(no subject)

Adrian's suite was, for lack of a better word, a mess. He hadn't slept in going on four days and the entire thing reeked of an unholy combination of paint fumes, cigarette smoke and cheap whiskey. He had been back and forth to his own apartment a few times for supply runs (mostly booze and cigs but he'd snagged his art supplies on one of the trips) but he hadn't grabbed any essentials.

No clean clothes. No food. No shower.

When he had run out of canvas to paint, he'd started on the walls and ceiling and right now, he was in the midst of painting a psychedelic lily on the back wall of his suite, right behind his bed. It was gold and silver and bright yellow and purple, all of the colors that he associated with Sydney and it was absolutely...

...it was shit, wasn't it? But he was going to keep painting it until it was done because he wanted her to like it. There was nothing he wanted more than for Sydney to see this tribute he'd painted for her and swoon over him and love him because back home she had rebuffed him and told him she couldn't be with a Moroi, no way and no how, and even if the Sydney here was different, Adrian didn't trust it. He could only trust himself and his own ability to make her love him and this...this might do it.

This had to do it.