bow affixed in one corner.