Six months into their friendship, Luna discovered that Canvas was dying.
She found out by accident. Canvas had invited her to his studio to see a new series he'd been working on, and when Luna manifested, she found him collapsed on the floor, paint scattered around him, breathing labored.
"Canvas!" Luna dropped to her knees beside him, checking his pulse. It was weak, irregular. "What happened?"
"Nothing happened. This just happens sometimes." Canvas tried to sit up, winced, gave up. "Help me to the chair."
Luna got him seated, noticed how thin he'd become. How the color had drained from his face. How his hands shook even when not holding a brush.
"How long have you been sick?"
"Depends on your definition. Diagnosed two years ago. Actually sick probably five years before that. Didn't
