Rhapsody in an Art Museum
By Xavier Coolthude
Here's a little self-indulgent fic I wrote for myself since none of the reader/Noisette fics on AO3 weren't cutting it for me. A lot of them involve Noisette doing a lot for you and you not doing much for her, which my saddens my dyke ass. You know how /reader fics are, very influenced by the author's personal tastes and this one is no better. Still, it's decently mild and there's no "sub/dom" shenanigans in the dynamic here. Also reader is meant to be female/nonbinary. Sorry guys you can't have Noisette. Anyways, here's an oppurtunity to show off I'm still capable of writing Noisette as joyful and whimsical LOL!
Here you are, surrounded by the pink ceramics, ropes gagging garbage, paintings embodying scenes of pure darkness, and weaved blankets following patterns you share no origin with. They have been plastered there for no explanation, as it is often customary to do so. Granted, some particularly special features will get a novelty plaque explaining their creator and/or the inspiration that spurred their birth, a plaque you feel like you shouldn’t feel the need to look at. Besides, they always wax poetic, even if an interesting conversation presents itself. You’ve been here a bunch of times, gave a meditated minute for all the works that caught your fancy, and came to thoughtful conclusions—how could this time be any more different?
If anything, it’s the same like all the others. You say not a word as you cruise about, wishing you were saying a lot more, wishing your cruising was being done at a much slower pace, wishing you were a bit more alive than you are at the time being. Of course, you mustn’t force yourself to labor; this is a leisurely activity for you, a moment to put down the pen and worry not about a project. You should do everything sincerely, lest you become overburdened by soullessness. But… everything here is full of statements, some marveling in the silence that comes with lack thereof. Can’t you sit for a little longer and work a little harder?
This would all be a bit more meaningful if I could talk to someone.But there is no one to talk to. Well, there’s people out and about, just not people for talking. All your talking people live far away and aren’t ones for quick replies. You’ve been eyeing the day you find a closer somebody as you are quite lonely, but it seems like the courage needed for that isn’t inside you today. Oh, well. This is not a horrible routine; it’s quite nice, in fact. It could be better, but it is fine enough. It wouldn’t kill to have another day of silence.
“This is nutty stuff, isn’t it?” A lady remarks.
You snap your head around to find a rather short woman standing to your right, viewing the same giant multi-medium painting with you. It’s odd, really. She feels like the type of person you wouldn’t see at a museum like this. All dressed in pink with a pair of rabbit ears, you think she’d much prefer a novelty museum for Troll dolls, or American knickknacks, or uhm, I don’t know… rabbit-related memorabilia. Maybe or maybe not of the Playboy variety. It’s not nice to assume.
“Y-yeah… I kinda like it, though,” You reply, somewhat defensively. You want to talk more, but you can’t make yourself do so. You nervously look at a random spot on the canvas that has a large and foreboding number of twigs painted like a black hole.
“I’m trying to wrap my head around it, but I think I like it too. It’s very…” she drifts to find her words, “resourceful.”
“Hm, a lot of works here are multi-medium, so it never struck me like that. I, uhm, I go here pretty regularly as a… mini-vacation thing, kinda.”
“I’ve only been here once or twice. You must know a good deal about everything here!”
Warmness flashes through your chest.
“No no, n-not really,” you stammer. “I’m not that special, no genius or anything. I got thoughts on some things here, but nothing crazy… or whatever.”
“That’s okay, I don’t got much thoughts yet. I just got here, hehe!”
“I wish I could say more about everything here but… it’s weird. Sometimes it’s easier to find meaning when you’re talking to someone, but I always go alone so… I’m just a little stuck.”
“I get that.”
She then leaves a somewhat worryingly long pause in the room, like you said something wrong. She turns to you, “maybe we could walk around and figure it all out together?”
A very flattering offer, really. Feels a bit too flattering. You like it, though. Seems like she likes it enough to ask it, but you’re left to wonder if she’s making that kind of move on you. Best to not intrude unless you know for sure. Doesn’t seem like a horrible adventure at all—seems quite nice, actually.
It wouldn’t hurt to have a noisier day than usual, would it?
“Yeah, I-I’m down for a discussion!
She turns back to the painting. “I guess we might as well start with this one. So, uh…”
The sheer size of the painting finally hits the both of you. It might as well be twice as tall as you and three times as tall as her. Everything else is delegated to other sides of the room since this one is so big. Not to mention that the whole thing is covered in miscellaneous objects that make it all the more heavier. If it were not stuck to the wall, it could easily crush the both of you and you’d feel bad for ever prompting it to do such a thing.
If there’s ever been a time to observe, it’s certainly now.
“It’s foreboding just by the sheer size, isn’t it?”
She laughs nervously, “honestly, it didn’t hit me until now. My trinket brain saw trinkets on the canvas and forgot to see the whole picture!”
“You could say that’s a statement in itself,” you remark cheekily.
She laughs a little louder than expected. “Golly, we’re making a lot of progress already!” She catches her breath. “Okay, but seriously, what do you think is going on with this whole dealio?”
You want to say it’s dreadful, but it’s only the size and twigs carrying that feeling. Everything else is overly mundane, an outside family dinner that just so happened to be under a blackened sun. As much as the objects of intimacy reach out the canvas, the blackened twigs and forest life follow suit. Will you fawn for the family, or submit to the forest?
“Hard to say. You can’t rush these things. I’m piecing something together, though. I’ll say it’s quite environmental, reminds me of when colonists would view nature as something to be conquered rather than to coexist with.”
“Wow, I thought of something much more different!” She places a finger on her chin. “I was thinking somethin’ more existential, like a ‘we can’t avoid where we come from’ sorta deal. You can try as much as you can, but you can’t stop yourself from sitting on a piece of wood. It’s unconscious, y’know?”
She’s better at this than you thought. It’s humbling in a nice way. It’s so nice, in fact, you left out a meek “oh” that she struggles to read the tone for.
She continues, “I mean… I don’t think it’s supposed to be bad here. Maybe it’s supposed to be scary at first, but then it becomes peaceful. B-but then again, everything’s subjective; those are just my subjectively subjective thoughts. ‘ya dig?”
You retreat your head into your shoulder. “Man, your reading is way cooler than mine. Feels too easy to go with political readings, doesn’t it?”
“Don’t knock yourself! You made some good connections with yours!” She says, patting your back with more force than expected. It causes your competence to dwindle.
“Haha… I’m n-not good with giving myself the benefit of the doubt. I should p-probably do that more.”
“Yeah! We all gotta treat ourselves every now and again!” She takes a look around the rest of the room. “You’ve been here a lot, right? I wouldn’t mind seeing your favorite artworks here if you have any.”
And now your competence dwindles even more, but there’s no world where you’d say no to this offer. You tend to flake quite easily, but you can’t make yourself quit yet. She seems safe, she seems right. Even if you never see her again, at least it was nice to talk to someone else for a change.
“Oh, I have a couple!” You answer. “One of them is on this floor. Follow me.”
The piece in question is on the other side of the floor, so it’s gonna take a little bit. You’d like to talk, but for some reason you can’t make yourself say much. Well, what is there to say, really? Would she really be interested in the cartoon you last watched, your private musings, or the tedious details of your daily life? Okay, she has some rather sharp eyes, but… is your life worth sharpening those eyes for?
“So,” she begins, “is this museum deal just a hobby or is it your life?”
Oh, I stand corrected. You stand flattered.
“Uhm, well… yes, this is a hobby—but not really. The museum visits, yeah, but I uh, do a lot of art. It’s my main shtick.” You try to keep the ball rolling. “What about you?”
“I like arts and crafts—like, scrap-booking and stuff—but I’m no artist,” she laughs gently.
You get rather biased. “I bet you’re a good chef.”
Her smile deepens. “I bet you’re a great artist,” she replies.
Her face is so sweet it makes you sick to your stomach.
You chuckle. “You don’t even know me! How can you make a big statement like that?”
“Why not? If you get to make a big statement, so can I!”
“I suppose we started talking in the first place to make big statements,” you joke.
The lady stops in her tracks. “Woah. Now this is nutty.”
Lucky for you, the piece that stuns her happens to be the same one you were leading her to. There lies a sculpture of a huddled figure face down on the grass and covered with a blanket. The figure’s exterior disguises itself to look like a contemporary bench, one that distorts itself to be only for sitting. She seems confused, like she doesn’t know what she’s looking at. She doesn’t know the twist; it’s awfully amusing.
“You can touch this one. Lift up the blanket,” You instruct her with a smile.
“Really? If you say so.” She crouches down and glides her fingers around the surface to find the blanket. She hesitates for a moment before taking a peek of the sculpture’s insides. Some of the inner contents glimmers and reflects in her widening pupils. Awestruck, the lady raises the cloth a little more to further inspect it. A sense of shame then rushes to her face and she drops the cloth down, making the figure invisible once again.
“That’s… one hell of an inner life this fella has,” she comments.
“It’s a little heartbreaking, isn’t it?”
She looks at the piece again. “It’s weird. I felt like I wasn’t supposed to peek at that. The bench blanket has one of those anti-homeless bars on it, doesn’t help we’re in a museum too. You’re never allowed to touch anything in these kinds of places.”
“It hurts not to be able to help someone.”
“It’s worse when you feel like you can’t talk about it either!”
“Oh, it’s absolute hell.”
“I hate feeling like I can’t talk. I love talking, maybe a bit too much. I get a lot of thoughts in my head and I just gotta let them out.”
“Same here… kinda. I more just get ideas and need to write them down. I like talking… but I’m too tired to do it sometimes. Takes a lot more work than you’d think it would.”
She gets worried. “I’m not tiring you, am I?” She laughs uneasily, “I really tucker some people out when I talk. One of my friends can only talk to me so long ‘cause of a similar reason; I feel bad.”
“No, no! I probably should talk more, anyway. We all need to that.” You lay your head down low in shame.
You suddenly feel warm fingers grab onto your hand. “You sure are doing a great job right now, though,” She states brightly and tenderly.
You feel your hand instinctively cling onto hers and you want to scream. Try thinking of something else.
“Hehe, it’s funny. Sometimes I wish people would talk more in museums and other times not. It would be hard to think about anything if everyone was talking about so many little things, throwing their little worlds out into the room.”
“Maybe it’s better we’re the only ones talking, then.”
“Yeah… I think so too.”
The two of you continue pondering the many additions of the museum, shooting ideas, comments, and little jokes. Despite the great time you’re having, you can’t help but feel a little off. God, this warmness is heavenly, the thrill of talking to someone face to face, the thrill of having this lady want to hold your hand and talk about the things you take a little too seriously. Yes, this is love. It’s all the more carnal since you are quite the loner. But you’re damn crazy for this, fawning over a woman you just met. It makes you impatient, and you’d would’ve made your move quicker if you were more certain about how she feels. She likes you for sure, but she’s bubbly! She’s friendly! You’re both clicking very well, but things can never be perfect. When will be the moment a misunderstanding arises?
She did say she had a partner. Big emphasis on “had”. It’s uncertain if that was “partner” as in “girlfriend” or “partner” as in “boyfriend.”
You ponder this as you and her look at a Takashi Murakami painting, an artist, to your surprise, she’s actually familiar with
“My ex really liked this guy’s art. He liked it so much he got a print of one of his drawings to frame in his apartment. I used to live there, so I’ve stared down his work real good.”
“Oh, does Murakami’s work bring back bad memories? We can check something else out if—”
“No no! I still like it! It’s been a good while since I’ve seen him and I always liked this guy’s stuff a lot, so I just think of myself nowadays.”
“We love to see some healing!”
She smiles at your quip, which then weakens as something crosses her mind. You worry if she’s gotten sick of you. Besides, you’ve both been in this museum for a couple hours, making the most out of this three-story building.
“I’ll be honest, I haven’t had a convo like this in a while—like, one that’s super interesting like this. Okay, I mean—I get roped into these discussions with my buddy Pepperman about art and she’s great and all but…” she interjects with a laugh, “god he spitballs stuff a lot, jeez louise. You’re patient though, real calm about it. I can just sit back, relax, and work through a nice little puzzle.”
You feel your heart race. You can’t just… say what you’re feeling! You’ve done that all day long; can’t you keep a streak going? But something like that is so forward! It’s a lot! She wants patience.
“Wow, you must really like my complement!” She remarks, causing you to quietly whimper. Her cheeks seem redder than usual. You’re losing your mind.
“God, I-I-I really do. I just… it’s really kind of you to start this whole thing with me, it really is. You’ve made me come out of my shell. I’m thankful for that. I haven’t had a strong conversation like this in a very, very long time. You’re very observant, and uh…” you have to stop upon getting too worked up. You’re afraid of being impulsive, being forward. Being no better than the men who catcall women.
She grabs onto your arm and you both lock eyes. Her face has gotten more red. Even in her more insecure moments, she has some confidence, but not now. She breaks contact with you and tries to bring a thought into fruition, quietly stammering.
“Hoo-wee, I… I’ve never gotten shy like this…”
“You don’t have to say it if it’s too much. It’s been a long day.”
She looks out to the entrance of the gallery, since the two of you have been slowly making your way back to it. She then grabs her purse and rustles through it, taking out a pen and old receipt. She lifts her knee against her purse to create a makeshift desk as she writes something down. She gives it to you.
It’s a phone number, with the name “Noisette” written above it.
You smile. Seeing her again will be inevitable. Thank god.
“Goodness, it’s getting late out! You wanna walk out the museum with me?” She offers.
“Yeah.”
You and Noisette start trekking to the entrance before something overcomes you.
You tug at her shoulder. “Wait, wait.” You dig through your jacket to find your travel notepad and pencil, using a blank page to write down your name, phone number, one of your socials, and a little doodle of Noisette herself as a bonus.
You hand her the note and she laughs tenderly, struggling to take her eyes off the note.
“Man, you really are a great artist.”
Goodbyes are hard, but oddly enough, this one isn’t the case. It’s exciting. What is a goodbye but a chance to see someone again? At least, this one is. Perhaps you’ll be a little cheeky and add her number once you enter your car. Maybe the both of you parked in the same lot. Who knows what kinds of things you will say to her, the lady who opened her hand to you? How much more potent can potential be today? How much louder could today get?
