After ten minutes of arguing, Barney agreed to put the sword aside. Then came another ten minutes discussing the lighting—"I want this side of my face in shadow, but not too much shadow; I want mystery, not total darkness"—another ten about the room temperature—"It's cold, and when it's cold, certain parts of my anatomy... shrink. And that's not heroic"—and another ten about whether he should smile or maintain a serious expression—"The smile is too approachable; seriousness is too intimidating. I need a middle ground. Something like 'I can conquer you, but I can also make you laugh.'"
Two hours in, Lily still hadn't made a single brushstroke.
"Barney," she said with a patience that only a woman who had survived a breakup, a reconciliation, and a three-person relationship could have. "I need you to be still. Still. Don't move, don't talk, and don't breathe if possible."
"Don't breathe? That's impossible," said Barney dumbly.
"It was an exaggeration. But I need silence and stillness," Lily said wearily.
Barney nodded, assumed an expression of absolute concentration, and remained motionless. For thirty seconds. Then:
"Can I ask something?" Barney started annoyingly.
"No," was Lily's short reply.
"But it's important," Barney continued.
"Barney..." Lily said tiredly.
"How do you know you're capturing my essence if you don't truly know me? I mean, yes, you know me, but do you really know me? Do you know what I think about when I'm alone? What I feel when I see a rainbow? My opinion on Liechtenstein's foreign policy?"
Lily closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and counted to ten. Alyx, from her corner, could barely contain her laughter. She was filling entire pages of her sketchbook with quick drawings of Barney in absurd poses, each one more ridiculous than the last.
"Barney, I don't need to know your opinion on Liechtenstein to paint you. I just need you to sit and be still," Lily insisted.
"But the essence..." Barney presumed.
"The essence is conveyed through the pose, the expression, the light. Not through biographical data."
Barney seemed to consider this. Then he nodded, as if he'd reached a profound conclusion. "Okay. But if at any point you need to know something intimate about me, something only I know, something that makes me unique in the universe, don't hesitate to ask."
"I will."
Silence. Thirty seconds.
"My deepest fear is ending up alone. Does that help?"
Lily looked at him. For an instant, Barney's facade cracked, and something real, something vulnerable appeared. But it was only an instant. Then he recovered his smile and added: "But I won't end up alone because I'm incredible. It's a paradox, right?"
Alyx, who had seen the flash of vulnerability, noted something in her sketchbook. It wasn't a clinical analysis, just one word: -Human-
The session continued. Lily began to draw, tracing the first lines, capturing Barney's form on the canvas. Little by little, the initial chaos transformed into something resembling work. Barney, surprisingly, managed to stay still for long periods. Alyx drew in her sketchbook—sometimes Barney, sometimes Lily concentrating, sometimes the interaction between them.
And at some point, between brushstroke and brushstroke, between joke and joke, between complaint and complaint, something changed. The initial tension dissolved. Barney stopped trying to control every aspect of the session. Lily stopped getting frustrated. Alyx stopped observing from a distance and moved closer, offering suggestions, pointing out details, participating.
When Marshall arrived home from work, he found a scene he hadn't expected: the three of them, working together, laughing, arguing about whether Barney's navel needed more or less shadow, about whether the light was hitting his abs correctly (which, it had to be admitted, were surprisingly defined).
"What did I miss?" he asked, dropping his briefcase at the entrance.
"Barney confessed his fear of ending up alone," said Alyx, still drawing.
"Lily discovered Barney has a vulnerable side," added Lily.
"And I discovered Alyx has an incredible eye for composition," said Barney, with a tone of genuine respect. "Her suggestions improved the pose by 40%. I calculated it."
Marshall smiled. He approached the three of them, wrapped one arm around Lily and the other around Alyx, and observed the half-finished canvas. "It's looking good," he said. "Surprisingly good."
"Surprisingly?" protested Barney. "I am a subject worthy of the great masters."
"You are a subject worthy of an IKEA furniture assembly manual. But the painting is looking good."
Barney opened his mouth to protest, but then he smiled. It was a different smile—less rehearsed, more real.
"Thanks, Marshall. That means a lot coming from you," Barney said quietly.
"What means?" Marshall asked, doubtful.
"I don't know, but it sounds good," Barney finished.
The night continued. Lily kept painting, with Alyx beside her giving advice and Marshall watching from the sofa, a book in his hands that he wasn't reading. Barney, exhausted from hours of posing, had fallen asleep on the stool, his head tilted to the side, his mouth slightly open.
"Should we leave him like this?" Lily whispered, pointing at the sleeping Barney.
Alyx smiled. "It's the most honest pose he's had all day."
Marshall got up and fetched a blanket, covering Barney carefully. "Tomorrow he'll complain about his neck hurting. But for now, let him rest."
The three looked at each other in the silence of the apartment, with Barney snoring softly on the stool and the half-finished painting on the easel. They felt that something had solidified. They didn't know what, but it was good.
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Barney confessed his fear of ending up alone. Marshall covered him with a blanket. The painting progresses.
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