“Not again,” Haydar sighs letting his eyes glide over the white stone tiles now stained deep grey speckled black, the sent of alcohol paint hanging in the air stinging his nose. The room that once was all minimalistic and masculine utterly destroyed.

“I told you,” Haydar chastise in a stronger tone. “If you’re going to paint put down a tarp or something.”

“Sorry,” says a weak voice coming from the floor between deep rasping gasps for air. Running his fingers through his short brown almost black hair, Haydar walks towards the voice not caring that fresh paint now clings to his bare feet. After moving around an overturned couch, one of its red cushions torn open and gutted for it’s cotton fluff, Haydar finds Pyry shirtless sweat rolling down his pale almost ghostly skin.

Haydar crouches down next to the panting figure as Pyry manages to say, “Sorry… couldn’t make it… to… studio… fuck… can’t look.”

Haydar notices that Pyry has draped on of his arms over his eyes as Haydar says, “you’ve destroyed the living room. We’re never getting this paint out of the grout and the tv…”

Pyry shakes his head slightly as he breaths, “no.” Lifting the arm not draped over his eyes, a thick layer of paint enveloping his finger that points at something behind Haydar. The temperature of the room seems to drop as cold tendrils wrap their way around his heart. Cautiously Haydar turns to face the wall behind him.

“The image hit me so suddenly,” Pyry explains finally catching his breath. “I needed to get this one out as quick as possible. You don’t understand Haydar. I’ve never experienced a vision this painful before. I hurt and the next thing I know I’m on the floor.”

“It’s okay Pyry,” Hayder says absently his eyes fixed on the glittering fresh paint filling the wall. A blurry almost unrecognisable face made of broad erratic strokes and dripping paint. All dark colours battling with each other refusing to blend.

“Is that a boat?” Haydar asks quietly.

“That thing making up most of the left side of the face?” Pyry asks, who somehow was now standing next to Haydar studying the painting without Haydar noticing him move.

“Yeah,” Haydar says taken off guard gesturing at the cross like shape resting where the face’s cheekbone should be.

“Maybe,” Pyry responses noncommittally leaning closer to the painting. “Is it crying?”

“I don’t know, it’s your painting,” Haydar says coarser then he means.

Pyry just gives him the ‘you’re an idiot’ look saying, “I only see then paint the vision. What it is is as much a mystery to me as it is to you.”

“I know,” Haydar sighs trying to release some of the tension that grips him. Reaching into his sweat pants pockets Haydar pulls out his phone to snap some photos of the disturbing painting.

“All I know is it isn’t anything good,” Pyry says shivering unconsciously. “Nothing good can hurt that much. I was playing Mario cart then bam! Pain.”

Ignoring Pyry, Haydar says after messing with his phone, “I sent some pictures of it to the group chat, Gitta will probably have some ideas. Till then, go have a shower you’re covered in paint.”