Work Text:
There are dark colours painted all over the canvas when Sousuke comes back home, and he knows what it means without having to look Haruka in the eyes, without asking him what’s wrong. Dark green, blue, grey, black, red. None of it makes sense, and Sousuke knows it probably doesn’t even make sense to Haruka himself.
The only way Sousuke knows how to take Haruka out of this state is by doing what he always does. It doesn’t last forever, but it helps for a while, and he figures it might be better than nothing. So he crosses the living room and gently wraps his arms around Haruka’s waist, planting soft kisses on the back of his neck.
Haruka’s stiff posture slowly softens, and he lets his right arm fall to his side, paintbrush still wet with a dark blue colour. He sighs.
“Sousuke… welcome home. Sorry, I… forgot dinner.”
“It’s fine,” Sousuke says. “We could order in if you want.”
He takes Haruka’s paintbrush from him and places it on the palette next to the easel before he leads Haruka to the kotatsu where they sit down. Haruka leans against Sousuke’s chest, and Sousuke gently combs through Haruka’s hair with his fingers for a few minutes in silence, before he makes a phone call to order them food. He hasn’t had anything decent to eat in all day, so to say that he’s starving is somewhat of an understatement.
They take a bath together that evening, and Haruka falls asleep with his face buried in the crook of Sousuke’s neck. He sighs in quiet relief, feeling like he managed to get Haruka into a somewhat better mood. Even so, he knows this isn’t the best method, and it certainly doesn’t leave a lasting method.
When he’s made sure that Haruka’s fallen asleep, Sousuke quietly goes back out into the living room to put away the canvas and fold the easel to put in its usual corner. He doesn’t throw away the canvas, but just hides it in a place where he knows Haruka won’t find it.
The next time it happens, Sousuke comes home to probably a dozen, crumpled papers on the floor, and finds Haruka sitting cross-legged by the kotatsu with his sketchpad and pencil in hand. He sees the white tips of Haruka’s index finger and thumb, and sighs to himself. It isn’t out of fatigue, out of disappointment or irritation. He sighs because he feels inadequate, like he can’t be of proper help and support.
Sousuke sits down behind Haruka, as usual, legs around the sides. Leans forward and places his chin on Haruka’s shoulder, and embracing him softly with one arm around Haruka’s middle. He lets his finger run along the lines of Haruka’s sketch, feels the indents from the pen on the page, sees the remnants of the eraser Haruka seems to have used quite a lot on this one sketch.
“Let’s go take a walk,” he suggests. Haruka’s hand stops moving, and the white tips of his thumb and index finger slowly regain their normal colour. Sousuke takes Haruka’s hand in his, gently massages the fingers, and brings them to his lips. Haruka’s shoulders relax, and he exhales slowly.
“Yeah.”
It isn’t an everyday occurrence, but it happens often enough where Sousuke feels like he definitely isn’t doing what he should in order to help his boyfriend, to be there for him. He does what he can, what he thinks might help, but he isn’t actually sure if it does. They take walks, they watch TV, go down to the communal pool for a leisurely swim or a race. And for the rest of that day, Haruka does look like he feels better. But that’s only for that day, and the next day he might be right back where he was the day before.
It’s a quiet, peaceful Sunday, and they’re sitting in the living room doing their own things; Sousuke’s just finished his stretching, and Haruka’s pulled out his sketchbook again. Sousuke sees Haruka touch the blank page with the tips of his fingers, and remembers the indents he’d created there the day before on a sketch he ended up tearing out in the end, but not crumpling like the others.
“I have an idea,” he says. “Draw on me.”
Haruka looks up, blinks in slight confusion. “Come again?”
Take it out on me, he wants to say, but doesn’t. Instead, he rolls up the sleeves on his hoodie, and presents his underarms to Haruka. “Draw on my arms. Whatever you want, I don’t care what it is. Think of it like tattoos.”
Frowning, Haruka looks down at Sousuke’s arm, chewing on his lower lip in what looks like deliberation. But then he scoots closer, puts Sousuke’s arm down on his lap for stability, and pulls out his little collection of sharpies in all kinds of colours. It’s a relief to see not only those dark colours Haruka’s gotten so familiar with lately, and Sousuke hopes he actually gets to use them this time.
Sousuke sits and watches Haruka draw, doesn’t say anything, and Haruka doesn’t say anything, either. He figured Haruka wouldn’t be so rough when he feels the tip of his pen touch skin instead of paper, instead of a canvas. And even if Haruka would press it harder against his skin, Sousuke wouldn’t mind it. He’d rather have Haruka take it out on him than on himself through drawing or painting on other things.
“What if I hurt you?” Haruka asks.
Sousuke shakes his head. “You won’t.”
Haruka’s initial movements are hesitant, soft to the point where the marks his sharpies leave are faint, and it tickles Sousuke’s skin. He bites the inside of his cheek as to not laugh, because he’d both end up disrupting Haruka’s concentration, and probably make him self-conscious about what he’s drawing.
As Sousuke had hoped, Haruka does switch between different colours every now and then, and he watches as Haruka draws vines that soon sprout detailed leaves and flowers in varying sizes. Orange, pink, purple and light blue flowers are interspersed with bright and dark green leaves, and it’s so fascinating for Sousuke to watch it all come to fruition right before his own eyes.
“Wow,” he hears himself saying in complete awe, and Haruka looks up, his pen completely still.
“You like it?”
Sousuke nods slowly. “I really do. This… this is amazing, Haruka.”
A little smile tugs at the corners of Haruka’s lips, and Sousuke’s heart does a somersault at the sight. “I’m glad.”
“Shame it’ll come off in a day or so, though. I might wanna turn this into a tattoo.”
Haruka’s eyes widen slightly. “Really?”
“Really.”
“If… if you’d really want a tattoo, I could draw you a better one. If I would’ve known, I would’ve—“
“No, that’s the cool thing about it. It’s perfect, Haruka.”
Sousuke lies on his back, eyes closed, his chest slowly rising and falling with his deep breaths. The light touch of Haruka’s fingers against his skin is almost ticklish, but enjoyable. Haruka traces the outlines of the orange flower on Sousuke’s shoulder, his index finger travelling down the vines and leaves, past the smaller flowers. Green, red, blue, purple, orange, yellow—it’s a mix of so many vivid colours that Sousuke wouldn’t dream of wearing on a shirt.
But seeing as these colours now decorate his entire right arm from his shoulder all the way down to his wrist, and if it’s an idea his boyfriend came up with as a coping method, it means all that much more to him. They’re permanently etched into his skin, and he likes that they are. That they won’t come off in the shower or after years of just sitting there.
“Now I can’t draw on your arm anymore,” Haruka says, actually sounding disappointed. Sousuke laughs, kissing him on the top of his head.
“I do have a right arm, still. And a back. Man, imagine a gigantic back tattoo.”
“You’re gonna go broke.”
“It’s just a dream, Haruka. Let me dream.”
Haruka hums. “I like the idea of a back tattoo.”
“Right? It’d be sweet.”