Work Text:
Shaking hands, stained with veins and age spots. Yet the lines entertained the young, they watched them shift as the old man told stories of the rainbow boy. Every saturday, the old man always held small art lessons in the studio room. The retirement home was otherwise boring, but the children loved him, they loved that man. A safe haven, where dreams were drawn to life. Outcasted by friends and families, those who still carried their friends in arms joined him and painted beautiful works.
Of course, the perspective of a duel monster would always be different when they were alive, and their little feet scampered all over the art room.
“Your card is alive, you say? You sound like my art teacher from my youth.”
Most of the children heard the same lecture from their parents, and it brought them to him.
He was painting Ruby today.
“Have I told you all about Ruby?”
“Yes, you did last time.”
“Oh,” the man smiled. Shaking hands continued to paint the drawing to life. “Ruby was my favorite duel spirit that the rainbow boy had. Winged Kuriboh loved Ruby too.”
“We know,” the children laughed.
But the escaping memories hurt the old man, because he never wanted to forget the rainbow boy. But he never would, because those words echoed every morning.
“I wanted to save everyone with this duel!”
And he did. He had saved the old man in every way a person could be saved, and nobody had shining gems dusted on their fingers like the rainbow boy did. And oh, when those hands brushed against his fingertips, he hoped he shined like the rainbow boy.
But his eyes were brown, they weren't shining emeralds.
He put his favorite record on, and the children started to paint in silence.
Everyone knew better than to talk during music time.
So they listened, and they painted their spirit partners.
“Moon river, wider than a mile
I’m crossing you in style some day.”
“Where did the rainbow boy go?”
“I don’t know,” the old man replied. “But I’ve tried to find out my whole life.”
He stared at his hands, how weak they had become over the years. The same painting he always drew of Ruby only became worse as the years flew by. “But I think I know now, I think I know.”
“Oh dream maker, you heart breaker,
Wherever you’re going, I’m going your way.”
He knew when those hands touched his again the age spots would disappear, and they would fly together over the city. To that cafe he always wanted to take the rainbow boy to, how special it would be shared together.
“Two drifters, off to see the world.”
“Did you liiike the rainbow boy? Hehe.”
The old man frowned. “Don’t interrupt my music.” But he just didn’t want to be reminded.
“There’s such a lot of world to see.”
He imagined all the places they could’ve gone, hands intertwined with exchanged sweaters because they knew each other so well.
“Old man, are you crying?”
“Don’t interrupt my music, child.”
“We’re after the same rainbow’s end, waiting ‘round the bend.”
He knew they’d fly together soon, because the kindest lover he ever had since those days was time itself. But now he had a new lover, and it was his bedsheets, where he hoped he could close his eyes for the last time.
Because then, only then,
“My huckleberry friend, moon river, and me.”
He smiled and felt stupid, as he imagined the two of them riding on that damned dragon higher than the clouds because when they dreamt, they could.
And oh, how he loved the rainbow boy.
He had for years.
“You’ll see the rainbow boy again, maybe if you paint him,” a young girl said. She was painting her spirit, but it was barely recognizable, not because she was bad. But because she was a child. “Maybe you’ll see him.”
“But I can’t,” the old man replied. “My memories fail me and my hands are old. I’d need to capture the image perfectly, and I cannot.”
But it was okay, because when he was able to close his eyes and fly past the limits of skin, he would see him perfectly. He would see the gems shine again, not the spirits, no. But the shining skin he missed so much.
“You’re funny, old man.”
“I suppose I am.” He smiled. “The rainbow boy thought so too.”
“He sounds nice.”
“He was.”
The children painted, and the old man’s hands shook.
“I can’t wait to see him again. I have so many jokes to tell him. Haha.”
The children laughed. And they painted together.
Nobody said a word when the old man set the record again.