Renoir knew he had messed up the second he got a little too vulnerable and told you about how Aline had saved him when he was stuck in the delusions of painting. Since then, you had been endlessly nagging him adamantly about teaching you how to paint; at this point he thought it was more to get a rise out of him than genuine curiosity. Now, albeit after what at least seemed to be months he finally caved. Painting was a bit of a sore spot for him, but he was tired of your nagging.

That is how he found himself in this situation, sitting next to you at an easel and his face twisted with an extreme look of displeasure.

“Don’t force it. The brush will tell you when it’s ready. And when it does, listen.“

He spoke aloud to you, gripping his brush as if it’d grow legs and run away.