"You ought not to compare your pictures to others'. The best part about drawing with you was the creativity you hold that is different from mine. Seeing the finished product always touches me in a way my own work fails to do every single time. It's a thrill watching you work, standing, sitting, jumping.. whatever you may do to achieve your goal. It doesn't matter if I have a degree or not nor does it matter if my talent is different than yours. I don't hold myself above you, Nancy. I never have." His words are true, the stern yet comforting look in his eyes telling her just that.
Placing his hand on the table in a light fist, he brings his teacup back to his lips and takes a quick sip. Tingles run down his torso as cool and calming fingers lap over his. How he has missed her touch. All the time he spent hunching over reports and projects, alone and without her arms around him or her hand on his. She used to sit with him, wrap her arms around him on the floor while he laid on his stomach and drew on white poster-board or large sheets of paper. There were times where she fell asleep on his arm or even sometimes half sprawled across his back. He used to always stop his work and either cuddle with her right there on the floor or happily take the time to tuck her into bed.
At least, that's how it used to be before his job started to dominate who he really is as a person. She would come home and find him sprawled out on the floor, drawing, painting or on his computer using software. When she tried to cuddle with him, he would take only a moment to kiss her. It used to be half an hour or even hours of talking before he even looked at the page again. Then it was back to work for him, needing this project done by this date and that one done in three or four weeks. No time to spare.
When she starts to pull away, he reacts. Drawing fingers that have had charcoal, paint, pencil, ink and clay, are soon wrapped around her slender ones once more. His palm facing the sky and a thumb curving over her knuckles. Perhaps he is too forceful, quickly snapping her hand from the air like that, his grip quickly loosening but not letting go. The gaze he gives her is one of utter desire for all that she is, he has never stopped loving her. Within the next heartbeat, he breaks himself out of such a strong stare and starts to blink. Looking down at their hands, he loosens his even more, giving her the complete opportunity to pull away. The muscles of his face relax, just hinting at a smile at her words.
"You...?" He starts to add but shakes his head just a tad when she corrects herself, not believing that the conversation was about Grandma Leo. She wanted him to stay and that's all he needs to hear in order to comply. Mistakes, such as the one just uttered from her, Brendan believes, is what she really wants to say to him. "Then Grandma Leo, and you, shall have the pleasure of my company. And I in return, will be able to have yours as well." Pausing for a moment, he rests his knuckles down on the dark brown table. If her fingers are still within his, he keeps it so and if not, he curls them up into a comfortable fist again.
"She does? Well, I really am happy to see her too as well as her granddaughter." The ache in his chest starts again as he opens his mouth to bring up wanting to call her Grandma after their breakup, every weekend, just to check in and see if Nancy is alright. Even if he couldn't build up the courage to call Nancy, he once called Grandma Leo, about two years after the breakup. It was a short conversation but he wanted to know how she was handling. That's when she obtained his work information, calling him in advance to show up at her house on the current Friday for a project.