Jean would purse his lips, eyes narrowing in thought as he looked over the canvas. Did this look right? Was he missing a certain color? His hand would falter slightly over the canvas, paint dripping off of the brush tip and splattering onto his painting.

“Shoot.” He’d mumble, his thick eyebrows furrowing. What was he going to do now? He had been working on this painting for hours now and the thought of starting over made him nauseous.

Frustrated, he’d place the paintbrush down and take a seat on his stool. He didn’t even know why he took up painting in the first place, charcoal was his preferred medium.