It's a Minimalistic Painting
Steve has always been in love with art. He would use scrap papers to practice his drawings, sketching everything that caught his eyes. It made him happy. It made his life worthwhile. Art also become his salvation after the accident. He was broken in so many places and painting seemed to be the only thing that kept him sane. He painted his nightmares. Most of the times it relaxes him. Sometimes he ended up crying on the bathroom floor with black paint staining his shirt and sweatpants.
He never showed his recent paintings to the public. He knew Phil had a lot of questions about it. The man bought several of his earlier paintings and loved it. Steve was flattered, of course. But still, he couldn’t come up with an answer when Phil asked if he still paints. He does. He just couldn’t show it to the world. It was horrible and filled with pain and darkness. It was far different than the colorful painting he used to make.
He blankly stared at the sketchpad in front of him. He was in the campus park now and he was supposed to draw something. What was he supposed to draw? He couldn’t bring himself to draw the beautiful sceneries or the happy passerby. A soft tap on his shoulder snapped him out of his train of thoughts. Steve looked up and saw the face of the woman who has been sitting in front of him in every class. She looked a little abashed for a moment when she caught his eyes.
“Can I sit here?” She asked.
“Yeah.” Steve nodded and smiled at her when she let out a small sigh of relief.
“It’s nicer in here.” She gestured at the other side of the park. Most of the students picked that spot and Steve couldn’t blame them. The spot had the best light and a better view. But he liked this spot. It was a little dark and gloomy. It gave him a little peace of mind and she seemed to share the sentiment.
“I’m Steve.” He introduced himself. The brunette offered a handshake and gave him a sweet smile.
“Eva. I think I saw you in all of my classes.” She grinned.
“We took the same major and electives.” He shrugged.
The conversation was replaced with a comforting silence as they focused back on their own sketchpad. Steve found himself stuck in the same black hole he was in a few minutes ago. Eva didn’t look like she was having a hard time though, Steve noticed. She was busy sketching something with her pencil and Steve had to resist the urge not to crane his neck and took a peek at her work. He did get a little peek at her work from where he sat.
“I wasn’t doing the assignment.” She gingerly smiled and looked up from her sketchpad.
“That was not a water fountain.” He nodded, eliciting a titter from her. She looked at him, the corner of her eyes creased with amusement.
“You have good eyes.” She cheekily replied. “You didn’t draw anything.” She added, her eyes travelling from his face to his blank paper.
“I think it’s nice.” She continued before he could come up with an excuse. “White is a color of purity, perfection, completion and innocence.” He stared at her incredulously. “You could pass this as a minimalist take on whatever it is you’re drawing if you want. Since, you know, it fits the concept of minimalistic painting, eliminating all nonessential forms, features, or concepts and creating the simplest design with fewest elements.” She finished. “Or you could say it’s your take on the snow over there.”
“How-”
“I’ve been there.” She shrugged though he could see the strained smile on her face. “Not being able to draw something that invokes happiness. It’s hard. But it’ll come back sooner or later.” She smiled at him.
“You must be a pro at bullshiting your paper.” He closed his eyes at his stupid response. Of all the things you can say, that’s what you’re going with, Steve? Great. What a fucking smooth move. He didn’t expect her to guffawed at his remark. Her sketchpad fell from her lap as she laughed. It wasn’t just a laugh. She actually bent over and had to hold on to his shoulder so she won’t fall off the bench they were sitting on. There were tears in her eyes when she looked at him.
“Yeah. I got an A on our last paper.” She replied with an impish look on her face. She seemed amused by his weird sense of humor. Steve couldn’t help but to laugh along. It wasn’t until later that he realized this was the first time he laughed this freely with a stranger.
“You’re funny.” She commented as she gathered her papers from the ground. Her eyes twinkled as she looked at him. It made him feel things. He didn’t know what but it was warm and pleasant so he didn’t try to drown it.
“Girls were usually appalled by it.”
“Well, they’re stupid. Awkward jokes are the best jokes.” She shrugged. “I have to go back to my—“ she cleared her throat and her body language suddenly shifted, “my place. It’s a little late.” She told him. Her smile no longer reached her eyes and he wondered if she was having some troubles with her home. It wasn’t even late. A glance at his watch showed it was still 3 in the afternoon. He didn’t comment on it and nodded with a small smile he hoped would comfort her.
“I’ll see you later, then.”
“I’ll see you later, Steve.” She waved and walked away from him.
* * *
“A little birdie said a certain Stevie went on a little date in the campus park today.” Steve rolled his eyes when Bucky and Natasha greeted him with goofy smiles on their faces.
“That little birdie was wrong.”
“I’M NEVER WRONG!” Of course. Clint Barton. The guy who dubbed himself the Hawkeye and the eyes of the house. It was a ridiculous name but the guy proved him he was really good at observing stuff.
“She’s my classmate.” Steve explained and set his bag down on the coffee table before he sauntered off to the kitchen, his best friends trailing behind them like lost ducklings.
“Eva’s really nice, you know.” Clint joined the nagging team.
“How do you even know her name?” Steve asked, dumbfounded by Clint and his information gathering skills.
“She’s pretty well known even before you guys came here. There was a lot rumors about her though I suggest you take it with a grain of salt.” Clint answered. He stopped chewing on his McNuggets and sighed when he was met with three curious eyes. “One of my friends went to the same high school with her. She told me she always wore long sleeved shirts, even if the weather is scorching hot. People speculated things. Awful things.”
“Like self-harm?” Bucky asked, the notion hit a little too close to home.
“Yeah. But she’s really kind. I’ve met her twice. She was really nice.” Clint smiled sadly.
“I don’t think she did self-harm.” Steve spoke with a barely audible voice, his eyes darting away from them. He quietly slipped away from the kitchen, no longer feeling hungry.