Chapter Text
I STUMBLED UPON THE LOVE OF MY LIFE
1
Yaguchi Yatora. A second-year high schooler and known delinquent genius. At least, that’s what most would say about him, but Yatora would attest his academic achievements to hours upon hours of studying. Any subject could be made easier with strategies and shortcuts.
Math was a test of one’s preparedness, a subject which utilized strategy to solve complex problems. So long as he memorized formulas and practiced the assigned exercises, there wasn’t a problem he couldn’t solve. Physics was much the same, though chemistry proved to be much trickier. Not only did he need to memorize formulas, there were also a multitude of chemical reactions to take into account, not to mention the state of the chemical. Was it a solid? Liquid? Or aqueous? The periodic table was also annoying to memorize, but that’s what flash cards were for.
When it came to social studies, so long as he understood the main points, he wouldn’t need to study hard. History was one big memory test, so flash cards and revising notes were always helpful. English was an entirely different language, so instead of stressing about actually learning the language, memorizing basic words and grammar would do. PE relied on his physical capabilities, so Yatora made sure to exercise at least once a week. Moral studies were also easy. Act like a goody-two-shoes, and you’ll be fine.
Any subject could be made easier with strategies and shortcuts. Save for one, art. In art, you wouldn’t need to utilize strategies or memorize shortcuts, for it relied solely on your ability to draw. To say that Yatora didn’t understand this would be an understatement. He was of the opinion that students who took art were lazy nerds, afraid to put in the effort of getting good grades on actual subjects. People like that would get nowhere in life if all they could do was draw anime characters. They weren’t like him. He didn’t get them at all.
2
Unfortunately, Yatora had art class today. Then again, he had art class every week. He wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of wasting time in a drab room, ran by a strange grandma who spent her days talking to her equally strange students. Yatora smacked his head on the white table, lamenting that he could’ve spent his time studying for the upcoming chemistry test. He still had trouble remembering under what conditions do metal nails rust in and what sort of chemical accelerated it. It also didn’t help that after chem, he’ll have math class, meaning he’ll also have to do the math test. Yatora sighed, rubbing his heavy eyes. Two back-to-back tests, how annoying.
The theme this week was to draw their favorite scenery. What a perfectly vague theme, something his friends didn’t miss the chance to make fun of. He lifted his head from the table, boredom dragging down his psyche as a yawn escaped his lips. “God, this class is so boring.”
“If you’re not gonna do anything, might as well sleep,” one of his friends spoke. He turned to him, but Sumida’s face had already pressed against the cold wood. Yatora commended his shamelessness.
“What’s up with this theme anyway? Even kindergarteners can do this,” he said.
Utashima shrugged. “Who knows? To be honest, I have no idea what I wanna draw. What about you Yatora? You got anything you like looking at?”
The boy closed his eyes, pondering for a quick second before a smile crept up his lips. “I like it when my girlfriend’s boobs are rubbing against me.”
Utashima laughed. “Damn, you already have a girlfriend? I’m so jealous!”
“Nah, I don’t.”
“Seriously?” Utashima quirked up a brow. “I thought delinquent genius Yatora had a lot girls after him.”
“It’s not that I don’t have any after me, it’s just that none of them are my type.” A brazen lie, though the thought of having groups of women run after him caused his lips to curl up.
“Oh really? Does that mean every girl’s confessed to you?” Utashima leaned in, eyes gleaming with earnest curiosity.
“Hell yeah.”
His friend’s eyes shifted around the quiet room. Most students didn’t bother to care about the assignment. Some played card games, others slept like Sumida, while a clever bunch were studying for the upcoming double-whammy tests. Yatora sighed, regretted not bringing his books to art class.
Utashima smiled as he pointed to the seats behind Yatora. The boy turned around, cold shock slapping him across the face when he saw that someone was actually doing the assignment. However, his surprise evaporated once he caught a glimpse of the person’s blonde flowing hair. Sunlight seeped through the classroom’s windows, bathing him in the it’s temperate glow. A swift pencil scratched away, sketched some sort of scenery Yatora reckoned was Ryuji’s favorite sight. He pushed his messy bangs aside, brows curling downward, pondering over the drawing. His classmate looked like the female lead in the dramas his mom loved to watch. But instead of a pretty woman, it was Ryuji.
Yatora pursed his lips, turned back to his friends while avoiding the thought of his classmate featuring in some low budget, poorly conceived romance drama. He’d probably be casted for his looks.
“Even her?” Utashima’s words were laced with halfhearted sincerity, the kind he expected from a bad joke. Well, at least he was trying. It’s the effort that counts.
“You need new glasses or something? That’s not a girl.”
His friend snickered. “Might as well be.”
Yatora chuckled. “Just admit that you’re jealous cause there aren’t any girls coming after you.”
Another soft chuckle left his lips as Utashima proceeded to complain of how depressing being single was, going as far as to lambast Yatora. After all, there’s no way he had the heart to turn down crowds of his inexistant admirers. Yatora covered his mouth, contained the bubbling laughter in his throat. Utashima seemed desperately saddened at the idea of being forever alone, Yatora losing it when he said he was going to die a virgin.
He supposed things weren’t bad so long as he spent time with his friends. Still, he’d have to review the tests’ materials during lunch. Only relying on memory would be foolish, especially after staying up all night to study. He scoffed, for anyone with a brain knew you wouldn’t retain anything once it’s past nine.
“Yatora, hand me a smoke.” Koi spoke.
He wiped the tears from his face before pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. His eyes shifted around the room for a moment. No one was looking, not when they were either asleep, playing games, or had their eyes glued on an increasingly messy piece of paper.
‘Is Ryuji trying to butcher that thing? He better not come to me if he does.’ Yatora shook his head. ‘Nah, he has that senpai to keep him company now. I won’t have to hear him complain anymore.’
He handed Koi the packet from under the table, told his friend to return it before lunch. Yatora knew full well bringing a pack of cigarettes to school spelled trouble if he got caught. But that was the key word, ‘caught.’ Like a lot of things in high school: bullying, dating, smoking. If the student body didn’t know it’s happening, then it might as well not have been happening.
“Wow, you still got a lot.” Utashima pulled out three, four, five sticks. “Don’t you smoke?”
This question. It didn’t pop up often, though there’s still a correct answer. If Yatora were being honest, he seldom smoked outside their hangouts. But that’s not the answer they’d want to hear. He had an image to uphold, even in front of his friends. Yatora was a genius and delinquent. It’s already hard enough to balance such contrasting identities, so better make his life easy by simply lying. It wasn’t out of menace; surely his friends would understand if they were in his shoes.
“I just bought a new pack.” Yatora’s words were light, aloof.
“If it’s a new pack, how come it’s already crumpled up?” Koi asked, handing the pack to Utashima.
Socializing, like tests, were levels Yatora could dedicate time to. And with enough effort, he’d pass them without issue. After much preparation, he’s memorized several excuses to bail him out this otherwise precarious situation. Yatora shrugged, spoke in a low voice. “I carry it everywhere.”
3
Yatora immediately took the train home after school, though was tempted with promise of beer and hanging out with friends. However, he turned them down, for he had to study. After getting the obligatory ‘model student’ comments from his buddies, they wished him luck and partied on down to Shibuya.
The train ride flowed like tides in a calm river, and Yatora swayed each time it slowed down or sped up. Under the bright shine of the train’s florescent lights, a small twinge of jealousy stung his chest. Yatora wondered what it’d be like had he joined his friends. They’d probably go to the same bar they always did, watch a football match while getting blackout drunk, then he’d return home at the crack of dawn. His chest clenched, only slightly, weighed down by how great fun that sounded—and how lame it was that he needed to study.
Yatora shook his head. No, he shouldn’t be feeling jealous. He was going to prepare for college entrance exams, an essential step in any teenager’s way to becoming a financially secure adult. And since his parents couldn’t afford a private school, it’s critical for him to get accepted into a state school, notorious for having low acceptance rates. He ran through his lists of achievements. He’s well-liked by teachers, so getting recommendations should be possible. He’s not particularly athletic, but his grades made up for it. He’ll be able to get an academic scholarship if he keeps this up, and hopefully a full one. The less his parents had to spend, the better.
A buzz reverberated in his pocket. A message. Perhaps his friends trying to show him what he’s missing. Yatora pulled out his phone, what little intrigue riveting him dissipating as soon as he read the contact. It wasn’t his friends, it was Ryuji. Yatora pondered ignoring the text all together. After all, whatever topics Ryuji wanted to speak of he could easily do with the new senpai. What was her name again? Mori-senpai? He’s heard she’s a part of the art club, of course. He might as well deal with it now, so as to not get distracted when studying. Yatora unlocked his phone, a simple pattern resembling the number two. He opened LINE and read Ryuji’s message.
‘Hey Yatora, look what I found,’ the message read, followed with a selfie. The boy narrowed his gaze, tense amber eyes fixed on what Ryuji held in his hands. His stomach lurched, followed by racing panic. It was his cigarette packet. Koi that idiot, he forgot to return Yatora’s cigarettes.
‘Is this blackmail?’ Yatora could barely type though his trembling fingers. No, he needed to think rationally. Ryuji wasn’t the evil kind, so he’s probably trying to get something out of this. Answers to homework, or perhaps make Yatora do his assignment again. But what that idiot didn’t consider was that he took the selfie in the middle of the art room, doors wide open for any passerby to see.
‘lol, no. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone, but I need to ask you a favor.’ There it is. ‘Can you give me the answers to the chem homework? I know it’s like, due next week, but I have plans.’
Yatora scoffed, typed his reply with the fervor of a furious tiger. ‘Like I have a choice. Fine. I’ll give you the answers. But you better return that tomorrow!’
‘Kay.’ He went offline.
Yatora got off the train and rushed home, briefly greeted his parents before hurriedly finishing his chemistry homework. He copied the answers to another sheet of paper and stuffed it in his bag, to make sure he didn’t forget. Ryuji that tricky bastard, he’s lucky Yatora gave up on being a violent delinquent.
4
Ryuji messaged him the next day. ‘Meet me in the art room after school.’
Yatora scoffed, sipped his drink as irritation strained his temple. ‘Why can’t we meet up right now? It’s lunchtime.’
‘I need to help Mori-senpai with her painting, it’s really cool. Maybe if you manage to appreciate it, you’ll stop being such a philistine.’
The boy furrowed his brows, confused. ‘What’s a philistine?’
‘Basically someone who doesn’t understand art.’
‘Isn’t that most people?’ Yatora fiddled his chopstick, twirling it around his fingers.
‘I guess. But even most people can still look at a piece of art and say that it looks good. But you’re not like that.’
He quirked up a brow. ‘Then what am I?’ Curiosity flared in his psyche, mixed with the hopes that he’ll get good answer, the feeling akin to taking a personality test on some ad-ridden website.
Finally, Ryuji replied. ‘You just go “I don’t get it” and move on.’
Yatora dropped his chopstick, searching for the right words to construct his reply. He could try and entertain the idea of what art meant, and how one might come away with an understanding of it. However, there’s no point in keeping up appearances with Ryuji, so he might as well be honest.
'Yeah, I don’t. Why are people like Picasso so revered for drawing squares and circles anyway?’
‘WOW, you really are a philistine.’
‘Whatever. Just give me my pack after school.’ Yatora got off his phone.
Class went on as usual. Yatora made sure to turn in his chemistry homework. The teacher praised him for being the first to turn in it, commenting that everyone else were likely waiting till the deadline. He gave her a brief smile, told her that it’d be better to do it early, to not be buried in assignments. Oblivious to his true situation, the teacher dismissed him. Yatora then walked to the art room. He slid the door open and walked in, greeted with a sight which left him speechless.
A canvas towered over him, bathed him in shadow. And in the darkness, there shone two mesmerizing angels, beautiful as they were pure. Loose hazel hair flowed along gentle winds, snow white wings growing from her back. Slim finger lingered around the thin strings of a golden lyre, finished playing a symphony, patience etched on to his delicate features. They sat beside one another, the woman approaching the younger boy. She glided her slender fingers atop his fair thigh, turned her face to meet his gaze.
Yatora’s heart thumped against his ribs, struck by the captivating sight of such an elegant piece. It reminded him of renaissance art in history books. He leaned forward, to further glimpse at what the painting hid. The harmonies the boy had played, another glimpse of the angels’ ocean blue eyes. Again, he stepped forward, so close he could spot the remnants of brush strokes. Yatora’s brows curled downward, perplexed by how the paint hadn’t dried yet. The canvas was massive, yet he could still smell the repugnant scent of paint. Only after approaching, did he see that their skin bore a green hue—the color of grass growing in spring. Everything resembled a fairy tale, Yatora swept away into the dreamworld of this painting, adrenaline racing in his chest as he did nothing but stare.
“You better not touch it, the paint’s not dry yet,” a voice called out to him.
He turned around. Sharp lilac pierced through his being, flowing blonde hair curling around her face. Wide eyes continued to stare at him, thin lips saying something Yatora couldn’t comprehend through his daze. His stomach dropped at the possibility of looking like a fool in front of a girl, and a pretty one at that. The adrenaline from earlier raced through him once again, caused the words to die in his throat.
No, the voice sounded familiar. Yatora blinked a few times before realizing that rather than a pretty girl, Ryuji stood before him. For some reason, he held two busts in each hand; one of Caligula, and the other Caesar. If memory serves, one died after being stabbed to death, and the other was a crazy cruel emperor. Roman history was strange.
“Do you have it?” Yatora mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. What a strange thought.
“Yeah yeah.” He reached into his pocket and handed him the pack. “It’s all crumpled up, but you’ve barely used it.”
“So what?” Yatora said without much thought.
Ryuji walked past him, setting the busts on a nearby table. “It’s stupid. You’re harming your health, and for what? To look like a badass delinquent? Seriously Yatora, you worry me.”
The boy pursed his lips, stuffed the crumpled pack down his pocket. “Why do you care? That doesn’t concern you.”
Ryuji turned around, a confused look painted on his sharp face. “I never knew my friends didn’t concern me.”
Yatora’s eyes widened while he waved a dismissive hand towards Ryuji, feigning ignorance. “I never knew we were friends.”
“Wow, guess I’m not good enough for mister popular delinquent.” Ryuji crossed his arms, a small smile curling up his thin lips.
“I’m not even that popular though.”
“Oh really?” He stepped forward, closer. “I thought every girl in school was chasing after you.”
Yatora pursed his lips, nervous fingers rubbing the back of his neck, eyes darting to the wooden floorboards. He didn’t actually mean that, obviously, and he didn’t think Ryuji would be listening in. Then again, art kids had a lot of free time to do other things, since they didn’t want to dedicate it to studying. Still, no matter how much Yatora racked his brain, he couldn’t come up with an excuse, or even a reason to justify such a preposterous claim. He bit down on his jaw, met Ryuji’s intent gaze.
“You believe everything you hear?” he said, words lighter than when he blew off the question about his cigarette packet.
“So you admit it then.”
The boy furrowed his brows, confusion contorting his expression. “Admit what?”
“You were lying to look cool.” He spoke in a flat voice, looking down on Yatora.
The boy shoved his hands down his pockets, scathing words burning at the tip of his tongue. His temple ached from frustration, eyes and nose and lips strained from sharp irritation. He spoke in a low voice, made no attempts to hide the embers of his anger.
“Who the hell do you think you are, Ryuji-kun? You think you’re better than me for doing art or something? You know that art has the fourth most expensive tuition fee, right? So even if you get in, not like you’ll be able to pay for it. Might as well use that pretty face of yours and live as a gold-digger.”
“Yatora…did you just call me pretty?” he quirked up a brow, intrigued by Yatora’s choice of words.
The boy fell silent, confused as to what Ryuji meant. After a few seconds, realization slapped Yatora hard across his pale face, the boy smacking his mouth shut. Heat crept up his flustered face, the boy wondering why he said such a thing. It was supposed to be an insult, yet somehow came out as a compliment. Tense fingers ran though his messy hair, faint giggles reaching his no doubt reddened ears. How pathetic. However, Ryuji wasn’t wrong. Long lustrous hair, vibrant lilac eyes, and soft skin were features that looked good on any gender. His classmate was pretty, but there’s nothing wrong with thinking that. It didn’t mean anything, just that Yatora appreciated his appearance.
“Anyway, where’s the chem homework?” Ryuji pushed the words past his soft giggles, voice piercing through Yatora’s racing mind.
He cleared his throat, ridding any embarrassment from his mind. “It’s in my bag.”
The two walked to their classroom, neither seeing a need to muddle up their day with pointless small talk. Such things were reserved for pleasantries between strangers, or an attempt to build relations with someone one found admirable. But to Yatora, Ryuji wasn’t exactly the kind of person he found all that impressive. Perhaps his confidence was worth considering, though that same attitude has caused him buckets full of irritating conversations with his classmate, art being one of the many topics they loved to argue about.
A few juniors greeted Ryuji with eager smiles, desperate to grab his attention. They complimented him for his art, his clothes, and finally his looks. Another thing Ryuji’s confidence enabled, the crossdressing. Yatora couldn’t fathom the idea of someone willfully dressing up like that every day and going to school. He wondered whether Ryuji truly had no shame, or whether he was too apathetic to care of what others thought about him. Lucky for him, most have taken to admiring his bold clothing choices, girls more so than boys. Yatora slid open their classroom door, lingering on the idea of living as he wished, outside of what’s expected of him. No, it’s a privilege he couldn’t afford.
They walked towards Yatora’s desk, spotting three other people. Huddled over a desk, they played some card game he couldn’t remember the name of.
“Hey, have you watched the movie I gave you last week?” Ryuji asked.
Yatora rummaged through the mess inside his bag. “Nah, I didn’t have time.”
Ryuji sighed. “If you’re not gonna watch it, might as well give it back—that’s my favorite movie, you know? I miss watching it every night.”
“You watch it every night?” he turned to face Ryuji, bewildered.
A small smile curled up his lip. “Well, not every night but basically every other day.”
“Oh, what’s it about?” He went back to rummaging, regretted the choice of not investing in a binder or two. Too many assignment papers and books, not enough space in his bag. Yatora pulled out all his textbooks to make room for his hands.
“Yesh, that’s a lot of stuff in your bag. Uh, basically it’s about this milliner who meets literally the hottest guy ever, but then after that she got cursed and turned into an old woman.”
“Sounds tough…what’s a milliner?” Yatora asked.
“A person who makes hats—and I know right? I felt so bad for her. Anyway, she runs away from the city and finds this walking machine-looking-house-thing.” He paused. Yatora now understood why Ryuji would want to get into art school if his speaking skills were like that. “And uh, turns out the hot wizard guy is the owner.”
Finally, Yatora fished out the chem papers. He handed them to Ryuji, a grateful smile stretched across his classmate’s face.
“Thanks, Yaguchi-kun.”
Yatora pursed his lips. He scoffed, to distract from the heat creeping up his neck. “Don’t call me that…What kind of plans do you have next week anyway?”
Ryuji folded the papers neatly, speaking in a calm voice. “I’m gonna start working after school.”
“Wait, what the hell? Why?” Yatora blurted out. He scratched the back of his head, confused as to why Ryuji would need a job. He’s still in high-school, not a ronin, and lived with his parents. Well, maybe they weren’t the type to give an allowance. Still, he wondered how his classmate would handle a part-time job on top of school.
“Don’t know, I just felt like it.” Ryuji stepped towards the door, spoke some more before walking out. “And next time you might not wanna say something like ‘all the girls want me,’ when actually they’re way too scared to even talk to you.”
‘What the fuck? Did I just get told off by the same guy who got a job because he felt like it?’ Yatora sighed, reminded himself that getting mad over small things were never worth it.
“Hey, Yaguchi-kun,” a voice called out to him.
Yatora turned to the table, all three kids staring right at him. “Uh, yeah?”
“Do you know what Yuka-san’s ideal type is?” one of them asked.
“What’s her favorite food?”
“Does she like playing card games?”
Yatora’s eyes darted off to the side for a moment. He’d nearly forgotten that Ryuji had his share of male admirers. He shrugged, “I don’t know, just ask him yourselves.”
All three went silent, shock and fright mixed together on their faces. Yatora quirked up a brow, “You didn’t know? I mean, if you really liked him, might as well be with him regardless of gender.”
“Ah, okay…Thanks, Yaguchi-kun,” one said, the same person who started the conversation.
Yatora bid them farewell before walking to the train station. Again, he sat alone on an empty cart, swaying with each tremble, his mind stuck in the art room. Breath-taking, mesmerizing, something he couldn’t begin to describe with words—less the words themselves lose all meaning. The way his heart raced when he made eye contact with the lustrous angel, how he could hear the freshly played symphonies of the young boy, feel the cool wind sweep across the air. Gently lead across the meadows of spring, grass prickling his sun-burnt skin. A wholly new sensation he’s never experienced before, like his soul was being touched. Yatora had to know who painted it, and he had to meet them.