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Chisato can’t draw.
Well, even in her own words, can’t is a strong way of putting it. There isn’t a standard for art that can be quantified objectively, because it’s a subjective medium. But she’s sure anyone could tell she isn’t the most artistically minded from the fact she draws like a five-year old who has the patience for coloring inside the lines.
Curiously, she found that she does it anyway, though privately of course. Sitting next to her planner and hidden inconspicuously underneath her latest script and school textbooks is her worn sketchbook. No one has seen inside of it or knows of it, and she’s happy that way.
Hina can draw. Very well, at that. Exceptional. Just like everything else about her.
She learns this when Pastel*Palettes draw each other on whiteboards a little after their debut. The host of the show is wearing a colorful red suit with pinstripes, entertaining the live audience with banter and inviting jokes, keeping them entertained while the girls draw each other on their whiteboards.
Time on the clock: one minute.
Chisato, in her anxiety, spends half of the time looking up at her subject. First she’s planning out where her lines will go, then how she would draw them, before finally unscrewing the cap on her marker to press ink to the board. She’s halfway through the rough outline of hair when the timer goes neon red with a blaringly loud beep and pulls each girl out of her drawing. Except, naturally, Hina, who continued to draw despite the time being up.
The nerve. She looks over to Hina, who is sitting next to her with her gaze firmly planted on the board, which she‘s holding at an angle to make it non-visible to the other members.
The host looks at her quizzically and then laughs playfully to play it off as a light-hearted moment instead of the breach of rules it is: “We would appreciate it if you put your marker down now. Time is up, after all! You can finish it after, if you’d like.”
Chisato touches her on the shoulder and leans over to coldly whisper into her ear, “Stop it.”
Hina bristles at the noise and then brings her hand to her ear, pausing a moment. She then moves her head left to right, giggling as if she was in her own world, with a cheery smile, “That makes my ear feel ticklish!”
Then she gently places her board down on her lap, tuning back into the world, though Chisato wasn’t sure if Hina’s sense of the world was similar to most people’s sense of it. Probably not.
“Ahaha, I imagine you must have gotten very into your drawing, Hina-chan to not notice time was over like that! Would you like to go first in presenting?” The host asks, turning to the crowd and asking if they were curious as well to see what Hina had drawn, to which the crowd has enthusiastic responses.
Hina brightly stands up and shows her board to everyone, revealing what was clearly a side view of Chisato. Her neat, long hair is what she first sees.
Chisato’s gaze is looking over her board with focused eyes and her hand is gently posed as if about to move hair out of her face. She looks bizarrely beautifully-rendered for a piece that was drawn in such little time and with such little importance, with each stroke seeming to add to the composition perfectly.
It’s Chisato, but she looks like an angel, ethereal, with glittering eyes, pretty lips, and a smile markedly different from the way Chisato practices in the mirror. It’s a little too big, a little too much in it. Has she even seen me smile like that before?
“Wow! Hina-chan, that’s so pretty!” Aya quickly exclaims, excitedly clapping. Her pigtails sway from side to side as she looks closer in awe.
Eve and Maya also take turns to speak, both sharing acknowledgments of skill and surprise that Hina had been able to draw someone so well in such a short amount of time. Maya says it’s just like her to draw like that.
Chisato isn’t sure what to say.
She looks back at the board for a long moment, wondering if that was how she looked to Hina - if it was how she could look to anyone. If it was specific to her in some way, or if Hina was just so talented she could make anyone and anything look beautiful. Chisato looks up to see the audience looking at her - waiting for a reaction - and forces herself to reply cordially. After all, she had to say something. It was her in the drawing. Speaking quietly, stiffly placing her hands in her lap: “...Thanks, Hina-chan. What a wonderful picture.”
Hina looks at Chisato and grins at her widely, knowingly, practically bouncing in her seat. She was glowing, having more fun in a single moment than Chisato in her entire life, probably. Hina smiles like she’s containing every single piece of sunlight and joy in the world in her face. Chisato looks into her big, happy eyes, with a yearning bubbling in her stomach for only a fading moment before turning away and asking Eve to go next.
Eve and Maya unveil cute doodles of each other. Soon after, the show moves on to reveal Aya and Chisato also have doodles containing each other, though originally even the host has trouble finding out who is in Chisato’s art. She tries not to let it get to her. After all, at least everyone in the audience is delighted to know the “official” pairs of Pastel*Palettes are, as always, so close. Chisato smiles at this; mission accomplished.
But her mind drifts off once shooting ends. Standing up and following the rest of her band, her eyes once more go to Hina, who’s taking a picture of Aya and her as always.
Why did Hina draw me, though? Do I look like that to her? Why me? Well, who knows what goes on in her brain. If I ask, she’ll tell me something unintelligible anyway.
When Chisato goes home that night, she picks up her pencil and despite herself, she recalls the moment Hina grinned at her. After drawing, she closes her worn sketchbook and places her scripts and books on top of it as always. She hates what she drew even more than usual.