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The door opened with a titillating of the bells, making Futaba look up from the table.
“You’re back”.
Aoi was carrying some of his painting materials with him, which made Futaba press down her lips firmly. He didn’t just have a dishevelled aspect, some strands of hair protruding from his braid, some short hairs stuck to his forehead which instead of pale pink was now showing a greenish tone, the same tone that Aoi’s fingers had, among other colours in varying degrees of size. At least his clothes aren’t dirty, Futaba thought, but still, that messy style wasn’t like Aoi.
“You’re alone?” Aoi walked up to her, and under the pale light, she could see clearly the dark circles under his eyes.
“Of course I’m alone, have you looked at the time?”
Aoi did a quick double-take on the clock on the wall, and if he had had any energy to begin with, his shoulders would’ve dropped. But he had felt disheartened since he left the building where he had been painting.
“I’m sorry, Futaba.”
“Don’t be, you know Oji is upstairs and he doesn’t sleep until late.”
Aoi felt a sad smile wanting to spread across his face.
“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry you had to wait for me for so long, being alone or not.”
Futaba looked at him briefly before standing up. She didn’t have the heart to look at his tired face and complain. It must’ve rubbed off on her, how Aoi tried scolding people to make them take better care of themselves.
“I’ll lock up, will you go on ahead to my room?” The way Aoi’s eyes were pleading made her almost want to touch him then and there, but she just nodded and turned away, going up the stairs to the second floor.
Futaba spread out the futon while Aoi tried to clean himself off the paint quite unsuccessfully. When he returned, the hair around his face was wet, and his sleeves were unbuttoned. Seeing him like that, with the evidence of water and soap across his forehead, but the splatter of paint still on his skin made Futaba sigh. It was as if the paint no longer was a tool, but rather it was coming from him, from deep within him.
“Will you let me untwine your hair?” Futaba asked in a quiet voice. Aoi felt his heart tremble a little in his chest. It had been weeks since she had last touched his hair, and it almost felt like a betrayal, the proof that they hadn’t been spending enough time together, that he had been neglecting her.
Aoi whispered in agreement and sat down next to her on the futon.
“Put your head on my lap.” She scooted a bit closer to the wall and straightened her legs. Aoi lied down looking away from her so that his braid was fully at her disposition. She reached out to untie the simple cord that he always used and tied it momentarily around her wrist. Seeing the little piece in contact with her body always made her feel closer to him. Like this act, this moment was something he only shared with her. Like she was the only one allowed to touch his body.
Futaba often worried that other people were able to touch his heart and mind more deeply than she ever could, for she didn’t have any artistic talents. She could only aspire to be a student to Aoi whenever he took her along for an exhibition. But this right now – his rope on her wrist and her hand on his hair – this was something only she could do.
“You’re quieter than usual”, Futaba started, deftly uncrossing the strands and undoing Aoi’s braid, while her other hand started massaging the top of his head.
“…things aren’t going well with my painting.” Aoi cut to the chase and for once decided to be honest from the beginning. He knew Futaba was tired, and her undoing his braid was a ritual they had together whenever they wanted to be honest with each other and let down their walls.
“The one you’ve been working on nonstop?”
“No, actually… I didn’t tell you, but about a week ago we suddenly got this new assignment.”
Futaba could hear the guilt in Aoi’s voice, but her heart only trembled with relief. So that’s why she had been seeing even less of him, even when he had started his assignments early so that they could spend time together.
“It’s the teacher with the crazy ideas, always trying to get us to do different things, outside of our area of study,” Aoi dragged his fists to cover his chest as if he had to be prepared to fight someone. “This time, he said we had to merge humanity and nature together, and then he refused to further explain anything. And he gave us way less time than any other teacher, too.” If Aoi hadn’t been so tired, he would’ve already been shouting with disgust right now, Futaba was sure of it.
“Humanity and nature?”
“Yeah, you know my specialty is landscapes, that’s what I like!” Futaba felt Aoi stirring despite his exhaustion, and stopped combing through the long strands to start massaging the base of his skull. “So of course, I have no idea what he wants, or what I should do, and I’ve tried it all, adding people to my landscapes, everything, and it always ends up looking so bad, how am I supposed to get good at painting people with so little time?”
Futaba kept on massaging the tense muscles on his neck, behind his ears, and softly pressed on his temple. When she pulled her fingers away from his face, he grabbed her hand and turned slightly to look at her.
“I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t be talking about this before we go to sleep.”
“It’s fine, Aoi, this is what’s on your mind, and I want to hear it. I want to know it all.”
Aoi pulled her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her open palm, fully moving to be face up.
“I feel like this assignment is ruining my art instead of pushing me to better stages.”
Futaba hummed, thinking of a way to be of help to Aoi. She didn’t like seeing him this desperate, and even if she knew artists could create their best works in times of stress, it didn’t calm her anxieties about his state.
She went over his words in her head while Aoi looked at her. He didn’t like this either, not being able to spend time with her, and dumping all his problems on her like that. He had to grow up, be more resourceful, be someone who could make her proud instead of worry.
He sat up and reached a hand to cup her cheek and traced her bottom lip with his thumb. Futaba looked at him and he waited for her to close the distance between them. However, that didn’t happen. Aoi looked at her with concern, but before his thoughts could run wild, she spoke.
“I don’t know much about painting but…” Her eyes were wide with uncertainty. Aoi remained silent, and she continued. “If you have tried adding people to your landscape paintings, and it hasn’t worked, maybe you could try adding the landscape paintings to people?”
Aoi’s brain short-circuited and she rushed to explain.
“You could… try to paint nature on people? Like, use people as your canvases maybe? That would combine humanity and nature, right? I know it’s a really stupid idea and you wouldn’t be able to present it like that to your teacher but it may help you wi-”
“No.” Aoi interrupted. “You’re a genius.”
That’s how they ended up in this predicament: Futaba with her kimono sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her hakama rolled up to her knees, in a small clear near Shinobazu pond, at noon.
“Aoi, are you sure no one can see us from here?” Futaba’s voice was only a hiss, worried as she was about being discovered.
“Yes, I made sure. No one comes to this area at this time anyway, but if they came, I would hear them.” He looked up from her ankle. “Are you sure you’re not cold?”
“I think I’m too embarrassed to be cold. And don’t say anything, I know I was the one who suggested this in the first place.” She closed her eyes, wanting to disappear. He placed a hand on the foot he hadn’t worked on yet and relaxed when he confirmed it wasn’t cold.
It was a sunny day, and it warmed them enough to make this possible during winter. However, Aoi was determined to not let her catch a cold. He resumed his work on her skin, the brush tickling her.
Blades of grass soon adorned her feet and climbed up her shins, and Aoi hummed to himself with satisfaction, a small smile hiding under his tousled hair. He propped himself up and pushed his bangs away from his eyes, and Futaba saw exactly how the paint stains appeared on his face. She smiled and looked at the creation on her skin. It was only the first time that he was doing that, but it looked perfect, like her legs were camouflaging with her surroundings.
“Okay, I’ll start with the arms now.” He moved closer to her, and sat down on the same mantelpiece she was sitting. He gently took her left hand and brought the plate with paint to his lap.
Aoi worked tirelessly, and yet, Futaba saw the shadows they projected on the ground slowly move. She wasn’t used to sitting down and barely moving for so long, and her bottom and legs were beginning to hurt. She didn’t know how Aoi couldn’t feel any tension in his body, but when she observed him attentively, he seemed to be in another world, one where only his brush and his ideas existed.
She shifted in her seat, trying to keep her arm as still as possible so as not to ruin the traces Aoi was working on. He fluttered his eyes and looked up at her as if he had come out of a trance.
“Are you okay? You must be getting tired.”
“It’s… my legs hurt from being in this position.” She didn’t want him to stop, but it was starting to take a toll on her.
“What about laying down? Would that help? You can move your legs if you want, I have only painted on the front of your limbs.” Futaba began leaning down, and Aoi supported her back in the process. “How are you feeling now?”
“Much better,” she replied with a smile. The problem was, now the sun couldn’t warm her. Aoi noticed she was completely in the shade and sighed pinching his nose.
“We’ll leave it here today,” he announced and proceeded to tidy up all his utensils.
“What? No, I’m fine Aoi, I can still keep going.” Futaba sat up again, but Aoi was firm in his decision. She gulped down, feeling defeated. She believed she wasn’t doing enough to help him. “Honestly, it’s fine. You don’t have that much time left…”
“Futaba, I am more selfish than you think,” he interrupted, turning to look at her. “You already did enough, I know you weren’t comfortable doing this here, and I’m sorry for it. I won’t allow you to catch a cold.”
“Maybe… we can continue back in Raccord?” She suggested, and Aoi almost clicked his tongue. Why was she humouring him so much? He didn’t reply, instead choosing to start bandaging her feet and legs so her clothes weren’t stained when she pulled down her hakama.
Futaba felt a shiver travelling through her body, causing her to tremble. Aoi looked up and frowned.
“I knew it.” That was the only thing he said, but Futaba could tell he was berating himself mentally. She pressed her lips and breathed.
“I didn’t shiver because I’m cold,” her voice was soft, like the caress of Aoi’s hands on her legs.
“Futaba, you don’t need to lie for my sake. Please, never lie for my sake.” He didn’t look up and focused on tying the knot on her knee.
“I’m not lying. It’s… it’s different.” She couldn’t find the words now that she had begun talking. Maybe it was too much after all. How was she going to be able to describe what he made her feel just by touching her skin? It mortified her, especially because Aoi wasn’t thinking like that. At that moment, she was just… a canvas he had to protect. A work in progress.
He didn’t waste time in bandaging her arm, making sure the white cloth was not too tight around her. When they arrived back in Raccord, the sky was already showing the first touches of orange and pink. Aoi looked at the clouds before closing the door behind him.
“Are you sure… it would be okay to continue?”
Futaba simply nodded and went up the stairs. Oji was too busy serving customers alone for once to notice they had entered, and they took the opportunity to not give any explanations. When they arrived in his room, Futaba started working on her clothes in a dark corner of the room while Aoi prepared the materials once again. He looked outside the window where the colours in the sky were mixing in such beautiful shapes as if daring him to try and copy that grandeur.
That gave him a new idea.
“Futaba, would it be okay to paint on you some more?” He broke the distance between them, making sure they were not seen from the window.
She simply nodded, extending her arm so he could unfold the bandage he had tied on her. He worked swiftly, and Futaba almost gasped when the branches with new buds appeared on her skin. Then, he bent down on one knee to work on the bandages of her legs.
Aoi stepped back when he was done, observing her.
“Would it be okay to paint on your collarbone area?”
She nodded without thinking, and when the words dawned on her, she fluttered her eyelids, embarrassed. Aoi noticed the change in her and smiled. He was glad to not be the only one who still could blush and get embarrassed by things like that.
He reached for her face and cupped her cheeks.
“May I kiss you?” It had been too long since they last shared a kiss, and no matter how much the assignment was weighing on him, there were certain things that shouldn’t be forgotten.
Futaba smiled and closed the space between them. They shared a tender kiss, their bodies relaxing to the touch.
“I… I really wish I could keep kissing you, but if we kiss again I may lose the ability to paint,” Aoi whispered. Futaba laughed.
“Don’t exaggerate, we’ve kissed in the past and you’re still an art genius.”
“Well, yeah, but I’m suffering severely from withdrawal from you, and if you give me anything more, I’ll… nothing will matter but you.”
Futaba felt a little stab at her heart and flicked Aoi’s forehead. He groaned, surprised.
“It’s not fair, you saying these things when I’ve been missing you for weeks.” Her voice sounded amused, but he knew better than to be fooled by that. He muttered an apology. “Now you know why I wanted to help you. I can’t wait for you to be done with your assignments.”
“Just… just for a little bit, okay?” Aoi buried his head on her shoulder, hugging her tightly to him. He had to become someone better for her. He couldn’t keep expecting her to wait for him, he couldn’t hurt her like that.
Futaba petted his hair, taking care not to press her arms against him, for fear the paint on her skin would chip further.
When they separated, Aoi had a newfound resolution in his eyes. He worked quickly on his tools, preparing the necessary materials to adorn her skin. When Futaba was seated by the window, her back to the outside, he observed the branches and buds on her forearms and added a few more, refining the lines. When he had worked on her other arm, he put his brush and little cup aside.
He retrieved one of the portable lamps and closed the curtains. Now in total darkness, he started unfastening the tight ribbon on Futaba’s ribcage. He didn’t dare look at her, for he knew he’d turn into a nervous mess if he saw the expression she had on her face. This simple gesture reminded him of other evenings, other nights, where they had also been alone in the darkness of his room. He couldn’t be thinking about those things.
He soon worked on Futaba’s upper layers, making her collarbone appear.
“Is this okay?” He still didn’t look at her, but focused on making sure her chest was still mostly covered by the clothes. Futaba nodded, and Aoi did the same, taking his brush and palette again.
The sky proved to be more difficult, and Aoi had to close his eyes and look on his mind’s eye for the colours and shapes. However, the skin of Futaba’s collarbone was different, and it made the brush run smoothly. The paint really stood out there, almost as if it was floating.
He stood up and walked away, observing all the different parts, the grass on her legs, the branches on her arms, the sunset sky on her collarbone and shoulders. Suddenly, there weren’t just parts, but everything collided into one, into her, into forming a scene in nature.
It was as if he was looking at Futaba and at his dear scenery at the same time, and something shifted inside of him.
“I… I see.” He muttered, but what he meant was I get it now. He looked at her, thoughts running through his head. “Can we… can you put up with this for a while longer?”
The worry in his voice made her understand it was not going to be a little while. But she could also hear the revelation that was taking place inside of him.
He quickly scrambled for a canvas and took the easel from his place against the wall. Then, everything happened like in a dream, a dream that held both of them in its arms.
Futaba watched Aoi’s movements attentively and found herself totally absorbed in a moment that stretched forever. Aoi worked frantically, not wanting to lose whatever had sparked inside him. He knew a single flame was difficult to keep fanning without extinguishing it. Yet, he didn’t know how, but he managed to protect it and let its light guide him for the entire journey of his painting.
When it finally appeared in its whole completion before him, Aoi felt as if he hadn’t been the one painting it. And yet, he remembered every stroke, every little detail and decision.
“Aren’t you tired yet?” She asked after a while when Aoi was focusing on finer details of the painting. Feeling his gaze so closely, so critically looking at her had instilled doubts in her mind.
“I’m used to painting for hours on end without a real break.”
“I’m not talking about painting per se. I’m talking about… having to stare at me so much, I’m sure my face gets weird the longer you look at it, and not to talk about my body…” Futaba trailed off, wanting to turn around. But she had to stay still, and it almost felt like her body didn’t belong to her anymore. To what, she wasn’t entirely sure. Maybe to that scene.
“No, it doesn’t. If anything, I find new little details to love.” Aoi brushed his bangs away while refocusing on the canvas.
Futaba wanted to hold his hand, but he was too far away, and she was supposed to stay still anyway.
“And what about… having to spend so much time with me all of a sudden? Aren’t you tired of me? I bet artists need solitude.”
“Of you? Never.” Aoi looked back at her with a serious expression. “You are getting tired of this, aren’t you? That’s why you’re asking all these questions.”
“N-no!” Futaba raised her hands to quickly put them down again. “It’s just… you have a lot on your plate with Art school and Raccord and whatnot… and I don’t want to be another burden, I bet you’re already-”
“Futaba.” Aoi put down his brush. He knew it. The painting was done. Anything else was just selfish buffoonery. He got up to get closer to her. “It’s finished, and it was only possible thanks to you.” He took her hands and made her stand up. “You’re worried I’m tired, but you know what? I can’t get enough of you.”
“Oh, come on! You don’t need to keep courting me.” Futaba giggled, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“You don’t believe me? Let me prove it to you.”
His hand found anchor on the back of her head, his other arm shooting to the wall behind them. Aoi pressed his body against her until there was nowhere else to go, and Futaba felt that in that moment, pressed against the wall and against him, she felt freer to move than she had in the entire day.
Her lips found his immediately and a passion they hadn’t let wild until that moment finally soared to the surface. They kissed with the raw intensity of lovers who have missed each other for longer than they could endure. When they lost their breath, Aoi was the first to pull away, in search of other places to kiss. When he saw her collarbone and shoulders covered in paint – his paint – he almost wanted to scream. He wanted to kiss her, lap and suck at her skin, paint it with only his love, nothing else, and imprint his affection deep in her bones. But he couldn’t. He gave up and kissed her along her jaw, going down to her neck, caressing her skin with his lips and nose, savouring her taste, her scent. He wanted to get lost in her essence.
Futaba trembled and felt all the weight of the day pushing down on her. Now that she could finally do what she most desired, her body seemed to rebel against her. Still, she tried to fight the fatigue. Her hands roamed through his chest, his arms, his shoulders and back, taking all of him in through her tactile sense. She wanted to renew the map of him she had inside of her.
When Aoi engulfed one of her earlobes between his lips, Futaba’s legs gave out. He caught her before she could slide to the floor, but it was a wake-up call.
“We should go to sleep.” Aoi smiled softly at her, helping her sit down on the floor. “You stay here.”
He went to fetch a washbasin and an old towel. He poured as little water as necessary and came back next to her.
While rubbing the paint off Futaba’s skin, Aoi came to a realisation. Both nature and humans were temporary. Just like the paint on her skin couldn’t last forever, no human could last forever, no state of nature could last forever. Everything was ephemeral, but even in that transition, he had her love. Her love was his, and his love was hers, and that was the only thing that could transcend time.
He bowed to always remember that and honour the treasure that their love was. He would protect it, he wouldn’t let anyone erase it, but he knew he also had to accept that one day, that love could choose to disappear, to shift on its own. And he had to treasure it while it was still in his hands.
After her skin was fresh and clean, he quickly tidied up the room. Meanwhile, Futaba changed out of her day clothes into the nightgown she kept at his place. It was a secret only she and Aoi knew, and it was usually buried under all his clothes, to ensure no one found out about it. She revelled in their secret, the quiet intimacy that this simple fact proved they shared. She extended the futon and got under the covers.
When he changed out of his clothes, Futaba wondered how it was possible to love someone so much. She wanted to share more ordinary moments with him like this. She longed for a domestic life together, one where they didn’t need to hide or be quiet.
He got under the covers next to her and made sure to tuck them in. He then held her face, kissing her cheeks, forehead, and nose. She was warm and Aoi sighed with relief. She kissed him softly on the lips and reached for his hands, placing them under the covers and intertwining their fingers.
“Goodnight, Aoi.”
“Goodnight, Futaba. Thank you for everything you did today.”
She shook her hand, a small smile gracing her features.
“I love you.”
He repeated the words back and exhaled with peace, closing his eyes. It wasn’t long when he heard Futaba’s soft breathing, signalling she had already fallen asleep. He turned to look at the canvas that was drying against the wall. Futaba’s hands tugged slightly at his, and he looked once more at her relaxed face.
He really was a fortunate ayakashi.