𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑⁰¹ʰᵉᵐᵐⁱⁿᵍˢ✓

⁰⁴famous famous

clementine

After four straight days of my head hovering over a fresh oil painting, a headache had started to grow from the paint fumes I was breathing in. I'm pretty sure I mostly breath fumes than air when I paint.

I'm always advised by Marisse to wear a mask like she does, but I've always hated how stuffy it is. It's a bother to wear and not notice, so I've learnt that the headaches just come along with how I want to do the job.

I look up at the clock hanging above my desk, seeing the bright red lights form the numbers '11:42' from the dark.

I'd been in the studio since eight preparing some pieces for presentation and packing up a few others for shipping. Around twelve, I met up with a client, showed them their finished piece, packed it up, and they left with it. And since then, I'd been finishing up another piece that's to be shipped out to LA next week.

Mondays and Tuesdays were hectic for the studio. Clients and paintings come in and out and painters go here and there around the studio, working in silence as they finished their projects.

Marisse had gone home by nine, so it was just me left in our department. Though, I think Annie from the modern department is still working on a five-by-six project for a regular. She and I are known to stay late, sometimes through the next day until Helene would ask us to go home for some rest.

I put down my brush on the palette and stare at the finally finished painting. It was a four-by-five landscape painting with humongous clouds, standing out from the rosey sunrise behind.

Satisfied, I picked up my thinnest brush and dipped it into the small mound of red paint on my palette. Then I brought the bristles to the bottom left corner of the painting and carefully dragged it. Slowly, and careful not to scrape out the wet paint underneath, I sign it with 'clem' in long hand.

I huff out a long breath, my headache starting to pulse and becoming more and more apparant.

I get off from my stool and carefully lift the painting off of the easel, moving it to rest on a drying rack right by the window.

I then go back by my easel and pick up the empty canvas standing behind, resting it on and staring once again at the gridded space the same way I did just two weeks ago.

Blue eyes comes to mind.

I remember his laugh and the way he talked. He was so... smiley, very enthusiastic about each story he told, and I wondered if he was always like that. I talked to him more than I did the others. While they were busying themselves with items from the studio, Blue Eyes stood by my side and made conversation.

I dig for my phone through my bag and open up YouTube. After typing up his name, it wasn't as hard as I expected it to be. Apparently, everybody only posted about one Luke Hemmings and it was Blue Eyes himself.

Oh, so he's famous famous. Alright.

I scroll through the videos, jaw hung open over the fact that their band is some serious band. Like, they weren't just a band with a CD demo and in some garage. They're a band who can afford Electric Lady studios and have apparantly toured with One Direction.

So apparantly, I've been living under a rock. Good to know.

I look through the albums they'd posted and plugged in my earphones, pressing on the first album listed. A guitar started playing, followed by a familiar chant of 'hey''s. As I listened and got to the chorus, I realised that this was the sing Blue Eyes had sung to me, though less rough and louder than I'd expected.