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Shin is going to paint a portrait of Sou.
He’s never painted before. Not seriously, anyway. Of course he made a mess of coloring books when he was a child. Then in high school, he was required to take an art class, where he ostensibly learned how to draw the human figure. Sometimes Shin showed off his artwork to Sou, who was always curious about Shin’s projects. Sou certainly expressed more interest in Shin’s work than Shin’s parents, who only cared if Shin received a passing grade.
But Sou liked seeing Shin’s art. He reacted in all the right ways, too. If Shin tried his hand at something pretty, like flowers, Sou would sigh happily. Then he’d pretend to smell the page like a dork. “So realistic, Shin! I could gobble them up!”
If Shin gave up on details and simply drew something funny, he could make Sou laugh. One time he drew a picture of a bunny giving a wolf a stick of dynamite, which blew up the predator’s head. Shin made sure to color lots of red on the ground. The picture got a bad grade for being stupid, but Sou thought it was the funniest thing in the world. He doubled over in hysterics and laughed so hard there were tears in his eyes. “Just as he deserves!” He cackled.
Shin knew that Sou would like it, and that was all that mattered. He remembers that swelling triumph in his heart for inspiring such a human reaction in his strange friend.
Shin loved the goofy expressions Sou would make for him. Sou’s smiles were usually reserved, or even unnerving, but sometimes he would let his guard down around his best friend. Knowing that Sou trusted him enough to behave that way made Shin feel so special.
For his class’s final assignment, Shin drew Sou. Shin sat in the corner of their office and worked on his drawing while watching Sou work at his desk. Sou looked so tired that day, with bags under his eyes. He kept drinking his iced coffee to stay awake. Sou had wanted Shin to help him with coding, but he reluctantly accepted that Shin needed to finish his homework.
Just as Shin kept peeking over his sketchbook to watch Sou, Sou kept stealing glances at Shin. He offered Shin sly smiles which made Shin’s stomach drop.
“What are you drawing, Shin?”
“Y-you’ll see!” Shin blushed and fumbled with his pencil.
Shin knew, rationally, that Sou was an odd-looking man. His mother once called him bug-eyed. Sou hunched when he walked. He leaned too close into your personal space. And he spoke too loudly.
But he carried it off with such charisma that Shin couldn’t help but find him beautiful. Sitting in his egg chair, sleeves rolled up, beads of sweat on his forehead, but still proudly wearing that silly spotted scarf… Shin was no artist, but he drew these features with affection.
He hoped that affection came through.
Once Shin finished coloring in all the polka-dots in the scarf, he finally stood up and showed his drawing to his friend. Sou stared at the piece with his usual guarded smile, and Shin held his breath, waiting for his expression to change.
It didn’t.
Sou ripped the picture in half.
He didn’t always react the right way.
“No!” Shin gasped.
“Oh Shin, it looks awful.” Sou ripped it again. “To think you wasted our whole afternoon with this, when you could have been helping me.” Sou ripped it into tiny pieces, littering the floor.
“But I… I thought you’d like it!” Shin tried not to cry.
“You made me look like a monkey. A bit insulting.”
“No, I—I tried to make you look handsome.”
“Did you now?”
“I’m sorry…”
“Haven’t I made it clear that I don’t like having my picture taken?”
It was so unfair. There were rows of photographs of Shin smiling on Sou’s shelves. Shin had no photos of Sou for himself.
“Y-yes, with photographs, but I thought—a drawing—if I drew it good enough—”
Sou giggled. “Your art hasn’t gotten any better this whole year, and you thought this was good enough?”
The cruel words cut deep through Shin’s happy memories. He really believed that Sou’s reactions to his art were genuine. Weren’t they?
“So thoughtless of you to draw my portrait without even asking for my permission. I’m hurt, I really am,” Sou continued, still smiling unnaturally.
“I’m sorry,” Shin mumbled, staring at the pieces on the floor.
“Don’t give me that look. I happen to know you don’t need this assignment to get a passing grade in your class. And you’re not going to art college—you don’t need useless skills like this.”
Shin took deep breaths. “Right…”
Sou finally stood up and held the boy in his arms. Shin forgets what Sou said. Sickening sweet nothings that hurt too much to remember. But somehow—at the time—those comforting words made Shin smile through his tears.
Then Sou took his cellphone from his pocket and snapped a photo of Shin’s smile.
It hurts.
…
Shin walks through the paintbrush aisle of the art store. He doesn’t know which brushes are best. Art was too useless a skill for Sou to teach him. He feels too embarrassed to ask the clerk for advice, so he picks brushes randomly.
Still, Shin’s heart lifts when the woman at the cash register wishes him luck with his artwork. She even recommends a cheaper brand of watercolors for him, which she claims is actually higher quality paint.
As he walks home with new art supplies in his bag, Shin reminds himself that this is supposed to be fun. The stakes should not be this high for painting.
He’s only trying to capture a memory of his missing best friend whose face he hasn’t seen in a year…
Shin tugs on the end of his scarf. Fun. This will be fun.
The stakes were always frighteningly high around Sou. Even when they were together, Shin became desperate for a photograph of his friend. Sou never gave a good explanation for why he hated to be photographed. It was easy to jump to conclusions that it was for magical reasons—that Sou was some kind of fae whose soul would be trapped in a photo, and then he would belong, body and spirit, to the adventurous photographer who captured him. Like stealing a selkie’s pelt.
Yes, it was a ludicrous fantasy, but Shin indulges in fantasies like that even now. How else do you explain a man like Sou Hiyori?
Now that Sou is gone, Shin would like to imagine that capturing Sou in a photograph would mean that Sou’s soul belonged to him.
Because he did manage it once.
It was the middle of the night. But a full moon outside their bedroom window gave Shin enough light to see. It was just bright enough to inspire Shin’s courage.
He remembers that he had fallen asleep holding Sou’s hand, and he had to carefully untangle their fingers before stepping out of bed. Sou was a light sleeper, so Shin had to be quiet while tip-toeing to pick up his cellphone.
When Shin returned, and stared at Sou through the camera lens on his phone, his heart melted. Sou looked so peaceful asleep. His face framed by curls, his mouth ajar, his fingers splayed out where he had been holding Shin’s hand. In this moment, it was hard to feel guilty.
They were friends.
This was Shin’s right.
Shin snapped a quick photo—then gasped in horror when a white light filled the room. He had forgotten to turn off the flash!
Shin blinked rapidly from the sudden brightness, wishing for something impossible. Then he saw in his new photograph that Sou’s eyes were wide open.
Sou snatched Shin’s arm and Shin yelped.
“What are you doing, Shin?” Sou’s voice was soft and sweet, in direct contrast with his icy grip.
“I’m sorry…”
“Come again, Shin?”
“I’m sorry, Hiyori. I don’t have an excuse.”
“Give that to me.” Sou gestured with his free hand.
Shin remained frozen in place. He already knew he had lost this battle, but he still didn’t want to give up his hard-won spoils. Then Sou tightened his grip and Shin relented, dropping his phone into Sou’s outstretched hand.
Sou finally released Shin so he could scroll through his friend’s phone. Shin hung his head so he didn’t have to watch his efforts erased.
“Shin… How am I supposed to trust you?” Sou’s voice was so sad, and Shin’s heart flip-flopped to pity in spite of himself. It was Sou’s only rule, and he broke it.
“I’m sorry I betrayed your trust, Hiyori. You’re my best friend—you’re the only thing that matters—I shouldn’t have risked—”
“Hmm, it sounds to me like you’re only sorry you got caught!”
Hiyori’s eyes were wide, and his smile was long. Shin was shaking, but his frightened face must have been amusing, at least.
“I’m sorry—I’m so sorry!” Shin repeated, desperately.
Sou stared at Shin in silence, drinking in his sorrow. Then he finally set Shin’s phone on the nightstand and beckoned for Shin to come back to bed. Shin cautiously crept under the covers, trying to keep his distance, but Sou pulled him in close.
Sou wrapped one arm behind the small of Shin’s back, and softly pet Shin’s hair with his other hand. “Shhh…” he cooed.
Shin shuddered and tried to relax like Sou wanted him to. He had fallen asleep in this position many times before. But he knew tonight, more than ever, that Sou’s loving embrace was a lie. The man must still be furious at Shin for what he tried to do. He was surely seething deep down. Probably plotting a proper punishment.
Shin dreaded the familiar upcoming lecture. Sou would remind him, again, whose house this was. He would remind him who paid the bills. Who carried the groceries. Who pulled the strings when Shin needed a job. And who had always protected Shin from bullies?
As Shin waited, he felt like spiders were knitting a sticky ball of anxiety in his stomach. What if this time was different from other lectures? What if Shin had crossed a line too far?
What if Sou threw him out?
“Shin,” Sou finally said.
Shin held his breath.
“I know how unfair this must feel to you,” Sou continued. “I know that I can be confusing. You must be overwhelmed right now.”
Shin gasped. He sniffed and nodded into Sou’s shoulder.
“…Things are going to get better, Shin. Things are looking up, just around the corner.” Sou brushed Shin’s bangs out of the way and kissed his forehead. “Someday, I’ll tell you everything. We’ll be completely honest with each other. We’ll look back on these days and laugh! Doesn’t that sound lovely?”
“Yes!”
Sou chuckled at Shin’s eagerness and squeezed him tight. “We’ll get there someday, Shin. I promise. Trust me.”
Shin smiled and finally relaxed in Sou’s arms. “I do trust you, Hiyori.”
Sou vanished the following week.
…
Shin enters Sou’s apartment and sets his supplies on Sou’s kitchen table. He tapes down the paper so that he won’t wrinkle it with watercolors.
Shin takes comfort in that he remembers that much information from his old art class. He tells himself that he’s not a bad artist, in spite of whatever Sou said. Sou often underestimated him.
Just look at him now! He has been living on his own for a year! Shin is stronger and more talented than Sou ever knew.
When Sou returns home, that will wipe the smirk off his face.
If Shin actually captured a fae’s soul in a photograph that night—whatever counts for a fairy’s soul—then Sou does belong to him, even now—and he will return home to his master someday.
It’s a lovely fantasy.
For now, Shin just has to paint it.
Shin decides that he wants to paint the two of them together. That’s how their pictures should have always been taken from the get-go. The image in his mind’s eye of them both smiling side-by-side makes his heart race.
Also, setting his pencil on the paper, Shin admits that it’s already intimidating to draw the face of a man he hasn’t seen in a year. He has no references of Sou’s face to draw from. Hopefully it will be easier to draw his own face first.
After all, Sou made sure to leave plenty of references of Shin’s youthful smile behind.
Shin sketches in the vague oval shapes of their heads. Sou was a few centimeters taller than him. Just tall enough for Shin to lean in the crook of his neck.
He draws lines over his own shoulder to represent Sou’s hand. Sou liked holding Shin’s shoulder like that. Protective.
Possessive.
Sou was always suddenly touching him without his permission. Shin’s hand is shaking now. He tries to draw Sou’s hand—it’s almost like holding it again—but it becomes a messy tarantula beneath Shin’s quivering pencil.
Shin erases the mess furiously and leaves the table to go to bed. Why is he even bothering with this?
…
Shin returns to drawing the next morning. He remembers Sou holding him gently. He remembers hands that stroked his back when he was sad. Hands that wiped the tears from his cheeks. Spindly goblin hands, but they were his hands, so they couldn’t be all bad, and… and…
Fuck, hands are hard to draw.
…
Shin walks by an art college on his way home from work. He can’t afford to take any classes there. But he buys himself a used “How to Draw” manual from the art store. That’s just as good! He can learn things just as well on his own!
Shin practices drawing his own hands in his old sketchbook from high school. He hasn’t touched it in years. But he approaches drawing with such determination that his art looks even better now than it did back then.
If only Sou could see how much he’s improving.
…
Sou’s face is the hardest part. Shin keeps trying and failing to get the correct shape of his eyes. The right slope to his nose. The inviting tilt to his grin.
Shin ought to know what Sou’s own face looked like. Even without photographs, he has so many memories swirling in his brain. Memories that haven’t slipped away yet.
And he knows—Sou was a handsome man—because he keeps telling himself that.
He loved him in spite of his flaws.
He admired him because of his flaws.
He can recall those flaws with affection, even now, so why can’t he draw them?
…
Shin can draw his own face from an old photo reference. He has such large, adoring eyes in the picture. His expression is full of love for the photographer.
Hiyori really knew how to get his best angle. Shin doesn’t like his own appearance much, but… he remembers that there were days that Hiyori could make him feel pretty.
Shin is so foolishly happy in all these old photos. He hunts through them to try to find one young Shin he can respect.
They are all naïve idiots.
If he looks in a mirror now, he looks completely different. He can’t stretch his mouth that wide anymore.
Shin suddenly realizes that he drew the corners of his mouth downturned. That’s not what he wanted! He wants the happy memory!
Shin gives up. He hates drawing his young self. He hates having his own picture taken.
…
Shin draws the smile back on his young face.
Shin Tsukimi is many things, but he is not a quitter.
…
He can’t afford an art class, but when Shin returns to the art store, the familiar woman at the register tells him that she’ll be hosting a painting session tomorrow. Shin decides to call in sick so he can attend.
It’s a good decision. He’s a bit self-conscious at first. Besides himself, there are three children who’ve come to paint. But then an elderly couple joins, so Shin is no longer the only adult.
The woman shows them how to paint flowers. The way she boldly mixes colors surprises Shin—blue with orange, green with red—but her painting looks livelier and more magical than a photo ever could.
Shin tells her that, and she laughs. He blushes and hides his face in his scarf, but—she seems nice about it.
“Your flowers look pretty too. I like how you curled the leaves there. Are you sure you’re a beginner?”
“Ah—yes, I definitely am, haha.”
“Shin Tsukimi, right?”
“Mm-hm.”
“You know, my shift ends in two hours…” She twirls the ends of her hair awkwardly. “Would you like to…?”
“Oh! Sorry, I—I have plans today, sorry.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“It’s fine!”
“Right—uh—I’ll see you later, Shin Tsukimi?”
“See you!” Shin zips up his bag and leaves in a hurry.
He feels guilty immediately, of course. He had no good reason to turn her down except for feeling shy. That was a perfectly good opportunity to make a new friend and he blew it.
Though he’s sure he would have disappointed her.
Someone so desperate and weird as him.
He only wants his old friend back.
…
A painting doesn’t need to be as realistic as a photograph to still carry emotional weight.
The colors don’t need to be exactly correct to show truth in feeling.
Shin doesn’t need to remember Hiyori’s face perfectly to draw a thoughtful portrait of him.
That’s what Shin tells himself as he finishes the final details on his painting.
When he finally sets down his brush… He doesn’t think it looks bad.
Actually… it looks pretty good. If Shin dares say so.
Shin carefully removes the tapes and realizes there are tears in his eyes. He did it. He successfully painted a happy memory of himself and the man he loved. He should hang it up in his room.
It looks awful.
No it doesn’t. Shut up.
Who are you kidding? That doesn’t look anything like Sou Hiyori at all.
He doesn’t need to look exactly like Sou Hiyori. He just needs to feel like Sou Hiyori. This is how he feels to me.
Guess he feels like a blurry mess to you, then?
I’m proud of it! That’s all that matters. I don’t need to impress anyone but myself anymore.
I hate it.
The worst part is that Shin can’t even tell if the voice in his head is Hiyori’s or his own.
It is getting hard to recall the sound of his best friend’s voice.
Whoever it belongs to, the negative voice grows louder in Shin’s head until he can’t fight it anymore. He grabs the painting with both hands and rips it in half.
Then he rips it again.
He sobs angrily as he rips the rest of his heart to shreds, so all his hard work is unrecognizable.
Shin’s portrait of Sou will remain hidden away in his mind’s eye, until it slips away with all the other forgotten memories.
