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Unlike the palace, Madarame's shack is exactly what it is; a humble shack that supposedly held three people at most, such a small enclosing space so strikingly different from the palace Madarame has. The museum is filled with art pieces that make you wonder how ridiculous the prices are, bathed in gold and luxuries and vast in size. Actually, Le Blanc is even smaller than this. But its size reminds Akira much more of comfort, it's messy, but he's starting to know where things go and he knows everything is in reach. Added with Sojiro's coffee beans and curry that often served as the place's aroma, unique and appetizing. Akira often came home nearing the closing hours, the soft whispers of easy conversations and clinks of tableware hitting the plate is a good background noise as he cleans up. Le Blanc is always full of life. Because of the cafe below and it's actually quite a mess. An endearing mess that's clear it's a good place loved by many.
The shack is the opposite of that. It's small, but it looked so barren. This is supposed to be an artist' residence, yet everything is so clean and organized, Akira thought it would be a little messier; but some part of the shack felt like untouched. Inhabited. It's as if only Yusuke Kitagawa lives here, while his mentor only drops in after long hours of business with art people. There's no warmth, strange for a mentor-mentee who supposedly started way far back. Yusuke is very faithful towards his mentor. Akira had expected some warmth, some lingering affection in this false shack. At least there's some, right? But the whole place feels like he just casted a Bufu with his persona. Cold.
“Yes, please stay right where you are, Takamaki-san.”
Ann nodded with a pained smile, she was made to be a model. Their ticket to try getting info out from Yusuke. Considering how his behavior is, even just from brief meetings, Akira understood it would be hard to pry his mouth open. This wasn't the best gamble, and how he wished he had someone with larger connections. Sitting at the very side of the room (with Ryuji), made him reflect on the things they lack. Efficiency in info gathering … Connections … After this he needs to take care of that and many more. Ryuji shifted beside him, giving a low groan that ceased quickly. The artist had just started, and Ryuji's patience was already tested. Akira smirked to himself.
Yusuke finally moved his pencil against the white canvas, one with a carefully sharpened, long lead that looked so fragile even to the tiniest pressure. Yet it did not break under Yusuke's masterful hand. Even when he drew out confident black lines that seemed to be a rough form of Ann. Akira watched every stroke, trying to understand where Yusuke was going. He could see it, Ann, and for him it was good enough. Yet there's unpleasant creases on Yusuke's face, his blue—gray? Eyes glared at his canvas and his strokes frustratingly. Maybe he should have focused more on Yusuke's frustration and how it might spell disaster for their plan, cleverly using his time to form a back up plan despite hastily. Unfortunately, Akira could not tear himself off those blue gray eyes. The color reminds him of his own, but he noticed there's a bluish tint to it that makes it not pure gray. And, geez, those eyelashes. How come it's so long? He didn't know a guy could have such long eyelashes. Wasn't that something girls would kill to possess?
The scritch of Yusuke's pencil continues, his strokes starting to create a finer form. There's even light shading laid down. It didn't remain for so long, because Yusuke banished it with an eraser after judging it for one second after he finished. This repeats like a cycle, Yusuke drew some lines and then he erased them. Again and again, tension in the room rose slightly each time he did it.
So this is the kind of background noise Madarame's shack (and many other artists' ateliers) has. Yusuke is silent despite Ann trying to make small talk, every attempted conversation ends with awkward tension and the scratch of his pencil. It was uncomfortable. For Ryuji and Ann. He didn't blame them, normally people would feel like that. Surprisingly Akira is fine with tension and silence.
Because he found an interesting subject to study, a brief distraction from worries that was justified through the reasoning they're waiting for Yusuke. It's killing time, by studying how Yusuke's nose crinkled everytime he made an unpleasant stroke, and how his features softened when he fixed it. Yusuke's deep concentration made him look back to nights he spent making infiltration tools. He's so focused he didn't even notice his bangs starting to fall over his eyes. Akira wanted so badly to set them aside himself, and as if Yusuke noticed this urge; he spared a second to place the straying strands of hair back in place. Then he's back sketching again. Ignoring everything around him but Ann as his model.
Akira thought of the huge painting of him in Madarame's Museum of Vanity. Gray blue eyes staring at somewhere out of the frame. Lips shut tight, both of his hands at the front. Standing gracefully like a good, obedient, perfect pupil. Despite its choice of striking colors, the painting felt lifeless to him, like it was wrong in places he could not point out where. Finally having a good look at Yusuke, Akira is confident the painting is like a mockery to the actual, alive Yusuke Kitagawa. The real Yusuke carried an invisible burden that clearly weighed his shoulders, but he is not lifeless. He's alive with this burning passion of art that Akira noticed and came to adore even if slowly. He's graceful, but in a different tone unlike depicted in that painting. His elegance followed even at his tiniest movement, just how he does that? Akira could not solve this at all, but it's captivating and his eyes keep locked on him.
Ryuji complained about something under his breath, Ann shifted a bit and Yusuke didn't seem to notice—or care. To Akira he looked like he's currently battling with something more pressing right now in his canvas.
Akira also ignored them. Instead, he took a good look at Yusuke right now. Struggling, frustrated with something Akira didn't quite understand yet. But alive, so much more alive and beautiful unlike the huge painting displayed at that museum. Akira tried his hardest to commit every of Yusuke's features to his brain, his long slender fingers, his craned neck to reach the canvas closer despite he's already in front of it, the wrinkles at the middle of his eyebrows every time he frowned, his gaping lips, unconsciously done because he's too deep on his thoughts, all of it—Akira made sure to store it on his brain. Carved a new space for this piece of information that he didn't even know why he must store it so urgently.
Yusuke sighed. Ah, this is it. The end of his observation of Yusuke Kitagawa. Exhaustion seemed like melted all his bones. Akira wondered if he could alleviate some of it with his decent coffee. “Are you done?” Ryuji asked with relief at each of his words, hopeful, expectant.
“It’s no good.”
Akira quietly lamented at his wanting to observe Yusuke a little bit longer.
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