Archive of Our Own

    Kuramochi is tired.

    Last year, his first in the visual arts program, he had been able to come up with all sorts of creative ways to describe his permanent state of exhaustion, but this year? He’s just tired.

    He’s the first to arrive to his life drawing class, greeting professor Takashima with as much of a smile as he can manage. His Tuesdays and Thursdays are awful, with three-hour art history classes in the morning, and other garbage throughout the day, and this class is a welcome reprieve from fighting powerpoint-induced sleepiness.

    Takashima Rei is young and a passionate artist, and is both demanding of her students and endlessly supportive; it’s the ideal environment for Kuramochi to thrive, and so life drawing class has fast become his favourite part of the week.

One of his favourite classmates and good friend, Ryou, arrives shortly after Kuramochi’s claimed his space in front of the pedestal where their model will sit.

She greets Kuramochi with a sharp, little wave and sets her supply case down not too far from him as a placeholder while she goes to fetch one of the easels from the back of the room. Kuramochi jiggles his leg on a crossbar of his stool, slouching comfortably.

While Ryou sets up, professor Takashima comes over and they chat about the end of the year student show. It’s more stress than it’s worth, trying to pick a piece to display, and Takashima is adamant about leaving her opinion out of it.

“It’s up to you to decide what you think is your best work. You have to learn, Kuramochi-kun,” she says with a gentle smile.

“It’s only your future riding on it,” Ryou adds cheerfully, and Kuramochi scowls at her.

“Like you know what you’re doing.”

She shrugs. “Never said I did.”

Takashima laughs fondly. “You two never fail to make my class interesting. Our model should be here soon, so I’ll get things ready for him.”

Kuramochi is looking forward to starting a new cycle with a different model, since it does get a little tedious drawing the same body shape repeatedly. The positions may change, but the lines get familiar after a while.

It’s funny to think that at one point, Kuramochi was worried about drawing nude models because it would be sexy; he now knows better. He’s just hoping he has a good day and can actually draw what he sees instead of having a mild breakdown while clutching several pencils.

The amount of crises he’s had with different supplies in his hands is really astounding at this point.

The rest of the class filters in slowly, until there’s a full circle around the pedestal in the middle, and the noise level has grown to a dull roar.

    Takashima calls the room to attention on the hour exactly, offering a graceful smile. Next to her stands who Kuramochi presumes is the model, wearing a cotton robe and a slightly nervous look.

He’s introduced as Miyuki Kazuya, a botany student in his second year here at the university, and willing participant in the creative process. The class laughs, knowing full well that the creative process is absolute chaos, and Miyuki is about to have a front-row seat to the experience. While the giggles peter out, Kuramochi takes a moment to really look at Miyuki.

The models in his life drawing classes have been pretty easy on the eyes thus far, but Kuramochi may be in trouble. Miyuki carries himself with a strength and easy grace visible in his posture, and Kuramochi is already itching to sketch his shoulders, the line of his neck and the proud tilt of his chin. This might be one of those classes where three hours just isn’t enough.

“Alright, well, you all know the drill. Gesture drawings for warm up! I’ll start the timer once Miyuki-kun is all ready to go.” Takashima gestures for Miyuki to enter the circle of stressed out students, and Kuramochi can’t help but to watch his measured steps. Each one is deliberate, but not sure; he walks like he’s trying to convince himself of his own confidence and not quite succeeding.

Kuramochi knows that it can’t be easy to bare yourself physically in front of a room. He’s the first to admit that he would be terrified, and greatly respects the models that do this so his class can practice. If it’s Miyuki’s first time modeling nude, it may take him some time to get used to the experience. Once he realizes that the class is a bunch of really distressed art students covered in charcoal, graphite or ink, agonizing over perspective, and the only real judgement is artistic self-critique, he’ll be fine.

Avoiding making eye contact with anyone, Miyuki slips out of the robe and hands it to Takashima. Kuramochi busies himself with his pencils, facing his eternal debate of 4B versus 6B in the small window of time that he has before they begin.

“And, start!” Takashima tells them, and Kuramochi still has one pencil in each hand. He decides to draw with the 4B, since it’s in his right hand. Might as well. Miyuki is standing with his feet slightly apart, hip cocked, and it’s a simple pose to start. Kuramochi traces the lines of his body with his eyes, letting his hand mirror the path on his page. Even with Miyuki’s slight stiffness, there’s something about the planes and curves of his body that flow easily from Kuramochi’s pencil.

With each changing pose, Miyuki is relaxing into his skin, softening the tense lines of his body, starting at his jaw and slowly moving down.

By the time the warm up is done, Kuramochi has a full sheet of admittedly decent gesture drawings, as sketchy as they are. Something about the way Miyuki is put together really agrees with him, and he’s not about to complain about success.

“Is everyone ready?” Takashima asks the class, and there’s a murmur of assent. “Miyuki-kun, are you okay? Warm? Cold?”

“I’m great!” he says with a bright smile, and Kuramochi can’t pretend that he’s not charmed.

Miyuki seats himself on a white block that Takashima has prepared, reclining slightly to add some interest to the pose. He bends a leg so he can rest his outstretched arm on it, curling his back. It’s open enough to be interesting to draw, Kuramochi notes, but still safe and protected.

Kuramochi pops in his earbuds and finds a good playlist for the day. When the timer starts, Kuramochi spends a few minutes just looking, trying to figure out exactly where to start. After second-guessing himself and wasting some precious time, Kuramochi bites the bullet and begins along the curve of Miyuki’s spine.

The lines of his body feel familiar to Kuramochi’s hand, like he’s drawn them before, though he can’t place how he could have.

Miyuki’s gorgeous, there’s no doubt about it, and Kuramochi doesn’t feel the minutes ticking by. He’s enjoying giving himself over to the process.

“We’re going to give Miyuki-kun a few minutes of rest, and you should all stretch a bit, too,” Takashima says. Kuramochi snaps out of his drawing trance, only now realizing that he never pressed play on his music.

Miyuki slips on his robe and stretches his arms up to the ceiling, screwing up his face as he does so. It’s such a cute little expression, at odds with the way he carries himself. He makes eye contact with Kuramochi as he finishes the stretch, and Kuramochi blinks like an absolute idiot after being caught looking; however, there’s a smile in Miyuki’s eyes as he turns to Ryou to exchange a few words. They obviously know one another, and they enjoy familiar and comfortable conversation while Kuramochi berates himself internally for being unable to be a person properly.

He busies himself with sharpening his drawing pencil, and tries not to accidentally eavesdrop.

“...Kuramochi,” Ryou says, and Kuramochi peers around his easel. Miyuki is looking at him curiously, that smile still lingering in his eyes, and Ryou just rolls hers.

“Yeah?”

“I just said your name,” Ryou clarifies. “Let me gossip in peace.”

“Oh, sorry. Don’t let me get in the way of you shittalking me.” Kuramochi rolls his eyes in imitation of Ryou, though not without fondness, and slides back onto his stool. For all of her carefully put on prickliness, Ryou is caring; she just doesn’t like showing it. They spend too much time together in their classes for her to really claim that she doesn’t like Kuramochi, anyway.

“You know I won’t,” she says with a playful smile.

Somehow, five minutes have already passed, and Miyuki, recovering from laughter at something Ryou’s said, makes his way back to his place in the centre of the circle.

The rest of the class flies by, punctuated by brief breaks during which Kuramochi is only itching to draw more. He wants to try branching out next time, maybe with watercolours to really capture the multifaceted brown of Miyuki’s hair, the gradient of skin tones, and the beautiful silvery stretch marks on his hips, knees and breasts.

Kuramochi really loves drawing skin with character, to translate the stories it tells onto paper, and for the first time in a few weeks, he can’t wait for the next class so he can continue. There’s just something about Miyuki that’s captivating, and he can’t take his eyes away.

There are fifteen minutes before the end of class, and every student pins their work on the bare wall on the back of the room. They’ve cleared all the easels and now stand facing a collection of works in different media.

For Kuramochi, this is one of his favourite parts of class; seeing everyone’s personalities and styles come out when drawing the same person is fascinating. Each interpretation is unique, drawn through the filter of their own experiences.

Kuramochi takes his place standing next to Ryou, since they’re inevitably drawn to one another by virtue of being friends. Miyuki, cuddled up in his robe, comes to stand by Ryou’s other side, obviously curious about the drawings. It must be strange and a bit unsettling to stand back and see how other people see you. Kuramochi isn’t sure that he himself could handle that level of introspection if a piece highlighted a feature of his that he had never thought about.

Miyuki seems to be enthralled, however; his eyes scan across the wall, wide and curious. A slightly dirty hand appears in front of Kuramochi’s eyes, and he recoils. Ryou lowers her hand, wiping some stray charcoal on Kuramochi’s arm.

“Art’s that way,” she says with a knowing smile, inclining her head towards the pieces pinned to the wall.

“Huh?” Kuramochi stares at her, confused, until Ryou actually has to point aggressively at one of the pieces.

“The wall, you hopeless lump,” she sighs.

“Oh yeah.” He focuses his attention on the art, and Takashima asks them all to pick a favourite and discuss what they like about it. She gestures for the first person to her left to begin, which gives Kuramochi some time to actually look at the pieces.

He and Ryou stand at the end of the line, listening to their classmates discuss their favourites. Kuramochi is pleased to hear that several of them like his, but curls into himself a little from the embarrassment of having other people outwardly praise his work. Ryou puffs up a little and nudges him affectionately.

“It’s okay ,” Kuramochi insists, not bothering to voice the fact that he feels like he hasn’t done Miyuki justice. He’s not sure he has the skill to, but it’s pointless to dwell on that now.

On his turn, he talks about a charcoal piece that caught his eye, enjoying the fluid lines and how dynamic they’ve made the pose look on paper. He’s also a fan of Ryou’s range of values and incredible sense for light, and says as much, just to make her squirm. For all of her criticism of Kuramochi’s inability to accept praise, she’s almost worse than he is when it comes to people she’s close to.

Ryou returns the favour by talking about Kuramochi’s piece, and then they’re both mildly unimpressed with one another for having the power to do this. Throughout their little blurbs, Miyuki chuckles softly, apparently enjoying the spectacle.

Takashima dismisses them all after they’ve taken their pieces down and put them in their portfolios, and Kuramochi lingers while Ryou gets her things in order. He usually walks her over to the cafeteria for her study session after this class, and then goes home to contemplate his life by playing Mortal Kombat until his eyes burn, but today’s a bit different.

Ryou engages Takashima and Kuramochi has half a mind to join in, but he’s also not keen on the idea of discussing the showcase again. Thinking about all the uninspired pieces in his portfolio makes him want to hide from his extremely perceptive professor and find comfort in staring at his phone screen instead.

He’s just about to curse out the stupid thing for having the audacity to crash, again , when a warmth at his side distracts him. Kuramochi lifts his head and meets Miyuki’s smile.

“What’s that poor thing ever done to you?” he asks, nodding in the direction of Kuramochi’s stupid, overpriced piece of technology.

“What hasn’t it, is a better question.”

“Sounds pretty malicious.”

“You know, all I want is for my phone to work?” Kuramochi says curtly and makes an angry little growl of a sound in the back of his throat while he pretends to strangle his phone.

“It’s funny, you seem so calm when you draw,” Miyuki says, still wearing that enigmatic smile.

Kuramochi narrows his eyes. “That’s because my hand was behaving today.”

“It operates independently of your body?”

“Believe me, I have no idea what it’s gonna do on any given day. Art is a fucking nightmare,” Kuramochi grumbles.

“And...you’re majoring in it, why?”

“Because I love it, obviously,” Kuramochi states. Why else would he suffer through the daily torture of art otherwise?

Miyuki laughs heartily, clutching at his stomach. “Yeah, you’ve really convinced me there. Well, whatever it is that keeps you here is worth it. You’ve got a gift,” he says, and Kuramochi’s face warms. There’s an honesty in Miyuki’s words that makes him squirm more than he normally would at such simple words of praise.

He shakes his head, saying, “Not a gift. Just dogged determination.”

“You didn’t have to show off and try to make me look better for your drawing, though.” Miyuki grins, all too casually self-deprecating for it to sit well with Kuramochi.

“I didn’t do you any favours. I drew you as I saw you,” Kuramochi says plainly, then is distracted by the light of his phone turning on. “Finally, you piece of garbage.”

“Charming,” Miyuki says, and there’s a slight flush to his cheeks that Kuramochi wouldn’t mind seeing again. “I should go get some clothes on, though. As nice as this robe is, I think Rei-chan might want it back.”

“ Rei-chan ?” Kuramochi repeats in disbelief.

“We’ve known each other for a while,” Miyuki explains as he walks away.

Kuramochi watches the empty doorway until Ryou enters his field of vision.

“I’m ready to eat the entirety of the cafeteria,” she says by way of suggestion.

“Yeah, sounds good. I’m really feelin’ like I wanna regret my life tonight.”

“I do like it when you’re all spirited .”

“Thanks, Ryou.”

ooo

The next class, Kuramochi decides to challenge himself with charcoal. He’s never been a big fan because of how easy it is to make a gigantic mess of both himself and the piece, and only one of those can be safely put in the wash. Despite his apprehensions, inspiration strikes him and says charcoal .

Ryou is standing next to him as he takes out the quadruple sealed box where he keeps the damned sticks, having the audacity to giggle.

“You are fine with being covered head-to-toe in any other medium, but for some reason—” she starts, but Kuramochi levels a glare at her. She snorts at him.

“Because, as I told you before, it gets everywhere .”

“It has nothing to do with that time you accidentally wiped half of your drawing during the 101 final?” she coos, and it’s like a knife being plunged into his side. Kuramochi doesn’t like speaking of that day because he nearly started crying. He hadn’t slept in two days, hadn’t eaten in nearly as long, and the mess that is finals culminated in him smudging a good portion of his drawing for the final exam by brushing against it.

It might have a significant role in his hatred for charcoal, but he likes not to dwell on it too much.

He carefully extracts one lonely stick out of its confines, pinching it between two fingers to minimize contact. Kuramochi eyes it like it’s offended generations of his family all at once, then places it on the easel. He hastily wipes his hands on a rag he brought for this exact purpose, thankful that he remembered to wear all black, too.

Today, he will prevail.

He’s partway into some sort of reaffirming mantra involving, ‘It’s just a stupid stick, Kuramochi,’ when Miyuki walks in for class. While he had been a lot more reserved the previous session, he enters with the confidence of someone familiar with his surroundings. A corner of Kuramochi’s mouth quirks up noticing this, pleased that Miyuki’s already comfortable with their class.

After greeting Takashima, Miyuki gives Kuramochi a deadly smile, and Kuramochi promptly forgets how much he hates charcoal. He will master charcoal, and he will do Miyuki justice with the stupid black stick.

“Did you forget to wash your face this morning?” Miyuki asks Kuramochi airily, raising an eyebrow. He looks so amused, and even Ryou is peeking around the easel. She starts laughing quietly, pressing a hand to her stomach to try calming herself down. Kuramochi’s eyes widen in horror.

“I just— how? ” he almost whimpers, pulling his phone out and turning on the camera to check his reflection.

There’s a charcoal smear across his cheek.

There is no reason for there to be a smear across his cheek, and yet, here it is, making him look like he’s contoured one half of his face very sharply. That’s good. Great. Miyuki is silently choking on laughter as he absentmindedly brushes a hand through his own hair.

“You should even it out,” Ryou suggests, poking her head around Kuramochi’s easel again.

“ Or , I could just wipe it off and we can pretend this never happened.”

“He’ll look like he’s been cleaning chimneys by the time we’re done class, don’t worry. Just don’t laugh through the poses, and you’ll be okay,” Ryou tells Miyuki helpfully, then faces Kuramochi with a blithe smile curling her lips.

Kuramochi’s nostrils flare from the effort of not blowing a fuse. “Thanks, Ryou,” he grits out, pointedly ignoring Miyuki’s amused snorting.

“I’m glad you dressed for the occasion, though.” Miyuki’s voice wavers through his attempt to steer the conversation away slightly. The damage has been done, unfortunately, and all Kuramochi can do is just hope that his drawing turns out. It will be worth the suffering if it does. If not, then, he can just spend the rest of his life avoiding Miyuki or hoping the ground swallows him whole.

He shouldn’t be this embarrassed. Miyuki is just a model, and after he’s done working with the class, they’ll never see each other again. It really isn’t that big a problem, except for the fact that Miyuki is painfully attractive. Again, that should not be different than any other model, but it just is . There’s almost a striking familiarity about him that leaves Kuramochi feeling off-balance constantly.

He hasn’t decided whether this bothers him or not yet.

    Kuramochi doesn’t want to jinx it, but they’re more than halfway into the class, and he still hasn’t felt the urge to cry. He remembered to turn his music on this time, and is quietly jamming to a good beat while he draws. Miyuki’s chosen a bit more of an active pose today, and he’s turned away from Kuramochi. Luckily, Kuramochi is very fond of drawing shoulders and backs, especially when they’re as broad and defined as Miyuki’s are. Even with charcoal, Kuramochi thinks, he’s getting decent results, and might make it out alive today. Sure, he’s covered up to the goddamn elbows in charcoal dust, but there’s motion and life in his piece and that’s enough to keep him going.

    Miyuki comes to him during one of the breaks with a barely-contained smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

    “You really should try showering, Kuramochi,” he says, choking down a laugh. Kuramochi blinks slowly and pointedly.

    “Thanks,” he says. His cheek chooses then to start itching terribly, and with both his hands coated in black, Kuramochi isn’t about to make a serious mistake. He tilts his head to rub his cheek against his shoulder, sighing in relief; another charcoal crisis averted. Miyuki stands there observing Kuramochi like he’s the model and not the wannabe artist, and it’s a bit unsettling. He can’t read Miyuki’s expression past the vague amusement, and not for the first time, Kuramochi realizes he couldn’t ever pose for classes.

    “I’m honestly surprised you didn’t smear some on your face just now,” Miyuki says, and Kuramochi narrows his eyes at him.

    “Sorry to disappoint,” he says flatly.

    “I’ll get over it.” Miyuki shrugs, taking a quick glance over at Kuramochi’s drawing. He’s making an effort not to look, which is nice, since Kuramochi isn’t anywhere near done, but Kuramochi isn’t too upset about it. The base sketch is alright enough for him to gesture at it.

    “You can look, if you want,” he mumbles, and Miyuki shakes his head.

    “I’ll wait. It’ll be worth it,” he replies in a softer tone than previously, and it makes a warmth bloom in Kuramochi’s chest. He can’t make heads or tails of Miyuki quite yet.

    “Ready to continue?” Takashima asks Miyuki from across the class.

    He nods and replies, “Absolutely!” With a last apologetic smile at Kuramochi, Miyuki takes his place in the middle of the class again.

Takashima announces the end of class once again, and Kuramochi pulls out his earbuds, stepping back a few paces to take a look at his finished product. It could use another ten minutes of work, but he doesn’t have that luxury; it’s not too bad, though.

He repackages the charcoal into its excessive confines and declares the day a success. Kuramochi still needs to clean up all the powdered charcoal along the lip, and probably shower himself, but the worst is over.

The tidying is satisfying, he has to admit, no matter which medium he’s used.

Once his piece is hung on the wall, he scrubs everything down and washes his hands and forearms in the sink at the back of the room. There’s ground in dust caught in the grooves of his callouses, but he accepts that as a problem for future Kuramochi.

He’s done his cleaning more quickly than most of the class, so he takes the time to annoy Ryou through her tidying. She’s got less work to do since she’s working with pencil, and can afford to be bugged.

“Where are we going for food?” Kuramochi asks. He looks over at Miyuki, who is talking to Takashima and chuckling about something. Miyuki entire body looks so relaxed, standing with his hip cocked and arms dangling. He makes a stupid robe look artful, which Kuramochi can’t understand.

“Kuramochi?” Ryou asks.

“What? Huh?” he turns back to Ryou. “So, where are we going?”

“I just told you we should go to hell and brand ourselves, and you didn’t react.”

“No, you didn’t say that,” Kuramochi insists.

“No, I really did.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“That’s because you’re ridiculous,” she says, then changes the subject back to state, “I want something spicy.”

“That narrows it down,” Kuramochi deadpans, following Ryou over to the sink.

“Can you go be a puppy somewhere else?” she demands, but fondly. “Like next to Miyuki, for example. I’m sure he’d be okay with having you around.”

“Yeah, like you don’t love hanging around me,” he snipes back.

Ryou laughs. “I’ve been known to repeatedly make stupid mistakes.”

“Woooow,” Kuramochi says.

“Go talk to him. Pretend like you want to talk about the showcase—”

Kuramochi shudders, recoiling in offense. “No.”

“Why are you so scared of the showcase? Or are you scared of talking to a handsome boy?” Ryou coos, and it’s actually a little terrifying.

“I am not scared of talking to a boy. Man. Handsome man. He’s good looking, but I don’t want to talk to him, it’s fine,” Kuramochi mumbles, proud of the passing level of coherence. Miyuki is handsome, but Kuramochi isn’t into him, or anything. He just likes drawing him, is all, and for some reason, can’t figure out why he’s so familiar.

Kuramochi crosses his arms and turns his attention to the wall and decidedly away from Miyuki, lest Ryou get any more ideas.

The end-of-class critique goes by as usual, with Kuramochi spending too much time scrutinizing all the things he could have done differently, but will never get to fix. He still hasn’t gotten Miyuki quite right, but there’s a few weeks left for him to get there.

Kuramochi feels a presence behind him, and he turns just enough to catch sight of Miyuki, who leans in to say, “You might want to find a mirror after.” Kuramochi faces forward again, feeling a wave of heat rising up his body. Of course. He can never win with charcoal because just when he thinks he’s made it out, charcoal delivers the finishing blow.

That’s settled. Kuramochi Youichi, art student, is never laying his hands on charcoal ever again.

When the critique is done, Takashima comes by and pats him on the shoulder.

“Well done. You’re really coming along,” she says, and Kuramochi wants to explode with joy but also melt through the floor. It’s a strange pair of emotions that somehow combines to form ravenous hunger.

Kuramochi takes down his piece and puts it away with painstaking care, making sure not to smear any of it all over himself. By the door, Ryou is talking to Miyuki, and both of them stop when he arrives.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” he says, but Miyuki and Ryou just exchange a significant look.

“So,” Ryou says, leaving a very large, pregnant pause.

“So?” Kuramochi asks. She’s looking at him like he should know what she’s doing, but he has no idea. Next to him, Miyuki is still, but smiling placidly.

Ryou sighs loudly. “Miyuki, do you want to come get something to eat with us?”

“Oh,” Miyuki says, surprised. “I have to be in the greenhouse right after this, sorry.” Kuramochi’s stomach twists a little with disappointment, even though he wasn’t even expecting Miyuki to come along.

“Next time, then,” Ryou says.

“Yeah, sure.” Miyuki smiles at Kuramochi, who has temporarily forgotten how to function. He remembers pain, apparently, because he feels Ryou kicking him in the ankle spectacularly well.

“Ow, what the hell?” he hisses at Ryou.

“Say goodbye to our friend like a normal person. Were you raised in a barn?” Ryou asks, then walks off down the hall.

Kuramochi offers a small apologetic smile and tells Miyuki, “See you next class.”

“I hope so,” he replies, and from this close, Kuramochi can really see how many different shades of brown combine into the colour of his eyes.

For the second time in as many minutes, he forgets how to react properly during human interaction, so he stumbles after Ryou, waving awkwardly at Miyuki.

Kuramochi remembers a time in his life when he was put-together and smooth, and he sighs wistfully about those lost days.

“What stupid thing did you do that you’re sighing about now?” Ryou asks once Kuramochi’s caught up to her in the hall.

“Let’s get pizza,” Kuramochi says.

Ryou laughs, and laughs, and laughs .

The amount of pizza that Kuramochi managed to eat for dinner is inversely proportional to how much he wanted to talk about his potential feelings about Miyuki.

“You know, you can admit you have a crush,” Ryou says, eyeing the last slice hungrily.

“Take it,” Kuramochi says, swallowing a mouthful with some difficulty. “And I don’t have a crush. I’ve seen him like, twice.”

“I’d just like to point out that you’re lying to yourself,” Ryou says, snagging the last piece and smiling at it like it’s the only thing in her life that matters.

“I’m not lying to myself. He’s just really familiar and I can’t figure it out!”

“You know what’s crazy?”

“What?”

Ryou puts down her slice and touches Kuramochi’s hand. “People often use words to communicate and find things out about one another. I’ve heard it’s useful.”

Kuramochi wads up a napkin and flicks it at her.

ooo

Ryou is already there when Kuramochi arrives for their next figure drawing class. She waves him over before he even has a chance to grab his easel, unusually enthusiastic considering how aggravated her earlier texts seemed.

“What’s up?” he asks, tilting his head.

“We’re going to a party on the 23rd,” she says, like it’s a normal thing that they do, instead of sitting on Ryou’s couch, drinking wine and whining about the state of the world.

“A party? What party?”

“Miyuki said there’s some group organizing something, I don’t know, it doesn’t matter. We’re going to a party. I was promised cute girls.”

Kuramochi frowns. “Wait, when did Miyuki tell you this?”

“He texted me last night, obviously.”

“Okay, I didn’t know you were on texting terms,” Kuramochi says. “You always make it sound like you met once and that was it!”

“Kuramochi, we text.”

“Thanks for the information.”

“You’re welcome.”

“So, where’s the party? What time?” Kuramochi tries to prompt for more details, but Ryou waves him off.

“It’s a Friday night, so you’ll be on my couch that night anyway. Just make sure you dress like a human being when you come over, and you’ll be fine. We can walk from my place.”

“Fine,” Kuramochi says, giving up. Ryou will spill details when she’s ready, which will likely be as they’re getting dressed for the party.

Takashima arrives not long after Kuramochi has gotten his easel, which he then uses as a physical barrier between the two of them. She keeps trying to catch him to discuss the showcase, but Kuramochi is nothing but doggedly determined to avoid that conversation. Even here, in the confines of the studio, he will succeed. As a last ditch effort, he can get Ryou to act as a diversion if he offers to pay for dinner. Kuramochi is prepared.

Miyuki pokes his head around the easel and grins.

“Not hiding from me, I hope?” he asks cheerily while Kuramochi tries to calm his heart rate. When he saw someone’s head appearing from behind the easel, he thought it might have been Takashima, and his heart has decided to test out how arrhythmia feels.

“Fuck,” Kuramochi says, recovering from his near death by staring at Miyuki in horror.

“Oh, sorry.”

Kuramochi lifts his hand to give Miyuki a reassuring thumbs up, but judging by Miyuki’s furrowed brow, it’s not convincing.

Miyuki starts apologizing, “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine, I just thought you were Takashima.”
    “I thought you liked her,” Miyuki says, walking around to stand closer to Kuramochi. He’s very warm.

“I do, but she wants to talk about something that I don’t want to talk about.”

“She’s a professor. They tend to do that. What, are you failing a class, or something?”

“No, I’m not failing . Why would you assume that?” Kuramochi frowns, wondering exactly what it is that Miyuki thinks of him. He does look a little like a punk, but it’s rude to assume he’s failing a class. He’s not failing anything.

“I mean, no, not…” Miyuki trails off, scratching the back of his neck. “Usually that’s why profs chase after people. I didn’t mean anything by it.” He seems genuinely apologetic, and there’s a little twinge of guilt in Kuramochi’s chest. It’s only made worse by how cute and flustered Miyuki looks.

“It’s okay, I’m—I’m just stressed. Classes are garbage, right now.”

“You’re telling me.”

Kuramochi does have to admit that Miyuki is pretty good looking up close, and he’s only thinking about this because they’re having a real conversation, and Miyuki is, well, really close. He’s no longer crossing his arms in front of his chest when they interact, and he’s surprisingly expressive with his hands.

Up close, his hands are really nice, too, all long fingers and broad palms. Kuramochi considers if it’s strange to ask someone to draw their hands, even if that someone happens to be his class’ nude model.

Kuramochi files the thought away for later, and mentally returns to the conversation they’re having about the disaster of the semester they’re living through.

“Hey, did Ryou tell you about the party?” Miyuki says suddenly, like he’s just remembered.

“Oh yeah, she did. Really vaguely ,” Kuramochi mutters in Ryou’s general direction, knowing that her sixth sense will know it’s meant for her.

Miyuki laughs. “It would be nice if you came, though. I promise I’ll be in real clothes then.” He smiles sheepishly.

“Huh, I thought you just wore the robe around everywhere,” Kuramochi teases, and is rewarded with a brilliant grin. A weird squirmy feeling takes root in his stomach, and Kuramochi really needs to stop forgetting to eat lunch.

“I’ll wear my fancy, party robe.”

Kuramochi cackles loudly. “Good. I can’t wait to see it. I hope it’s got fur.”

“Only the fakest fur will do,” Miyuki replies.

“I expect nothing less.”

“And what is that supposed to mean, exactly?” Miyuki asks, in a terrible approximation of offense. He puts his hand over his heart like he’s wounded, but his smile’s much too big of a giveaway.

“Whatever you want it to mean, Miyuki,” Kuramochi says with a shrug. He’s really trying to keep a straight face, but it’s failing, and badly. That flutter in his belly is much too insistent, as is the warmth rising to his cheeks.

Miyuki opens his mouth to say something undoubtedly hilarious, judging by the mischievous twinkle in his eye, but Takashima chooses that moment to address the class. Miyuki gently closes his mouth, and shrugs, mouthing, ‘Later.’

Once Miyuki’s taken his place in the centre of class, Kuramochi stares at his blank page for a solid thirty seconds before he’s calmed his smile enough to start drawing.

Ryou texts him from a metre away.

ur flirting is shit

“Say that to my face,” Kuramochi whispers, leaning around his easel.

Ryou turns around and steps close enough to say, “Your flirting is shit,” without being heard by anyone else.

They smile at each other in that lopsided way that they do when they’re both being ridiculous. Kuramochi’s really fond of Ryou, and it’s moments like these that remind him just how much.

“Go work,” he tells her, returning to his own blank page before she can reply.

“Okay, class,” Takashima says, looking pointedly at Ryou and Kuramochi. “You may begin.”

Kuramochi can see that Miyuki’s pressing his lips together to hide a smile, and doesn’t bother to hide his own. Okay, maybe he does have a little bit of a crush.

During the next class, Kuramochi is mid-stroke with his conte crayon, trying to finish Miyuki’s outstretched arm, when it hits him. There’s a good reason why Miyuki is familiar to Kuramochi. A very good reason.

He thinks back to high school, when he used to follow baseball despite the fact that he never played past middle school, and recalls watching coverage of Koshien. Miyuki was often in articles because he was such a ridiculously good catcher at a powerhouse school; even Kuramochi got used to hearing his name.

Since they were so readily available, Kuramochi had used Miyuki’s game pictures for figure practice countless times, wanting to learn how to capture the dynamics of bodies in motion, how to translate that raw energy into something powerful on paper.

Well, now he’s aware of why Miyuki holds tough poses with ease, and why he carries himself the way that he does. His body, shaped by years of grueling athletics, might have finally learned how to rest, but he remains strong and sure, like the captain he once was.  

Taking a moment to process this realization, Kuramochi absentmindedly wipes at the end of his crayon to occupy his hands. He can’t believe that the boy that he read about in the papers and used to draw is the same man standing before him now.

His life has somehow managed to come full-circle in the course of four to five years, and it’s a little weird. Pleasantly so, but still. Kuramochi just hopes that he doesn’t accidentally bring up his high school interest in drawing baseball players now that he’s remembered it. Knowing the way his own traitorous mind works, Kuramochi isn’t so sure this is a fact that will take to reburying easily.

The timer beeps for Miyuki’s five-minute break, and as he’s taken to doing more frequently when he rests, he grins at Kuramochi. It’s full of mischief and Kuramochi can’t help but to return it in full-force. Maybe it’s lucky that they didn’t meet as kids; Kuramochi gets the feeling that the two of them together could have toppled empires. As it stands now, he can feel the best kind of trouble brewing.

Kuramochi doesn’t get the chance to talk to Miyuki during the break since he has to run to the bathroom. By the time he returns, the five minutes are nearly up. There will be time at the end of class to talk, though, so it’s no big loss.

Kuramochi is really pleased with how well his drawing turned out today, even though the sanguine conte crayon is nearly tied with charcoal for general difficulty of use. He forgives it because of how beautiful its colour is on the kraft paper, and the aged quality the whole piece has when it’s done.

He hangs it up with more enthusiasm than usual, but backs up hesitantly, hoping the mistakes aren’t glaring from a distance. To his surprise, he doesn’t immediately see a dozen mistakes right off the bat, and enjoys what he sees. He even managed to nail the musculature of Miyuki’s arm and shoulders—good thing, too, as he spent a frustratingly long time on those parts in particular.

“God, what a handsome model,” Miyuki says, pretending to be awed as he comes to stand between Kuramochi and Ryou. Ryou snorts.

“I forget how modest you are, Miyuki,” she says, and Miyuki nods sagely.

“I am. It’s one of my many virtues.”

Kuramochi flicks Miyuki’s arm. “Your enormous ego is getting in my personal space.”

“I’m surprised it can reach all the way down there,” Miyuki quips. If the crinkle of his eyes weren’t so damn charming, Kuramochi would almost be mad at being called short.

“Shut up. You’re not even that tall.” Kuramochi hates himself for not being able to come up with anything clever, but his brain goes on vacation every time Miyuki looks at him.

“Wooow, clever,” Ryou deadpans, just because she has the opportunity to rub it in.

“You know, I can always just stop hanging out with you,” Kuramochi says, crossing his arms and leaning in front of Miyuki to scowl at Ryou.

“And lose your only friend?”

Miyuki snorts, and how . “Sorry,” he apologizes, seeing the murder etched into Kuramochi’s features.

“I have other friends!” Kuramochi insists. None he really likes hanging out with, if he’s going to be honest, but he’s determined to see this faux argument to the end.

“I like to think I count,” Miyuki chimes in, and Kuramochi wasn’t really expecting this turn of events. He smiles a little dopily.

“Yeah, see, I have another friend. My good buddy and pal, Miyuki.” Kuramochi puts an arm around Miyuki to just drive the point home, and realizes with a delay that Miyuki let him do that.

“Oh, of course. You text all the time, how could I forget,” Ryou says sarcastically.

“All the time,” Miyuki agrees. “He could text me right now, if he wanted.”

Kuramochi raises an eyebrow at Miyuki, and Miyuki blinks at him expectantly. A lightbulb goes on in Kuramochi’s head and he grins.

“Yeah...see, I’m texting him right now,” Kuramochi tells Ryou, pulling his phone out gracelessly to tap random words into the LINE app search.

Ryou looks like she’s about to die from the effort of not laughing. Her cheeks are nearly as pink as her hair, and her shoulders shake.

“No, here, at least make it believable, jeez. You’re terrible at this.” Miyuki plucks the phone from Kuramochi’s hands and types in his information. While he’s doing that, Kuramochi exchanges a wide-eyed look with Ryou. She winks.

Kuramochi accepts his phone back with his hands cupped, like he’s trying to hold sand. He really isn’t sure why he does that, but it seems to amuse Miyuki, if nothing else.

“Now you can make it believable, Kuramochi,” Ryou says in a tone that probably only Kuramochi recognizes as teasing.

When Kuramochi is about to reply with something actually clever, Takashima appears behind him and says, “How about we begin with you today, Kuramochi-kun?”

He blanches, stuttering out an, “Of course.”

His only solace is the fact that Takashima cuts Ryou’s giggles short by adding, “You can go next, then.” Ryou sobers up in a flash, and the only person left is Miyuki, who looks like he’s enjoying himself immensely.

Kuramochi doesn’t have the time to properly express his displeasure with his face because he has to begin the discussion without having actually looked at any of the pieces on the wall. He fumbles through a few mostly-coherent comments that Takashima begrudgingly accepts as legitimate before passing the torch to Ryou. She’s at least had a few minutes to look, and her comments are more thoughtful as a result. It doesn’t stop her from sticking her tongue out at Kuramochi after she’s done, though.

“You are welcome to actually, you know, message me, if you want,” Miyuki says quietly by Kuramochi’s ear while one of their other classmates says his piece.

Kuramochi’s stomach flips as he says, “Then I can actually be legitimate.”

“We’ll make an honest man out of you yet,” Miyuki says with a grin that makes Kuramochi’s insides melt.

So he might have a crush. It’s fine. It’ll go away.

Miyuki had said he and his friend would be showing up around nine, which means that Ryou and Kuramochi need to start getting ready shortly after their last class. They grab dinner first, since it’s impossible to pick out acceptable outfits on an empty stomach, and Kuramochi doesn’t show up to parties looking terrible. Especially not a party at which Miyuki will be present.

“Ryou, I need to look extra good tonight,” he says as they’re walking back to his place to grab his clothes.

“God, I wonder why,” she says. “But I’m happy to help you look less useless.”

Kuramochi sighs. “If there is one thing I have going for me—”

“—It’s your style, I know. Well, we’ll figure something out.”

“Good,” Kuramochi says, mouth settling into a pout. He really needs to look impressive.

“You do remember that Miyuki’s seen you with charcoal all over your face, right?” Ryou supplies, like that’s supposed to make Kuramochi feel better.

“I tried to forget that, but thanks . I can’t wait for you to make an ass outta yourself in front of a pretty girl so I can make fun of you for eternity.”

“I will not make an ass of myself. I am calm and cool,” Ryou says, tossing her barely shoulder-length hair to prove her point. Kuramochi rolls his eyes.

“You’re a mess, is what you are,” Kuramochi says, cackling when Ryou tries to intimidate him with a look. That particular shade of disappointment-tinged rage has long since stopped being effective on Kuramochi, especially now that they’re good friends.

“Talk about the pot calling the kettle black,” she retorts.

“So you admit that you’re a mess, then?”

“Shut up,” she says. Kuramochi gently bumps her with his shoulder.

“It’s okay. We can be disasters together.”

Ryou and Kuramochi start getting ready early for a very good reason.

Once they arrive at Kuramochi’s place, Kuramochi changes outfits seven or eight times while Ryou reclines leisurely on his bed and calls out opinions. Most of the few available surfaces in his room are covered in discarded options, including the plaid shirt draped over Ryou’s head.

She seems unfazed by its presence, since she’s currently engrossed in messaging someone on her phone.

Kuramochi strikes a pose in an outfit that he thinks is a winner, but she’s not even looking.

“Ryou,” Kuramochi whines. “I’m in desperate need of judging!”

“I’ll get to it. Hold on, you needy child,” she says, bringing her eyes up slowly. She tilts her head to the side as she contemplates, and Kuramochi can’t help but jiggle his leg nervously. It’s not like he’s expecting to be torn to bits, but he wants to look good.

“And?” he prompts, cocking a hip.

“I think the boys will love you,” Ryou says with a smile.

“I don’t care about all the boys, Ryou.”

“I know. Whatever happened to ‘ Oh, I don’t have a crush.’ ?”

Kuramochi puts his hands on his hips. “Shut up.”

“You’re just mad because I know what you look like when you have stars in your eyes,” Ryou points out, and she’s right. Kuramochi turns down the corners of his mouth.

“So, verdict? Will I impress the boy?”

“He will love you, god, relax. Are you doing eyeliner?”

“Should I?”

“Yes. Now grab it and let’s go drink wine while I get dressed. You took longer than usual to pick an all black outfit with plaid details.”

“I—” Kuramochi starts, then shuts his mouth. She isn’t wrong, per se, but he’s a little offended that she’d call him out like this.

“You’re cute when I’m right,” she says with a chuckle, pocketing her phone and getting up. Kuramochi follows her out of the room once he’s grabbed his eyeliner pencil and hair product. With a last check in the mirror, they head over to Ryou’s apartment.

Once there, they switch positions, and Kuramochi takes up his post sprawling across her bed while she picks out an outfit. She usually takes just as long as Kuramochi does, but she’s evidently been planning ahead for tonight, because she already has several candidate outfits in mind.

“Let me guess,” Kuramochi says, clasping his hands behind his head. “You’re going to wear a flower crown.”

Ryou levels a glare at him. “I don’t always wear them,” she states, standing in front of a neatly arranged display of them on her wall. Kuramochi simply raises his eyebrows and crosses his ankles.

“Of course not.”

“You know, this crush has made you uppity,” Ryou says, turning back to her closet.

Kuramochi barks a laugh and says, “Uppity? When do I ever not call you out on your shit?”

“I look good in flower crowns,” Ryou says.

“I never said you didn’t. You’re like, the definitive queen of wearing them.”

“That’s acceptable. Now, do I want summerier colours or something more fitting for this disgusting January we’re having?” She holds up several stacks of clothes in different shades, and Kuramochi points at the summer pile. Parties are no place for the muck of late winter.

Ryou goes through much the same process that Kuramochi did, only she actually puts her clothes back after she’s tried them on. When she seems satisfied with the way her high-waisted pants sit, she ushers Kuramochi with her into the bathroom for the ‘painting,’ as she calls it.

“Need me to curl the back?” Kuramochi asks, leaning forward so his nose is just short of touching the mirror. He rationalizes his proximity by saying it helps him draw a straighter line.

“I’m fine, I think. Just don’t let your greasy nose touch my mirror. I don’t want to clean another Kuramochi spot off it.”

Kuramochi pulls the pencil away from his face so he can turn dramatically towards Ryou and make a face at her.

“Just for that, I’ll press my whole face against it so you have to clean twice as much,” he threatens.

Her laughter is bright before she says,  “Oh, I’d make you clean it up, don’t you worry.” Kuramochi has no doubts about that in the slightest.

    Ryou’s wearing some cute, striped, off-the shoulder thing that she insists is warm enough, but she doesn’t protest one bit when Kuramochi drapes his jacket over her shoulders for the walk.

They managed to get dressed fast enough to leave time to have a glass of whatever wine Ryou bought when she was avoiding her responsibilities the week prior, and Kuramochi’s glad for it.

It’s settled his nerves enough to allow him to think, though the text he receives when they’re a block or two away undoes the wine’s hard work.

“Miyuki’s already there,” Kuramochi says, showing Ryou the message to cover up the fact that his heart’s trying to claw its way out of his mouth.

“Ooh, he brought someone. Maybe that friend he was mentioning,” Ryou says, more to herself. Kuramochi makes a strangled noise.

“ Friend? ” he asks, and he sounds too concerned to pass it off as casual interest.

“You look like you want to turn around right now. Yes, he said he’d bring her to meet us since she’s still new at the university.”

Kuramochi doesn’t feel much better about this, and it comes out as an, “Oh...kay.”

“He’s gay, you walnut.”

“Okay!” Kuramochi chirps.

Ryou bursts into undignified laughter. “Useless,” she says.

Kuramochi pouts because he’s aware that he’s just as bad as a lovesick high schooler. This is worse than he thought it would be, but there’s a novelty to feeling this fluttery about someone. It’s been too long.

Citing aesthetic, Ryou slips Kuramochi’s jacket off and hands it to him before they enter the house, while Kuramochi uses the window as a quasi-reflective surface to check his hair. A bored-looking person their age opens the door and gestures them inside without so much as a word.

Once inside, Kuramochi is drowning in the bass of whatever too-loud song is playing. Ryou sticks close to him since it’s crowded enough to be intimidating, and Kuramochi scans the room for any sign of Miyuki or his friend.

“Kuramochi.” Ryou stops dead, grabbing his wrist roughly.

“You okay?”

“I see my future wife.”

Kuramochi slides from concerned to unimpressed in a tenth of a second.

“You could have said that first, ya know,” he tells Ryou, but he may as well be speaking to a brick wall. She’s zeroed in on her future wife , and Kuramochi follows her line of sight to see who this girl is.

The fact that Ryou spots her in this crowded living room is more of a testament to the woman’s height, not to Ryou’s observational skills. She towers over most of the people milling about, and to Ryou’s credit, she is really good-looking. She has a shaggy mess of hair hidden mostly by a cap, and is wearing more denim at once than Kuramochi thinks he owns.

Kuramochi has to fight down a smile at Ryou’s absolute weakness to women in hats and double denim. Not that he doesn’t have a type, but it’s hilarious to note as an outside observer.

Regarding hats, Kuramochi can’t say he’s much better, because the smile slides clean off his face when he sees who is standing next to Ryou’s future wife. Miyuki is not wearing a robe, which is a definite change, not that Kuramochi was actually expecting him to be—Kuramochi physically shakes his stupid head to stop that runaway train of thought. He is going to be calm, and cool, and collected, and not blush because he can see Miyuki’s bare arms and collarbones.

Kuramochi doesn’t know why he’s so much more flustered seeing Miyuki dressed, but he figures it probably has to do with the context. Next to Kuramochi, Ryou is saying something, but Kuramochi is staring at Miyuki’s smile as he talks. He takes his snapback off to run a hand through his hair and replaces it, and Kuramochi is pretty sure that he’s stopped breathing while watching Miyuki’s muscles shift.

“Okay, hey, you,” Ryou says sternly, smacking a hand on Kuramochi’s cheek with no force at all. “Game face on.”

Kuramochi nods, sobering in the face of Ryou’s smart little frown. They weave through some more people and Kuramochi thinks he’s gone into cardiac arrest by the time they approach Miyuki and his friend.

“Hey,” Kuramochi says, mentally high-fiving himself for keeping his voice in the right octave. Did Miyuki get exponentially more handsome in a few days? Is someone keeping track of this? Is this legal?

Miyuki turns, smiling brightly when he sees Kuramochi.

“Finally made it, huh?” he says, and Kuramochi can’t help the way his eyes crinkle with happiness.

“I’m a little disappointed that you’re not wearing the robe,” Kuramochi says, and doesn’t waste a second in imagining himself running his head into the nearest wall. At least he knows he looks in control of the situation. Ryou muscles herself forward, muttering, “For heaven’s sake,” under her breath.

Miyuki laughs so heartily, and it’s so genuine that Kuramochi melts.

“It didn’t match the hat, what can I say?” Miyuki replies. He gestures to his friend and says, “By the way, Kuramochi, Ryou, this is Furuya Satoru. She’s the friend I was ment—”

Ryou near-yells, “I’m Ryou, hi!” She shoves in between Kuramochi and Furuya, staring up at Furuya with wide eyes. With the height difference, it’s a miracle that Ryou’s flower crown hasn’t slid off her head.

For all the shit she gives Kuramochi about not being able to talk to people he’s attracted to, she’s the pinnacle of Mount Overwhelmed By Beauty.

It’s endearing, and more so because Furuya mumbles, “Nice to meet you,” with a soft blush.

Kuramochi slides his eyes over to Miyuki, finding him staring back with a conspiratorial grin. They shift closer to one another, letting Furuya and Ryou have their moment.

“Anyway,” Kuramochi says.

“Anyway,” Miyuki parrots. “How’s class?”

Kuramochi makes a non-committal sound. “I think I bullshitted an entire art history exam, and my painting major classes are...I don’t know. I have no idea what I’m doing. Takashima’s class is the only one I don’t completely suck at. You?”

“For what it’s worth, you make me look really good,” Miyuki says with a shrug and a reassuring smile.

Feeling more than a little embarrassed that Miyuki’s openly acknowledging that Kuramochi routinely draws him naked, Kuramochi says, “Thanks.”

“And it’s not like anyone else knows what they’re doing. Three of my classes are so similar that I bring the wrong notebooks constantly.”

Kuramochi barks a laugh. “That does make me feel a little better, yeah.”

Miyuki nudges him with his shoulder. “Glad my pain could help you out.”

    At some point, Kuramochi and Miyuki migrate to a side room to talk, since it’s a lot quieter. Kuramochi sits on the floor with his feet stretched out, drinking one of the beers that Miyuki had brought and generously offered. He’s aware of how warm Miyuki is when they’re sitting next to each other like this, backs against the wall.

    “So, you just, really like plants?” Kuramochi asks, out of nowhere. They were enjoying a companionable silence, but his brain just had to ruin it.

    There’s that laugh of Miyuki’s again. “Yeah. Wanna come see some?”

    Kuramochi turns to Miyuki and asks, “They’re legal, right?” Miyuki tries to say something, but he’s cackling, which leads Kuramochi to believe he’s just asked a really stupid question. He thinks it was perfectly reasonable.

    “Well, I guess you’re just going to have to trust me, then, hm?” Miyuki stands and offers his hand, winking playfully. A pleasant wave of warmth rushes through Kuramochi’s body and he grabs Miyuki’s hand, letting him tug him to his feet. Kuramochi’s poor brain can only handle so many stimuli at once, and between Miyuki’s hand holding his and the offer to go spend some time together, he’s falling apart.

    They’re weaving through people to get to the front door, and Kuramochi stops for a second to find Ryou. It wouldn’t be fair of him to just leave her here, so he gestures to Miyuki to wait for a minute.

    “I just wanna make sure it’s okay,” he tells Miyuki, who nods.

Kuramochi doesn’t have to try very hard to find Ryou in the living room, because she’s half in Furuya’s lap on the couch, talking animatedly. Furuya is watching Ryou speak with such a relaxed little smile that Kuramochi can’t bring himself to go over to interrupt. He’ll text Ryou later in the evening to see how she’s doing and if she needs anything.

    For now, he returns to Miyuki, giving him a thumbs-up.

    “They’re havin’ a great time together,” Kuramochi says.

    “I was hoping they’d hit it off. All that worrying for nothing,” Miyuki responds.

    “Worrying?” Kuramochi says, holding the door for Miyuki, and following just  behind.

    “It takes Furuya a lot of time to warm up to people and she’s been having trouble making friends at university.”

    “Ah.” Kuramochi nods. “Ryou is the same, only she’s just..how to say it nicely... picky .” Miyuki snorts, covering his mouth.

    “And yet she thinks so highly of you!” he tells Kuramochi, eyes half-moons of delight. He looks like he’s about to burst into hysterics, and Kuramochi shoves him, though not enough to even make him budge.

Miyuki is so solid and Kuramochi is so hopeless.

    “She tolerates me, I think,” Kuramochi says, turning his head to Miyuki and looking up to meet his gaze.

    “A little more than that, maybe. In any case, you’re not bad company.”

    “Such high praise from the people in my life, amazing. Tolerable and not bad .”

    “In all fairness, Kuramochi, you called yourself tolerable,” Miyuki points out, poking a finger into the side of Kuramochi’s chest.

    “Okay, yeah, that’s true.” Kuramochi shrugs, grinning. He shoves his hands in his pockets as they walk back onto campus, finding it hard to fight off his smile as they start bickering about Kuramochi’s relative status in his fledgling friend group.

    Though it’s on the chilly side crisp, Miyuki refuses Kuramochi’s offered jacket, and Kuramochi keeps nagging him about it. He’s huddled into himself as he walks, since his tank top and bandeau cover about five percent of his torso, and it’s January .

    “I’m fine ,” he tells Kuramochi for the tenth time, laughing at his disbelieving scowl. “We’re almost here, anyway.”

    Kuramochi doesn’t actually know where they’re going, since Miyuki has insisted on maintaining this air of plant-related mystery. It’s fun, and spontaneous, and Kuramochi isn’t upset by the fact that his shoulder keeps bumping Miyuki’s as they walk.

The conversation flows easily as Miyuki swipes an access card to get them into one of the buildings on the other end of campus. Kuramochi has never had any classes here, and everything feels new and foreign.

“Which building is this?” he asks Miyuki as they climb a set of stairs.

“Biology,” Miyuki replies.

Kuramochi hums in acknowledgment and continues looking around. It seems no different than any other building, only here there are more tables tucked away in corners and posters on the walls instead of art. He pauses by a poster with too many graphs on it, recoiling in disgust at all the math . Miyuki chuckles at him, putting a hand on the small of his back and guiding him forward.

“I didn’t know biology had that much math in it. That’s terrible,” he tells Miyuki as they walk past a group of stressed-looking students studying. Even when Miyuki’s hand slips off his back, he feels the lingering heat and the tingle of contact even through his jacket.

“That’s probably bio statistics. And I agree, it’s awful.”

“So you don’t have to do that?”

“Oh god, no. Well, I have one class on it next year, but I’m pretending that it doesn’t exist.”

“Ew,” Kuramochi says with disgust, shuddering for dramatic effect. “Suddenly, art history doesn’t seem so bad.”

“I don’t know about that, but sure.”

For some reason, Miyuki insists on taking the stairs all the way up to the top of the building, and though Kuramochi doesn’t consider himself unfit, per se, his cardio really could use some work. He just wasn’t expecting to get a reminder tonight.

In order to seem less like a walking tragedy, he speaks very little on reaching the final landing, and lets his breath out slowly. Kuramochi thinks his lungs might explode, but that stupid niggly bravado insists that he save face.

He can’t be embarrassing in front of Miyuki.

“You alright, there?” Miyuki asks, smile spreading as Kuramochi’s face falls.

He pants, “That obvious?”

“Almost had me fooled.”

“Well, shit. I’m outta shape,” Kuramochi admits, giving in to the urge to breathe heavily. His heart rate starts to come down, only to spike right back up when Miyuki smiles fondly at him.

“I’m not judging,” he tells Kuramochi. “Not much, anyway.”

“Listen, mister high-level-baseball-champion, not everyone is a shining example of physical perfection,” Kuramochi says, waving his hands as they round a corner and stop in front of a big set of glass doors.

“How’d you know I played baseball?” Miyuki asks, turning his back to the door of what appears to be a greenhouse. He inclines his head curiously.

“Oh, uh,” Kuramochi says eloquently, feeling himself flush. “I followed high school baseball. You were in the papers a lot.” The rest of the sentence comes out in a rush of syllables and nerves, and Kuramochi wonders if he’s just made an ass of himself properly.

To his surprise, Miyuki looks genuinely embarrassed, and scratches the back of his neck.

“I’m surprised you didn’t say anything,” he says in a quiet voice.

“Well, I only really figured it out like, two weeks ago. I mean, you look like you played some kind of sport even before then, but uh—yeah. Kinda cool. I mean, really cool.”

“Ah, I don’t play anymore, so, guess I’m not that cool.” Miyuki shrugs, still smiling, but it no longer reaches his eyes.

Kuramochi presses his lips together to put together something vaguely reassuring, but only comes up with, “Nah, you’re pretty cool.”

The honest smile is back on Miyuki’s face, and Kuramochi breathes out slowly.

“I’ll take that,” he says cheerily, and reaches out to swipe his keycard at the entrance.

Countless other words balance on the tip of Kuramochi’s tongue, any number of honest admissions of how incredible he finds Miyuki, but they stay there. He can’t bring himself to air those feelings out just yet.

“Welcome to the greenhouse complex,” Miyuki says, gesturing broadly to the collection of plants immediately visible. There are dim lights hanging overhead, but the first thing that Kuramochi notices is the density of the foliage. There are plants everywhere . So many different colours and textures that must be truly incredible when the sun is up. He doesn’t even mind the humidity sticking to his skin as he approaches a very rich, leafy plant.

“I have no idea what this is, but it’s beautiful,” Kuramochi breathes. “Can I touch it?”

“In this room, yeah, you can,” Miyuki responds, extending a hand to run his finger along the vein of a huge, waxy leaf. He touches it so reverently, gently, like it’s precious, and Kuramochi’s interest slides quickly from the plant to Miyuki’s face.

Where Kuramochi feels at ease in a studio, he soon realizes that this is Miyuki’s safe haven. There’s just such a sense of ease in his features, like he’s come home here to his plants, that one place that he can escape his worries.

Kuramochi forgets where they are for a moment because he’s so enraptured by watching Miyuki in his element, wearing that obvious love for what he does. Miyuki lifts his gaze to meet Kuramochi’s and smiles.

“Want to come see some of the cool plants?” he asks, eyes sparkling. There is no world in which Kuramochi could be able to say no to such honest enthusiasm. He wonders if Miyuki gets to share this with people outside of his major very often, since Kuramochi is familiar with how jaded most people get when they have to study something they thought they enjoyed.

Kuramochi nods enthusiastically and follows, getting that pleasant squirm in his belly when Miyuki smiles more broadly.

“There are a few interconnected greenhouses up here, and the other ones are where the research and exotic plants are. The one we entered through is for first years to come and ooh and ahh at,” Miyuki explains as they pass into a more orderly greenhouse space.

“So, why do you get to access all the fancy plants, huh?” Kuramochi asks, nudging Miyuki.

“Oh, I’m a research assistant. I don’t actually spend much time up here, but they give all the assistants full access to the entire building.”

“That’s an awful lot of trust in undergrads,” Kuramochi says.

Miyuki turns fully to face Kuramochi, placing a hand over his heart. “You don’t think I’m trustworthy?”

“Considering you offered to show me some plants without any context at all, I dunno. You meet some strange types at university,” Kuramochi teases.

“I’m hurt, honestly. I think my hat and completely sensible tank top make me a very credible student researcher.”

Kuramochi barks a laugh, and can’t believe that his cheeks actually hurt from the amount of smiling he’s done.

“Yeah, it screams academia to me,” he says once he’s stopped cackling. Fuck, he likes Miyuki a lot. “Anyway, wanna tell me what all of these are? Maybe I can look them up and paint them sometime. This is so awesome.”

Miyuki looks like he swells with excitement at the question. “Yeah, of course! But I can always bring you back here if you want. Maybe a change of scenery would help inspire you for the showcase.”

“Maybe.” Kuramochi narrows his eyes. “Ugh, don’t remind me. Did Ryou tell you about the showcase?”

Miyuki nods slowly, saying, “Yeah, she did. She mostly talked about her own struggle, but might have maybe, in passing, mentioned that you were struggling, too.”

“Goody.”

“Want me to talk about plants instead?” Miyuki offers, likely noticing the dark cloud talk of the showcase brings over Kuramochi’s mood.

“ Please .”

Kuramochi watches Miyuki explain some of the research that he’s participating in, punctuated by enthusiastic asides as he remembers more details about the plants surrounding them. Miyuki’s gestures are so dynamic, and his eyes shine with his passion; Kuramochi wants to immortalize every moment of this evening in any media that he can, though he has nothing but his memories.

He can’t tear his eyes away from Miyuki, and wants to listen to him talk about his plants until morning.

“Sorry,” Miyuki apologizes, looking small and sheepish. “I got carried away.”

    Kuramochi shakes his head vigorously. “No, no, continue, I’m having a great time.”

    “Yeah?” Miyuki’s lips curl up, and he steps closer to Kuramochi.

    “Yeah. I think your plants are incredible,” Kuramochi says, and they are, because they make Miyuki happy.

    “They are,“ Miyuki says with such gentleness, holding eye contact. He’s stepped close enough so that Kuramochi has to tilt his head up, and his expression has shifted into something indecipherable. Kuramochi can only hear the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears as Miyuki steps even closer, not saying a word.

    Even though Miyuki’s stopped talking, it’s not an awkward silence, but it is charged with an energy that Kuramochi can’t parse. Miyuki smiles again, eyes soft and kind, and Kuramochi’s stomach flips pleasantly. The proximity makes his nerves thrum with a need to connect somehow, but Kuramochi stops just short of reaching out. He’s afraid to ruin this fledgeling friendship with his stupid little crush, so he holds himself back.

    “So, are there any more plants you wanna show me?” he asks cheerily, grinning to break through some of this tension.

    “There are lots I want to show you, but sadly, I can’t,” Miyuki says. He pouts a bit, putting his hands in his pockets.

    Kuramochi could swear that Miyuki’s closer now than he was a moment ago. He tries to slow his breathing, but it’s hard when Miyuki’s undivided attention is on him. Miyuki’s eyes draw Kuramochi in, and Kuramochi ignores whatever strange little click sounds behind him. It’s not important.

    Except for the fact that the click precedes a freezing shower from sprinklers Kuramochi hadn’t even spared a passing glance. He yelps, covering his head with his hands like that will keep him from getting wet.

    “Shit!” Miyuki swears, ushering Kuramochi towards the door, and they both rush out of the greenhouses, laughing like the fools that they are.

    Kuramochi runs his hands over his face to dry it, belatedly remembering his eyeliner.

Well, he’s an absolute mess, and nothing can be done. Miyuki, however, has goosebumps running all down his arms, and he rubs them with his hands to warm up. The least Kuramochi can do is make sure Miyuki’s okay.

    “Oh, here,” Kuramochi says, taking his jacket off even though he realizes he’s narrower in the shoulders than Miyuki is.

    Miyuki waves him off. “Thanks, though. I’m fine. Well, maybe okay in the sense that I’ll survive physically...I just can’t believe I forgot the plants get watered at night. Sorry.”

    “Here I thought the night couldn’t get more exciting,” Kuramochi says with a bright laugh, and Miyuki relaxes visibly.

    “Not really how I pictured this night ending, but,” Miyuki finishes his sentence with a shrug.

    Kuramochi wants to ask him how he pictured the night ending because it sounds like Miyuki’s actually thought about it, entertaining the idea that maybe, just maybe, Miyuki might feel the same as he does.

    After a brief, cowardly silence, Kuramochi says, “Next time, then.”

    Miyuki nods in confirmation, smiling lopsidedly.

    “Can I walk you home?” Kuramochi asks, nervous despite how innocent an offer it is.

    “Do you have ulterior motives, there, Kuramochi? Walking me home, you rascal,” Miyuki says, cackling. Kuramochi splutters indignantly, and he knows that he’s turning bright red.

    “No! I just...I’m being polite,” he counters, but Miyuki looks no less amused by the whole thing. Kuramochi pouts.

    “Ah, being polite. So, you don’t really want to…” Miyuki trails off.

    “I do! Just...please let me walk you home even though you’re more than capable of doing it yourself,” Kuramochi blurts, thrusting his hands into his pockets to stop himself from flailing his way through an explanation. He bites his lip and wills the redness in his cheeks to recede. Miyuki observes him with a genuine smile before nodding.

    “I’d like that.”

    “Lead the way,” Kuramochi says, gesturing to the stairwell.

    “Guess it would help if I showed you where to go, wouldn’t it?”

    “Kinda, yeah.”

Kuramochi walks next to Miyuki, dreading the moment where Miyuki has to turn towards his building and end their time together. It’s been such a pleasant night, and the walk only more so. He’s so comfortable around Miyuki, like they’ve known each other for years, and not a few short weeks.

When they stop in front of Kuramochi’s building, it’s all he can do not to laugh.

“You look amused,” Miyuki says with a graceful tilt of his head.

“I...uh...this is where I live.”

Miyuki laughs softly. “Thanks for going out of your way to walk me home, then.”

“Shut up, I would’ve walked you anywhere,” Kuramochi grumbles, but it’s hard to look mad when Miyuki looks so damn delighted.

“That remains to be seen. What floor are you on?” Miyuki asks, holding the door.

“Top floor,” Kuramochi replies, gesturing upwards like that means anything when they’re inside.

“Ooh, fancy penthouse.”

“Oh yeah, I live in the lap of luxury.”

He and Miyuki then jostle each other in trying to get to tap their access fobs first, and bicker about who actually opened the door first. Kuramochi is pretty sure that he won, but he’s equally sure that Miyuki is just arguing for the sake of it. Either way, he’s happy.

“I’m on the third. Just a lowly peasant,” Miyuki says.

“Every apartment is the exact same, Miyuki,” Kuramochi says flatly.

“I wonder what it’s like to live like royalty! Maybe one day I’ll know.” Miyuki says with a dreamy sigh. Kuramochi misses the elevator button because he’s too busy giving Miyuki the most unimpressed look he can muster.

“Anyway,” he says, while Miyuki dissolves into laughter because he’s so pleased with himself.

It takes no time at all to reach the third floor. Kuramochi isn’t sure whether he should say goodbye in the elevator or step outside, but Miyuki makes room for him to exit, solving that problem entirely.

“Thanks for taking me to see your plants,” Kuramochi says.

“You really did me a favour. I have to socialize them, you know.” Miyuki says seriously.

“They’re plants .”

“Just because they’re plants doesn’t mean that they don’t need to know proper rules and boundaries. Don’t be like that, now.”

Kuramochi tries to suppress his smile, but Miyuki’s watching him like he’s waiting for that validation.

“I’m clearly uneducated when it comes to plants.” Kuramochi says sarcastically, finally giving into the smile that’s he’s been fighting.

“Clearly. But, if you ever want to help me socialize them again, maybe during the daytime, I’m sure I could arrange that. They make very good models.”

“They can’t be better than another model I know,” Kuramochi says, delighted when Miyuki’s playful facade cracks. Whatever snappy comeback he had prepared to say never comes; he bites his lip instead.

While Kuramochi means to fill the ensuing moments of silence, he’s stuck looking at Miyuki like a lovesick puppy, smiling with all the fondness in the world.

“I’d like to come socialize the plants again,” Kuramochi finally says, and Miyuki’s expression brightens. “I could use the socializing, too.”

“Just let me know when,” Miyuki says cheerily.

Instead of moving towards Miyuki’s door, they continue chatting by the elevator, but Kuramochi doesn’t mind too much. It’s when Miyuki stops talking to suppress a loud yawn that Kuramochi realizes he’s probably been keeping him. Maybe he’s just wanted to get into his pyjamas and go to sleep already.

“Sorry, I’ll let you go if you’re tired,” he says, and Miyuki makes a goofy sound when he tries to talk through a second yawn.

“It’s okay, really. I should let you make your way back to your own place since it’s so far. And you don’t want us peasants down here to rub off on you, anyway.” Miyuki chokes on a chuckle.

“Yeah, I best get back to my lordly duties,” Kuramochi replies, giving Miyuki a gentle shove to the shoulder. He doesn’t even budge from the contact, but he does stagger back dramatically moments after.

“Thank you, your highness. I’ll never wash that shoulder again.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Kuramochi says. “Thanks again for taking me to the greenhouse, by the way. I had fun.”

“You needed the shower, too,” Miyuki adds solemnly.

Kuramochi gasps. “I showered!”

“I don’t doubt that, but when ?” Miyuki says, laughing and jumping away to dodge Kuramochi’s swat.

“Goddamnit,” Kuramochi grumbles, once again failing to look angry.

He doesn’t know if it’s appropriate to hug Miyuki goodbye at this point in their relationship, so he just keeps his distance.

“Well, good night,” Miyuki says with a softer smile.

“Good night,” Kuramochi replies, and without thinking about it, lifts his hand up to high five Miyuki. It’s not a hug, but Kuramochi’s subconscious clearly wanted to formally end the evening somehow, even if it is the most horrifyingly awkward way.

Miyuki high-fives him, looking confused and enchanted all in one. Kuramochi hits the elevator button and thanks a multitude of deities that it arrives immediately so that he can go hide. The last thing he sees before the door shuts is Miyuki’s cute little wave and smile, which just—he high-fived Miyuki.

Kuramochi Youichi, a complete and utter idiot, just gave his crush an equally idiotic greeting after an amazing night. Perfect.

“A high five? Really ,” he chastises himself under his breath as he exits onto his floor, wanting to cry because he now has no right to call himself smooth. Kuramochi isn’t even sure he’s going to tell Ryou about this because she is going to laugh herself into a coma.

The only silver lining, Kuramochi thinks, as he’s brushing his teeth, is that his waterproof eyeliner really held up. Maybe Miyuki will just forget that Kuramochi is a moron and focus on that instead.

High-five.

Honestly.

Before he goes to bed, Kuramochi texts Ryou to confirm that she’s alive, and receives a series of heart-eyed kaomoji and attempts at the word “woman” in English in reply. He interprets this as positive, yells into a pillow briefly to really hammer home his frustration, and then falls asleep.

ooo

Kuramochi manages to forget about the embarrassing goodbye since he and Miyuki text a little over the weekend, though it comes barging back into the forefront when he sees Miyuki in person at the start of class the following Tuesday. It’s one thing to exchange messages, but this is the first time Kuramochi will interact physically with Miyuki since the incident .

He tries hard to focus on the pencils in his hands so as to avoid an uncomfortable moment if Miyuki decides to ignore him entirely, but he can’t help the way his eyes dart to where Miyuki is standing.

After speaking to Takashima briefly, Miyuki crosses the room to where Kuramochi’s set up and Kuramochi waits with bated breath. He watches Miyuki out of the corner of one eye, still braced for the worst.

The worst never comes, because Miyuki sidles up to him and bumps his shoulder.

“Hey, you,” he says, and Kuramochi could collapse, he’s so relieved. He’s not out of the woods yet, but at least Miyuki still wants to talk to him.

He bumps Miyuki back and says a small, “Hey.” The smile comes to his lips unbidden, but that just seems to be a side effect of being in Miyuki’s company.

“What are we doing today?” Miyuki asks, peering into Kuramochi’s hands, where he’s clutching enough pencils for it to look like a very pointy bouquet. Kuramochi turns so he can look at Miyuki, finally having gathered the confidence to face him.

“Suffering, as usual,” Kuramochi says with a lopsided grin, holding up his assortment.

“I hope you’re using those to draw,” Miyuki quips, pushing Kuramochi’s hands away so the sharp ends aren’t facing him directly. “You could put someone’s eye out!”
    “Doubt they could hurt you,” Kuramochi says, murmuring, “You’re made of marble.”

“What’s that?” Miyuki asks with a curious tilt of his head, leaning into their shared space.

“You’re just...very firm...and muscular...” Kuramochi trails off, knowing that this will get worse before it gets better.

Behind Kuramochi’s easel, Ryou’s laughter rings out and doesn’t stop . She’s having a great time, if her wheezing is anything to go by.

Miyuki shrugs, a bit sheepishly, and says, “Lots of baseball.” He’s blushing and so is Kuramochi. He feels like a stop sign.

For the second time in a week, Kuramochi finds himself praying to a deity that he doesn’t believe in, begging for it to swallow him whole. It doesn’t do him the honour, of course, but Takashima breaks their very goofy stalemate by calling Miyuki over.

Miyuki flashes a grin at Kuramochi, then goes off to join Takashima.

Once he’s gone, Ryou’s face slides into view, like an apparition next to Kuramochi’s easel. She has tears in her eyes, and wipes at them with the back of her hand.

“ Wow ,” she says, creating syllables where there aren’t any. Kuramochi stares at her, forlorn and pathetic.

“I’m useless,” Kuramochi admits quietly, and resists the urge to smack his forehead against his paper lest he get grease on it.

“I mean, you said it, not me.”

“Not like you’re any better!” Kuramochi fires back.

“Don’t throw it back on me when you just told Miyuki that he is very firm .” Ryou can’t even finish the sentence with a straight face because she finds it so funny.

Kuramochi puts the backs of his hands over his eyes so he doesn’t stab himself with a pencil, but still hides his shame.

“I can’t fucking talk around him,” Kuramochi says.

“No, you really can’t.”

“I’m not sure why I expected a mood boost from you.”

“I’m not sure, either. You know I’m terrible at lying,” Ryou says.

“But we talked just fine at the party and at the greenhouse?” Kuramochi tells Ryou, moving closer even though their conversation is hushed to begin with.

“I don’t think he cares that you’re an idiot, Kuramochi.”

“I’m pretty sure he cares,” Kuramochi replies.

“Mmm, I’m pretty sure you being stupid is just taking the pressure off of him.”

Kuramochi sags.

Ryou continues, “Don’t be pathetic.”

“Only if you stop being tragic about your future wife.”

“Don’t bring her into this.”

Kuramochi can see that Ryou’s about to launch into a speech about Furuya, but Takashima calls the class to attention before she can start.

Luckily, it’s easy for Kuramochi to forget about his idiocy once he’s back in his element with a pencil in his hand.

ooo

Kuramochi hears his phone go off and he squints into the darkness. It’s not the sound of his alarm, since he has absolutely no reason to be up before the sun is, but he rolls over anyway to grab the stupid thing.

He scrubs at his eyes to bring the tiny characters into focus.

shes perfect

i dont deserve her

Kuramochi groans, with feeling, debating whether or not to reply to Ryou’s five a.m. emotions. With a sigh, he swipes on the message.

y r u awake

go sleep

cant sleep too gay

useless

least i didnt highfive her

Kuramochi flops back onto his pillow and stares up at the ceiling for a moment to compose himself.

fuck off

He turns his sound off, ignores the multiple lines of laughter popping up on his screen, and goes back to sleep.

ooo

Sunday mornings are Kuramochi’s favourite, since he has no responsibilities, and can actually cook in peace. He throws on some clothes so he can look partway decent, runs his fingers through his hair, and heads to the apartment building’s communal vegetable garden before most other people wake up.

Kuramochi isn’t an early riser by any stretch of the imagination, but the average college student’s definition of “early” on Sunday falls somewhere after the noon mark. This means that Kuramochi’s ten a.m. trek to get vegetables happens in blissful quiet, and he is thankful for every minute of it.

It’s a small space on the rooftop, like a tiny greenhouse, and despite the fact that Kuramochi only remembers to water the herbs and vegetables from time to time, it’s flourishing. Evidently, the combined efforts of a bunch of procrastinating students seem to be enough to keep something alive.

Kuramochi’s daydreaming about scallions when he walks into the space and stops dead.

“Oh, hey!” Miyuki says with a level of cheer that shouldn’t be possible for someone covered in dirt.

“Hey,” Kuramochi says, and that goofy smile’s lifting his entire face already. Miyuki stands up, dusting himself off, and grins at Kuramochi. He’s so handsome, even in baggy, oversized gardening clothes, and Kuramochi just wants to kiss him.

Kuramochi’s brain isn’t ready to handle Miyuki when he’s just rolled out of bed and disheveled, and his hair isn’t even done—

“You coming to steal some of my vegetables?” Miyuki asks.

“ Your vegetables?”
    “I pretty much maintain this garden.”

“I water it sometimes!”

Miyuki laughs, waving Kuramochi off. “That wasn’t an accusation. I just figured I was the only person in here that cooks.”

    “Nah, I’ve been eating the veg here since I moved in, pretty much? Well, on weekends, anyway.”

    “And?” Miyuki asks.

    “And?” Kuramochi repeats, confused.

    “How do you like my vegetables?”

    Kuramochi huffs a little laugh, then answers, “Great. Your vegetables are really good.”

“I know,” Miyuki says, puffing up proudly. “I raised them.”

“Could you look a little less smug about it?”

“Hmm.” Miyuki taps his chin as though he’s deep in thought, then says, “No.”

With a flick to Miyuki’s arm, Kuramochi asks, “Can I have some of the scallions, then?”

“So hostile! But yes. If you must.”

Kuramochi purses his lips to express his faux distaste at Miyuki’s dramatics, and he actually succeeds in not smiling this time. It has to be some sort of record.

Miyuki, with a dopey sort of grin on his face, says, “What’s that cute little face meant to mean?”

As is typical of Kuramochi, his brain comes to a screeching halt at the word “cute,” and peers up at Miyuki like a tomato personified. He just wanted to get vegetables. He just wanted to get vegetables and get on with his day, and now he’s gawking at Miyuki, who also looks a little embarrassed.

Great, Kuramochi has made Miyuki embarrassed with his awkwardness.

“I’m just mad?”

“Mad?”

“Please just let me have a tomato and some of those—those—” Kuramochi whines pitifully, waving his hand in the general direction of the scallions. The word escapes him.

“Scallions?”

Kuramochi nods. “Yes.” He takes a deep breath and tries to pretend he’s not completely useless as he grabs what he needs.

“You okay?” Miyuki asks, and there’s a playful note to his voice, so at least Kuramochi isn’t a lost cause.

“Yep, totally fine.”

They stand and face one another for a moment too long, Kuramochi cradling his produce and Miyuki just staring back at him like he wants to say something.

“Well, I’ll see you in class?” Kuramochi asks, nudging Miyuki’s shoe with his toe.

Miyuki nods enthusiastically. “I mean, I’ll be there. Depends on whether you go or not.” He grins but his expression looks a little pinched.

“Like I’m gonna skip the only class that I actually like going to.”

“Oh. Well. I will see you there, then.”

“Have a good one, yeah?”

“You too,” Miyuki says, waving as Kuramochi heads back into the hallway.

Kuramochi walks calmly back to the stairwell to give off the impression of someone cool and attractive, choosing to pretend that he didn’t combust when Miyuki called him cute. Or his facial expression cute. He probably didn’t even mean anything by it, and here Kuramochi is, spacing out on the landing for so long that he doesn’t even realize he’s forgotten to actually move in the direction of his apartment.

Kuramochi spends the rest of the day cooking and smiling like an idiot, made goofier still by the text Miyuki sends him asking about his vegetables’ quality.

ooo

After finally being trapped by Takashima for a meaningful talk about the showcase which will be taking place in a few weeks, Kuramochi is in a foul mood. He stops by his small on-campus studio to take a look at some of the pieces he’s produced so far this semester, and instead of being reassuring, it makes him feel worse.

It’s not that he hasn’t produced a lot of paintings, but none of them fall anywhere past mediocre. He doesn’t want to submit something lacklustre to such an important showcase, since the judges are going to assume that’s what he thinks is his best work. None of the finished paintings crammed into this tiny space speak to what he knows he’s capable of. They’re emotionless and dull, the very antithesis of who Kuramochi is as a person and artist.

He wishes he could breathe a fraction of the soul from his drawings of Miyuki into these drab canvases.

Kuramochi’s sitting on his couch later, shirt and boxers covered in smears of colour after another aborted attempt at an oil painting. The pizza in the box before him is disappearing quickly, much like the evening is. He picks up his phone when it lights up, heart fluttering a little at the thought of Miyuki. It’s Ryou instead.

wam

wamne,

women

He snorts. She’s probably out with Furuya on the date she insists isn’t a date, but everyone else knows is, in fact, a date.

take ur time

kiss

??????????????

congrats!

It warms Kuramochi’s heart that Ryou has found someone that makes her happy; she deserves it. That bit of good news buoys Kuramochi’s sour mood, and he feels better about the world.

crisis

coming over

wait

now?

Not five minutes later, Ryou is knocking on Kuramochi’s door. He’s still in his painting clothes and covered in pizza grease, but Ryou won’t care. It’s more likely still that she won’t even notice.

    She pushes past him into the apartment, drops her bag on his couch and drops her hands on his shoulders.

    “Furuya,” she says seriously, looking in Kuramochi’s eyes.

    “Yes. So, you kissed?” Kuramochi asks with a delighted little smile.

    Ryou makes a weird gurgling sort of sound and flops against Kuramochi like a sack of potatoes. He catches her without batting an eye.

    “Told you she liked you,” he says, after Ryou makes more overwhelmed sounds. “Also, I can’t guarantee there isn’t oil paint on my shirt. You might wanna stand up.”

“There better not be,” she mumbles, straightening out as she looks down at her clothes. “Anyway. I don’t know , though?”

“Did you...not just tell me that she kissed you? At the end of the date?” Kuramochi isn’t sure where the mental block is, at this point.

“Yes, she walked me home and we made out a little in front of my door, and Kuramochi , she is so hot. I want to marry her.”

“And you’re not sure she likes you after you made out,” Kuramochi says rather than asking.

“No! I don’t!”

“Ryou,” Kuramochi starts, sighing deeply. “Just call her, or text her.”

“But I don’t...what if she doesn’t want—” Ryou says, walking over and flopping down on the couch.

“Do you need actual, concrete proof that isn’t her mouth touching your mouth repeatedly?”

“Yes, I do,” she says with a huff. “She could just be killing time with me. I don’t know, Kuramochi. I just can’t know.”

Kuramochi opens his messages, knowing that’s a faster way to get to Miyuki’s number than through his contacts. Miyuki picks up after a single ring, and Kuramochi tries not to think about how fluttery his voice makes him.  

“Kuramochi, my liege,” Miyuki says with a little chuckle.

“I’m not...you—I’ll deal with you later. I have an important question to ask you,” Kuramochi says, pressing a hand into his cheek to calm his damn enthusiasm.

“Sure.” There’s the tiniest hint of a waver in Miyuki’s voice, for some reason.

“Furuya is ten thousand percent into Ryou, right? Let me just put you on speaker for the answer.” Kuramochi drops down onto the couch next to Ryou, hits the button and waits.

“Oh yeah. I’m assuming Ryou’s there right now?”

“Yep.”

“Did the date go well?” Miyuki asks.

“I enjoyed it,” Ryou says, a great deal more calmly than earlier.

“Furuya is absolutely into you. Without a doubt. Texted me the moment she left.”

Ryou makes another strange sound that might be the death of a word.

“So, there you go. Go text her and be happy and gay,” Kuramochi says to her.

“Agreed,” Miyuki adds.

“Thanks for indulging me, Miyuki,” Kuramochi says.

“Anytime. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye.”

Ryou looks at Kuramochi with stars in her eyes.

“Want pizza?” he asks, reaching over and holding the box out. She almost looks offended, but thinks better of it and grabs a stack of three pieces.

“For the road,” she says.

“I’m not judging.”

    She leaves with a spring in her step, half a piece of pizza crammed in her mouth like she hasn’t eaten in weeks. Kuramochi lifts his hand up in a lazy wave, and then retreats into his lair to polish off the pizza.

    He stifles a laugh at how hideously unattractive he is like this, imagining how horrified Miyuki would probably be at his tragic university student stereotype.

    ooo

    Kuramochi is leaving class when Miyuki sends him a text asking him if he’s free. His giddy Pavlovian response to seeing Miyuki’s name in his notifications is embarrassing, but at least nobody else is around to witness it. Nobody that can point it out and use it against him later, that is.

    They text for a bit while Kuramochi drops by his studio space, and grabs one of his sketchbooks. Miyuki’s casually mentioned that his plants are lonely and might like to do some modeling if the artist is so inclined.

    Miyuki could have asked Kuramochi to come by and watch paint dry with him, and he would have teleported over there; being able to hang out and draw is something Kuramochi could never turn down. He just hopes he’ll be able to focus for long enough to put pencil to paper.

    The biology building is open to anyone in the afternoon, so Kuramochi walks in, cradling his sketchbook, feeling wildly out of place among very pristine-looking students. He bounds up the steps and finds Miyuki waiting at the top of them, like he’s just happened to sense Kuramochi’s arrival.

    Miyuki is dressed casually in a shirt and jeans, but Kuramochi still finds himself a little short of air looking at him. Part of this is due to the fact that he chose to run up the stairs that he barely walked up a few weeks prior, but Miyuki’s handsomeness definitely plays into it.

“The plants have missed you,” Miyuki says by way of greeting, and if Kuramochi thinks about it a little too long, it almost sounds like an admission of Miyuki’s own.

“Awfully needy, if we’ve only really met once,” Kuramochi says, falling into step with Miyuki’s long strides. He probably looks like a kid shuffling next to Miyuki, but he’s okay with that.

After bickering a little about almost everything to whet their appetites, Kuramochi and Miyuki fall into easy conversation. Miyuki is pruning some very beautiful plants with a name Kuramochi has already forgotten, and while he does so, Kuramochi lets his pencil do some work.

The plan is to do some rough sketches, to get a feel for drawing something different—plants—but Kuramochi’s hand isn’t cooperating. Neither are his eyes, for that matter. The glass panels of the greenhouse bend the late afternoon sunlight, scattering slivers of rainbow across every imaginable surface, but most notably, Miyuki’s face. He doesn’t seem to be fazed by the light, working instead with a gentle reverence softening his features.

The greenhouse is warm and humid, relaxing Kuramochi into the chair he’s sitting in, threatening to lull him into an almost dream-like state. He understands why Miyuki likes spending his time here so much. Unfortunately, Kuramochi’s not here to take naps in warm pools of sunlight. This time, anyway. He blinks away the syrupy weight of contentment and continues drawing.

Kuramochi knows the pencil he’s using isn’t quite enough to capture the moment, nor is his skill anywhere near enough to document the peace and visible fulfilment in every line of Miyuki’s posture, but he’s trying.

He might pull out some of his portable watercolours later to liven up his bland sketches, but for now, he’s picking up the pace in hopes of translating Miyuki into two dimensions with any sort of accuracy.

It’s nearly an hour that Kuramochi keeps sketching like this, caught in the intense focus he can only summon when he’s really into his subject. He’s never considered himself to be fond of drawing people, but there’s something about Miyuki that keeps his attention, makes him want to draw more .

He stops only to stretch out his wrist and fingers, perching the sketchbook precariously on the corner of a table lest he move a plant out of place. Miyuki’s drawn by the motion, and looks over with a smile. He puts down the pruning shears and arches his back with a grimace; he’s been leaning forward for awhile, too.

“Hey, could I—I mean, only if you want to, but—could I see some of the sketches?” Miyuki asks, uncharacteristically quiet and insecure. Kuramochi’s filled up several pages of his book, the sketches varying from quick gestures to slightly more detailed studies. Kuramochi nods, and gestures to the sketchbook, since he’s currently occupied with that glorious stretch loosening up his entire forearm.

“They’re really messy, but, yeah, go for it.”

Kuramochi can’t say that he’s not nervous when Miyuki’s face lights up like he’s going to have the opportunity to see master work instead of quick scribbles. He swallows thickly, focusing instead on the sun-dappled leaves of a large potted plant sitting on the ground next to him. Despite his best efforts to admire its beauty, he finds his eyes drawn to Miyuki, morbidly curious about his opinion. He knows Miyuki will tell him how he feels about the work, but Kuramochi needs to see his face as he’s experiencing it, since there’s no way to lie about that. Kuramochi himself doesn’t know why he’s afraid of Miyuki lying about enjoying his art, but here he is, bracing himself for the worst.

There’s nothing even close to disappointment in Miyuki’s eyes, however. His lips are turned up in the ghost of a smile, and there’s this glimmer in his eyes that Kuramochi can’t peel his gaze away from. Miyuki’s hand hovers just above the surface of the paper, twitching like he’s physically restraining himself from touching it.

Kuramochi doesn’t expect Miyuki to look up and make eye contact, so he blinks, caught staring without a doubt. He opens his mouth to say something a few times, but stops himself every time, making Kuramochi’s stomach tighten with each passing moment.

“These are…” his eyes flit between Kuramochi and the paper.

Kuramochi waves him off. “They’re not good, I know, you don’t—”

“No, this is—you’re amazing,” Miyuki says, and Kuramochi is taken aback by the plain honesty. In all of their conversations, in-person or otherwise, Miyuki’s found a way to skirt around what he really means, and it didn’t take Kuramochi long to start reading through the sarcasm and intentionally misleading statements.

Not having any nonsense to wade through now leaves Kuramochi stunned.

“Oh, uh, no, really, you…” he trails off. The art’s not that good. It really isn’t.

“No, this—yeah, it is,” Miyuki reiterates, gesturing to a drawing of him delicately cradling a flower. It’s the messiest of all of today’s sketches, since it’s not a pose Miyuki held for very long, and Kuramochi isn’t sure what Miyuki sees in it. He wants Miyuki to see his art at its best, though nothing he’s produced this school year is up to his own high standards.

“Seriously, these are just messy sketches. I’ve got much better stuff, I promise,” Kuramochi says, accepting the sketchbook back into his hands. “I’ll show you. If you want, that is. I mean, if you don’t want to, it’s fine, it’s just—I haven’t made anything really great this year so far, but there are a few you might like and I guess—”

“I’d like that.”

Kuramochi takes a moment to emotionally reset, since he was fully prepared for Miyuki to turn him down gently.

“Oh, great, then. I mean, again, it’s not really fancy, amazing art, just—”

“Shhhhh,” Miyuki coos, putting a hand over Kuramochi’s face, which makes him shut up in an instant. He peels the offending hand off of himself, trying not to think about how much he’d like to hold it.

“Okay. Well, do you have a lot more work to do?” Kuramochi asks to change the subject, warm down to the tips of his fingers.

“Nope! Just the pruning today, but I can find something to do if you want to keep sketching.”

“It’s okay. I don’t wanna make you work more than you need to,” Kuramochi says, putting his pencils away. He could easily stay here for a few more hours, but he doesn’t want to impose on Miyuki’s precious time.

“This isn’t work, believe me,” Miyuki says, voice tinged with warmth. “This is where I go to run away from my actual work.”

Kuramochi laughs softly. “Yeah, I’ve got a place like that.” He holds up and wiggles his sketchbook to illustrate his point.

“Must be nice to be able to draw whatever you see.” Miyuki leans against one of the tables that isn’t overflowing with plants like he’s settling in, and Kuramochi feels so much more at ease knowing that Miyuki doesn’t want him to go. It seems so much more meaningful now that he’s aware that Miyuki is enjoying the company as much as Kuramochi is.

“It has its moments. Sometimes, it’s like, holy shit, I did that? And other times, you want to burn your paintings. And in my case, I’ve been contemplating burning everything. Just...everything.”

“I think that would make a very dramatic submission for the showcase. A pile of ashes titled, ‘The Artist’s Lament.’”

Miyuki looks so satisfied with his own cleverness, that Kuramochi would be laughing brightly even if hadn’t been funny.

He barely composes himself enough to say, “Yeah, imagine Takashima’s face if I showed up with a bag of ashes. She’d put a hole in me with her eyes!”

“I think you’d be dead even before she had a chance to see you,” Miyuki says solemnly, putting a hand on Kuramochi’s shoulder. “I’d come to your funeral, though.”

“Thanks, I’m touched,” Kuramochi says, chuckles calming to a manageable level. He can feel the heat of Miyuki’s hand through his shirt, and keeps telling himself to be cool.

“I’m getting kinda hungry,” Miyuki says and drops his hand, steering the conversation away from the tension building between them.

“Want company?”

“For being hungry?” Miyuki asks.

“Shut up, you know what I mean,” Kuramochi says with a sigh and a roll of his eyes.

“Being hungry in pairs is more fun.”

“Being hungry is terrible,” Kuramochi whines.

“Then let’s go get some ramen. I want a lot of calories and I want them to be delicious .”

“I’m in.”

It feels a little like a date, if Kuramochi’s honest, and he lets himself live in that lovely dream for a while. He’ll return to reality when he’s done laughing at Miyuki’s wit and swooning over the mischievous glint in his eyes when he smiles at Kuramochi.

Kuramochi misses a slew of messages from Ryou because he forgets to check his phone, and when she calls to ask him if he’s dead, Miyuki answers. The best case scenario for a phone conversation between Ryou and Miyuki on Kuramochi’s phone ends with them making plans on their own to hang out, whereas the worst case scenario is Ryou telling Miyuki how gone Kuramochi is for him.

Kuramochi doesn’t even know why he imagined a best case scenario.

“Yes, Ryou, we’re out together...no... no ,” Miyuki hisses, dropping his voice. Kuramochi tilts his head in confusion, loosening his collar because it suddenly seems very warm. He’s started sweating because he can’t react wildly lest Miyuki realize Ryou might have something incriminating to say, and that would just encourage Miyuki, but sitting back and watching emotions play across Miyuki’s face is agonizing.

Miyuki looks a little flushed, and picks at a thread on his shirt while he listens to a very long monologue, it seems.

“Okay, see you in class!” Miyuki says, at long last, and hangs up. He hands the phone back to Kuramochi, worrying his lip as he does.

“What did she say,” Kuramochi states.

“Nothing. Just making sure you weren’t dead, is all,” he replies cheerfully, but he’s much too frazzled for it to ring true.

    Kuramochi hums. He’ll have some words with Ryou later, since he can almost hear her maniacal laughing from all the way across campus.

    This time, Miyuki offers to walk Kuramochi home, and they both laugh about it as they go up the elevator again. Miyuki does insist on walking Kuramochi to his door, more to experience ‘the high life,’ than to do a favour, he says. Kuramochi can’t even pretend to be unimpressed at the goofy joke, and smiles softly instead.

    “Well, I had fun, but I’ll let you get back to the lap of luxury,” Miyuki says.

“I did, too. The plants behaved well.” Kuramochi taking a step back as though he’s about to turn around. He whips his body back around to face Kuramochi, puts his hand up, and Kuramochi, pink in the ears, gives him a high five.

    Kuramochi is speechless, ready to be swallowed whole by the ground, and completely smitten, all in one.

    “Good night!” Miyuki chirps, and heads back to the elevator, which is luckily still on Kuramochi’s floor.

    “Night?” Kuramochi manages to say before Miyuki disappears, leaving him to make strange squeaking noises while he enters his apartment.

    For what is nowhere close to the first time, Kuramochi yells into his pillow before bed, then falls asleep grinning.

ooo

Just when Kuramochi thought art history couldn’t get any worse, he takes the world’s longest and most traumatizing exam. He’s not what one would call a great student, but he studies, especially when it comes to a class in which he spends most of his time trying to stay awake.

He arrives at life drawing class is a terrible mood, limbs heavy from a combination of exhaustion and disappointment. Nobody else is in the room, not even Takashima, and that only fuels the nightmare cloud growing above Kuramochi. It would be nice if he could also avoid thinking about the showcase while he’s here, since it’s already a plague on his waking hours, but there are already signs advertising it up in the hallways and on the inside of the classroom door.

In an ideal world, he could just hide in the corner and draw all class and not interact with a single other human being, but that absolutely won’t happen.

He sets up, sullen, shoulders rounded like he’s bracing for an invisible storm even though he’s in his favourite class. The day is irredeemable, as far as he’s concerned. He’s not even sure that Miyuki and Ryou can cheer him up at this point.

Takashima comes in and greets Kuramochi with a smile on her face, but all he can manage in return is a weak tilt of his mouth and a little wave. She watches him out of the corner of her eye, and he knows it, but says nothing. The rest of the class files in slowly as the minutes tick down, and Ryou is one of the last people to arrive.

She enters the room like a tornado, rushing to her spot lest someone muscle their way into it.

“You look like shit,” she tells Kuramochi offhandedly, busying herself with her own easel and supplies.

“Feel like it, too.” Kuramochi doesn’t have the energy to get into the playful teasing or even to pretend to be angry.

“Wanna get pizza after,“ she states more than asks, arms disappearing into her massive supply bag. One day, Kuramochi expects to have to remove her because she will have gotten stuck, waist-deep in the things she loves most.

“Might just go home, Ryou, sorry,” he replies, tapping out a beat on the metal lip of his easel.

“What a wet blanket. Fine, then.” She peers around the easel, blinking at Kuramochi. “Guess I’ll just hang out with my super-hot girlfriend, instead.” Ryou narrows her eyes and phases back into her spot. Kuramochi chuckles despite himself. She’s not very good at cheering people up, but she tries.

Miyuki arrives right at the start of class, breathing hard, like he’s sprinted across campus to be here. Knowing him, he probably got distracted with his plants.

“Sorry,” he apologizes to the class with a cheeky grin, turning to Kuramochi long enough to mouth a “hi,” before he disrobes and class can begin.

Kuramochi has half a mind to start laughing bitterly at the end of the class because he is living the tragic, melancholy artist stereotype. While Miyuki comes over to chat during breaks, Kuramochi just can’t seem to keep a conversation going, and the worry tugging at Miyuki’s features really doesn’t make him feel better.

He doesn’t want to make a drama out of it; he’s just having a shitty day, and wants it to end as soon as possible.

The good news is that his drawing somehow ends up being the unanimous favourite of the entire class, even though Kuramochi doesn’t find it particularly inspired. Even Miyuki’s eyes linger on it, as he clutches his robe over his chest. He looks over at Kuramochi, undecipherable once again, though his smile feels like sunshine on this wretched day.

    After class is done, Kuramochi gathers his things with the intent of going home to be a useless blob on his couch for the entire evening, but Miyuki finds him before he can leave.

    “So, I was thinking,” Miyuki starts, leaving a large pause for Kuramochi to fill. Sure, he’ll bite.

    “That’s unusual,” Kuramochi says.

    “Kuramochi, I am hurt .”

    “No, you aren’t, you’re smug. What’s up?”

    “I’m always smug. That’s just my face.”

    Kuramochi sighs, and with a few stupid little words, he can feel a quiet brightness start to bloom.

    “Shame.”

    “Let’s not even pretend you don’t like it. What I was going to ask, before you so rudely interrupted me, was whether you were going to your studio after this!”

    “I wasn’t gonna,” Kuramochi says with a shrug, but after seeing a brief flicker of disappointment cross Miyuki’s face, quickly amends it to, “But I could. If you want to see it. I mean, it’s whatever.”

    “I do want to see it,” Miyuki says, softer this time.

    Kuramochi nods. Maybe a little time with Miyuki might help level him out and make him at least a functional human being for the rest of the afternoon.

    To his credit, Miyuki doesn’t bring up Kuramochi’s terrible mood, opting instead to chat about the awesome lecture he had gone to that morning. It’s pleasant, hearing Miyuki’s enthusiasm, and Kuramochi listens happily. He doesn’t have much to contribute due to his lack of understanding of plants, but it gives him a break.

When they arrive at Kuramochi’s studio, he pauses with his key in the door.

“Last chance to change your mind,” he says with a wry smile. “Just—most of it isn’t good, I’m telling you.”

“Of the two of us, I think you need the glasses more,” Miyuki says, pulling his glasses off and sticking them on Kuramochi awkwardly. He misses Kuramochi’s ear and ends up shoving one of the arms into it instead of on it, which is uncomfortable but hilarious.

“Thanks,” Kuramochi says dryly, but Miyuki’s cackling is steadying him somehow. He opens the door and gestures for Miyuki to enter first. Miyuki snags his glasses back.

“I want it to look like something, you know.”

It would be easy enough to ignore anyone else looking at his work, but Kuramochi can’t keep his eyes off Miyuki in regular circumstances, let alone right now. His heart is beating much too quickly, but he keeps reading Miyuki’s features, dying to know what he thinks. Kuramochi normally doesn’t mind showing people his work, though he will point out which pieces he personally believes are best.

Now, however, he can’t bring himself to say anything.

Miyuki reaches to move a canvas that is obscuring two others before turning to Kuramochi and asking, “Can I?”

“Uh, yeah, here, I’ll move it.”

He leans the unfinished cityscape against one of the less crowded walls and steps back again. Miyuki mirrors the motion so he can see better, Kuramochi assumes, but says nothing.

There are fifteen minutes of charged silence, and Miyuki finally says, “You are either blind or a filthy liar.”

“What?” Kuramochi asks, tensing like he’s anticipating a fight. He doesn’t know why he’s so on edge; it’s just Miyuki.

“You don’t think any of these are good enough?”

“Well, no. I wouldn’t be stressing this much if they were,” Kuramochi grumbles.

“These are amazing.”

“They’re really...they’re okay.”

“Kuramochi, seriously. You have such a gift for capturing light,” he says, facing a large painting of the view from Kuramochi’s apartment window.

Standing here without an easel to hide him, Kuramochi feels naked. He doesn’t know how to reply to that, and doesn’t know what to do with all these stupid emotions he’s harbouring, especially with Miyuki wearing an open, honest look on his face.

Kuramochi shrugs. “I’ve been having more luck with figure drawing these days,” he says with a self-deprecating smile.

“Why don’t you submit one of your class drawings?”

“I could if I were one of the people taking art classes for fun, but since I’m specializing in painting, I need to submit a painting. And it needs to be the best thing I’ve ever done, since a lot of local artists and gallery owners tend to come by for these showcases.”

“Oh. Then do a figure painting?” Miyuki suggests, grinning.

Kuramochi laughs softly, warming from the inside. “One class isn’t enough to paint a person in oil, as much as I’d like that.”

“Then paint after class?”

“What poor soul would want to sit for a broke-ass art student?”

“Personally, I think anyone should be honoured to sit for you.”

“It’s unsettling when you’re honest. Stop it,” Kuramochi says, nudging Miyuki’s shoulder. He’s not sure if Miyuki is hinting that he’d want to, but Kuramochi’s heart evidently thinks so, based on its erratic beating.

“I mean, I could sit for you,” Miyuki states, like it’s a great burden.

“I thought you said it’d be an honour?” Kuramochi finds himself smiling properly for the first time all day.

“Oh, for you. It’d be an honour for you . I’m such an outstanding model.”

Kuramochi mimes picking up his canvas and bonking Miyuki over the head with it.

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Kuramochi says, thrusting his hands into his pockets.

“Well, you’re not asking. I’m offering.”

“You know what I mean.”

Miyuki nods, playfully tipping his head. “I do, and I’m still offering.”

“You realize it wouldn’t be like in class, right? It’d have to be multiple sittings of a few hours each, at least. Because I’d be painting and—”

“Okay,” Miyuki agrees, grin crinkling his eyes.

“Okay?”

“Yeah! Okay. When do we start? Unless you don’t want to paint me, I mean, it’d be your loss,” Miyuki says solemnly, a hand over his heart. “You are allowed to say no.”

“No, I mean, yeah, that’d be great. Really great. I just can’t help feelin’ like I’m taking advantage of you because you don’t know how bored you’re gonna be.”

“With your company? I doubt it!” Miyuki chirps.

Kuramochi’s positive he flushes bodily, but soldiers on. “I’m no fun when I’m painting, sorry to say. Just dirty and frowning.”

“Isn’t that you usually?”

They get into a little tussle that’s more playful smacks and shoving than anything real, and it’s with a lump in his throat that Kuramochi realizes how close they really are. Miyuki is so warm and bright that he can’t handle it.

“You know, if you ever decide that you want to get rid of some of these, I’ll happily buy them,” Miyuki says, and Kuramochi was expecting snark, not that.

“No sane person would pay for these.”

“I might just fit the bill.”

“That I won’t argue with, honestly,” Kuramochi says, then cackles at Miyuki’s tiny frown.

They end up ordering delivery to the art building and hanging out in the studio for the better part of the evening, and Kuramochi finds he hates his work less when Miyuki’s asking questions about it.

He knows about as much about art as Kuramochi knows about plants, and so they share information between large mouthfuls of food. All their stuff is sprawled out on the ground, and so are they, watching the skies grow darker outside.

Who would have thought that a day so shitty was salvageable?

ooo

For a brief second, Kuramochi was concerned about not being able to fill the extra gaps in his days previously filled by Ryou, but that fear was quelled quickly. He’s glad Ryou and Furuya are getting quality time together, and he and Ryou still drink wine and watch horror movies together every Friday night, at least. It works. Besides, Kuramochi now finds himself with Miyuki, more often than not.

While he hasn’t started painting yet, Kuramochi has been thinking about the setup on and off since Miyuki offered. Miyuki insists he’s fine with whatever, which is one of the reasons why Kuramochi is so stressed about this painting; he wants to showcase Miyuki in his absolute best light. This is one thing he can’t half-ass in the slightest.

    Miyuki, on the other hand, seems genuinely enthusiastic about being in a painting. Over coffee one evening, he says it’ll be just like looking in a mirror that always captures his good side, and though Kuramochi finds this incredibly charming, he throws a napkin at him.

    Despite the fact they’ve been hanging out a lot more, it’s usually on campus or somewhere nearby; this is the first time that Miyuki is going to see Kuramochi’s apartment. Needless to say, Kuramochi finally found all of his cleaning tools, lovingly covered in dust, in the back of a cupboard, and put them to use.

    He also hung up a bunch of his clean clothing, which had been warming various sections of his bed for the past week, and Kuramochi even folded several of his shirts. Kuramochi doesn’t think Miyuki is the type to judge, but Kuramochi’s compulsive cleaning is partly due to wanting to impress Miyuki, and partly due to his anxiety about the actual painting.

    Kuramochi isn’t sure how he wants Miyuki to pose yet, and all he really has set up in his small living space is his easel, and his makeshift window seat. It’s not really meant for sitting, but with a few planks of wood, a support and a blanket, it’s a great place to curl up and paint. He considers setting Miyuki up there, but he has a lot more limb than Kuramochi, and might not be comfortable. Kuramochi pulls out a stool he has laying around too, although that won’t be good for long periods of time, and Miyuki happens to knock on the door during Kuramochi’s Great Seating Debate. Kuramochi nearly drops the stool, leans on it casually like Miyuki can see him through the door, then finally remembers he needs to allow Miyuki in first.

    A great start to the first sitting, he thinks, and swings the door open. Kuramochi didn’t need his heart to start beating harder than it already was from the nerves, but it had other plans. Miyuki waves at him, from a foot away, and already Kuramochi thinks he might need to sit down.

    “Brought some vegetables, since I was already up here. Figured we might get hungry,” Miyuki says, offering a packed plastic bag as he walks into the apartment.

    “Do you just snack on,” Kuramochi says, peering into the bag, where he spots several potatoes, “root vegetables?”

    “I meant, cooking them, you strange, strange man,” Miyuki says, nudging Kuramochi.

    “What else am I supposed to think when you show up to my place with potatoes?”

    “I’m not sure, but my first thought wouldn’t be, ‘oh, how nice, some crudites!’” Miyuki snorts, covering his mouth with his hand. “Anyway, where do you want me?”

    Kuramochi really, really wants to say ‘in my arms,’ but manages to put away his massive crush for a brief second.

    “I was thinking we could hang out for a bit first? I want to see where you fit best in here now that you’re actually in here,” Kuramochi says. “Want coffee? Tea? Half of my water bottle?”

“Wow, half of your water bottle? Now you’ve really sold me on your hospitality!”

“Shut up, like you’re any more functional with this many assignments. I’m gonna have some coffee,” Kuramochi complains, shuffling into his tiny kitchen.

“I’ll have some too, if the offer still stands,” Miyuki says, leaning against the counter right next to Kuramochi.

“Yeah, it does,” Kuramochi grumbles good-naturedly, and pulls some mugs out of his cupboard.

It feels nice and domestic like this, the two of them side-by-side in the kitchen while the coffee percolates.

Kuramochi’s apartment is warm and flooded with light, which is a blessing in springtime when the world is still trying to shake off the crispness of winter.

“Let me go change before I sit down or else I might never move,” Miyuki says with a smile.

“Yeah, oh, did you—”

Miyuki holds up a robe from another bag that Kuramochi thought was also full of vegetables.

“I was hoping you’d pull out another few scallions or something,” he teases and Miyuki smacks him with the end of the robe.

“Would you like me to pose with the vegetables? Or shall I leave you alone with them?” Miyuki says as he’s disappearing into the bathroom, probably because he knows Kuramochi will chuck something at him.

“I don’t have a thing for vegetables!”

From behind the door, Kuramochi hears a muffled, “Suuuuure.”

He’s smiling as he sips too-hot coffee from his mug, feeling his nerves melt away. It’s just Miyuki and him, hanging out, except for Kuramochi’s going to be painting. It’ll be like their twice weekly classes, but with the added comfort of there only being two of them instead of nearly twenty in the room.

It doesn’t take Miyuki long to change, and Kuramochi hands him his coffee as he passes by, making a beeline for the warm, cozy window seat.

When Miyuki reclines back against the pillows of the nook, cradling his mug in his hands, Kuramochi stops breathing. All of his worrying about the right pose for Miyuki was for nothing. Miyuki looks great doing anything, but he’s settled into the cushions so perfectly, gazing out with a smile at the bustling life on campus below. He’s also comfortable enough around Kuramochi that he doesn’t seem to notice his robe’s exposing his entire thigh and parts of his chest.

“Are you comfortable like that?” he croaks, and Miyuki turns back to him, eyes round and curious.

“Very,” Miyuki says. “Might have a hard time getting me to move, you know.” He grins at Kuramochi.

“That’s good, because I think I want you to stay there.”

A look of surprise passes across Miyuki’s face, but then his smile returns.

“Sure. And here you said sitting for a painting would be hard . I just get to sit here and be comfortable and warm.”

Kuramochi laughs. “You might change your mind in a while. Do you mind if I start? This is—yeah, I think this is good.”

“Go ahead! I’m just here to sit and look good. Do your work, maestro.”

Kuramochi feels himself slip into a drawing zone, and he picks up a stick of less demonic vine charcoal to sketch on the canvas. He has to readjust his easel a few times so he can see Miyuki properly, but he’s more concerned with getting the sketch down.

He works at a pace he didn’t even know he was capable of, and when he finally stops to give his hand a rest, Miyuki looks over at him.

“You can turn your head, it’s fine. Take a break and stretch if you need to,” Kuramochi tells Miyuki, stretching his wrist out.

“I think I might,” Miyuki responds, stretching like a cat, but there is much too much of him to fit at the angle he’s sitting. He nearly tumbles off the seat, and Kuramochi nearly has a heart attack, though they both recover and laugh about it moments later.

“Very—” Kuramochi has to stop to let out another cackle. “Graceful.”

Miyuki’s a nice shade of pink as he stands, reaching for the ceiling, avoiding Kuramochi’s eyes. He takes a deep drink from his mug after, choosing then to peer over the rim at Kuramochi.

For his own sake, Kuramochi is incredibly glad that Miyuki is facing away from him for the painting, since he doubts he could get into the right mindset to draw otherwise. Miyuki’s eyes lighten to hazel in the flood of golden light, and his gaze somehow becomes even more intense. Kuramochi swallows, letting himself get caught in it instead of turning away like he normally wants to.

With no class-imposed time limit, Kuramochi leaves it up to Miyuki to decide on when he’s comfortable to continue. Miyuki comes over to peer at the sketch, which isn’t much more than a rough outline of his body and the window frame, at this point. At this proximity, Kuramochi can feel Miyuki’s warmth and it makes butterflies explode in the pit of his stomach. It doesn’t help that he also smells great, because it figures that Miyuki Kazuya is always perfect in every way.

“This is a huge canvas,” Miyuki says conversationally, measuring the length of the side between his palms.

Kuramochi mimics the gesture on Miyuki’s body, stretching to try to accommodate his entire height. “I’ve gotta fit you on there somewhere,” he says, almost sparkling with delight when Miyuki laughs fondly.

“I guess you’re right.” Miyuki props his chin up with his fist and stares at the canvas as though deep in thought. “You know, I think there’s something missing on here.”

“Well, yeah, like, everything.” Kuramochi isn’t sure where Miyuki is going with this, but he listens patiently.

“No no, I mean, right here,” he says, pointing at the little corner of the seat that his draped robe doesn’t cover.

“What?” Kuramochi asks, arching his eyebrow.

“A good potato or two.”

“God damnit ,” Kuramochi curses through a laugh. He shoves Miyuki in the shoulder with no weight behind it.

“I’m just saying that I support your vegetable fetish.”

“I don’t have a vegetable fetish!”

“It’s okay, shh, I’m here for you,” Miyuki coos, rubbing the small of Kuramochi’s back. Any quick-witted response he might have thought up fizzles away, and all available brain power goes to focusing on the splay of fingers on his lower back.

“I’m good to go again, if you are,” Miyuki says, bashful all of a sudden. He pulls his hand away and Kuramochi misses it immediately.

“Yeah, let’s get some more detail and potatoes in here,” Kuramochi says, proud of himself for his effort at recovery.

“Sure, sure.” Miyuki grins, taking his place again. His practice as a model has paid off, since he remembers his positioning without any trouble, and settles in. He flashes a thumbs-up at Kuramochi when he’s ready to go, then tips his head towards the window again.

Kuramochi picks up his charcoal and gets started. Once the sketch is good enough by his standards, he’ll call it a day and they can make lunch together. Painting can be another challenge for another day, since Kuramochi doesn’t feel like making Miyuki witness one of his painting breakdowns quite yet.

    It doesn’t take long for Kuramochi to finish up, but he’s already itching to put paint down on the canvas.

    “Wanna break for lunch?” he asks Miyuki, who nods.

    “Already?”

    “Sketch is done, and you’ve been sitting for long enough. I can start painting tomorrow.”

    “Oh! Well, I had you penciled in for the whole day, if you want to start now,” Miyuki says with a good-natured shrug.

    “Let’s make lunch and then we’ll see, how’s that?”

    “Sounds like a plan,” Miyuki agrees and they both shuffle into the kitchen.

    Kuramochi’s apartment is tiny, and though his kitchen is barely big enough for them to stand shoulder-to-shoulder, they somehow make it work. He puts some background music on and lets his knife do the work, while Miyuki does the same next to him. Aside from exchanged grins and soft laughter, the only noise is the slow cadence of the music coming from Kuramochi’s phone.

    Soon after, it’s the sizzle of the pan and bickering over who’s a better cook, which ends in a dinner challenge set for later in the week. Miyuki insists on going first, since he says there will be no need to continue after that; he talks a big game, but Kuramochi is just looking forward to Miyuki making him dinner. This is one of the rare occasions where he’d me more than okay with losing.

    Miyuki has taken a liking to the sunny window seat and curls up with his bowl in the sunlight, corners of his mouth turning up as he smells the concoction they made together. Meanwhile, Kuramochi, who is spending more time falling in love than eating, watches Miyuki chew happily. He forgets about his own food until Miyuki looks up at him, gazes down at his bowl, then back up.

    “You don’t like it?” he asks, and his cheery expression falters slightly. Kuramochi shakes his head to make it clear that is nowhere near the truth.

    “Got distracted staring at the canvas,” Kuramochi lies, shoveling food into his mouth before he can say something really stupid.

    “Oh,” Miyuki says, and his cheeks lift again. “Getting into the mindset to make a masterpiece of me?

    Kuramochi swallows down a too-large mouthful. “Hah, I can only hope it’ll do you justice.” His throat hurts, and he regrets his burning need to answer that question as soon as possible, but Miyuki should hear it. Miyuki returns his focus to his bowl with a bashful smile and keeps eating, only lifting his eyes periodically. Every time he does and their eyes meet, Kuramochi can’t help but flush with an uncontainable giddiness.

    To calm the fluttering in his belly, Kuramochi returns to his food, which is incredible; Miyuki’s got seasoning down to an art. Kuramochi’s definitely going to lose the cooking challenge, he thinks, wolfing down the bowl.

    “How’re the vegetables?” Miyuki blinks at Kuramochi, eyebrows lifted expectantly.

    “ Your vegetables are superb. Highest class imaginable,” Kuramochi says, and Miyuki waves him off.

    “Of course they are.”

    “Then why ask?” Kuramochi asks, pressing his lips together to contain his amusement at Miyuki’s faux smugness.

    “I want to make sure you have taste,” Miyuki states. “I guess we can stay friends.”

    Kuramochi arches an eyebrow. “Is that what we are?”

    “Unless there was something else you’d rather be?” Miyuki replies, quick as a whip, but doesn’t manage to hide a quick, nervous sideways glance.

    It takes a beat too long for Kuramochi to reply, since his heart’s jumped into his throat and lodged itself there. He feels like he’s choking on the words he could easily say now, but Miyuki’s just playful. He’s just playful and Kuramochi is reading too much into it.

    “Yeah, far away from one another.”

    Miyuki laughs heartily. “I thought I was a bad liar.”

    With a purse of his lips, Kuramochi stands to clear their dishes and hide his steadily reddening cheeks.

    He and Miyuki lounge around chatting for awhile, in this space of their own, warm, comfortable, and completely oblivious to the rest of the world beyond these four walls. Despite giving Miyuki the out, and thinking he himself wasn’t ready to continue, that afternoon finds Kuramochi with a massive palette in one hand and a paintbrush in the other.

    It’s getting warm in the apartment, and Kuramochi takes off the flannel he had thrown over his shirt, trying to do so delicately without smearing paint everywhere. Proud of his success, he picks his tools up again in earnest and continues. Miyuki is the picture of comfort in his place, like he was born to sit there and be doted upon by the changing light.

    Kuramochi can’t believe how easily everything comes to him when Miyuki’s his subject; he’s the inspiration Kuramochi’s been waiting for. It’s a weighty thing to put on one person, he knows, but there’s no other explanation for it, at this point.

He’s so deep into his painting that he nearly jumps out of his skin when Miyuki says, “Sorry to interrupt, but nature calls.”

Kuramochi shakes his head to clear it, his tunnel vision widening to include the living world.

“Oh god, yeah, sorry, how long’s it been?”

“Not that long. I just have to pee.”

“Yeah, go ahead, and take a break. I probably should too. Sorry again,” Kuramochi apologizes, feeling a pang of guilt when he checks the time and realizes it’s over an hour. Miyuki must have been horribly uncomfortable, but hadn’t said anything.

When Miyuki comes back out, Kuramochi tries to apologize again, but Miyuki laughs at him.

“Believe me, I’m fine,” he reassures Kuramochi. “Can I see what’s going on or is it bad luck?”

“Unless your face can somehow destroy paint, I think we’re safe,” Kuramochi says, gesturing Miyuki to step around the easel. The stool Kuramochi’s sitting on is tall enough to boost his height closer to Miyuki’s, and Miyuki capitalizes on this by putting his chin on Kuramochi’s shoulder and pressing close.

Kuramochi’s skin erupts into goosebumps because of how close their faces are, and he tries not to think about how easily he could rest his head against Miyuki’s. A few stray hairs from Miyuki’s head brush Kuramochi’s cheek, and he feels like he might die a happy man, here on this stool.

“Well, nothing’s set on fire, so I think your paint isn’t allergic to my face,” Miyuki says.

“Maybe it’s a delayed reaction.”

“Like your comebacks?”

Kuramochi can’t see it, but he can definitely feel Miyuki’s smirk.

“Shut up and look at the blobs of colour.”

“They’re lovely,” Miyuki says.

“You don’t have to lie, it’s just some background blocking and vague shapes.”

“You somehow make it look good, though.”

“I guess. Somehow, everything’s easier when I’m drawing you,” Kuramochi admits, braver when he can’t see Miyuki’s reactions. It doesn’t make the beat of silence that follows any easier to stomach.

“So, what, am I like your muse, or something?” Miyuki’s tone is teasing, but the one he adopts when he’s masking honesty. That’s something that Kuramochi didn’t take very long to figure out at all, and right now, he almost regrets it.

It’s either bravery or stupidity that drives Kuramochi to answer, “Yeah, I think you might be.”

    The press of Miyuki’s chin on Kuramochi’s shoulder lightens, leaving a warm spot that Kuramochi would pay more attention to if he weren’t so worried about how Miyuki’s reacting. Kuramochi turns his head slowly as the heat of Miyuki’s body dissipates. Instead of Miyuki walking away or looking uncomfortable, he’s rolling his bottom lip between his teeth in a bashful way and coming closer.

    Kuramochi straightens from his slouch so they’re eye to eye, barely apart, and he can’t stop his gaze from wandering to Miyuki’s reddening lips. If he were braver, Kuramochi would reach out to see if Miyuki would take his hand, maybe pull him closer, but he’s not. He’s used up all his reckless bravery on that one admission and left himself with a racing heart and dry mouth.

    At a loss for words, and too caught up by the brightness in Miyuki’s eyes, Kuramochi looks down at his paint-smeared hands and forearms. He fidgets, rubbing his thumbs over his knuckles even where there isn’t any paint. It’s just something to do because he can’t remember a single word in his vocabulary, and Miyuki is so close . Out of the corner of his eye, Kuramochi watches Miyuki make a small motion with his hand, like he’s reaching out tentatively, but he lets it fall. Kuramochi heart pounds like he hadn’t.

    “So, wanna get some fresh air?” Kuramochi asks, ready to run through the moment, head-on. Miyuki nods, eyes crinkled in fondness, and Kuramochi’s glad he spoke before he had a chance to look up.

    “Sure. I should probably get dressed though, shouldn’t I? I don’t want anyone from class recognizing me,” Miyuki quips, lingering for a moment before he disappears to change.

    Kuramochi presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and leans forward as a tiny, pathetic noise escapes him. His mind helpfully supplies images of Miyuki coming to stand between his knees, if the moment had ended with a kiss and them holding one another.

    Knowing full well he’ll be replaying that in his head for weeks to come, Kuramochi slides off his stool and goes to clean his brushes. At least that’ll be a form of distraction for a few minutes.

It’s fortunate that Miyuki and Kuramochi live in the same building, since it leaves them with more time to hang out when travel time isn’t involved. True to his word, Miyuki has Kuramochi over for dinner one night a few days later, determined to win the challenge. Kuramochi is ravenous after classes and a few hours of a wonderful study-and-cry-on-the-inside session, and the combination of homemade food and Miyuki’s company is a balm for his soul.

Miyuki’s apartment is a greenhouse, and it brings a smile to Kuramochi’s face. Plants of all shapes and sizes occupy every horizontal surface like Kuramochi’s supplies do at his place. It breathes life into the space, especially when there is little else around. Kuramochi soon gets distracted from absorbing all that is Miyuki by Miyuki himself, who takes off his snapback to reveal the most ridiculous hat hair in the entire universe.

Kuramochi is completely and utterly in love.

As Kuramochi had suspected, Miyuki is a really good cook. He devours dinner without stopping to talk, and when he’s almost literally polished off his plate, he looks up to see Miyuki smiling at him. Miyuki’s chopsticks dangle from one hand, and his chin is perched on the other, all while his food steadily cools.

“Not hungry?” Kuramochi asks. He sits up, wincing when his light-speed eating starts to catch up with him.

“No, I am, but I’ve just never seen anyone eat so fast without choking before,” Miyuki replies casually, plucking a piece of fish from his plate.

“It was good?” Kuramochi says, by way of explanation, then covers his mouth to stifle a hiccup.

Miyuki starts laughing, softly at first, but it increases in volume with every subsequent hiccup. It might be embarrassing at first for Kuramochi, but the laughter is contagious and he soon realizes Miyuki’s not laughing at him in a mean way. Not that he ever is, but he seems so delighted that it’s almost a victory for Kuramochi to see him like this.

“I think this was a successful dinner,” Miyuki says. “Now let’s see if you can make me get the hiccups.”

Kuramochi flashes a dangerous smirk, knowing full well he’s already lost. “Challenge accepted!”

They settle on Miyuki’s tidy bed later, huddled up under a blanket to watch a movie they were both sort of interested in watching, but too cheap to go see in theatres when it was out. It keeps their attention for the first half, since they can readily mock how pretentious it is, but Kuramochi finds himself starting to phase in and out of consciousness in the second hour. It’s warm beneath the covers, and Miyuki seems to be steadily getting closer.

The next time that Kuramochi opens his eyes, his mouth is dry in a way that suggests he’s probably been snoring, but he’s still upright. Miyuki’s head is on his shoulder, and he’s slumped in the most uncomfortable-looking position for sleep that Kuramochi has ever seen. Even though it looks awful, Miyuki is out like a light, and the laptop sitting on his legs has slid off to the side of the mattress.

Wanting to be helpful, Kuramochi tries to stretch his arm without moving the shoulder that’s supporting Miyuki, but he fails. Miyuki’s head slips off and he jerks awake, looking around, bewildered by his surroundings. His sleepy confusion makes Kuramochi’s heart do a funny little flip, or two, or twelve. He’s expecting Miyuki to rouse and pretend their nap never happened, acting like he’s not the most charming when he’s not actively trying to be, but instead, Miyuki yanks over a pillow. He drops it on Kuramochi’s lap and puts his head down, snuggling in closer to continue sleeping.

Kuramochi has nothing against this plan. He is in support of it, however, he just doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Or his brain. He’s experiencing such an overload of emotions, and an indescribably strong urge to stroke Miyuki’s hair.

For Kuramochi, physical affection is normally second nature, and he shouldn’t be overthinking this as much as he is considering Miyuki has his head in his lap. Throwing his nerves to the wind, he starts by resting his hand on the crown of Miyuki’s head, gently at first, then fully.

Kuramochi’s heart is already leaping out of his chest, let alone when Miyuki shifts his hand to his knee. Miyuki’s touch is light, fingers feathering in circles and varied patterns, but his motions stutter when Kuramochi’s hand cards through the soft strands of his hair.

With each pass through, Kuramochi feels braver, chest swelling with affection for how close Miyuki’s allowing him to get.

It’s easy enough to lose track of time when wrapped up in warm intimacy, and Kuramochi notices that Miyuki’s hand is resting loosely on his thigh. His breathing is slow and even, and there is no doubt now that he’s asleep. Kuramochi decides that he’s not allowed to move ever again, at least until Miyuki wakes again, but he does use an unacceptable amount of his ab muscles leaning forward to peer at Miyuki’s face.

It’s well worth the effort to see the lines of Miyuki’s face relaxed, though Kuramochi doesn’t look for long. He doesn’t want to be creepy. Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he slumps against the wall and closes his eyes. He may as well rest, too.

Kuramochi wakes to a cramp in his neck. He arches his back and tips his head to the side to ease it, only then noticing that it’s pitch black outside. On his phone, the numbers helpfully remind him that he’s slept the entire afternoon away and woken up at a sensible ten o’clock. Miyuki is still warming his lap, having hardly moved since he fell asleep. He must’ve been exhausted.

Falling asleep for the night after napping for a few hours is going to be difficult, and Kuramochi doesn’t look forward to his early morning class. He checks social media with his brightness down as low as it can go, contemplating whether to go home to bed and extend his power nap into a real sleep, or to say to hell with it and take a brief nap right before class. Either option is likely, and Kuramochi won’t know which one his body prefers until he gets back into his own bed, anyway. There’s no way in hell he’s going to wake Miyuki.

Once Kuramochi has browsed what feels like every site known to man at least twice, and ordered a few new paintbrushes, Miyuki stirs. Kuramochi turns his screen off immediately so as not to blind him.

“Is it dark?” Miyuki mumbles, voice gravelly and barely forming around words.

“Yeah.”

“Sorry I kept you,” he says.

“I just woke up, don’t worry.”

“You’re surprisingly comfortable.”

“Why’s that surprising?” Kuramochi asks, failing to gauge Miyuki’s facial expression from the few rays of street light sneaking in through the bedroom window.

“Well, I figured you’d be...squirmier.”

“Oh. Yeah, I don’t really move much when I sleep,” Kuramochi says, and before he knows it, he’s running his fingers through Miyuki’s hair again. “Especially when I have someone using me as a pillow.”

“Aw,” Miyuki responds, and he rolls onto his back. At this angle, Kuramochi can catch the light glinting off his eyes, and even though he might be mentally embellishing it, Miyuki looks content.

“Not sure if I wanna keep sleeping or not,” Kuramochi wonders aloud.

“Thinking the same thing. Maybe not sleeping, but I’m really comfortable right now. It’s nice to have a heater for naps, it turns out.”

“I mean, I didn’t assume I would be staying here...I was wondering what I’d do when I got home.”

“I know what you meant. You’re welcome to stay here if your highness finds it too taxing to head upstairs, though.”

Kuramochi stops petting Miyuki to glare at him.

After a brief pause of staring in the dark, Miyuki asks, “I take it back if you keep going.”

“Fine,” Kuramochi agrees with a long-suffering sigh, though he wants nothing else but to continue. “You’re spoiled.” He’s not sure who’s enjoying it more, at this point.

“And whose fault is that?” The smile in Miyuki’s voice is unmistakable, and it just makes Kuramochi melt.

“Yours, obviously.”

“Uh-huh. Yes. I see.”

“Shut up.”

“Didn’t say anything,” Miyuki sing-songs, and, sick of being teased, Kuramochi flicks the side of Miyuki’s head gently. “Rude! I guess I’m not sleeping any longer!”

“Nope. Sleeping’s cancelled,” Kuramochi says.

“What a tragedy. Here I thought I was gonna have a nice night.”

“That’s cancelled, too.”

“Why do you sound so happy about it, hmmm, Kuramochi?”

Kuramochi bites down on his lip to rein in his broad grin. “Who said I was happy about it?”

“Nobody said anything. You just sounded happy about my suffering. You’re a terrible friend.”

“I’m still petting you,” Kuramochi says.

“Okay, while that may be true…”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not sure where I was going with that.”

They fill the apartment with their laughter, getting caught in a positive feedback loop that never seems to end. When loud laughs give way to softer chuckling, Miyuki finally sits up. He sits turned to Kuramochi, an elegant silhouette that seems to draw all the light.

“I should get back,” Kuramochi says, even though he doesn’t want to go.

“If you must.” Miyuki manoeuvres around so he has his back pressed to the wall and side flush with Kuramochi’s.

“I have class first thing.”

“So do I.”

“You’re not helping,” Kuramochi grouses. He’d happily stay the night snuggling if Miyuki wanted him to.

“I know.”

Kuramochi leans his full weight against Miyuki in protest, but doesn’t succeed in moving him very far at all.

“Do you still want me to sit for you tomorrow?” Miyuki asks.

“If you still want to.”

“Of course.”

“Then yeah. Lookin’ forward to it.”

“You see me every day. Not sick of me yet?”

Kuramochi’s glad for the darkness when he says, “Not sure that’s possible.”

He wakes in his own bed the next morning, before his alarm, tired beyond all description. Kuramochi couldn’t sleep for hours, mind racing with infinite what-ifs and scenarios involving him and Miyuki. Once he fell asleep, he dreamt of kissing Miyuki in the warm cocoon of his bed, surrounded by covers and Miyuki’s strong arms.

Kuramochi closes his eyes, toying with fate as he tries to recapture the dream he woke from; it felt so real that there’s still the ghost of pressure on his lips.

Unfortunately, his second alarm tears him away from the continuation of his dream, and he’s forced to peel himself out of bed and try to look human.

He texts Ryou some unintelligible message to express his frustration with being awake, knowing full well she’s probably up for her own class. If she isn’t, she will be soon.

Kuramochi picks his phone up after the first ring, since it was on the counter next to him.

“What,” he says.

“Good morning to you, too. What the hell was that text you sent? You never text this early. Are you dead?”

“I’m trying to get ready for class?”

“Talk about too little, too late.”

“Shut up. I didn’t get any sleep last night,” he grumbles, punctuating it with an overdramatic yawn. Ryou is quiet.

“Weren’t you hanging out with Miyuki last night?” she asks with a certain careful weight to her words.

“Yeah, we fell asleep watching a movie and woke up at ten, which fucked my whole sleep schedule. Worth it, though. Didn’t get home til after midnight.” It’s all Kuramochi can do to act really cool about the whole thing. He’s squealing internally, a mess of feelings and hormones that is fighting to get free. Fortunately, it’s still early enough for his brain to have some of his filters on.

“ And ?”

“What do you mean, ‘and’? Nothing happened.”

“You two are the dumbest people on the entire planet. I’ll see you in class later.”

Ryou hangs up, leaving Kuramochi to his own devices. He stares at his phone in confusion, though he’ll get an earful when he gets to their shared second class.

He daydreams his way through his morning, only snapping out of it to defend himself when Ryou carefully explains how dumb he is. He’s not sure why she’s so convinced that Miyuki likes him beyond close friendship, but she won’t stop bringing it up.

He stores any and all Ryou-related thoughts when he sees Miyuki walking out of his lunch hour class.

“Aren’t you keen?” he tells Kuramochi, falling into step with him. “Didn’t think this whole modeling thing came with a bodyguard service.”

“Like you need a bodyguard.”

“You seem to think so.”

“Eh? When did I say that?”

“You keep hanging around me,” Miyuki says, and when Kuramochi turns to him, he’s grinning.

“That’s not why I hang out—what—why would you even—”

Miyuki cuts his flustered spluttering off, “I’m kidding. You’re just so cute when you blush.”

Once again, Kuramochi is caught off-guard, and every word he’s ever known vacates his head. He faces resolutely forward and continues putting one foot in front of the other, choosing to direct all his focus to not being red.

They stop at Miyuki’s apartment for him to drop off his things, grab a bag of something he doesn’t address, and head upstairs right after.

Kuramochi’s brain is tired from all the information he tried to shove into it earlier in the day, and he’s really looking forward to relaxing into painting for the afternoon. He gets out of his jacket and throws it and his bag onto his bed, groaning for dramatic effect. It’s nice to be back in his apartment, but he avoids looking at his covers lest he fall victim to their siren song. His brain suggests asking Miyuki to take a nap with him, but Kuramochi squashes that thought and shoves it into a dark corner, never to be seen again. Now is hardly the time to be daydreaming about cuddling with the object of his affection, who is in the room over.

“Mochi?” Miyuki peeks into Kuramochi’s room, extending out his hand, palm-up. Kuramochi nearly expires from what he thinks is a cute nickname, but he soon notices that Miyuki is offering him the sweet. It’s too late to cover up how flustered he is, but he decides to ignore it and hope Miyuki won’t say anything about it.

“Yeah, sure. Where did you get these?” Kuramochi asks, taking the packaged mochi from Miyuki’s palm.

“Picked some up this morning. Someone told me this place near campus makes really good ones, so I guess it’s up to us to see if they’re lying or not,” Miyuki says, smiling with his eyes.

Kuramochi unwraps the mochi he decides is lunch and says, “Happy to check that for you.”

“Always so self-sacrificing. What a man.” Miyuki puts a hand over his heart and tips his head.

“Shuddup. Thanks for this, though. Want a drink before we get started?”

“I have my water bottle, so I’m good.”

Kuramochi blanches, realizing that it sounds like he’s using Miyuki and not actually wanting to spend time with him.

“We can also hang out, I mean, we don’t have to jump right into—” he stops dead when Miyuki starts laughing.

“I’m happy either way. You just seem really excited to get some painting done, so I figured I’d feed you and let you get started.”

“Oh. I mean, yeah, but, you’re still doing me a huge favour.”

“Oh, I know. I’m so generous,” Miyuki says sarcastically. “I’ll go change.”

Kuramochi might not survive hanging out with Miyuki any longer; he’s barely holding it together as it is.

The light is perfect when Miyuki sits down, getting himself comfortable in his spot. His pose is almost right, but Kuramochi go to him to make a few final adjustments. It’s different than in class, since the drawings are sketchy and meant to be quick and fluid; here, Kuramochi wants it to be perfect.

“Do you mind if I just fix your pose a little?” Kuramochi asks, remembering his manners before he reaches out to touch Miyuki.

“Have at it,” Miyuki says cheekily, gesturing to himself. While Kuramochi has found it surprisingly easy to compartmentalize his feelings for Miyuki during painting, he finds it’s a lot more difficult when he has to touch him. He doesn’t want to feel like he’s taking advantage of Miyuki in any way, especially since he trusts Kuramochi so much, so he keeps his head down and tries to be as efficient and neutral as possible.

Kuramochi presses his fingers to the back of Miyuki’s knee to encourage him to bend it, letting him do most of the work. His robe slips open a bit further, but Miyuki doesn’t move to cover himself up. He adjusts Miyuki’s arm as well, cradling his elbow to shift it just so.

When he stands back upright, Miyuki’s smiling at him, flushed. “Why’re you getting all shy now?”

“You know, uh,” Kuramochi says, scratching the back of his neck, “if you ever feel uncomfortable, you can tell me, right? I don’t want to make this really awkward for you.”

“Kuramochi, if I felt uncomfortable doing this with you, I definitely wouldn’t be letting my robe drape open like this. But I’d tell you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Hearing Miyuki confirm it makes Kuramochi feel better, and once he’s satisfied that the pose is how he wants it, he returns to his stool.

He feels the pull of the painting even more today, letting himself be carried away by the need to capture every last detail, to ride this absolute high that is what got him into art in the first place. Now, it’s what keeps him creating even when he hits his slumps.

However, ever since Miyuki walked into his class that first Tuesday, he hasn’t had a bad day drawing him. The final product might not be the best thing he’s ever made, but it’s the journey there that feels good and fulfilling.

Today is no exception.

Kuramochi’s happy, and his colours are behaving, and every stroke just looks right . He doesn’t want to jinx it, but it’s hard not to give into the giddiness and let it carry him.

Kuramochi remembers to tell Miyuki to take a break, since he clearly won’t prompt when he needs one, and they sit around, chatting and stretching.

“So, can I see me?” Miyuki asks, settling back down.

“Hmm, you know, I think we’re getting to the point where I don’t want you to look,” Kuramochi says honestly, and he thinks it’s the right call. He wants to surprise Miyuki with what he hopes will be a decent portrait of him.

“Here I thought you couldn’t keep a secret.”

“I’m pretty bad at it, but I think this one will be worth it,” Kuramochi admits with a shrug.

“I guess I won’t peek then,” Miyuki says, curving his lips downward into a pout than any three-year-old would be proud of.

“Guess you won’t,” Kuramochi echoes.

“You’re actually enjoying this, aren’t you?” Miyuki asks, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“I mean...” Kuramochi trails off, grinning wickedly. “A little.”

“Terrible. After I fed you, and everything.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“Fine. It better be spectacular, whatever you’re planning,” Miyuki says, sitting back down.

“I hope it will be.”

They exchange playful grins before Kuramochi gets back to work. He’s got some ground to cover on this canvas yet, and he’s got to use the light while he has it.

When he decides to call it a day, Kuramochi turns the entire easel towards the wall so that Miyuki isn’t tempted to peek. He knows he’d be more than curious, and Miyuki, while very respectful, is barely contained mischief. Kuramochi just wants to be sure that the surprise will be just that.

The process of cleaning up is easily the most tedious part of creating anything, but not even that can dampen Kuramochi’s spirits. He carefully washes his brushes and palette, swatting Miyuki away when he offers to help.

Miyuki is back in jeans and a fluorescent tank top that Kuramochi swears he owns a least fifteen of, but it’s not like he’s complaining. There’s a whole lot of arm and collarbone showing, and that’s something Kuramochi can appreciate. Kuramochi can appreciate everything about Miyuki because he’s an incredible person, but his arms are of particular interest at this point. Kuramochi is only human, after all.

“I guess I should head back,” Miyuki says, but he makes no move towards the door. It’s just as well, since Kuramochi would rather spend the rest of the night hanging out together again.

“You don’t have to. I’m just gonna be hanging around, avoiding homework,” Kuramochi mumbles, in a fine display of confidence.

“What a coincidence! I’m going to be doing the exact same thing, only a few floors down. Might as well not bother with taking the stairs.” Miyuki grins. Kuramochi grins right back.

“Don’t lie. You just don’t want to return to the peasant life on the third floor,” Kuramochi says.

“Ah, you got me there. Now that I’ve had a taste of the finer things, I can never go back,” Miyuki laments, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead.

“Enjoy the luxury while it lasts,” Kuramochi says solemnly, gesturing to the disaster that is his apartment.

“Want to actually watch a movie instead of sleeping through it?” Miyuki suggests, eyes sparkling.

“I make no promises, but yeah, let’s do it. I’ve got at least fifty blankets to spare.” Kuramochi is pleased that he sounds casual even though he’s vibrating out of his skin with enthusiasm, hoping that they’ll take another poorly-timed nap together.

“You choose the movie this time,” Miyuki says, flopping down onto the covers right after Kuramochi and curling up. Without thinking, Kuramochi settles closer to him, combing back his wayward hair with his fingers. It’s such an instinctive motion that Kuramochi only realizes what he’s doing once he’s already started, and at that point, Miyuki’s eyes are closing.

“Now you’ve done it. I won’t even make it through the first five minutes if you keep this up,” Miyuki mumbles, and his voice sounds deeper, slower than it had minutes before.

“Oops.”

“This was your plan all along, wasn’t it? Getting rest?”

Kuramochi starts melting into the covers. “My evil plan, yep.”

“Can you at least put the movie on so I can pretend like we’re being productive?” Miyuki murmurs, and the words are hard to make out with his face sinking into a blanket fold.

“Sure,” Kuramochi says, fighting a yawn, and reaches over for his laptop.

Kuramochi isn’t even sure what he’s clicked on, but something is playing, and it’s getting blurrier and blurrier. His hand lingers in Miyuki’s hair, though he feels too heavy to keep moving it. Barely registering the warmth of Miyuki’s palm on his knee, Kuramochi dozes off.

“Kuramochi. Kuramoooochi, hey!”

Kuramochi burrows his face into his bed, swatting away whoever is trying to rock him awake. He’s tired and he has no interest in being conscious quite yet.

It takes his brain a moment to connect a few thoughts and realize two things: the room is too bright for it to be the early morning, and that’s Miyuki talking to him. Kuramochi startles awake and scrambles to sit up, nearly headbutting Miyuki in the process. He falls back onto the covers, laughing though he looks startled.

“Oh shit, sorry, what—did we sleep for—what time is it?” Kuramochi finally asks, reaching the conclusion that he might have slept through one of his classes. He’s frantically searching for his phone, which has just enough battery to tell him it’s late morning and he should have been on campus an hour ago. He curses, and Miyuki offers him a conciliatory smile.

“I’ll head back to my place. I just didn’t want to leave you unlocked,” he explains. It’s a sweet sentiment, and helps calm Kuramochi down; now that he’s way past even making to his class, he has some time to get ready.

“Been up that long?” Kuramochi asks, still groggy and warming up his vocal chords.

“Not really. Fifteen minutes, at most. We slept for a good, long while,” Miyuki says. “Can’t remember the last time I woke up this rested.”

“Me neither,” Kuramochi admits, dragging himself out of bed. He’s now awake enough to be self-conscious about how he looks, so he slips into the bathroom to make himself presentable. As expected, Miyuki still looks incredible, which is just a hundred shades of unfair.

Miyuki’s already seen the worst of it, but Kuramochi feels optimistic about salvaging some of his appearance before they head out to get the day started.

While he’s getting ready, he can’t help but indulge in thoughts of waking up to Miyuki more often, starting his day with a comfortable, domestic routine. It’s enough to warm Kuramochi to his toes and make his heart do little flips in his chest. Even looking at himself in the mirror, he can see how stupidly happy he looks just thinking about it.

Despite the fact that it’s the most illogical and least efficient way to go about the day, Miyuki hangs around until Kuramochi is ready, and then they both head downstairs to Miyuki’s apartment where he goes through his own routine. Once they’re both dressed and packed to go, they head out.

“So, since we still have time before class, wanna get breakfast?” Kuramochi suggests, hoping Miyuki will want to. He’s not really ready to part from him yet.

“Sounds great,” Miyuki says, turning to Kuramochi with a soft smile.

Bubbling over with joy, Kuramochi leads the way to his favourite bakery.

ooo

Kuramochi has spent so much of his last two days with Miyuki that he has trouble remembering what it’s like not to be around him. It’s funny to think back to the start of the semester when they were strangers that fate plunked into the same place at the same time; who would have guessed they’d grow so close, so quickly. Miyuki’s fit himself into a cozy little space inside of Kuramochi that he wasn’t even aware he had, and even this friendship never crosses the line into romance, Kuramochi doesn’t care. It’s fulfilling in its own right.

He’s having all these awfully poetic thoughts during breakfast together a few days later, while watching Miyuki contemplate the best way to eat a croissant.

“I’ve heard it helps if you put it in your mouth,” Kuramochi says helpfully, stirring sugar into his coffee.

Miyuki looks up and stares at him dully. “Thanks.”

“Well, you look like you’re strugglin’ a little.”

“I’m just thinking—”

“There’s your first mistake,” Kuramochi says, just before taking a sip of coffee the temperature of magma. It’s worth burning the entirety of his mouth, since he makes Miyuki laugh.

“I should take a page from your book then, huh?” Miyuki fires back, and Kuramochi can’t recover from his mouth trauma quickly enough for a properly-timed comeback. He just scowls, which only makes Miyuki laugh harder.

“Listen, I save the braining for later. I don’t have class til noon,” Kuramochi says, to save face.

“And sometimes you don’t even bother turning it on at all. Just conserving energy?”

“Miyuki,” Kuramochi whines, and takes a long slurp of the demon coffee.

“What?” Miyuki asks, putting on an innocent face that could fool most.

“Eat your damn croissant or I will,” he threatens, and reaches for Miyuki’s plate. This is motivation enough for Miyuki to shove the croissant into his mouth, all efficiency with no grace, and Kuramochi nearly chokes on his coffee. Even Miyuki himself looks surprised by what he’s done, and pays for it by having to chew for a long, long time.

Miyuki’s eyes plead for mercy, a respite from teasing, but Kuramochi is just biding his time. It wouldn’t do for Miyuki to choke while he’s eating.

“Anyway,” Miyuki says finally, when he’s done wrangling three quarters of his croissant in a single mouthful. “You still need a model for tonight?”

“Yeah, I think...I think two more sittings might do it. If you’re still up for it, that is?”

Miyuki’s grin almost blinds Kuramochi. “I think I’ll survive that.”

ooo

Figure drawing class gets a lot more difficult. Kuramochi has trouble focusing because Miyuki comes over during breaks and pesters him, or at least that’s what Kuramochi tells him, anyway. It’s not technically different from what he used to do, but he’s much touchier now, and the warmth lingers.

Ryou isn’t any help at all, because she just leans around the easel and gives Kuramochi a pointed look with no commentary. Kuramochi pretends he doesn’t know what it’s about, but he’s well aware. She still insists that Miyuki has a thing for Kuramochi, even though Kuramochi is about ninety percent sure it’s just friendship. He and Ryou cuddle while watching movies and occasionally fall asleep; why would it be any different with Miyuki?

    Class seems to take longer than usual, and Kuramochi is half-convinced that the clock is broken. Sure, he’s still enjoying drawing a very relaxed and gentle pose, but he just wants the session to be done so he can spend more time with Miyuki. It’s a little pathetic, he admits to himself, but Miyuki doesn’t seem to be complaining about their sudden inability to be apart.

    Kuramochi is ready to bolt as they’re hanging up their art at the end of the class, anxious to leave like he’s about to fall off a precipice if he doesn’t keep moving. Takashima watches him from the corner of her eye the entire time, smiling like she’s got a secret, and Kuramochi isn’t about to start unpacking what she means by it.

By the time they’re done the analysis, Miyuki’s changed back into his clothes and slung himself around Kuramochi’s neck.

“Where to?” he asks, as the class begins milling around, packing up.

“Don’t you have to head to the greenhouse?” Kuramochi remembers some mention of plant children earlier that day.

“I can do that later,” Miyuki insists, stepping away from Kuramochi to let him move. Kuramochi would have been content to stay draped on, but it would have made it difficult to get anywhere.

“I wouldn’t mind coming with. Maybe learn the name of a few more?” Kuramochi would follow Miyuki to the ends of the Earth, let alone the greenhouse.

Miyuki smiles broadly. “Sure, if you want.”

Ryou sighs loudly. “Well, it looks like you don’t need me anymore,” she says, shaking her head. The words speak the opposite of her mischievous smirk.

“Ryou, you know—”

“Shhh, I’m going to get dinner with Furuya. I’m just messing with you. Miyuki’s made you lose immunity to my sarcasm. Poor boy,” Ryou says, gesturing to Kuramochi to squat so she can pat him on the head. “Take care of him, will you?”

Miyuki salutes. “Trying my best!”

“ Really ,” Kuramochi says dryly. “You set my alarms to wake me up early so I can, and I quote, ‘appreciate Miyuki.’”

“I have your best interest at heart! That’s why I did it,” Miyuki says, placing a hand over his heart.

Ryou cackles. “True love.”

It’s such an offhand comment that should be taken as such, but it makes Kuramochi’s insides go molten and gooey. He scratches absently at his cheek.

“Anyway,” he says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Greenhouse?”

Miyuki nods, and he’s so cute that Kuramochi wants to scream.

“Let’s go take care of some plant babies and then we can have a wild time. Maybe we’ll watch the first ten minutes of a show.”

“Wow, you’re asking a lot of us, here.”

“I know. But I think we can do it if we really try,” Miyuki says solemnly.

“Oh my god ,” Ryou drags out the syllables. “Just—I’m leaving you two alone now.” She throws her hand up in a half-hearted wave and takes her leave.

Miyuki tilts his head. “What?”

“I dunno,” Kuramochi admits with a shrug.

“Interesting. Well, shall we?”

“Lead the way!” Kuramochi says, eager to watch Miyuki in his element again.

ooo

Two days later finds them enjoying the start of the weekend together with some painting. Since Kuramochi has no intention of waking up early on a Saturday, Miyuki comes over closer to noon and they make lunch together first.

The semester is hurtling towards its end, and it’s both a relief and a source of stress. Kuramochi’s one comfort is that he has his final portfolios ready for two of his other classes, and only one final exam to take. Art history might be the death of him, at least it’s not art history and the showcase.

It’s hard for Kuramochi to ballpark exactly how long he thinks he has left because painting is a fickle beast like that, but he knows he’ll get it done before the showcase, and Miyuki is incredibly obliging. Things will turn out okay.

“Ran into Takashima between classes yesterday,” Kuramochi says after he’s finished eating.

“Surprised you weren’t running away from her,” Miyuki teases.

“No reason to anymore,” Kuramochi replies. “Told her about the painting.” It had been a huge relief to get positive feedback from her, and he now doesn’t have to come up with reasons to dodge every interaction.

“Oh? What did she say?” Miyuki pauses eating to listen.

“Just that it seems like I’m really passionate about the project.”

“That’s it?” Miyuki raises an eyebrow. It’s proof that Kuramochi is awful at hiding his emotions.

“She says that if it turns out anywhere close to the quality of my work in class, I have nothing to worry about,” Kuramochi says, more quietly.

“I, as the obvious professional, agree with that.”

“Obvious professional, my ass,” Kuramochi grumbles good-naturedly, but he’s pink in the cheeks. “But I think...yeah, barring any colossal fuck-ups, I think it’ll be alright.”

“You’ll be fine,” Miyuki reassures. “I’m a great muse.”

“Shut up, and finish your lunch,” Kuramochi says, flushing. A soft laugh escapes Miyuki, but he returns to eating.

It’s late afternoon when Kuramochi reaches the part he’s been avoiding: painting the details of Miyuki’s face. He needs to start, but his hand refuses to bring brush to canvas. Putting the brush down on the table next to him, Kuramochi decides to take a break. Wasting time by hovering and staring won’t help, but a break and stretch might.

“How’re you?” he asks Miyuki, who turns away from the window and back to Kuramochi.

“Could use a stretch,” he says.

“Go for it. Want a drink or anything?” Kuramochi walks over to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water.

“Wouldn’t mind some water, if you’re getting yourself some,” he answers, getting up and cracking his joints. “Ooh, that feels good.”

“Not much longer now,” Kuramochi says by way of apology.

“Not complaining, don’t worry. What I am complaining about is that you won’t let me see it.”

Kuramochi flicks Miyuki’s shoulder. “Be patient.”

“What if I don’t want to be?” Miyuki sasses.

“Too bad. Just another two and a half weeks, I think. Right?”

“Think we’re down to two now.”

“Oh god, that means art history is in a little over a week. That exam is gonna kill me.”

“Kuramochi,” Miyuki says, putting a hand on Kuramochi’s shoulder. “I’ll organize you a nice funeral, I promise.”

“That’s reassuring, thanks.”

“It’s what I do best.”

“One caveat, though,” he continues.

“What’s that?”

“You organize me a nice one if I don’t survive my exams.”

“I think I can arrange that,” Kuramochi says, extending his hand out. Miyuki shakes it.

“Excellent. Pleasure doing business with you.”

Kuramochi laughs, and even though they’re both going through the motion of pulling their hands back, they linger. The touch is electric, shooting up Kuramochi’s nerves to his chest, and igniting there. He fights the urge to shiver when it ends.

“Well, uh, yeah, take a few more minutes, to stretch, and stuff.” Kuramochi stumbles through the sentence then immediately busies himself with draining the entirety of his glass of water. Miyuki mirrors him, consciously or subconsciously, but either way, it makes Kuramochi feel a little less awkward.

“Okay, sure,” Miyuki says with a fond smile, and dissipates any tension remaining in the room.

When Miyuki leaves later that night, it’s past midnight, and Kuramochi seats himself back on his stool. He’s turned on all the lights so he can get a good look at the painting now that he’s alone, and despite his efforts to find major flaws, he doesn’t succeed. There are a few small changes here and there that he can fix tomorrow, but overall, he actually likes what he’s produced. The feeling will probably last thirty minutes, and the next time he walks by, he’ll proclaim it a disaster and the worst thing he’s ever made, but Kuramochi enjoys this brief moment.

He turns off all the lights and heads to bed, wishing he wasn’t alone beneath the covers.

ooo

Kuramochi woke up early under the pretense of wanting to study before Miyuki arrived, but all he manages to do with all that extra time is stare blankly at three whole slides for two hours. This is likely the last sitting, and Kuramochi is seized with this fear that Miyuki will stop having a reason to hang out with him once the painting’s done. There’s a part of his brain that informs him that he’s crazy for thinking that way, but it’s soon drowned out by the more irrational parts claiming Miyuki doesn’t actually want to be friends.

He fidgets with every object within a one metre radius of him as the clock ticks ever closer to the time Miyuki said he would come over. Miyuki said he was going to be studying on campus before, and that he might be running a bit late, but Kuramochi’s already-addled thoughts twist that into Miyuki not caring.

When Miyuki does arrive, only a few minutes later than promised, he has his hands full. He toes off his shoes and walks into Kuramochi’s apartment so he can deposit all the plastic bags on his counter, then gestures to them.

“That’s why I was late, sorry. Turns out the cheesecake sells out really fast, and I had to wait for a fresh one.” He smiles sheepishly. “I brought some vegetables, too, and figured we could make something later. If you want, that is. I could’ve asked, but oops.”

Kuramochi could kiss him square on the mouth right now, he’s so happy.

“Wow, you’re a terrible person,” he says instead.

Miyuki grins. “The worst.”

“Absolutely.”

The light is just perfect today, and though Kuramochi wants to spend more time lounging around with Miyuki, he doesn’t want to waste the opportunity. Miyuki is endlessly enthusiastic, and indulges Kuramochi’s whims without blinking. It would only be fair to do something for Miyuki in exchange, but Kuramochi hasn’t managed to come up with anything worthy yet. Since he’s now convinced that maybe Miyuki won’t lose interest in him after painting is done, Kuramochi figures he has a little bit of time to figure it out.

Not too long, but maybe after exams.

Just not later.

“Stop thinking, you’re going to hurt yourself,” Miyuki teases, and Kuramochi snaps out of it. He only then realizes how deep his frown was, and all from thinking about potential gifts.

“If anyone’s gonna hurt himself thinkin’, it’s you. Used up all your luck on your looks,” Kuramochi mutters, and he can’t help the affection that bleeds into his tone.

Miyuki’s lips were parted, quirked up in anticipation of a joke at Kuramochi’s expense, no doubt, but he closes his mouth and flushes.

“Come on now, don’t corner a guy like that,” he says softly, pressing his fist to Kuramochi’s shoulder and nudging it backwards. In hindsight, the casual way that he complimented Miyuki is a bit terrifying, since it means Kuramochi’s brain-to-mouth filter is malfunctioning. He’s so relaxed in Miyuki’s presence that he doesn’t even think twice before saying something so revealing.

Who knows what else he might blurt out now that they spend almost all their free time together? Kuramochi’s biggest fear is that he might move to kiss Miyuki goodbye one night, seeing as how at least half of his brain is focused on daydreaming about scenarios involving kissing at any given moment. Sometimes a little more, but he tries to keep it safe. He doesn’t want to be creepy.

“Hel-lo?” Miyuki waves a hand in front of Kuramochi’s face. “You in there?”

“Huh?”

“I asked you if you were ready to go.”

“You did? Uh yeah, uh, yep. Ready!”

Miyuki arches an eyebrow. “Suuure.”

“I am!” Kuramochi insists, suddenly very interested in examining the bristles of his favourite brush.

“I’ll get settled then,” Miyuki says, and turns, letting the robe relax. It drapes so artfully as it does, revealing the nape of Miyuki’s neck in a way too sensual for Kuramochi to handle. He grips his paintbrush and thinks about art history, sparing a passing thought to the strength of the brush handle in his fist.

It almost seems deliberate, especially with the playfully coy look Miyuki throws over his shoulder before sitting down. Kuramochi makes a choked sound and organizes his paint tubes in order of least to most likely to explode of he holds onto them desperately.

This really isn’t the time, Kuramochi wills himself to understand, forcing his brain into submission. Now is time to paint, to create the greatest thing he has to date, and later, he will nurse his hopeless crush on his friend. All in a day’s work.

The stars have evidently aligned for today’s sitting, because everything is perfect. Too perfect, by Kuramochi’s standards, since he’s just waiting for a rogue ball to fly through his window and punch a hole through the canvas. It’s not the weirdest fear, but he’s not comfortable or familiar with the concept of painless creation. He’s more used to disaster striking right when he thinks everything is going to turn out alright, and with the way this painting is going, the disaster is shaping up to be on a cosmic scale.

He’s usually too consumed by the process to notice Miyuki in any other context, but the golden light embraces him, caressing and highlighting the planes and curves of his face and body. Kuramochi has to take pause and appreciate the sight before him because it leaves him breathless.

Maybe photography would have been a better choice, but Kuramochi snaps out of it and resumes painting. He’s almost resigned himself to never being able to quite capture all that Miyuki is in his art, but it doesn’t mean he won’t keep trying.

When Kuramochi reaches the point of being afraid to touch his canvas with his brush, he calls it a day.  His eyes and wrist hurt, and he’s sure that Miyuki can’t be much more comfortable.

Miyuki turns to him like he’s sensed the change in Kuramochi’s posture.

“All done?”

Kuramochi nods, stifling a yawn. “Yeah, I think...I think I might be?”

“That’s a very confident answer.”

“I never know when I’m done a painting or a work, because I always feel like I could do a little more, but—yeah, well, hmm. I’ll reassess tomorrow and add some tweaks if I hate it,” Kuramochi says, shrugging. “Or I might love it. I don’t know. Either way, you’re off the hook!”

“Now where am I going to drape dramatically? I can’t very well go out into public like this,” Miyuki says.

“Like public decency could stop you once you put your mind to something,” Kuramochi teases and Miyuki pretends to be affronted.

“Kuramochi Youichi, I am hurt that you have called me out like this.”

“Am I wrong?”

Miyuki pauses for a second and a smile blooms on his face. “No, but that’s not the point.”

“Isn’t it, though?”

“No, see, the point is—” Miyuki states, the authority on changing the subject.

Kuramochi closes the space between them in a few steps and pokes Miyuki in the forehead.

“Go get dressed so you don’t hurt yourself while we make food,” Kuramochi tells him, grinning lazily.

“I guess,” Miyuki says, keeping a straight face for a whole second before bursting into laughter. He grabs one side of the robe tie and smacks Kuramochi with it.

“Hey!”

“Yes?”

“You are a menace,” Kuramochi says, swatting away any further attempts on his life.

“And you are in my way,” Miyuki replies through a chuckle, muscling past Kuramochi like there aren’t five other possible ways for him to walk to the bathroom. Kuramochi staggers back, pursing his lips.

“You could have gone around me, you know!”

“I could have, absolutely! But I didn’t. Ooops,” Miyuki throws over his shoulder and closes the door behind him.

It’s a pleasant routine, this cooking together, and Kuramochi finds himself swaying to the music more often than not as he does his chopping. He’s in the groove and just when he puts the knife down to grab another carrot, Miyuki bumps him with his hip.

“Hm?” Kuramochi hums, turning to Miyuki, wide-eyed and curious.

“Oh, nothing.”

As the stew simmers, Kuramochi and Miyuki make quick work of washing the dirty dishes together, falling into rhythm with Kuramochi’s music. They’re just finishing up when the song changes to something slow and romantic, and Kuramochi stares into the sink because he’s afraid that if he looks up at Miyuki, he’ll do something stupid.

Sometimes, Kuramochi questions his own decision-making skills because he quickly throws that idea out the window, offering his hand for Miyuki to take.

Miyuki blinks at him, but reaches out, curling his fingers around Kuramochi’s. Feeling braver and exponentially more nervous than he has in a long time, Kuramochi pulls Miyuki in to dance with him. With each step, their bodies get closer, warmer, following the gentle rhythm.

Kuramochi finally exhales when Miyuki’s hand finds his waist, pressing lightly, and he never wants this song to end. It’s much too tempting to rest his head against Miyuki’s, to press their bodies together and share warmth as they dance, but he keeps his distance.

Wayward strands of Miyuki’s hair keep brushing Kuramochi’s cheek, just enough to remind him of how close they are, if their clasped hands and bumping chests aren’t enough. Kuramochi’s trying to keep his breathing slow and soft, and instead of truly letting himself go in the moment, he’s focused on not being awkward. Which, more likely than not, is making him seem awkward.

The song’s nearly five minutes have never before gone by so quickly. It fades out into a several beats of silence in which Kuramochi pulls back and realizes Miyuki is looking at him, eyes warm and kind. Their noses are almost touching, and Kuramochi feels his entire body pulled into Miyuki’s gravity.

Unfortunately, whatever might have happened if he had given in is anyone’s guess, since the next song is three times as loud and Kuramochi bolts to turn it off after yelping. The opening chords echo in his ears, and he curses his sound equalizer for being the absolute worst thing in the entire world and not working in this crucial moment in his life.

“Sorry,” he says, rubbing his ears.

Miyuki scrunches up his nose. “Not a bad song once you can hear it over the sound of your speakers failing,” he comments. “Mm, should check on the stew.”

“Yep, I mean, it hasn’t been that long, but, stirring and all that.”

“Yeah.”

The moment is gone, but the sparks between them linger as the afternoon wears on. Lunch, which becomes dinner by the time it’s done, is delicious and the company is even better. Miyuki makes an attempt to study after they’re done eating, and Kuramochi tries the same, but they don’t even make it past grabbing their books.

Nighttime finds them eating snacks and watching a movie, textbooks discarded on a corner of Kuramochi’s bed.

It’s an unsurprising, though welcome end to another wonderful day together.

ooo

Exam period descends on them both swiftly and brutally. Kuramochi might not have as many exams to sit for, but art history is rough enough to fill the space of three exams, and last-minute portfolio improvements and critiques drain the rest of the strength from his bones.

Miyuki has exams up to the last day of the exam period, and though Kuramochi has already finished, he’s still in a stress-induced coma. Kuramochi waits for Miyuki to text him after one of his exams while staring at the painting set up in his living room.

Even after a few days and a few small additions, he doesn’t hate it.

When he looks at it through the eyes of the little boy who just used to want to be able to draw people, he’s fucking impressed, so he indulges the small child in him for a little while. These are the moments when art is really and truly worth it.

Adult Kuramochi sees how relaxed a painting it is, a gentle and loving one, and it’s just what he needs to calm himself down post-exams.

It’s when he starts thinking about taking it to the showcase and displaying it for all the professors and the art community that an ugly, dark thing begins curling in the pit of his stomach. As much as the showcase is just that, the professors and honoured guests will still be voting on the best pieces, offering little golden tickets for an easier future to the lucky ones.

Kuramochi, unfortunately, was never one for planning too far ahead. His plan was, and still is, to do art and graduate. There’s never much room in his head for possibilities when there’s so much going on now, in the present moment, and when he has to confront the future, it’s with fear in his heart.

He thinks he’ll feel better if he concentrates on Miyuki instead, focusing on the face he spent so much time painting, but that only makes the anxiety worse. He had somehow, in the whirlwind of exams and portfolios, forgotten that Miyuki hasn’t yet seen the painting and will get to at the showcase opening.

No art critic or professor’s opinion will be nearly as important as Miyuki’s. He so graciously offered to sit for Kuramochi and endure the struggle of being a model for hours and hours, and for what? If he doesn’t like it, Kuramochi will be devastated.

With a sharper eye, Kuramochi shifts into more active observation rather than passive enjoyment. He has to find all the mistakes in the next 48 hours and fix them before it’s too late.

Miyuki calls, not ten minutes later, asking Kuramochi if he’s eaten. He’d go eat with Miyuki even if he had just eaten the biggest meal of his life, but he’s not about to admit that to Miyuki just yet.

When Kuramochi sees Miyuki run across the crosswalk to meet him fifteen minutes later, he forgets he was ever anxious at all. Miyuki’s smile, tired as it may be, washes over him and reminds him that he’s okay.

“How was it?” he asks Miyuki, whose face screws up into several emotions at once, none of which are positive.

“Absolutely terrible,” Miyuki replies, face breaking into a grin.

“That sucks, I’m sorry.”

Miyuki shrugs. “My fault for not preparing for it.”

Guilt bubbles up Kuramochi’s throat when he realizes how much time they spent together instead of studying, and he wonders if he was responsible.

“I—”

“It’s my fault,” Miyuki reiterates.

“How did you—”

“You looked worried.” Miyuki shrugs his bag up his shoulder. “Try not to consider a career as a spy. You’d be terrible at hiding anything.”

Kuramochi’s mouth slants into a frown. “Ha ha.”

“I know, I’m brilliant even after wringing my sponge brain for hours.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was gonna say,” Kuramochi says sarcastically, tapping the side of Miyuki’s leg with his ankle.

“Oh, I know. I’m just so charming,” Miyuki continues like he hasn’t heard Kuramochi’s long-suffering sigh. It’s not like Kuramochi actually minds this, and it’s clear that Miyuki needs a distraction. He might be smiling and laughing, but there’s a tightness in his features and body language that only seizes him when he’s stressed. For all of Miyuki’s talk of Kuramochi being easy to read, he’s not much better. He just thinks he is.

Kuramochi does his best to be a suitable distraction throughout dinner, bickering with Miyuki so much that they almost forget the reason they came to the restaurant.

Even though it’s lonely at his apartment after, Kuramochi is glad Miyuki went back to his own place to study. Dinner was a nice break, but he does still have exams to prepare for.

It’s both exciting and nerve-wracking to think that the next time they’ll likely see each other is at the opening night of the showcase in two days, which means that the next time they see each other is when Miyuki gets to see the painting. Kuramochi fidgets nervously as he lies in bed, unable to get comfortable.

    There’s too much going on in his head, and it’s taking all available brainpower not to text Miyuki. It’s not that Kuramochi doesn’t trust that Miyuki is trying his best to study, but, well, Kuramochi knows what Miyuki’s like when he tries to study. The last time they got together for the express purpose of getting ready for exams, Miyuki got up at least two dozen times for various reasons that got progressively less legitimate.

    Kuramochi was nearly in tears laughing at the time Miyuki stood abruptly, only to announce that he thought he had seen a spider web. Just that. He had offered no other explanation, like he was convinced that Kuramochi would consider that an acceptable excuse for standing. The funniest part was that he thought Kuramochi would judge him for his inability to focus while Kuramochi was trying to see how many bubbles he could draw on one sheet of A4 paper.

    They’re many things together, but productive isn’t one of them, at least not in an academic sense.

    Kuramochi puts his phone back down for the umpteenth time and drops back into his pillows. They can text tomorrow.

    He could just text him.

    But he shouldn’t.

    Kuramochi can wait. He puts on a movie and watches it with a third of his attention until he falls asleep.

ooo

    The showcase opens tonight, and Kuramochi is in his pyjamas, staring at himself in the mirror. He turned off his alarm to allow himself to sleep in, but his brain wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to wake him at dawn and helpfully remind him of what is about to take place.

    He stays in his pyjamas until well past lunch, like the act of refusing to wear proper clothing will help him take control of time’s passing. The painting is already at the campus gallery after an uneventful transport the afternoon before, and all Kuramochi is responsible for is physically showing up, hopefully wearing clothes. Maybe dress clothes, if he is so inclined.

were coming after dinner

u better not be too scared of ur “feelings” to show

ill kill u if u dont tell him

thanks ryou

youre getting me pumped up

stop being overdramatic

i also wanna see how gay ur painting is

cant believe u hid it from me

betrayal

and u call me overdramatic

    Ryou doesn’t reply after that, which means that Kuramochi is right. He chuckles and tosses his phone onto his bed. Miyuki has two back-to-back exams this afternoon, and only managed to send a quick ‘see you tonight’ text before he began his gauntlet. Since Miyuki’s last exam ends after the official start of the showcase, Kuramochi is going to have time to mentally prepare for his arrival, and see the other works. It’s not that he wasn’t planning on viewing them anyway, but he knows it’ll be a lot simpler if he’s not distracted.

    Kuramochi begins getting dressed a good two hours before he has to leave, thereby ensuring that he’ll be perfect for the event. Normally, he’d summon Ryou for help, since they usually dress together, but she’s with Furuya, probably having the same crisis.

    There’s a foreign loneliness hanging in the quiet of the apartment as he goes through his closet for clothes, and it pushes him to get ready faster. He feels silly getting upset about it, but he’s gotten so used to always either having Ryou or Miyuki around that he feels their absence very acutely. Part of it is the anxiety about the show, no doubt, but Kuramochi’s never been the type to prefer solitude over the company of others.

    Upon further reflection while stuck in a t-shirt, Kuramochi decides it is the nerves. He’s a mess. He reworks his outfit into something that will discourage sweating, since it’s evident that he’s only getting progressively more stressed out as the minutes tick by.

    By the time he crosses the threshold and enters the gallery, he’s convinced that he’s never sweated more in his life. He grips his phone tightly, but it keeps sliding out from his damp hands. Just when he’s about to browbeat himself into being a functional human being, he runs into Takashima.

    “Oh, professor, hi,” he says, wearing a wobbly smile.

    “I saw your piece,” she remarks, not caring to elaborate and bring Kuramochi’s heart rate down.

    He swallows. “And?”

    “Walk with me,” she tells him simply, and takes off at a brisk pace through several of the display rooms. Kuramochi scans the other entries to the showcase, but makes a mental note to come back and give his full attention when he’s not scuttling after Takashima and her unrelenting pace.

    In the final room, she stops, and Kuramochi comes to a screeching halt behind her. When he looks up, he’s staring at his painting. It’s the focal point of the space and draws his attention despite the works on the other three walls.

    “You know,” she begins, pushing up her glasses. “Some people just write a simple letter to confess, but you...”

    Kuramochi blinks, feeling the weight of her statement sink into his bones. It settles there, and makes him restless, shifting from foot to foot as he considers running out of the room and all the way to Osaka. Maybe he’ll swim across the ocean and flee to Australia instead.

    “Sorry?” he says instead, chuckling nervously. She arches an eyebrow in disbelief.

    “In any case, I had faith that you would go above and beyond, and you really have. It’s a spectacular piece.”

    Kuramochi steadies his exhale, though he isn’t sure if she’s talking about Miyuki and this painting being a confession or the quality of his efforts. Kuramochi stares at his feet. When he dares look up at his work in this light, it’s obvious. He doesn’t know why he had never seen it before. The fondness, the affection, the love is written in every stroke of his brush, and the realization floods him with heat.

    He’s submitted what is, effectively, a massive love letter of an oil painting, and has asked the unwitting subject of it to come to a gallery and see it for the first time in public. Kuramochi thinks the ground could open and swallow him whole right now, and he’d thank it.

    “Ah, thank you. I hope he likes it.” He takes off his blazer to cool himself off.

    “I’m sure he’ll be blown away. I’m not one to take gambles, you know that, but I think congratulations are going to be in order, so I offer them to you in advance.”

    Once again, Kuramochi isn’t sure what she’s referring to. She, as a full member of the faculty, has one vote to enter in the showcase competition, and she could be saying Kuramochi might win—but she could also be implying that Miyuki might accept his feelings? Kuramochi’s skin is warm enough that he could easily burst into flames.

    “Thank you, professor.”

    She turns, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. The overhead lights glint off her glasses, and it might be a trick of the light, but she winks.
    “Use this time to take a look at your classmates’ work. It’s a wonderful showcase this year.”

    She leaves Kuramochi standing dumbfounded, arms dangling at his sides. Bending over to pick up the jacket he had dropped, he makes his way out the side entrance into the hallway. He heard a few of his friends chatting out there, and figures he could distract himself with some conversation until Miyuki arrives.

    There’s no way that Kuramochi will be able to immerse himself in the art when he’s such a mess, and decides to devote the time later, potentially with Miyuki. If Miyuki wants to spend time with him after seeing the painting, that is.

    Before he has a chance to get too deep into his own head, he’s intercepted by one of his friends, and soon, his entire cohort’s gathered to complain about the art history exam again. As they chat, it becomes apparent that everyone is nervous and desperately seeking distraction, which is comforting. Prior to exams, most of the people majoring in painting that Kuramochi saw on a regular basis seemed calm and put-together, talking casually about the showcase like it’s any other night. Tonight, however, Kuramochi’s learned that his classmates have impressive poker faces.

    Takashima mentioned that there would be a short introduction and formal opening for the benefit of the voting judges, and in their hurry to lose themselves in conversation, every single one of them forgot to keep track of time. Kuramochi blanches when he sees the clock above them, and ushers the entire gaggle of panicky painting students into the main room of the gallery so as to escape Takashima’s wrath.

    She gives him a pointed look from where she stands by the dean of the visual art department, who is thankfully so engrossed in the sound of his own voice that he misses them all sneaking in. There are enough people already gathered in the room so it’s not too embarrassing, though Kuramochi knows Takashima won’t forget this. He smiles sheepishly at her over the head of one of his classmates, and she shakes her head, trying not to smile.

    During the several short speeches that follow, Kuramochi straightens out the collar of his shirt and his tie with sweaty hands, doing such a bad job that a classmate smacks his hand away and does it for him. He thanks her quietly, and she waves him off.

    “Gotta look sharp,” she whispers conspiratorially, and Kuramochi nods. He’s very sweaty again. All over. Miyuki isn’t due to finish his exam for another half hour, and Kuramochi should be using this time to breathe, and yet he’s just allowing himself to get worked up again.

    Once Takashima says her closing remarks, she encourages everyone to spread out and enjoy, gaze lingering on her second years. They scatter in a flash, and Kuramochi is left behind with a few curious first years who have arrived at their first ever showcase.

    He exchanges a few words with them, then excuses himself to wander along the walls, seeing but not retaining anything. His phone is burning a hole in his pocket, but he refrains from checking it. Miyuki will call when he gets here, he tells himself, and staring at his notification-less home screen won’t make him arrive any faster.

    After doing one full loop of the gallery, Kuramochi shuffles quickly by his own piece, too nervous to even glance at it now. The cool air of the hallway calms him when he exits out the side door, and he presses his back against the wall to slide down.

    Ryou, dressed to the nines with Furuya in tow, appears a few minutes later, and drags his sorry ass to his feet.

    “He here yet?” she asks, fiddling with his wrinkly collar. “What the fuck, did you run circles around the building?”

    “No, I just—”

    “You are a mess. I want to go look at your,” she says, waving her hands around, “masterpiece.”

    “Me too,” Furuya agrees quietly.

    “Stay here and be awkward and sweaty. If you move, you’ll look freshly showered.”

    Kuramochi opens his mouth to protest, but he knows better than that. Ryou’s made her decision and she’s already gone. Furuya follows suit.

    Now that they’re gone, Kuramochi resumes wallowing in his feelings. At this point, he can hardly call it wallowing, though; he’s closer to roasting in his own juices. The thought grosses him out and he wrinkles his nose in disgust, pulling his phone out of his pocket to provide some distraction. Miyuki hasn’t texted yet, but Kuramochi tries his best to push that to the back of his mind.

    For the first time in what feels like eons, there is nothing on social media or any major news outlets, and Kuramochi lets his hand fall onto his thigh. He tips his head back to the wall, closing his eyes. Someone has opened the door to the gallery, since a refreshing breeze blows by, and that someone is apparently running in heels.

    “Kuramochi,” Ryou hisses. “Go look at art.”

Kuramochi’s eyes snap open. “I’m waiting here until Miyuki arrives.”

“Go. Look. At. Art. You’re killing me here. And Furuya too. Look at her. She’s wilted,” Ryou says, gesturing to Furuya, who blinks.

“I’m not—” she begins, but Ryou cuts her off.

“Wilted.”

“Ah,” Furuya says, catching on. “Yes. Wilted.” She turns to Ryou with a delighted smile on her face, and Kuramochi gets to witness Ryou physically melt in front of him. It’s impossibly charming.

“Get up, come on .” She snaps out of her lovestruck haze for a moment and yanks Kuramochi to his feet. He grumbles the whole way, dusting himself off before allowing himself to get shoved towards the door unceremoniously. He’s going to head through the exhibit backwards if he starts here, but Ryou didn’t strike him as being open to negotiation today.

Composing himself as best he can, Kuramochi strides through the doors and hangs a right. Thankfully, his piece is facing the same direction that he is, and he isn’t accosted by it the moment he steps inside.

That quickly becomes the least significant thought in his head.

In the middle of the empty room stands Miyuki, looking absolutely breathtaking in a suit. He doesn’t see Kuramochi enter because he’s staring forward, hand over his mouth, wearing an expression that Kuramochi hasn’t ever seen. The anxiety hits Kuramochi like a freight train, and he walks closer to the wall in the event that his knees suddenly buckle.

If Kuramochi isn’t mistaken, Miyuki’s eyes appear glassier now that he’s closed the distance by a few metres, but they haven’t left the painting. Kuramochi doesn’t know what that means, and he’s hoping against hope that it’s a good thing.

He pushes off the wall, unable to keep walking along it any further if he’s to actually approach Miyuki. Kuramochi walks up to his side, like Miyuki will startle if he moves too suddenly. He’s a metre away when Miyuki notices movement and turns to face Kuramochi, surprise written all over his face. His expression softens immediately.

“Hi,” Kuramochi says, and he’s surprised the word leaves him. He has a very tenuous relationship with speech at this moment, and doesn’t want to overextend himself this early in the conversation. His heart thunders in his ears.

“Hi,” Miyuki responds, and Kuramochi is surprised to hear his voice crack ever-so-slightly.

“All done?”

“Nah, I’m actually still writing. This is just a projection,” Miyuki says, matter-of-factly, laughing when Kuramochi flicks his earlobe. “Yeah, I’m done.” He looks at Kuramochi like he’s feeling a physical pull elsewhere, and Kuramochi is almost upset by it until he realizes why. Miyuki’s eyes flick sideways to the painting and back, and that’s—it’s something.

“So,” Kuramochi says, gesturing in the general direction of the painting that he still can’t look at. “I hope it was worth all the sitting.”

Miyuki stumbles over a few syllables, then shuts his mouth for a moment before starting again.

“I’m speechless,” he tells Kuramochi, worrying his lip as he looks to Kuramochi for a reply. Miyuki looks boyish in the moment, open and nervous, of all things.

Kuramochi can barely hear over the blood rushing to his head and the wild pounding of his heart.

He asks quietly, “That’s good, right? I hope I did you justice.”

“Yeah,” Miyuki replies at a similar volume. “I...Kuramochi, you made me look amazing, and the light —”

“I just painted you as I saw you.” It’s a split second of clarity, an opportunity to be honest and forward, and Kuramochi takes it.

This moment, even though they’re in public, somehow feels as intimate as if they were behind closed doors.

“Stop being so charming, I might just believe you,” Miyuki teases, but his tone is soft, and when he reaches out to affectionately tap Kuramochi’s hand like usual, he grabs it instead.

Kuramochi doesn’t have time to stop himself from looking down at their hands incredulously. He holds Miyuki’s hand with butterflies in his belly, and he almost chuckles at how sweaty both their palms are. They face each other like this, smiling a bit goofily, unsure of where to go from here.

“Not charming. Just honest.”

Miyuki flushes, lifting his free hand to scratch the back of his neck.

“Stop it,” he mumbles and leans in to rest his forehead against Kuramochi’s. There’s not enough distance between them to be worthy of note, and while Kuramochi is trying to force himself to say something, Miyuki’s moving closer. He’s giving Kuramochi time to back out, but all Kuramochi wants to do is tip his head up and meet Miyuki halfway. So he does.

The furious rush in Kuramochi’s ears quiets when their lips touch, pressing together gently. Miyuki’s lips feel right against his, and this brief, fleeting moment leaves Kuramochi in a state of surprising calm. When they pull back, slowly, reluctantly, they’re both grinning from ear to ear.

After a quick look around to make sure they’re still alone, Kuramochi tucks a stray hair behind Miyuki’s ear, and then rises on his tiptoes to kiss him again. The butterflies in his stomach have become a pleasant warmth running through his veins, running hotter when Miyuki’s hand alights on his waist, then pulls him closer. It’s not an elegant kiss, since it’s all smiles once Miyuki reacts, but it’s perfect and wonderful and so overdue.

Furuya and Ryou make a convenient entrance once Miyuki and Kuramochi have separated, vowing to pick up where they left off after the showcase.

Much to Kuramochi’s great embarrassment, he gets showered with praise by all three of them, who then encourage others trickling in to do the same. Miyuki grounds him with a hand at the small of his back, keeping the smile on his face when he’s trying to navigate all the compliments.

The whole night is surreal. Miyuki and Kuramochi wave goodbye to Furuya and Ryou as they leave the gallery a few hours later, and head back to their apartment building. The air is pleasantly crisp, and both he and Miyuki have shed their jackets once more in hopes of cooling off. It could be any other night with the two of them hanging out and enjoying each other, but it’s just a shade different. It’s Miyuki’s hand in Kuramochi’s, and stolen giggly kisses on their way back to Kuramochi’s apartment where they’ll probably put on another movie that they won’t watch.

When they get to Kuramochi’s place, riding the high of the night, they turn on the traditional movie and promptly ignore it in favour of kissing softly and slowly, savouring the first of what will surely be many nights together.

(And as it turns out, Takashima was right—the painting is awarded first place by a landslide, putting Kuramochi on the radar of some local and not-so-local artists and making his future that much more secure. Miyuki can’t be prouder of his boyfriend and never stops telling him as much.

Kuramochi paints him a pile of potatoes for his birthday to retaliate for how much he makes him blush.)