"I love it," Neal says quietly, and he does, even if he hasn't attempted anything with it yet. "I--"

He shakes his head and stops trying to figure out words, instead going to the half-finished rendition of van Gogh's Irises. Tentatively, almost nervously, he holds it as he might a brush, fingers still on the two circles, and tries to put down a stroke of paint.

It matches perfectly. In fact the color is closer to what it should be than what he was working with. The texture and thickness of the oil paints, everything. "...Holy shit."