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Keiji never considered himself a creative type. Or, more specifically, he was no artist. Not in the slightest. He always felt awkward trying to create anything with his hands. He'd done the required art classes in school and all he ever got out of them was inconspicuous paint on canvas, lump of clay that could maybe be a cat if you squinted from really far away, and several blows to his confidence. He'd even tried woodwork in more recent years, thinking it'd be cheaper to build his own furniture than to buy new. But that didn't work out for him either. It only left him with a dent in his bank account and a bunch of pieces of wood he'd destroyed trying to make a dining table for himself so he didn't have to keep eating meals in his living room.
He wasn't sure what had come over him when he saw that flyer advertising art classes at the local high school. It was advertised as a class for adults during the evenings after school was out, so at the very least he couldn't be shown up by some crazy gifted teenager. In all honesty, that was a big motivator for his attendance.
That and he desperately needed a hobby. Anything to occupy his time. He'd been letting himself continue in a spiral of misery since he quit his job as a police detective due to…
… Well…
… Unprecedented circumstances.
So much so that despite so little experience with hair that he didn't even know how to properly style his own, he bleached his hair by himself one night. Though, to his credit, it may be the best thing he's ever "made" with his hands. Even if his hair was now banana taffy yellow, at least it was evenly lightened and still on his head. He had the urge to change it but he didn’t want to go back to brown, black was too close to that, and ginger was… out of the question. So, despite the slight pang of embarrassment that came with showing off the hair color born from a desperate need to feel in control, he was stuck with it.
Whatever the reason, he was now regretting the decision to go as he navigated the eerily quiet halls of the high school. The near silence made him wonder if he should even be there. His hands sat snugly in his pockets as he searched, only the sound of his worn down black Oxfords against the linoleum to distract him from the wave of anxiety that hit him as soon as he had entered the school.
He found himself wishing someone put out signs or sat near the front to tell him where to go. All he had to go off of was a room number from the flyer. What if he couldn’t find it? Would he just look like some random weirdo wandering a high school after hours? That was the absolute dead last thing he needed right now. Come on, room number 124.
124…
124……
He was about to give up and trudge back to the familiar dismal comfort of his evening routine at home; then if he was depressed he wouldn’t also be anxious. But those plans had no time to be considered as he turned a corner and his tired gray eyes locked on an open classroom door. He stopped and glanced just to the right of the door and to his trepidation, there it was. Room 124.
He would've still turned on his heel and made a break for it, chickening out of breaking his daily despondent cycle and running back to the melancholy familiarity that sheltered him. He would've… if he hadn't made eye contact with the man inside.
He would've left if the man's expression hadn't immediately lit up.
He would've left if he wasn't quickly beckoned into the classroom as the man slid to his feet from his seat atop the desk.
He would've left if he hadn't been the only one that showed up for the class.
As if he hadn't discouraged himself enough, Keiji's confidence plummeted as he stepped into the classroom. There was what he could only consider to be custom wallpaper on the walls from how densely covered in student's creations they were. The thing about it, though, is that even the least skillfully crafted pieces far exceeded anything he could expect himself to create. The first artworks must've dated back years for it to have taken over the classroom the way it has. Not to mention, the wall behind the man's desk contained a stained glass window, clearly custom made by a student given the way the figure within it strongly resembled the man in front of him. Keiji’s hand rested on the back of his neck as he observed the details of the room.
"Hello! Please, please, come in! You're here for the community art class, correct? I'm delighted to meet you! I am Professor Kazumi Mishima. Although, please just call me Kazumi," The man, now identified as Kazumi, eagerly reached out his hand towards Keiji. The golden beginnings of the sunset through the windows cast stunning light onto the professor, and Keiji couldn't help but appreciate the view.
Kazumi's unruly silver hair was gathered in a loose, messy ponytail. A few stray strands escaped, dangling over the gold frames of his circular glasses. A small silver chain clung to the glasses; attached to it were several tiny bumblebees that bobbed and swayed with each movement he made. The sleeves on his shamrock green shirt had been rolled up past his elbows.
Though that seemed to hardly make a difference in cleanliness when his soft brown apron looked like it'd seen hell through years of fighting the arts and crafts war. Crusted over acrylic paint, smears of charcoal, and spots of cracking clay alongside who knows how much blood, sweat, and tears coated the surface of the apron.
Yet, despite his slightly gaudy exterior, Kazumi Mishima appeared to be a man with a solid head on his shoulders.
After momentarily drifting off into his thoughts, Keiji focused on the moment and returned Kazumi's handshake, a friendly smile gracing his lips, "Wahaha… ah, yeah. I suppose I am. The name’s Keiji," As they separated from the handshake, he slid his hand up to his neck and glanced around the empty classroom. He let out a breath he hadn't been aware he’d been holding and said, "Although," his mind whirring as he processed being alone in the room with Kazumi, "I didn't expect to be getting private lessons."
Kazumi's brows furrowed for a fraction of a moment, though the reflection in his glasses shielded the lingering disappointment in his eyes. He brought his hands up and he fiddled with the golden ring adorning his right thumb. "My apologies, Keiji. I hadn't expected much for my first free community class, but I had certainly hoped for more than one participant," his eyes scanned the dozen or so seats he had prepared with canvases, brushes, and paints.
“Please, if the class being just the two of us makes you uncomfortable for any reason, you are more than welcome to change your mind. You will not hurt my feelings,” he smiled in an effort to encourage honesty, but the continued fidgeting with his ring seemed to betray the truth of his feelings to Keiji's keen eye.
While Keiji could see that the professor would feel incredibly guilty causing him discomfort, his gut told him he couldn't back out now. Not when Kazumi had put in maximum effort for minimal turnout. His passion was obvious just from looking around the room. Each piece decorating the walls was a testament to his pride in his work and his unshakeable commitment to his students. Overwhelmed with sympathy for Kazumi, Keiji found it impossible to turn his back on the man. "Actually, if the offer still stands, I'd like to participate," He suggested, his shoulders lifting in a casual shrug as he managed a warm smile.
Kazumi's entire being lit up once more. Clasping his hands together, he beamed at Keiji and gestured to a spot for him to sit. "Wonderful! Yes, thank you! Alright, let's get started!"
Keiji sat down in the seat closest to him, feeling a little cartoonish as a man of his stature in the seat made for kids and teenagers. Able to hide his hands beneath the table, he wiped them on his pants, trying to rid them of the sweat that had accumulated from his nerves. However, when Keiji noted Kazumi's own uncertainty and noticed that he was frantically adjusting the easel and paints to accommodate his smaller audience, Keiji chimed in, "Kazumi. Don't worry too much. If it works, you could just sit across from me?" He softly tapped the surface of the table opposite himself to reassure the professor.
Kazumi turned, his hands full of tubes of paint and his posture hunched. He cleared his throat and straightened his back, realizing how unprofessional he must look. “Yes! Fantastic idea, Keiji. I apologize for my erratic behavior. If I’m honest, I’m a little flustered from this unexpected turnout,” He chuckled in an attempt to cover for the soft pink that dusted his cheeks from being called out. Kazumi set down the items in his hands and joined Keiji at the table, looking just as ridiculous in the seat seeing as he was just slightly taller than Keiji but far more lanky.
The former-detective’s eyes lingered on that tender rosy color that emerged from Kazumi’s skin. Something about it stole every ounce of his attention for that moment. At the time he thought he managed to reign himself back in from such an unexpected feeling, he found himself watching the professor's hands open bottles of paint and pour small dollops onto a palette. His hands were slender, the skin cracked; likely from washing his hands so much due to how messy his profession could be. He noticed the way some of Kazumi’s nails were torn and uneven, leading him to believe he could have an anxious habit of biting or picking at them.
“Keiji?”
He was silent as the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears nearly deafened him. Something about that final observation was comforting…
“Keiji..?”
The blond snapped out of it as he caught a glimpse of that same slender hand waving gently in front of his face. It was his turn to flush with embarrassment as he noticed Kazumi watching him with a concerned expression.
The chair creaked as he shifted, his eyes darting to the table as his hand found its way up to the back of his neck. “Sorry, sorry... Must’ve spaced out for a moment there,” Keiji could feel the tension in his shoulders growing.
“Not a problem,” Kazumi glanced over his glasses at the blond as his expression softened, a glint in his eye hinting that he had made observations of his own, “I was worried I had made you uncomfortable is all. I understand my appearance can be off putting to some.”
“No, that’s not the case at all-,” Keiji’s voice was as low and monotonous as ever, but his response time was quicker than he would’ve liked, “I mean, I don’t find discomfort in your presence in the slightest. You’ve been nothing but amiable since I arrived.” He lifted one of the paint brushes in front of him and slid a finger through the bristles. “I must just be tired, is all. Long day, you know?” His lips curled up into a soft smile as the hand on his neck scratched at his hairline.
Keiji was practically a professional liar. He’d learned to keep a poker face during his brief time as a police detective and had no issue lying convincingly straight to someone’s face. Of course, alongside his natural impulse to shroud his thoughts and feelings in secrecy, he got pretty damn good at lying. Those skills had been developed and crafted for years, so why did he suddenly feel like he was stumbling every time he opened his mouth?
“Of course, I completely understand,” Kazumi carefully set down a palette next to Keiji’s other supplies. Somehow in the time that Keiji had been sitting there, utterly entranced, Kazumi had prepared paint for the both of them, “If that’s the case, I hope I can help you relax.”
Keiji looked down at the palette and tapped the brush he held against the table. It was this moment that he remembered what had brought him here in the first place. A wave of crippling anxiety hit him like concrete after jumping from a plane with no parachute. He swallowed dryly and wiped his hands on his leisure suit vest, brushing off the motion as simply adjusting the clothing. How the hell had he seemingly entirely forgotten that agreeing to stay meant he’d have to showcase his nonexistent painting skills to a professional?!
Kazumi didn’t seem to notice his acquaintance’s nerves, or at the very least, didn’t make it obvious so as to not make things awkward. He simply lifted his brush and began.
The professor explained that he would first demonstrate and then provide guidance as Keiji attempted to replicate the technique.
All Keiji heard was the sound of the adults in the Peanuts films.
He took a soothing breath and maintained his composure as he watched Kazumi’s brush glide paint onto the canvas. From the outside, he looked focused. His slightly furrowed brows complimented that expression even if they came from an entirely different place. Any average person would assume he was absorbing Kazumi’s every word.
But Kazumi Mishima was not “any average person”.
It’s what made him such a fantastic teacher.
He was incredibly sensitive to changes in people’s demeanor. Call it a spidey-sense, but he quickly picked up on people’s little “tells”. Even though his back had been turned, he had noticed the first time Keiji wiped the sweat from his hands onto his pants through his peripheral. Hell, the first time he made eye contact with him he picked up on Keiji’s hands in his pockets and slightly slumped posture. But those weren’t unique to him. He saw those behaviors in many people.
On the contrary, Keiji’s tell that was a little more personal to him was bringing a hand to his neck. Whether to rest there or to scratch at his skin, it didn’t matter. Kazumi had noticed that in moments of discomfort, Keiji held his neck in some way. He wondered what drew Keiji to that action specifically. He knew generally that it was comforting for people because the neck is one of the more vulnerable parts of the body, so protecting it was instinctually soothing. Though he wondered if there was something more to it. Keiji didn’t seem to volunteer much information about himself, perhaps it had to do with a hesitancy to communicate openly. Kazumi couldn’t be sure. He set those thoughts to the back of his mind as it was time to let Keiji attempt to replicate his movements.
Keiji’s large, rough hands awkwardly dipped the small paintbrush into the amethyst blob of paint. He gripped the brush far too tightly, making his strokes on the canvas thicker and miles less graceful than the professor’s.
“If I may-” Kazumi’s gentle voice cut in, reaching his hand for the brush within Keiji’s grasp. He gently pulled on the end of the brush, guiding it so Keiji held it more towards the top.
“Relax your grip on the brush. It’ll help you achieve the same look more easily and I wouldn’t want you leaving here later with a hand cramp.” Kazumi’s eyes crinkled as he laughed softly.
Keiji couldn’t help but smile and let out a chuckle as well. “Thanks for lookin’ out for me, teach.” Their brief moment of shared laughter relaxed a little bit of the tension in his shoulders. He made another attempt at copying Kazumi’s former movements and was delighted to see the slight changes had actually made a big difference.
∿🖌
With Kazumi’s guidance, Keiji found himself able to relax and actually enjoy his time painting. Though, relaxed nerves did not equate to increased skill. Kazumi’s tips meant Keiji’s result wasn’t as bad as it could have been; though his primrose looked like it had been crushed in the fist of a small child. Meanwhile Kazumi’s looked as if it had been delicately cared for and unbothered in its bountiful garden. Maybe if he convinced himself painting flowers just wasn’t his thing he’d feel better about it, but he wasn’t sure.
“You did fantastic, Keiji! Especially while subjected to an unexpected one-on-one lesson!” Kazumi’s expression was less convincing than the conviction in his voice, but Keiji was trying to struggle through the embarrassment of looking between the two paintings so he was choosing to ignore it for the time being.
“Wahaha… thanks, Kazumi. Though, I think you’re giving me too much credit. Couldn’t have done half the job I managed to do if I hadn’t had such a great teacher.” Once more, his hand found its way up to rest on the back of his neck. He flashed a grin and couldn’t help but notice the way the professor’s breath seemed to catch for a moment.
“Oh, goodness, I only assisted! That is your own artistry whether you believe it or not.” The bespectacled man smiled as he stood and gathered their used supplies. Keiji was still admiring Kazumi’s artwork as he noticed a halt in movement from the other man. Keiji’s subtle glance upwards seemed to shake the gray haired man from his frozen state. The former policeman’s sleepy gray eyes followed Kazumi over to the industrial sinks against the opposite wall.
Kazumi beckoned him over with a nod, “Why don’t you join me over here? You can wash the paint off your hands.”
Keiji glanced down and noticed he had made a bit of a mess of his hands. He held them in front of himself to avoid getting the paint on anything else as he stood from his seat and joined the professor at the sink.
Mishima washed the paint from the brushes and palettes with a soft smile on his face as Keiji let the water run over his hands. It was warm. Soothing. It made him realize he should take a hot bath to relax when he got home. Damn, that’ll be nice…
“Hold out your hand,” Kazumi suddenly spoke up. Keiji blinked and looked towards him to see him holding out a container of soap. He held his hand out and let Kazumi pour some into his waiting palm.
“Thanks,” Keiji grinned as he rubbed the soap between his hands and washed off the mess he’d made.
“So, planning to hang up your artwork at home? Perhaps show it off a little?” Kazumi inquired as he wandered back to where they had been sitting in order to wipe down the table. As far as Keiji could tell he sounded completely genuine.
“Ah, well, I didn’t think about what I’d do with it…” Keiji responded while picking dried acrylic paint from under his nail, “It’ll probably end up in some storage box… wouldn’t wanna subject guests to having to see that,” He chuckled. But who was he kidding? He never had guests over.
“Oh, please,” Kazumi lifted Keiji’s painting to look at it, “You’re really too hard on yourself. Painting is a skill like anything else; you won’t be an expert at it right away.” He wandered back to the sink where Keiji was finishing up washing his hands. “You know, if you don’t want it, I’d love to display it in my classroom. I’m sure you’ve noticed I’m a bit of a collector,” He gestured to the dozens of artworks that adorned the walls.
Keiji was horrified at the idea of potentially putting his shitty little painting next to that of some absurdly gifted fifteen year-old. “You don’t have to do that. I’m sure you wanna save space for your student’s work, huh?” He floundered for a reason that wasn’t just obviously spouting his insecurities.
“Well, of course, but it’s a small canvas and I still have plenty of space left. Besides, no harm in showing it off!” Kazumi turned his head to look over at the blond. “If it makes you feel better, you can have mine. That way neither has to end up in storage. And who am I to stop you from claiming to your guests that you painted it?” The professor giggled and offered a playful wink.
Keiji internally thanked the way the light shone through the stained glass window behind Kazumi’s desk. Surely the colors reflecting on his face overshadowed the pink that crept up his cheeks and to his ears. He turned his attention away from the professor and over to the paper towels as he dried his hands. “I think I’ll take you up on that offer,” He paused, “As long as you don’t go telling your students a grown man painted that. Wouldn’t be good for my ego to have kids makin’ fun of me. I’m sure you know how brutally honest they can be,” He chuckled.
“I understand. Your secret is safe with me. Though, I think you’d be surprised at the kind of intelligence and insight that can come from a child’s mind.” Kazumi wandered to his desk and slipped a marker out of the wire pencil holder. He spun it around his fingers as he stepped back to the craft table. His own painting replaced Keiji’s in his hand.
“I always make sure my student’s sign their work. Typically on the front when it comes to paintings like this, but if you’d prefer the back that is fine as well,” Kazumi commented as he scribbled on the back of his own painting. He set it back down before Keiji could get a glimpse of the signature as he strolled over. Something about the professor’s smile as he handed Keiji the marker made his heart race.
Without much of a thought, Keiji lifted his own painting and signed the back of it. His handwriting wasn’t the neatest to begin with, so his signature didn’t look much like his name. He let Kazumi gently take the canvas from his hands and watched as he wandered off, plotting where he’d display it. Keiji took the remaining canvas: Kazumi’s painting. Just as he was about to turn it over to glance at the other’s signature, he heard the professor gasp and begin rummaging through his desk.
Keiji watched from the table as Kazumi pulled out some adhesive putty and crouched in front of his desk.
“I can’t believe I’d never thought to put anything here before!” He exclaimed as he applied the putty to the corners of the canvas and stuck it to the front panel on his desk. His expression glowed in the sunset as he turned to Keiji, absolutely beaming.
Keiji wished butterflies was all he could say to describe the feeling that took over him. He couldn’t even speak momentarily; he was so overtaken by this sudden rush. It took him a bit too long to realize he needed to react somehow, as he noticed concern mixing with Kazumi’s delight.
“Wahaha.. I’m flattered.” His hand rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s a pretty attention-grabbing spot, dontcha think?”
“Well, sure, for now I suppose. I promise yours won’t be alone there for long. I have students finishing up projects within the next few days so you’re bound to have company soon,” Kazumi comforted, sensing Keiji’s apprehension. With a soft grunt he pushed himself to his feet and set the adhesive putty back in its place in his desk.
Realization set over Keiji that he should be getting home. Not only had he walked there and now had to make the journey back to his apartment, but he didn’t want to keep Kazumi any later than necessary. He found himself reluctant to part ways with the professor, but the comforting thought of being home and his anxiety finally subsiding for the night was enough to get him to speak up.
“Hey, Kazumi. I should probably be going, but, uh… thanks for having me. I enjoyed it more than I expected to.” He held his right hand up in a farewell gesture, Kazumi’s painting tucked by his hip in his left.
“Oh!” A soft look of surprise overcame Kazumi. “Of course! Yes, I didn’t mean to keep you.” He followed Keiji to the classroom door, his hands up and fingers fiddling with his ring once more. “By all means, you are welcome back again for another class. Hopefully next time there will be others in attendance as well.”
Keiji smiled, “For the sake of the class, I hope so too. Although, I enjoyed your company this evening, Kazumi. This was… a nice change of pace for me.”
‘Despite how nauseatingly anxious I’ve felt.’ He kept that thought to himself.
“Thank you, I’ve enjoyed yours as well.” A soft smile graced Kazumi’s lips. “I do hope to see you again sometime.”
Keiji couldn’t have held in his smile whether he wanted to or not. He gently nodded and turned to make his exit.
“Yeah, you too.”
The professor waved as Keiji exited the classroom and back down the hallway. A sigh escaped him as he made the first turn towards the front entrance of the school. Though it wasn’t upset that caused such a large breath of air to be pushed out of him. He wasn’t quite sure what it was.
∿🖌
The walk home in the crisp, late evening air had given Keiji time to fully calm his busy mind. It wasn’t until he went to reach for his keys to unlock his apartment that he remembered the prize he’d gotten from being brave and leaving the house:
The painting.
Shit, where was he going to put it? He pondered the few places in his apartment that would be nice for it as he unlocked the door and stepped inside. Leaving his shoes by the door, he found himself drawn to the kitchen.
He chewed his bottom lip as he looked around, his eyes finally settling on a small bit of counter space between the stove and the fridge. He didn’t have anything to hang the painting with at the moment, so it’d have to sit leaning against the wall for now.
The painting was backwards as he lifted his hand to set it down, finally giving him the opportunity to settle his curiosity about the professor’s signature.
Keiji flicked on the kitchen light to get a better look and sure enough, the handwriting was beautiful. Kazumi’s signature had clearly been perfected from years of replicating it over and over again.
But that wasn’t all.
Just beneath the signature were a series of digits.
What the hell?
There were one, two, three, four… ten digits total.
Keiji stared at the string of numbers as a realization washed over him.
Holy shit.
Kazumi gave him his number.
How the hell did Keiji manage that?
There was a moment where Keiji just stood there, staring at the numbers before he was able to get his hand to move to his pocket to grab his phone. He added Kazumi to his contacts and looked back and forth between the canvas and the screen.
He finally set the painting down properly and put his phone back into his pocket. He couldn’t call now. That’d be weird, right? Besides, Kazumi was probably busy cleaning his classroom and preparing for school tomorrow.
‘Yeah, he’s busy now. I won’t worry about it. Maybe tomorrow.’
Keiji went about the rest of his night as normal but despite his efforts he couldn’t get that damn professor off his mind. Even as he finally made an attempt to sleep late that night–or rather, the early hours of the next morning–he couldn’t stop thinking about him and why he would’ve left his number.
Keiji wasn’t stupid or naive, he knew most people would do that, and as secretively as Kazumi did, if their intentions leaned towards the romantic. But he just couldn’t understand what he’d done that would make Kazumi want to pursue that. Surely his elementary painting skills weren’t the motivator. He was too tired to think too much about it at the moment. If he really wanted to figure it out, he’d buck up and make the call tomorrow.
If he were honest with himself, he was curious about more than just Kazumi’s reasons for leaving his number.
So he decided. He’d make the call later that morning. He was keen on learning more about Kazumi past his eccentric exterior.