Work Text:
Semi POV
Why am I here…?
Why did I choose this again? Oh right I never.
I thought as I zoned out listening to Hachiro Sensei’s lecture. She was rambling on about some old style of art from centuries ago. I never wanted to study art but my parents pretty much made it mandatory. It’s a weird subject to force your child into, most parents would force their kids into subjects like finance or business studies, things that were considered useful not subjects in this field where careers and stable jobs can be hard to find.
So why am I here… well I don’t actually know, most likely they want to live their dreams through me. Too bad for them I’m still going down the music path.
I hate being an art student. The coursework always adds a lot more extra stress than it’s worth; 90% of my free time is stolen by coloured pencils and paintbrushes with 3 bristles that should probably be thrown away by now, the extra 10% isn’t much better when i’m having to cram as much knowledge for my music course and prepare new music that will please my bitch of a professor. The classroom looks like a toddler designed it for one of those ‘art’ projects they do in preschool, only making me more miserable as it drains me of any energy and motivation I have left in my body. Safe to say my college life isn’t the greatest. However there’s one thing that is bringing light to this hellhole of a classroom.
Him…
He;s beautiful, maybe even majestic. He’s living proof that if there is a god he has favourites. I’ve only ever spoken to him once or twice. On his first day, we were paired together for a project on portraiture. I had to paint him, he had to paint me. We rarely spoke during the time we had to work together. One time when it was assigned and we exchanged reference photos since we lived too far apart to simply visit each other, the other time we spoke was right at the end of the project when we showcased our portraits to the rest of the class. If it wasn’t for Hachiro Sensei being the type of teacher to make the class interactive I doubt we would have ever spoken again.
During the 2 weeks I spent painting him I came to notice every little detail about his appearance from the unevenly cut copper bangs that oddly fit his sculpted face to the tiny specs of yellow just barely showing in his magnetic eyes that I found myself gazing into a lot. Somehow I found myself admiring even the scowl that was always present on the boy. Even if I denied it at first, believing that I could never like someone just from seeing a picture, it’s undeniable that I did. Which brings us to where I am now once again admiring him from across the classroom like I always do during this god awful class like some sort of Ushijima Wakatoshi fangirl. Admiring the beauty that is…
Shirabu Kenjiro.
“Semi Eita. Want to tell me what’s so interesting about Shirabu that you’d be distracted in my lesson. ”
Oh fuck, now he’s going to think i’m some sort of creep. My face flushes red with embarrassment. “Sorry. I zoned out.” Hopefully Shirabu won’t think about it too much. It’s not like I'm ever going to confess,it’d be odd we can’t even be considered friends yet. Imagine receiving a confession from some random person you had spoken to once. As if fate was on my side the copper haired boy himself came over.
“I can tell you weren’t listening so I'll tell you. We have another portrait project due in 2 weeks and your face was interesting to paint last time so I'm painting you again.” My face was interesting? Is that in a good or bad way… The blank look on his face makes it hard to tell. “Oh.. um, thanks I guess.” He sat down beside me throwing me off guard as I just expected him to walk back to the seat across the classroom, where I could safely admire the soft, angelic, concentrated face he would make whilst he was slowly getting more and more lost in his own imagination.
I loved Shirabus artwork. I always saw them hanging up on the drying rack or showcased on the classroom walls making the walls have at least one redeeming quality. His artwork was almost always semi-realistic with a hint of abstract or symbolism. Sometimes they would appear to be odd and obscure which received a lot of negative attention from passers by. They most likely don’t understand them. Not that I understood them, I don’t think anyone but Shirabu could, but to me every single delicate stroke was just as perfect as him.
As he quickly sketched out a rough sketch of me and began adding his own touch. Whilst I was observing him sketch away I first noticed he added some jewellery and piercings, which I must say looked good on me and I will probably invest in soon. I began to notice a slightly pink hue on the Shirabus cheek. Is it possible there’s a chance he could like me to? Probably not.. It’s most likely that he’s embarrassed that I'm watching him. I should look away since I get uncomfortable when people watch me practise music. Ironic since I want to perform in the future.
Soon class came to an end and everyone began packing away. I quickly threw away the many failed attempts I had made of myself. I’ve never been great at art, sure I passed with a decent grade in highschool but the research was the main reason for that. I usually can draw myself if I focus really hard but with Shirabu sitting just next to me, my attention kept being drawn back to the soft, slow movements shirabus paint covered (presumably from a previous project he’d just finished) hands made as they glided along the paper. The paper was thick and textured which probably means he’s going to use watercolours, one of my personal favourite mediums. I love the soft vibe they give off and how easy they lay down on the paper.
I left the classroom to head back to my apartment where undoubtedly I’d end up being reminded of how single I am whilst I third-wheel my roommate and his boyfriend.
***
Upon entering my room I see my roommate with an unusually sweet look on his usually sour face as his carefree boyfriend lies across his stomach on my couch. Guess I won’t be third wheeling for once. I’m still reminded of just how single I am as I find myself imagining that me and Shirabu could maybe be like them one day. That uninterested face being abnormally sweet as he looks at me. We’d go on sweet little picnics and I could play charming melodies whilst he just admires me. I’m too in my head right now aren’t I.
“Why the fuck are you so red?”
Oh he’s awake. He is a light sleeper after all, I learnt that the hard way. Kyotani and I have been roommates since the beginning of the school year and his boyfriend Yahaba just seemed to come with him as a package deal.
“It’s a long walk from college to here and the sun’s out.” Kyotani rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I’ll just pretend that I don’t know about that sketchbook in your room or the many love songs written to someone named Shirabu.” That takes me off guard. When did he go through my room and how much does he know? At the mention of Shirabus name Yahaba springs up.
“Shirabu. That’s the artist right?” To which I nod. “I never realised he went here, hmm.” Before lying back down on Kyotanis chest. Seriously do they always have to remind me of how lonely I am. You wouldn’t expect Kyotani to be a sweet boyfriend but surprisingly I’ve never heard them argue. On another note how do Shirabu and Yahaba know each other.
Yahaba switches rewinds the TV presumably to where they left off before falling asleep on each other so I took my chance to ask. “How do you and Shirabu know each other?” Without hesitation he responds “Rivalry, I guess.” He takes a breath. “We both entered many art competitions but I always lost to him. I never intended to continue art after highschool but I guess I’m just competitive.” He shrugs to which I nod my head in understanding. I then head into my bedroom.
I sit down on the end of my bed with my head in my hands. Looking back at Kyotani and Yahaba I realise that if I continue being stuck on Shirabu I’m probably never going to be in a relationship. We don’t even talk on a regular basis. Yes, it’s possible that I could go speak to him, we are in the same class after all but I don’t even know what to talk about; none of our interests align as far as I know. I glance over at the A5 sized sketchbook. No, I don't like art class but I did enjoy some things about it. Being able to sketch the beauty that is Shirabu Kenjiro from across the classroom. Is it a bit creepy? I guess.
I should probably try to get over these feelings if I’m not going to directly act upon them huh…
***
‘Dear Shirabu Kenjiro
Ever since I first saw you enter this classroom I found you intriguing. Throughout this year my feelings have only developed further and it’s safe to say I've fallen for you without even knowing you. Weird huh. That’s exactly why I want to begin getting over these feelings as much as I can. Here’s a gift that I should probably get rid of if I want these feelings to disappear.
-Bye
E.S ’
I tuck the note into my jean pocket. It may be cheesy and not well written but I’m not a literature student. I made the decision last night. I should get over these feelings. Sure it will take awhile but taking this step will help. I threw the sketchbook in my backpack.
Walking towards the college my mind spirals, at some point in the 2 hour long lecture I'm going to have to sneakily put both the note and sketchbook on Shirabus desk or wait until he leaves to do so. Knowing my luck today will be the only day he doesn’t return after lunch and I'll have to sneakily do it. Stop overthinking Eita why would today be any different from any other day. Actually there’s many reasons it could be. Great, I'm freaking out.
I kept the songs I wrote about him. They aren’t clear who they’re for and they technically are a part of my music portfolio so it would be stupid to just scrap them. Speaking of my music course, I’ve kind of been neglecting it recently. I should probably work on it today.
***
Is he not here today…? Class started 10 minutes ago and Shirabu hadn't arrived. Just my luck. As I listen to Hachiro Sensei ramble on about perspective, something I learned in junior high, my hand glides along the sketchbook page. One last sketch of that empty desk. Hey, it could be a metaphor for my feelings, they were there for a long time and now they're slowly going to be fading away.
I'm snapped out of my inner monologue when I hear the door burst open.
“Sorry Sensei. I missed the train this morning.” It was Shirabu. I turned to look at him. He’s not helping me here in his black, denim overalls that help bring out the many tones of grey in the turtleneck jumper that’s ever so slightly oversized making his smaller frame appear even more adorable. They’re matched with my favourite type of shoe, black boots. They make him appear slightly taller than his usual height of 5’8.
He takes his seat and quickly rummages through his bag. He pulls out his sketchbook and I quickly glance away. I meant to be getting over these. Stop staring Eita. Class continues like normal. Until everyone is dismissed. When Shirabu leaves I notice he left his bag. Perfect, he will be back here later.
I take a quick breath before pulling the note out of my pocket. I tuck the note under the corner of his open sketchbook. There I see the now almost complete portrait of me staring back at me. It’s perfect. Like every other piece of art made with his gentle touch. No Eita stop. Then I placed the sketchbook beside his. I walked out of the classroom like everyone else had.
He would no longer be Shirabu Kenjiro, the boy he loved, he would now just be the artist across the classroom.