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Tsukasa is, admittedly, a little bored, having lived in this town for so long.
Don’t get him wrong — it’s lovely. It’s quiet and remote, with gardens merging into fields and forests and a beautiful calm river surrounding it. The cozy narrow streets smell like greenery, homemade cooking, and paper books. Instead of the buzz and noise of big cities, it is the melody of birds trilling in the trees that fills the serene silence of the town. Truly, Tsukasa loves it from the bottom of his heart; if it wasn’t for such a pleasant atmosphere, he’d have no reason to leave his manor and go on long walks every day. However, his heart longs for an adventure, and the best this town can provide is a lost pet or mild, harmless gossip that Tsukasa has no interest in. His only solace is books and plays, making him fantasize about other worlds and imagine himself living through many lives.
… It all changes one sunny Autumn day, in the bookshop he frequents. While browsing through the books, Tsukasa stumbles upon a small yet peculiar poetry collection. It appears to be hand-bound, handwritten, even the cover itself having a careful, loving touch to it. Drawn by the comforting aura, Tsukasa gently opens it and begins reading.
Carved into the pages, a series of admiring poems unravel before him. Each describes a different place, time, scenario, but each has the same character that the narrative revolves around. Soon enough, Tsukasa feels inclined to read more simply to piece together all the features of that mysterious character — he is, admittedly, curious to understand what made the poet dedicate an entire collection just to one person. He reads about a handsome young man, “prince-like”, riding a snow-white horse on a field full of flowers, reads as the man’s luscious hair shines in the sunlight like gold, how his big kind honey-colored eyes can ignite fires in one’s heart with a single glance. The poet eagerly describes every intricate detail about the man and builds every scene around him; to Tsukasa, this mysterious character seems like no less than an angel, a perfect human.
“In my dreams, I see those same white lilies
That adorn your ever-gleaming frame
In the timid garden of my feelings
Blossoming and whispering your name.”
Tsukasa can’t stop gasping as he reads poem after poem and imagines a man so beautiful that he feels holy. He wishes the author gave that character a name or wrote a full-fledged story so that Tsukasa had a clearer idea of him and could fantasize about him more. However, the book finishes quicker than he expected, and he is left merely with a vague image.
“Ah,” he sighs before gently placing the book back, “I hope this poet writes more of these.”
He picks up the volumes that he came for and leaves the bookstore, absent-minded. The wind is stronger than before, and the sky turns gray. After a harsh, cold blow slaps his own hair against his face, Tsukasa huffs in discontent and stops by a window to fix himself up. Ugh. His ever-neat golden locks are all over the place now because of the stupid wind! Even the petals of the lilies decorating his jacket look ready to close, as if hiding from the bad weather.
…Lilies…?
Tsukasa freezes, and even the annoying wind seems to freeze with him. If anyone looked at him now, studying his own reflection as if it is his first time seeing himself, they’d deem him crazy. He runs his fingers through his golden hair and touches the lilies on his suit, blinks with his big honey-colored eyes.
“Hm.”
He smiles. Not to brag, but he has a very charming smile.
“Huh…”
Now that he thinks about it, his horse, Pegasus, is snow-white, and his sister always jokingly calls him a prince whenever he rides it.
“HUH?!”
In the very next moment, Tsukasa storms back into the bookstore and frantically looks for the poetry book. His racing heartbeat muffles all the confused gasps and greetings from the visitors and shopkeepers.
This can’t be true, right? Surely, Tsukasa’s self-esteem is to blame.
He re-reads the poems one by one. Here’s the character riding his suspiciously Pegasus-sounding horse around a familiar spot by the lake. Tsukasa loves doing that every once in a while, actually, and he even recalls going on one of such walks just a few weeks ago.
Here’s one of the author observing as the man is posing for a portrait on the street. It is now that Tsukasa remembers how he met an artist practicing outside, and she asked him to pose for a little while.
Here’s one of the man reading a book on a bench under a beautiful Autumn tree.
Tsukasa loves reading outside when the weather is nice!
Is he delusional? Is he just looking too hard into pure coincidences?
He searches for the man’s details again. Hair like gold — that must be blonde. Honey-colored eyes — just like his own. Glowing skin — why not? Tsukasa takes good care of his skin. Charming, bright smile — self-explanatory.
Finally, the lilies. Tsukasa’s suit is decorated with them, and it is custom-made. No one has ever worn another suit like that, at least lately.
Stunned, Tsukasa puts the book down and steps away like one would upon discovering a dangerous object. “What does this mean?” he whispers under his breath, shaken up.
“Do you need help, sir?”
He flinches as one of the shopkeepers approaches him, looking friendly yet concerned. Tsukasa only has a moment to spare before his mouth opens on its own:
“Who wrote this book?”
“Oh, this?” The shopkeeper, perking a brow, takes the book from Tsukasa and examines it. His confused gaze hints he’s unfamiliar with it. “Uh, I believe it is anonymous. The author never revealed themselves to us.”
“How is that possible?” With a gasp, Tsukasa leans in to examine the book’s cover. There is indeed no name of whoever wrote it above the title. Why wouldn’t anyone want to show off their creation? “B-but… How could this be? Where did you even get this book then?”
The shopkeeper shrugs. “It was brought in by the mailman or something.”
“Mailman?!” Now that feels offensive to the book itself. When Tsukasa first saw it, he thought there was a lot of care and love put into it— but sending it to the shop through mail, and never leaving your name on it? No matter how hard Tsukasa tries to make sense of this, he can’t fathom it.
“Did you like this book?” the shopkeeper asks in the meantime. “We may try to find a way to let the author know.”
Tsukasa opens his mouth to respond, but the words sound bizarre even in his head. ‘I think this book is about me?’ may not be the best reason for his sudden interest in this poetry collection.
“I, uh…” Lost on what to say, Tsukasa awkwardly shoves the book into the depths of the shelf. “Yeah! Sure. Anyways, thank you for your help!”
The shopkeeper blinks at him in confusion. “You’re not going to buy it?”
“Oh? Oh, I…”
Not taking the book home feels impolite now. Tsukasa reluctantly grabs it again, confusing the poor shopkeeper even more, and nods solemnly.
“Yeah, actually. I’ll take it, please and thank you!” Maybe he can show it to Saki to get a less biased opinion…
“Very well. If the author ever tries to reveal themselves, we will make sure to tell them how curious you were over their creation.”
Upon leaving the bookstore, the mysterious collection of poems clutched in his shaking hand, Tsukasa notes that today has turned out to be very different from usual. Did he just find a book that’s written about him? Is it really… him in there?
And most importantly, who could’ve possibly written it?
*
“No, that really is you, big brother! You’re someone’s muse!”
Giggling, Saki raises the book in the air, letting the pages flip themselves, and waives it around like a signal torch.
“Someone here was sooo enamored by you that they wrote a whole book about it!” Her eyes light up. “Please tell me you’re going to look for them!”
As much as it is flattering, Tsukasa feels as though his head is about to explode from all the heat inside. He keeps sneaking glances at himself in the mirror, checking for signs of aggressive blushing, yet even remembering that someone saw him like that and decided to write a whole book about it forces him to look away instantly.
Well, his sister is right. He has to figure out the person behind such a book.
“Ha ha ha!” He puffs his chest and throws his head backwards, letting the golden locks effectively cover his face. “Fear not, as I’m already on it!”
Saki jumps from her bed. “Really? Already? As expected from you, big brother!” She then bolts to Tsukasa’s side, eagerly staring at him like a child expecting their christmas gift. “Do you have any clues? What’s your first move?”
If only Tsukasa knew…
He huffs, not wishing to lie to his sister’s face, “I’m thinking about it as we speak!”
“Oh! Right! Should I let you concentrate then?” The gleam in Saki’s eyes fades, and her smile quirks apologetically. Tsukasa chokes on his own breath.
“No, of course not! Actually, I think it would be more beneficial if we brainstormed together!”
“Sounds fun! I’ll try my best to help you!”
High in spirits, the siblings make their way to the garden beside their mansion — nothing helps one’s mind than the fresh air and the smell of young, wet grass.
Catching too much sunlight on his face, Tsukasa squints his eyes and lowers his pace. “So…”
“So? There is no name on the cover, right?”
Unlike her brother, Saki doesn’t seem to mind the sun. She marches in the front, book squeezed in her hands, and the ink of the handwritten poems glosses on the lit-up pages.
“But a book cannot be orphaned if it is sold,” she mumbles, focused. “Someone must’ve delivered it and introduced it to the bookshop.”
“A mailman,” Tsukasa exhales.
“Which one?”
“That’s for me to find out.” Humming, Tsukasa gently pulls on his ponytail and lets it drape over his shoulder. “Though I’m not sure if anyone would remember which mailman brought which books…”
“Yeah, why would they without a proper reason?”
“Exactly, my dear sister. You’re so bright!”
This is, by any means, not an easy case. If there was a chance to crack through the author’s anonymity, it seems to have been missed at this point. Tsukasa lets out a quiet sigh and stops by one of the small ponds, looking at his own reflection being caressed by the glittering water. His heart sinks; there was a poem about him like that. Where he stood by a lake, and his reflection was painted in blue and gold by the sun and the water.
Frankly, many of his casual moments have been captured in the book. Everything he has been doing without giving it a second thought is a special enough moment for someone to eternalize it…
Suddenly, he stops. An idea forms in his head as if a ray of sunshine exposed it.
“Hey, Saki…”
“Hm?” Saki stops as well, flipping the book shut. “What is it?”
Yes, it absolutely makes sense. Up until now, Tsukasa has been convinced that there is no way for the poet to show themselves after publishing their book, but he might’ve just found the right loophole that will allow him to get a second chance. His lips slowly curve into a proud, self-assured smirk, and he puffs his chest once again to announce his genius plan.
“Do you think… If I keep appearing in public, doing those beautifully candid things and looking gorgeous, the poet may write another one?”
*
Whenever Tsukasa is especially bored, he imagines himself as a worldwide celebrity. He pictures as he walks down the streets and hears waves of ovations rushing towards him, threatening to knock him off his feet if it wasn’t for how well he handles this overwhelming attention. His every move would be noticed and closely inspected. He’d have devoted fans looking up to him, singing praises and admirations to guide him towards even bigger stardom.
Well, now he doesn’t even have to imagine a half of that. Of course, there are no ovations and dozens of followers yet, but he is certain he’s being watched every time he leaves the family mansion.
He starts paying double the attention to his looks. Saki braids and puts up his hair every morning, while he makes sure it is always silky and light enough to gorgeously flow in the wind. His daily wardrobe must contain white lilies, whether it is on his shoes, jacket, shirt, or on his head. Pegasus becomes his inseparable companion for every walk — to ensure he is still prince-like. He spends the majority of his free time in picturesque places, smiling softly while (quite insistently) turning his head around, just so that the mysterious poet could catch him from every angle.
Holding up such a divine public appearance, however, is a taxing job. By the end of the week, Tsukasa decides to give the poet some space so that he could properly write their poems while craving more of his presence — he does so by staying at home, of course. As time goes by, somehow more slowly than usual, Tsukasa wonders if he has done enough and even fears that the one who is actually craving more is him.
At long last, a new Monday morning rolls up. Following the self-imposed rules of the game, Tsukasa dresses up as nicely as he can, but this time, it is not another romantic location that he chooses. Pegasus leads him right to the bookstore, and a familiar face greets the man the moment he walks inside.
“Good morning, Tsukasa-senpai!”
“Ah, greetings, Toya! I knew it’d be your shift today!”
Tsukasa would love to engage in small talk, but Toya is someone he trusts wholeheartedly to skip the formalities. He gives his friend a warm hug, then motions towards the staff room, where they immediately duck in.
“Is this about our agreement from earlier?” Toya’s curious eyes find Tsukasa’s. There is a hint of impatience in his gaze, which infects Tsukasa with clueless thrill.
“Yes,” he nods. “Have there been any new books from… you-don’t-know-who?”
Much to Tsukasa’s dismay, that light of impatience in Toya’s eyes begins to fade. “Unfortunately, not to my knowledge,” the shopkeeper sighs.
Tsukasa’s heart skips a beat anxiously. What if all of his efforts have been in vain? What if the mysterious poet never saw him to begin with? What if they left the town after publishing the book, or stopped going outside, or moved on to someone else? Planning all of this in advance, Tsukasa failed to consider those possibilities. His best looks and scenes could have been wasted thanks to his short-sightedness.
“Ah… I see.” He tries to hide the disappointment from Toya, careful not to make him feel as if he is to blame. “Well, perhaps we just need to wait a little bit more! How long has it been since I asked you to monitor this? Around half a week?”
Toya fixes the collar of his ever-neat shirt. “To be fair, we do need to wait a little bit more. Today’s batch of books is yet to be delivered.”
Oh.
Just like that, Toya manages to reignite the flame of hope in Tsukasa’s chest — so, naturally, Tsukasa puffs it. “Right! How could I forget! It is still far too early!”
Toya glances at the wall clock. “You are quite an early visitor, indeed. However, I believe that the delivery will arrive sooner than usual today.”
“Oh? And why would that be?”
The young shopkeeper’s lashes flutter as he lowers his eyes. “Well, as a matter of fact, the one delivering today’s mail is my dearest friend. We like to spend some extra time catching up, so he usually comes here early.”
“I see! Splendid!” Tsukasa slaps his hands against his own hips. “Then we wait for his arrival! In the meantime, how about we—?”
The door to the bookstore bursts open, cutting him off.
“Deliveryyy!”
The timing is as perfect as it could be. The mailman’s drowsy voice tolls like a wedding bell in Tsukasa’s ears. Both rush out of the shopkeeper’s room and greet the newcomer warmly.
“Good morning, Akito,” muses Toya before stopping beside the man. Tsukasa can barely make out his silhouette, as it is hidden behind a tower of boxes; luckily, Toya is quick to hold onto a few of them, and the two unload the delivery together.
Akito’s face is puffy. He looks grumpy, but not in a way that a mean delinquent would — Tsukasa guesses he must have had less sleep than usual, or something. He always has a good reason to be grumpy, because that is not in his nature. Regardless, all of that washes away the moment Akito manages to catch his breath and exchange warm looks with his friend.
“Today’s certainly… something. I fear it might take you a while to sort through all of them,” he sighs at Toya, then graces Tsukasa with a side glance, and shadows grow back on his face cinematically quickly. “Oh, it’s you.”
Dismissive to the change of tone, Tsukasa perks up. “Why, greetings, Akito! Haven’t heard from you in a while! I didn’t know you’ve picked up such a gig!”
Akito rolls his eyes. “It’s only temporary. I’m just waiting for Akiyama to finally open her boutique.”
“Mizuki! Goodness, how long has it been since I visited all of my friends!” Tsukasa gasps, letting himself be as dramatic as he deems comfortable. “Fall is a rather busy season. I still reminisce on the summer evenings we’d all spend together…”
Toya smiles dreamily, yet Akito doesn’t appear to share the sentiment. “Yeah, shooing bugs away from you and taking Toya down from trees.”
“Why, that only happened once,” the shopkeeper corrects. “Either way, those days were truly special. Made me feel as though we were carefree kids having fun after school.”
“Right…”
Akito carefully opens one of the boxes he was carrying. Colorful book covers unravel from beneath, as attractive as fresh produce for a hungry customer. “Memories aside, what are you up to this early at such a place, Tsukasa-senpai?”
Tsukasa almost misses the question. His eyes are already glued to the pile of books, searching for any hint of that author — or, rather, lack thereof. A part of him knows that no writer would be able to assemble a new book in such a short amount of time, but he never liked this part of himself anyway.
“Tsukasa-senpai?”
“Oh!” His hands jerk away from the open box as if he is a thief caught red-handed. “Me? I, uh,” Akito wouldn’t understand the real reason behind all of this, would he? “I was simply checking if my favorite book series got a continuation this week, is all!”
“Ah, I see.” That response seems to satiate Akito’s curiosity. “Well, with how many books we’ve received, the chances of that are pretty high.”
“Splendid! Then can I take a closer look?”
“Sure…”
Toya rushes to cut open a second box. “I’ll help as well! Let’s save all of us some time, shall we?”
Thus, all three of them begin to rummage through the delivery. While Toya and Akito carefully sort the books, Tsukasa chaotically searches for anything mysterious or familiar. Having no clue what the book could potentially look like, he can only rely on his instincts — he believes that the book he’s seeking should have a special aura to it. Sometimes, he picks out a few, and his disappointed sighs the moment he spots the author’s name on each cover leaves Akito throwing suspicious glances at him.
One box is fully emptied, the second one soon joins it, forming a tower on the floor. The men work steadily, each fueled by their own motivation. Tsukasa’s, however, begins to die like a fire surrounded by merely charcoal. The more books he goes through, the more convinced he becomes that the mysterious poet has not written another ode to him yet. His delicate fingers grow rough on the tips.
Suddenly, he hears Akito’s voice through the fog of his own doubts:
“Hey, Toya, where should I put this one? If there’s no author, should I use the first letter of the book’s name?”
Both Toya and Tsukasa let out a suspiciously loud gasp.
“Wait!” Toya grabs the book from Akito and examines it, his icy yet kind eyes gleaming with hope. “Is this…?”
Tsukasa rushes to his side. “Can you please open it for a second?”
Toya flips to a random page. There’s a poem. He opens the entire spread — there’s another one next to it.
The men exchange sighs and glances of relief. Such an overwhelming wave of warmth runs through Tsukasa’s body that he almost loses balance. “Bingo! This one’s for me, please and thank you!”
“What’s up with that book?” Akito furrows his brows and takes a closer look at the cover. “Everyone’s being weird about it…”
“Everyone?” Toya cocks his head.
“Yeah. My sister added it to the stack this morning,” the mailman hums. “I didn’t know you guys sold anonymous authors.”
Tsukasa freezes. The contents of the book no longer seem as valuable of a clue to him as Akito’s sudden revelation.
Did Akito’s sister write this? Is she into Tsukasa?!
His heartbeat races, heat rushing to his cheeks. Shinonome Ena, the local artist who took his portrait on the street not so long ago. It would make so much sense for her to fall in love with him — perhaps after that fateful encounter, she was so charmed by Tsukasa that she made him her muse!
Tsukasa reads a random poem from the book, trying to imagine Ena’s voice. “My Prince, my Knight, my shining Angel, the only Lily in my garden full of thorns…”
… Why does the Ena in his head sound disgusted by this?
Tsukasa slams the book shut. He doesn’t know the artist that well to decide. Investigation is better than imagination — he has been using it solely for a week, and it almost drove him crazy from uncertainty.
“Akito!” He turns to the mailman and grants him a wide, grateful smile. “Is your sister home?”
Akito visibly tenses up. “Yeah… Why?”
Before Tsukasa can even come up with a reasonable answer, his legs are carrying him out of the shop.
“I’ll tell you later. You’ll be ecstatic to hear the news!”
*
“I don’t write poems.”
Shinonome Ena stands on the threshold of the family manor, arms crossed and gaze sharp as though she is protecting her territory from an intruder. The smell of fresh paint mixes with her flowery perfume, creating a pleasantly dizzying cloud of aroma around her.
Tsukasa carefully studies her face — maybe there is a slight blush that she’s trying to hide, or maybe there is a glint of excitement in her eyes that she’s denying — but she looks just as firm as she talks. The only noticeable specks of color are a few paint stains on her shirt and apron.
“Haha, Shinonome-san…” He squeezes out a laugh; it was supposed to come out confident. “You, uh, don’t have to be shy or secretive about it… I really like them, you know!”
Ena squints and tilts her head to the side. “Well, it’s good to hear that you enjoyed them. But I never wrote anything. I’m an artist, that doesn’t make me good at every single type of creative arts.”
She sounds serious, confused, and even a little annoyed at the assumption. What’s worse, she sounds exactly like she did in Tsukasa’s head as he was reading those poetry lines. His shoulders slump, white lilies wilting with them. “Hm… I apologize. I suppose I got confused.”
Ena lets out a puff of air so strong that it reaches Tsukasa’s dropped head. “I figured. Did Akito tell you I wrote this book?”
“He did,” Tsukasa nods before realizing how wrong it sounds, and quickly retaliates, “I mean, he told me you were the one who sent the book to the shop Toya works at. I thought if you’d done that, you must’ve been the author.”
Ena shakes her head. “I’m sorry, but I would never write things so cheesy towards a stranger. Also, why work so hard and remain completely anonymous? That person should at least come up with an alias of sorts.”
“Tell me about it…” Tsukasa can’t hide how let down he is. He felt as if he was so close to the truth, but the closest star might as well be just as close. His plan may have worked, but the clues are yet to be decisive.
Still, only a loser would give up midway. Tsukasa doesn’t get called a Knight and a Prince in poems for nothing! The investigation has just begun!
He clears his throat. “Anonymity aside, why did you send this book to the bookshop? Are you, perchance, acquainted with the author, Shinonome-san?”
Ena purses her lips and pauses to think, shifting her weight to lean onto the doorframe. Strangely, it still has not occurred to her that a guest is standing outside her door — it would be nice if she let him in, offered some tea, Tsukasa thinks. “To say that I’m acquainted with him would be an exaggeration,” she drawls, pensive, “Because I’ve only ever met that person once.”
“Once?” Tsukasa’s brows perk up.
“Uh-huh. As a matter of fact, it was just yesterday.”
Yesterday. This is just like discovering a fresh fingerprint at the scene of the crime. Tsukasa can already imagine the echo of the mysterious man’s voice still lingering in the walls of the manor somewhere.
“He commissioned me to draw an illustration for his next book,” Ena continues, trying to seem nonchalant but tensing up in her shoulders. “By the way, you were supposed to be on it. At least he asked me to use the portrait I made of you as a reference for the character in his illustration, that’s what.”
Why does Tsukasa’s face feel a bit too hot for his liking?
“That man—He saw my portrait?” he blurts out, not even understanding why he felt the need to ask that.
Ena huffs, her carefully trimmed bangs slightly fluttering. “When he arrived, I was in my workshop. I was hesitant to let him in because of how suspicious he looked, but… He just commissioned me and asked me to pass the book to my brother, is all.”
“Wait, he looked suspicious?” Tsukasa tenses up. “What do you mean by that?”
“I couldn’t really make out his features. He was wearing a large hat, and his hair was draped across the side of his face. It was pretty long,” Ena mumbles. Then, her chocolate-colored eyes flicker to Tsukasa. “Well, it wasn’t as long as yours, but he sure used it as a way to obscure himself.”
The portrait she paints doesn’t ring a bell. Tsukasa doubts he has ever seen a citizen that would wear a large hat and cover his face with his own hair. It’d be useless to hide one’s identity in such a small, close-knit town. A newcomer? An outsider?
He winces when he notices how intently Ena is staring at him. “I gather you don’t recognize him either?” she prompts, and he shakes his head a perplexed ‘no’. “Oh well… I sure hope I won’t get in trouble painting something for such a mysterious individual.”
“I… doubt that,” Tsukasa sighs, yet his tone lacks enough confidence to reassure the artist. He feels as though the puzzle he’s been working on has just gotten new pieces, and the whole picture has once again lost its shape thanks to that.
So many clues simply do not add up. Why did the anonymous poet suddenly reach out to Ena? Why would he remain nameless yet add illustrations to his books? Why is he so adamant about protecting his identity, even when in person?
All of this new information has to be processed in a joint brainstorming session. Tsukasa knows that Saki will have more insights on this, with a clearer head. “Thank you for everything,” he bows to Ena, still feeling the flush in his own cheeks. “I apologize for wrongly assuming things!”
“Don’t worry about it,” the artist snorts, no tint of annoyance in her tone. “I guess it’s good that we met up, even if so suddenly. I would rather the person I’m painting know that they’re being painted— Though I’m sure you wouldn’t mind.”
Admittedly, he wouldn’t. Tsukasa was ecstatic when Ena asked him to pose for her on the street last time. If being painted is the closest thing he’ll get to being famous in this small community, he’ll take it.
So, he confidently flips his low ponytail and smiles. “Ha ha ha! You can paint me all you want, Shinonome-san! If I become your muse, do not hesitate to reach out!”
The way Ena’s gaze turns from apologetic to annoyed makes it seem like her entire eye shape has changed in a mere second. “... Sure. When I find my actual muse, I’ll let you know.”
Ouch!
“See you later! Have a great day!” With a hurried wave of his hand, Tsukasa twirls around on his heels and walks away. Knowing how Akito can get when he’s irritated, he doesn’t wish to find out if it’s the same for his sister.
Not to mention there are far more important things for him to take care of. Normally, it’s the artist who finds their muse, but in Tsukasa’s case, the muse has to find the artist first.
*
Poetry is such a unique way of getting your point across.
It forces you to organize your feelings like ingredients in a dish. There is little freedom in the structure, so you have to be precise with your words — and when there are a lot of feelings to be described, you need to find a good metaphor to stuff them into. Poetry is a code, encrypting much more than it looks, but unlike one, it’s easy and pleasant to read. It paints a picture with just a few lines, yet those are enough for the reader to expand and imagine the rest.
Needless to say, this art is hard to perfect, and Tsukasa is a little disappointed at that.
“Hey, Saki,” he half-calls, half-whines, sliding off his bed with a sheet of paper in both his hands. The corners are slightly downturned, like the ears of a scolded dog, and this detail alone is starting to boil Tsukasa’s blood. “How’s this: ‘Oh, mysterious poet, how I want to get to know you, I’ve read all your poems, They’re amazing, Please come out’ ?”
Saki is busy at her trellis, using all three mirrors to make sure her hair is as neatly braided as possible. She’s going out with her girlfriends today, so she wants to look her best. Tsukasa’s poem only earns him a glance from the rear mirror.
“Uh…” she pauses, as if choosing words, “You’re making progress, big brother!”
Tsukasa lets his body completely drop from the bed, wilting like a dry flower. “It doesn’t sound like you enjoyed it.”
“I did! There’s nothing you’d make that I wouldn’t enjoy! But… not as much as I normally would, reading poems.”
A groan escapes Tsukasa’s heavy chest, overbearing with concern. He hates it when he’s not good at something hours after picking it up.
“I don’t get it…” he whines, sliding even further down. “If he wants me to notice his poems— Hpmh!” His ponytail swings off his shoulder straight into his mouth. He finds it quite offensive, but at least it forces him to crawl back onto the bed. “If he wants me to notice to the point that he wants to illustrate me in his books, why won’t he just approach me? Are you sure it makes sense?”
It was Saki’s deduction that the poet, while valuing his anonymity, wishes for Tsukasa to discover his creations and realize who they are about. They stayed up late thinking of ways to show the poet that Tsukasa is already aware of his existence, and their best solution was to answer in the same manner — to write a poem back. In the darkness and haziness of the night, Tsukasa found that idea to be genius, and he woke up so excited that he gobbled up breakfast in seconds just to get to writing. However, now that he’s working on the poem, the longer it takes, the less genius this idea seems to him.
Saki shifts in her puff, now facing her brother. “I’ve read many romance books about secret crushes. I think his actions make sense.”
“Fine… But what if he hates my response? What if he, as a distinguished poet, realizes how poor I am at conveying feelings and gives up on me?”
Having blurted that out, Tsukasa notices how Saki’s face falls. She looks at him with such a perplexed expression that he even repeats his own words in his head, wondering if he said something completely nonsensical.
“Big brother,” Saki exhales, staring him down, “This is the first time I’m seeing you like this…”
Tsukasa’s heart nervously skips a beat. “Like what?”
“You’re saying things that sound unconfident and unsure,” Saki puts down her hairbrush, “But it’s about a stranger that you don’t even know, and about the way he sees you even though it wouldn’t matter to you normally…”
Tsukasa pouts. He didn’t even realize that. Before this whole ordeal, he had never cared too much about random opinions. Any stranger was just a fresh opportunity for him to impress someone new, and he approached those challenges confidently. If he didn’t do well on something, he’d just treat it as a lesson to grow, assured that he’d eventually become more than competent. These worries about a man he has never seen are indeed quite foreign to him.
“I… don’t know,” he mutters, averting his gaze. “It just feels very different. Maybe I’m putting too many expectations on both myself and that guy this time.”
“Maybe,” Saki nods. “But you need to keep being yourself, big brother. You going on about your day made someone so inspired that they wrote two poetry books portraying it. If anything, you’ve already succeeded at impressing that man. Why worry?”
Tsukasa nods back, biting his lip. His fingers crawl up to his ponytail and meddle with it. “Yeah… Why worry?”
Suddenly, Saki abandons her trellis and approaches him. Her small warm hands plummet onto Tsukasa’s slumped shoulders, and he immediately feels the need to fix his posture. Their eyes meet.
“You know what?” Saki smiles.
“What?” The corners of Tsukasa’s mouth twitch to mimic her smile.
“I think you need a change of pace. You know how writers and artists seek out calm, picturesque places before they settle down to create? Maybe you’ll feel more inspired if you write the poem elsewhere!”
That is yet another brilliant idea from his brilliant sister!
*
“Oh, awesome poet,
I am enchanted by your words,
If you could please come out of hiding,
I would open your doors.
For you.
I would open for you doors.
I would open all the doors.
I would—”
Scribble after scribble, Tsukasa switches places, wandering further and further away from the familiar streets. Every time he gets confused over a line, he decides that the atmosphere is just not right, and moves forward.
“I’ve been looking for you for two weeks,
Please already appear on the streets—”
No, ‘streets’ and ‘weeks’ do not rhyme that well, now that he reads it aloud.
“I’ve been looking for you for so long,
Please tell me who you’ve been all along”
‘Long’ and ‘along’ are basically the same words, aren’t they?
“Your poems fascinated me really hard.
Now will you come and steal my heart?”
That’s a good one. He should keep it for Saki to review, probably.
Slowly, Tsukasa makes his way to a more remote area of the town. It is a small forest that leads to a beautiful lake adorned by a row of willow trees. Tsukasa and Saki used to frequent this place quite a lot in their childhood and now, as adults, they sometimes visit it to get some peace and quiet.
Isn’t it perfect for poems, then?
Tsukasa slows down to appreciate the calming rustle of the leaves above him, breathes in the comforting smell of the slightly wet grass. There are no noises other than the chirping of birds and the sounds he makes as he walks. Once he reaches the clear area and sees the slumped silhouettes of the willow trees, even his thoughts stop racing to relish in the serenity around him.
The lake greets him with a slight rumble on its glass-like surface, reflecting the sky and the remains of afternoon sunlight. The air smells fresh, green, and Tsukasa sincerely believes that were the lilies on his suit real, they would bloom best here. He searches for a good willow tree with a nice shadow underneath to continue his creative endeavors, yet stops once something peculiar catches his eye.
One of the trees has a rather strange shadow — it’s longer and more narrow than it’s supposed to be. When Tsukasa takes a few steps closer, he realizes that it’s not a shadow at all.
It’s a silhouette.
Someone in a dark-colored suit is occupying one of the trees. They don’t seem to notice Tsukasa, as their back is turned to him, so the man can even make out purple-colored waves of their hair. He doesn’t recall meeting anyone with such a hair color, which immediately piques his interest and shifts his focus.
A poem can wait, surely!
Without a second thought, Tsukasa marches towards the stranger, leaving a trail of stomped grass in his wake. Despite the rustling his boots produce, the shadow person seems too preoccupied to notice him; once Tsukasa gets close enough, he can see their hand writing something in some journal. Are they here to work on something too?
Once he’s close enough, Tsukasa politely stops and puts on his best smile. “Good afternoon!”
The stranger jolts up as if electrocuted, then quickly stuffs whatever they were writing into their bag and turns to face Tsukasa. “Good after—Uh?”
Tsukasa sees a man he has indeed never met before. His skin is pale, almost porcelain-like, and the waves of his purple hair cast unnatural shadows onto his features. His eyes, previously squinted, colored citrine, widen at the mere sight of Tsukasa.
“Oh!” he gasps, then presses a fist to his mouth to collect himself, then coughs into it. “Oh. Um. Good afternoon, s-sir?”
Tsukasa tilts his head. “Did I interrupt something?”
The stranger’s hand — the one previously occupied with the journal — twitches and jolts as if it got struck by lightning. “Not at all.”
Strange behavior, but perhaps simply a tad awkward. Tsukasa decides to break—or, rather gently melt the ice. “In that case, is it okay if I sit down beside you? This spot is so beautiful!”
The man blinks a few times, like he has any reason to reject Tsukasa, but ultimately nods and carefully scooches away. “Of course…”
Not wasting a moment, Tsukasa plops down on the grass beside the man. It occurs to him right as the cold of the earth sneaks into his skin that his white-colored pants may get ruined by the dirt, yet he realizes it’s too late — and besides, his new acquaintance is a much more interesting point of focus than that.
Now close, Tsukasa studies his features more carefully. There is an impeccable mysterious aura surrounding this man — he fits the picturesque lake and the willow tree so perfectly that Tsukasa almost believes he’s a part of Ena’s painting.
“I’m Tenma Tsukasa!” He outstretches his hand, already eager to learn more about the stranger. There is a hint of pink on the other man’s cheek before he hides it behind the mop of his hair.
“My name is… Kamishiro Rui,” he mumbles hesitantly, almost reluctantly. Tsukasa soundlessly repeats his name.
Kamishiro Rui…
“Haven’t seen you around much…” His own voice reduces to a whisper, which he can’t explain. “Are you new to this town?”
Somehow, this question makes Rui shift uncomfortably in his place. “Oh, uh, I’m actually not that new. I am simply… not sociable enough, so to say.”
“How peculiar…”
Brows furrowed, Tsukasa tries to study the new guy more carefully, but to no avail. He avoids eye contact and keeps an unchangeable distance between them. Not quite sociable, indeed.
“You,” he suddenly calls, but the way Tsukasa winces at the sound of his voice makes him stutter a sigh before continuing. “Do you come here often? To this lake?”
Tsukasa perks up at the question. “Oh, you have no idea! This is one of my favorite spots!” Someone even wrote a poem about me going here, he almost adds but figures it may throw the stranger off. “And you…?”
Rui doesn’t answer right away, choosing the words and regulating his breathing. “Me?” he asks after such a pause that makes the question sound strange. “I, uh, actually just discovered this place recently. I like it. It’s serene.”
“Very! I often come here to get some peace and quiet and admire the gifts of nature.”
“Is that what you’re doing now, too?”
Tsukasa looks down at the crumpled notebook hidden in his lap. “Well… Kind of. I’m doing something different this time, I think.”
“Oh?”
Suddenly, Rui leans a bit closer. His eyes curiously glide over Tsukasa’s frame and stop right at the notebook. This shift leaves a warm wave of blush on Tsukasa’s cheeks, much to his surprise.
“Ah, it’s a long story…” he retreats, clutching the notebook tighter. “I think it would be… futile to explain in detail.”
“I… see,” Rui’s large hat cocks to the side. “I mean, we are complete strangers… Why would you—?”
“Basically, I’m trying to write a poem.”
It’s not that Tsukasa wanted to blurt that out — he only felt drawn by the spark of interest he managed to ignite in the reserved stranger. Brushing Rui off would seem quite rude too, given it was Tsukasa who even started the conversation.
As luck would have it, Rui’s eyes widen even more. “A poem?” he echoes, a shaky tint to his voice. Tsukasa blushes even harder. Why such attention out of the blue? Now he definitely has to share more about it!
“D-don’t imagine anything great,” he mumbles, distraught by how unconfident his own voice sounds. “I’ve just started learning this craft. There is a lot to practice!”
“How peculiar,” Rui drawls. “If you don’t mind me asking… What brought you to start writing?”
Tsukasa chuckles. “That’s another long story! Let’s just say that a mysterious force inspired me.”
“A mysterious force…”
“Yep.” A sigh escapes Tsukasa’s chest. “But just inspiration isn’t enough, I’ve discovered! I struggle to find the right words and phrases to describe my feelings as intricately as poets usually do.”
Rui hums, then brings his knees closer to his chest, hugging them. Once his cheek rests atop, hair fallen across his face, he finally dares to meet Tsukasa’s ever-gleaming gaze. “And what… feelings are you trying to describe?”
The way he stares with odd intensity, and the way his voice is as calm and smooth as the small rifles of the lake, and the way he asks all these questions like he knows exactly what Tsukasa means…
…It all just makes Tsukasa want to ramble more.
“Well,” he sighs and mimics Rui’s movements, “These feelings are… complicated, dare I say.”
“Why so?” Rui’s voice grows smaller.
“I’m trying to write to someone I don’t know… But I want to get to know them,” Tsukasa patiently explains. “I don’t know how to reach them other than like this. Perhaps it’s the weight of importance that makes me overthink this so much. After all, I’ve never met people through poetry.”
Rui doesn’t respond; Tsukasa doesn’t reprimand him for it. This story must sound like nonsense to someone who is unaware of the context in its entirety. For a while, he simply listens to the calming rustle of the leaves above them, soaking in serenity and waiting for Eureka to hit him like an apple to the head.
Minutes pass, and he hears Rui’s voice barely make it through the comfortable silence between them: “So… you’re writing a poem because you want to meet someone?”
Tsukasa nods enthusiastically. “I really do. This is my last resort.”
“Even though they’re a complete stranger to you?”
Tsukasa nods again. “Why not? They got me so curious. I’d really love to meet them in person!”
“I… I see.”
For a brief moment, Rui’s voice gets more shaky and shy than before. He keeps shifting in his place, grass crumpling and complaining underneath him, and moving his lips as if pronouncing words Tsukasa can’t hear. His reaction is quite odd, yet Tsukasa doesn’t ponder on it too much — after all, they have just met. Perhaps he is simply overwhelmed by how much Tsukasa has shared with him already.
Silence, silence, silence. With each passing beat, the mental distance between them cuts shorter. Tsukasa feels drawn to Rui — it’s almost the same confusing yet enticing flutter in his chest that he felt the first time he read the mysterious poems about himself. This town and its locals are so painfully familiar that even meeting someone new seems like a little adventure worth indulging.
He dares to move an inch closer towards Rui. “What about you?”
Rui winces. “What about me?”
“What have you been up to? Here? Weren’t you writing something down earlier?”
It amuses Tsukasa that such simple questions make Rui huff and hide. He imagined the mysterious poet react the same way to his first poem last night, even. Is he as shy as Rui? To hide himself like that…
“I was just… working,” the other man finally replies, voice reluctant. “Boring things. Calculations and the like.”
“Calculations…” echoes Tsukasa, and vague ideas form in his head. “Are you a scientist by any chance? I think I’ve seen a book or an article written by someone with your last name…”
“Ah, must have been my parents,” Rui shakes his head. “I am yet to publish something under my name.”
“Are you planning to?”
A nervous chuckle. “Um, maybe? I… do wish for my works to be seen, sometimes.”
Tsukasa pushes himself up on his elbows. “Then you could show them to me someday! I think scientists are incredible, and I don’t recall meeting one before you. This must be fate!”
“Fate?” A thick layer of blush spreads across Rui’s face, visible even though the curls of his purple hair. “W-well…”
“I mean, scientists make wonderful discoveries and come up with so many things! I’ll be honored to bear witness to your projects— if you let me, of course.”
Tsukasa’s eyes lay on the journal clumsily stuffed under the folds of Rui’s dark, long coat. Noticing his gaze, the latter quickly stuffs it even further away. “Thank you, Tenma-kun. That’s incredibly sweet of you.”
Oh, that’s a friend scored and a heart stolen, for sure! Tsukasa graces Rui with one of his charming, confident smiles and relishes in the way Rui has to avert his eyes timidly, as if blinded by the shine. Tsukasa may not have written a good poem yet, but he has met a new face he’ll love to get to know more.
“In that case, how about—?”
“I have to go now, my sincerest apologies.”
Tsukasa’s triumphant dreams shatter against Rui’s figure growing taller as he stands up rather hurriedly. Not meeting his companion’s eyes, he dusts the tail of his coat with his gloved hands and fixes his hat until it covers him like a crown of a tree, shade all over his features.
“It was lovely meeting you, Tenma-kun,” he mutters with a tint of… anxiety? “Perhaps we’ll meet again.”
“Wait!” Tsukasa jumps to his feet. “Why are you leaving already? What do you mean, ‘Perhaps’?!”
Rui mewls out a response, maybe an apology, but the rustle of the leaves above them and the grass below muffles it. Before Tsukasa knows it, he is rushing away in an unfamiliar direction — smooth like a shadow during sunset. Tsukasa considers the circumstances for a moment, wondering how ethical it would be to chase after a guy he just met, but his legs act before his mind.
“Kamishiro—Rui, wait!”
Did he overwhelm Rui? Was he too pushy? Did he say something weird? Perhaps this new guy is just as delicate as a poem, and Tsukasa should have chosen his words more carefully.
Nevertheless, the unexpected adventure takes an even more unexpected turn. Instead of chasing a guy with no name or face, Tsukasa is now running after someone he was ready to call a new friend. Eyes laser-focused on Rui’s dark, recognizable silhouette, he throws his braided hair off his shoulder and picks up the pace.
“Ouch!”
Then the world spins and trips, and the cold grass once again makes him squirm a little.
It takes him a few moments to process, but it seems that his foot got caught up in something, and he tripped. Helpless, Tsukasa watches Rui’s figure grow smaller and obscure, melting into the forest. Gentlemen never curse, but now would be an appropriate time to start.
There goes a new friendship and a possible new adventure. Even the picturesque lake now feels boring compared to that prospect.
Tsukasa slowly pushes himself off the ground. His white suit receives a few ugly orange blots. Furious, he turns around to see what could’ve possibly betrayed him at such an important moment.
“Huh?”
It’s… Rui’s journal. He must have dropped it while running off. The pages, covered in scribbles, tremble alone under the gentle yet menacing caress of the wind. There seems to be quite a lot written on each.
Tsukasa’s hand freezes mid-air. Of course, it’d be incredibly rude to cross the only boundary Rui managed to set before disappearing — he didn’t seem particularly eager to showcase his work.
On the other hand — the one itching to reach for the journal, to be precise — running away after a pleasant conversation and an attempt to make contact is not exactly polite, either. Huffing and puffing, Tsukasa decides to take a peek. The wind helps him by flipping a few pages until he sees a spread filled with Rui’s neat handwriting.
“In my dreams, I see those same white lilies
That adorn your ever-gleaming frame
In the timid garden of my feelings
Blossoming and whispering your name.”
The lake goes still, and the leaves freeze in place. The only one trembling is Tsukasa, burnt by his own heat. He recognizes these exact lines, and with that, everything finally begins to make sense.
“Oh, how I wish to get to know you better,
Get blinded by your smile and your shine.
One day, I’ll show you this demure love letter,
But I’m afraid. Because you are divine.”
“Oh, Rui…”
The muse has found the artist.