Archive of Our Own

Suitcase rolling behind him on the smooth tiles of the airport, Mika tried to stifle his yawn as he could. Both of his hands were taken and so, were he to yawn, he couldn't have done the polite thing, that is, hiding his gaping mouth from the sight of the poor people around.

“What, still not used to long flights?” his coworker asked, grinning.

“Nah, I am. It ain't ma first one after all. I just didn't sleep much during ma break.” Mika let go of his suitcase to wipe a tear away. He hurried, since his coworker stopped walking to wait for him and they soon resumed heading towards the flight attendant hotel.

“That's because you spend too much time on your phone. Even thirty-five thousand feet above the sea, you still spend your time browsing the news and art accounts. I’d almost think you should see a therapist about it, it sounds deeply unhealthy, you know?” She poked at his shoulder and Mika immediately stepped away, teeth gritted and eyes darting daggers. His coworker rolled her eyes. “Don’t look at me like that, you know very well I wasn't about to touch Mademoiselle.”

Mika stayed silent, but he didn't settle back into peace either. No, instead, he cradled his doll to his chest, one hand standing between the doll and his coworker, fully ready to slap away any attempt at touching her. A few seconds went by, during which his coworker kept staring at him, irritated. Eventually, Mika glanced at the doll’s ever serene face and took a deep breath. “Mado-nee is fragile . A precious lady like her needs to be treated with proper care.”

“I know, I know. I’d be glad if you stopped jumping at the throat of the passengers who give her dirty looks or suggest she has nothing to do here, though. You’ll be in trouble for that one day, you know? You really should invest in a box for her, since you insist on carrying her around. I don't even understand how you got hired despite that fancy of yours.”

“Mado-nee doesn't deserve to be jailed in a box. She’s family,” Mika replied, jaw clenched. He rubbed his index on her antique dress a few times, straightening the folds and trying to remind himself that this was just a normal conversation, and that his colleague couldn't ever understand.

“You know, perhaps you’d land a date if–”

“I already told ya I ain’t interested in datin’, stop tryin’ t’push that on me. An’ no, I will not go clubbin’ tonight with ya. An’ I have things planned fer this afternoon and tomorrow mornin’.”

His collegue sighed, “I suppose you’ll head to an art gallery again, since we had the chance of landing in the morning today.”

“Yeah. I don't suppose ya wanna come.”

“Right on the nose, I don't. I’ve tried galleries and museums a few times with you and you never even seem to appreciate them. Seriously, we get to be in Rome for almost a whole day, and all you’ll do is museums and boring exhibitions, as always. What a waste.”

Mika shrugged, “I just ain't interested in parties an’ nightclubs, it ain’t ma fault if that's all ya wanna do all the time. How long until we reach the hotel?”

“Half an hour.”

Immediately, Mika’s mind started to picture the best way to make use of that little half hour. The news of the day, he had seen, for several countries. He could always resume his endless scrolling of artistic social media accounts… but arguably, he had done that enough for today. A ‘But what if?’ itched the back of his mind, but he brushed it away. Planning his three day stay in this city would be far more productive, especially since he had to check that his tickets for the private galleries he had booked hadn't been canceled, or that there weren't any issues with them. 

Internet and his mail it was then. 

A good hour later, when Mika finally closed the door of his individual hotel room behind him, he let out a sigh of relief. Leaving his suitcase by the door, the first thing he did was to create a comfy, safe space for Mademoiselle with the pillows of the bed.

“We’re finally alone, Mado-nee!” he exclaimed, tucking the doll in the sheets. “I thought I’d never see the end of it today.” 

The doll didn't reply but Mika still found some comfort in her gentle smile, painted on one and a half a century ago.

“I swear, one day people will get that they ain't allowed t’touch ya. I don't get why they can't just respect that! That's so impolite. You’d think people’s manners would improve over the centuries, but it’s plainly the opposite! We never had that issue before but nowadays, people are always touching each other! And I mean, it’s fine when it’s me. I won't break, and I’m adaptable. But you, Mado-nee…” Mika sighed and ruffled his own hair furiously. “I ain't asking fer the whole polite shtick we used t’hafta abide by. That was far too much, I’m glad that has been put behind! But still, not trying to grab a distinguished lady like ya is such a basic thing!” 

Mika met the glass eyes of the doll and shook his head in protest. “I know whatcha think Mado-nee. But it does matter. I ain't letting a single bad thing happen t’ya. Ya know they’d all agree with me.” Mika stopped talking so silence came back. Nervous, he swung his legs under the bed a few times. “Alright, I’ll get movin’ now.” 

Since Mika still had a few hours before his first visit in town today, he unzipped his suitcase, picked out some comfy clothes and grabbed the TV remote to turn on the news, making sure the volume was high enough to be heard through the rushing water of his shower. 

A warm bath would have been nice now, but he chose to keep that for the evening.

That was one of the perks of being a flight attendant: the water bill wasn't on him, and he could enjoy some wonders of technology without ever having to pay for it.

His uniform shed, folded and put on a chair, Mika gladly stepped under the scorching hot water. His skin would probably redden afterwards, but even if he got burnt badly, it would heal fast. One mere hour and his skin would be back to a healthy and pristine white and considering that right now, he wasn't sharing the showers with anyone, Mika sure was about to delight in the hottest temperature he could reach since he wouldn’t get protests about him filling the whole room with steam nor worried looks about the state of his skin. 

In the past, some of his coworkers had tried to persuade him that cold showers were far better for one’s health and mental state, but for Mika, those were stupid ideas. 

Hot water that came so freely and easily wasn't a luxury he’d ever pass. Not after centuries of having to mind his water and heat consumption. All of humanity’s breakthroughs weren’t great, but those that eased his daily life certainly were. 

Never again would he have to make do with a pot of water and coal to wash himself, and that was priceless. 

If that meant spending almost half an hour under the shower head each day, then so be it. As stated earlier, the water bill wasn't on Mika, but on the hotel owner. 

When he got out of the shower after a thorough scrubbing and wearing now some much more comfortable clothes, Mika let himself sink into bed while the Italian news anchor detailed the issues of the day. Wars. Armed conflicts. Global warming too. 

Mika sighed. Once again, those were depressing, and never the sliver of hope he was waiting for. 

A quick search on his phone and Mika switched the TV channel for the art and documentary channel of that country. It was in Italian.

It didn't make much difference to him. Having lived for centuries and traveled around so much meant that he knew a good package of languages. And Italian was one of them, even if he was somewhat still more used to older forms. 

“We should go find a bakery that sells some croissants, right Mado-nee? Even here, there should be a good one.”

Mika eyed her and then looked back at the ceiling. He fiddled on the cuffs of his shirt, sewn more than five decades ago and sighed. Then, he apologized to Mademoiselle, for bothering her with his impolite sighing. 

The TV announced the broadcast program of the day and Mika rolled his eyes. 

No, he wasn't about to listen to someone talk about Da Vinci’s paintings again. What followed wasn't much better in his eyes. It seemed like today, this channel was doing a retrospective on centuries of Italian painting, which was an honorable endeavor, but not what Mika was looking for. 

Bored and frustrated, Mika looked up the canal number of a French news channel. France was his next destination after all. Preparing early would never be useless. 

Mika closed his eyes and listened distantly about the news anchor’s presentation of the European Parliament elections and the constant criticism over the French government’s poor planning of the Olympic Games to come in a few weeks. 

Those were just as useless to him as the rest. 

Mika reached out for Mademoiselle, hugged her and kept staring at the ceiling for a while during which the news anchor kept talking again and again about whether or not the French President and the mayor of Paris would truly swim in the Seine to prove how clean its water was. 

Mika rolled his eyes, thinking that those people were simply insane to give so much attention to something like that. Didn’t they have actual policies to implement? Deals to make? Important things, at any rate?

Eventually, though, the news anchor moved onto their next topic and since this was about art, Mika glanced back at the screen, just in case. 

He doubted he’d learn anything, but any chance was a chance, no matter how slim.

“The scandal over the plagiarism accusations over the final of the — competition are still under way, and evidence is piling up against Itsuki Shu. Copies of texts he sent to his friend, Sakasaki Natsume, have been sent to us, and they seem to point in the direction that Itsuki was indeed the plagiarist after all,” the news anchor explained in French. 

That short presentation of the events were enough for Mika to know that this didn't concern him either. 

If this was about a plagiarist, then, it would never be the person he was looking for. No, his beloved would never do that. No matter the time, no matter the circumstances, their principles were unwavering and they’d much rather gouge their own eyes out and cut off their own hands that commit such a crime against the gods of art. 

“Indeed,” the second news anchor added, “The evidence is quite damning. Secondary investigations have been started to try to determine if Itsuki’s previous works, which had previously been hailed as a refreshing breath in the sewing world, were products of plagiarism as well. What do you think, M.—?”

The interviewed specialist, a known sewing scholar apparently, appeared on the screen and Mika listened to him with distant ears. 

Would he even find his beloved in this decade? Mika could wait more, one decade more was nothing but… He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself not to think about how badly he missed them. One decade more was nothing. Nothing. He had Mademoiselle by his side. Things were alright. 

“I think the public should keep in mind that for now, everything is only allegations. Even the results of the competition haven't been given, since the investigations aren't over yet. It would be too soon to condemn either Shu Itsuki, or the second finalist. The prize of this competition wasn’t just about money, but about reputation and a place at the side of one of the best couturiers in the world as well. No motive can be set aside, that Itsuki was facing financial troubles recently as indicated by his texts with his friends is hardly a proof that he committed plagiarism. These are two different topics.”

“Of course. However, a prize of such a huge sum would have been enticing to someone facing bankruptcy.”

“As I’ve said, those are two different topics.”

“Still, if you had to judge who might be the plagiarist according to the execution of the two near-identical designs that were submitted for the finals of that competition, which one of the two designers is the most likely to be guilty, according to you?”

As soon as a shot of the two artworks side-by-side appeared on the screen, Mika instantly paused the broadcast. 

No. 

It was impossible.

The style was slightly different of course. Decades had gone by, the sewing world had changed. 

But the core idea was one that Mika knew all too well. The reason for that was very simple. 

He owned a piece that was very similar, and that his beloved had sewn for him more than a century ago. 

But which one of those two people was the original creator? Mika jumped up from the bed and rushed to the flat screen. He even took a chair to be able to see each piece at eye-level. 

He found his answer in the embroidery. The two pieces were similar. Too similar, for the unknowing eye. 

But for Mika?

He raised one hand to the screen, one tear rolling down his cheek, and pressed his fingertips on the pixels showing him the artwork labeled as that of Itsuki Shu. 

The embroidered roses were too similar to how the one who had once been his teacher used to shape and place each petals. Of course, it was hard to be absolutely certain. The quality of the picture was bad, too bad for Mika to be able to be absolutely sure. 

His beating heart still knew all the same. 

“Mado-nee,” he called out through the tears. “I ain't mad, right?”

The doll didn't answer and through his sobs, Mika barely saw her smile. He rushed to her side all the same and cradling her against his chest, he filled her hair with his tears. 

Only hours later, when his sobs of desperate joy had calmed down did he straighten up, hence realizing that he had missed the visit hours he had scheduled for one gallery today. 

It didn't matter anymore.

Mademoiselle still cradled in his arms, Mika spent hours gathering any information he could on that artist.

There wasn't much that he could find. There wasn't even a single picture of what he looked like. Almost all the articles and web pages he could find about that man were ones that were related to the allegations of plagiarism, which Mika was absolutely sure now were mistaken. 

All he learnt was that ‘Itsuki Shu’ was a 22-year-old man, born in Japan and who had graduated from a renowned French fashion school. Even before his graduation, his sewing had caught the eyes of many people, and his career had seemed bright.

At least, until those accusations of plagiarism. For every article that praised Itsuki’s past work, Mika found a dozen slanderous ones that depicted him as someone desperate for money, with no care or respect for art, and whose place in the sewing world had been earned not through hard work but through nepotism and bribes. 

That almost made Mika hesitate. His beloved would never do that. But… what if they were that different, in this life? People changed through the reincarnations. Appearance, gender, personality… much could change, even if the soul was the same. Life experiences shaped people but Mika had always thought that the core traits of one person were immutable.

What if that person had changed to that extent, this time?

Mika bit off one of his nails and looking for comfort, he stroked Mademoiselle’s hair. 

He’d judge that later. For now, booking a plane ticket to Paris and visiting Itsuki’s current exhibition was all that was on Mika's mind. Tomorrow was its last day. Mika had to hurry, if he wanted to confirm his intuition. It didn't matter if the lack of an online portfolio ticked him off, or if he was bothered by the very scarce information he had found about his childhood and teenagehood, even on the Japanese side of the Internet. 

Alll he had learnt was that that man had been involved in some school theater productions, both as a costume designer and as an actor, and that he seemed to have met there a famous actor named Hibiki Wataru with whom he had collaborated a few times since then. That was all, which really disturbed Mika considering that he knew himself to have grown into an expert when it came to digging information over the years.

No matter. His response was to be found in that man’s art. Not in his life experiences. 

Still, something brought a smile to Mika’s face. In this life, that person was Japanese, right? Mika had long lost attachment to that country but still, the coincidence amused him. That was his birthplace after all. Or rather, his place of birth had geographically been somewhere in what was now Japan. Truly, too much time had passed for Mika to feel like that place was home.

As such, Japan wasn't a place he visited often, deeming it a waste of time considering how strangely obsessed his beloved was with West European culture in all of their lives. Europe was Mika's target, because he knew the drive that precious person incomprehensibly had for French culture specifically. And it had been successful up until now. 

More or less. At least Mika had managed to find that person before. That never meant that it lasted long, sure, but…

Mika sighed and settled Mademoiselle in his arms while he prepared himself a cup of tea. 

How long they might have this time didn't matter. What mattered was that Mika could see that person again. It didn't matter if all they had was a few months, or even weeks. 

Just seeing them once would be enough. No matter what that would take. 

⁂

“Will you be alright, Shu-nii-san ?”

Out of reflex, Shu was about to scoff and reply that of course he would be fine. That a few slanderous articles and social media posts were nothing. 

Instead, he curled up under his blanket and held the phone closer to his ear. “I’ll be as alright as one can be in that situation.”

“Rei-nii-san is still investigating as much as he can from a far . That our private conversations leaked is highly concerning and if any thing, it’s only additional proof that you were framed .”

“It is. You…” Shu bit his lip and fiddled on one of the buttons of his nightrobe.

“We’ll find who is trying to frame you . And we’ll sue whoever was involved, Shu-nii-san . Even if the four of us have to put our entire fortune into it, you know we’ll do it .”

“I didn't ask for that.”

“We’ll do it all the same ! Shu-nii-san, designing was your dream ! You can't give up on it just like that, because of some bastards !”

Shu clutched at his phone and took a deep breath to hold back his tears. The lump in his throat told him that a single word would unleash them, so he kept quiet.

“Nii-san? Did I– … Was that too strong ? I'm sorry, I just don't think you should give up just yet. Your talents have always shone like no one else and you deserve a place in the art world, more than anyone else !”

“Boy, I’m fine. You didn't offend me in the slightest.”

Natsume kept silent this time. “Nii-san.”

“What is it?”

“You still have a spare couch , don't you?”

Shu froze. “Natsume, your work–”

“Video game designers aren't restricted by something as flimsy as geography,” he seethed. 

“You will be more efficient in Japan.”

Natsume huffed and Shu could picture him snapping his fingers in a nonchalant attitude all too well, “A competent magician such as I can work anywhere and not be impaired in his prospects .”

“Boy, you are aware that you do not have the keys to my apartment, don't you?”

“I am, but I’m also well aware that you wouldn't ever let me sleep in the streets .”

The sound of keyboard keys being pressed on the other side of the call reached Shu, and he scrambled to try to convince Natsume not to do what he guessed he was doing. “Boy, you know I won't be able to reimburse your plane ticket!”

“It wasn't something I was asking f or. I have far more money than you do.”

“I do not agree with you pouring money down the drain for me!”

“It’s not pouring money down the drain if it’s for you . Here. I’ll arrive in two days , I’ll send you all the information in a few minutes.”  

“Natsume!”

“Yes, Shu-nii-san ?” Natsume asked, too cutely for Shu to keep with his protests. Goodness, Shu could even picture his puppy eyes.

“... I'll send you the list of items you should remember to pack later.”

Shu shivered. He could very well see Natsume’s satisfied smile, despite the thousand miles between them. “Thank you . I’ll see you in two days then . Take care, Nii-san . I swear, we’ll find a solution, and we’ll prove your innocence .”

“Even your magic won't save me this time, boy.”

“Mine alone, no . But added with Master’s, Rei-nii-san’s network and wits, and Kanata-nii-san’s ability to make wishes come true, we’ll manage to do something . All you have to do is keep blessing the world with your art, Nii-san . You know we’ll always have your back, right ?”

Shu stayed silent and curled up further under his blanket. “I know. But… you can’t bring back my career prospects. It’s over.”

“It is not over !” Natsume exclaimed. Shu wished his friend was right, he really did. It was hard to place his trust in those words though. “We only have to prove your innocence ! If we have to contact each and every one of your past teachers so they can write dozens of letters testifying that you aren't the type to plagiarize , we will ! With me here, you can be sure that I’ll at least find how your design was stolen and how our conversation was leaked .”

“Even if you find something, boy, it’s too late. People have made up their minds. Even if I won the trial… the public won’t be won back.”

“Shu-nii-san , if I give you an order, will you abide by it?”

Even as he depressed as he was feeling, Shu still had the energy to scrunch his nose and snap: “Who do you think you are, kid?”

“Turn off your phone ,” Natsume replied calmly. “Entir ely. Do not go on social media , do not even go on the Internet . It will only hurt you right now . That's my order . I’ll throw your phone by the window if I learn that you didn't respect that order . You know my cards will tell me the truth .”

“... Fine.”

“And you are eating tonight . I’ll pay. Have something delivered to your door, it’s on me .”

“Natsume, your bank account–”

“Fine! I’ll have any other of my Nii-sans pay for you ! All of them will be rushing to pay ! But you are ordering something to eat ! Even if it’s something light, like a soup! I’ll call you tonight again , and we’ll eat together !”

“The hours won't match.”

“I don't have to eat dinner . I’ll eat breakfast . If you don't eat, I won't either .”

Void of any energy to protest, Shu simply curled up more under his blanket and muttered: “... Fine.”

“I’ll call you at 9 pm sharp . That’s the only time you’re allowed to have your phone or your computer on . Take a shower . Go outside . Breathe some fresh air in. I swear, things will turn out alright .”

“Is it the fortune-teller or the magician that is speaking?”

“Both . Whatever the cards will tell me , I’ll turn your fate into a happy one , Shu-nii-san .”

A faint smile stretched Shu’s lips and he did his best to wipe away the streaks tears had left on his face. “Alright. I'll await your call, boy.”

“Good . See you soon .”

The call ended and Shu stayed in his bed, unmoving for long, long minutes that soon turned into an hour. 

Eventually though, he managed to push himself to sat up. His phone lit up and beeped, announcing to him that despite it being 7 am, people were replying en masse to that one social media post he had made days ago trying to defend himself. 

Shu turned off his phone and left it on the nightstand. Natsume was right. Not taking his phone with him might be his best bet today. 

It wasn't that Shu couldn't stomach a few criticisms, or even slander and insults. 

But this… all of this was far too much to withstand on his own, cut off by thousands of miles from his friends and family. Not that his family had been much help. His parents had barely believed him when he had argued that he was innocent. Only his grandfather had asked how he was feeling but their conversation had been cut short by his grandfather needing sudden but urgent rest. … At least his family was covering the legal expenses. That was all his parents had accepted to cover, after a scolding of several hours during which Shu hadn't managed to convince them that he had not plagiarized and that his design was the one to have been stolen and most importantly, that this wasn’t a sign that he had thrown his life prospects away when he picked art as a career.

Shu’s eyes wandered in the darkness through which he couldn't make much of his bedroom. There weren't many things in that room, partly because all of his money had been invested in his sewing, partly because he rarely was in his bedroom, except to fulfill his body’s need for sleep. As such… there wasn't anything that he could use as a distraction here. 

Still, he had to get up, and eat. Natsume was worrying about him. At the very least, he should honor his care, even if that was only with two bites of his leftovers from two days ago and a cup of tea. Shu gathered his coverlet on his shoulders and left his bed, dragging his feet to the kitchen, purple cloth sweeping the floor and gathering dust at the same time. 

When he opened his fridge, Shu was blinded by the white light. After hours in the dark, it wasn't too far from having daggers being thrust into his eyes. 

He blinked a few times and reached for a tupperware of vegetables that was now several days old. 

Vegetables for breakfast was far from being what he appreciated but Shu doubted he had enough strength as is to go to the nearest boulangerie and buy bread and croissants. 

When the door of the microwave closed on that box, Shu’s eyes lost themselves in the regular spin of his container box. For once, he didn't care about the loud whir that machine made while it was on. Eating was his first task today. 

Then he’d take a shower. 

And if he summoned enough strength, he’d go out for a quick walk. 

His mind drifting, Shu was brought back once more to the letter he had received a week ago. 

Plagiarism. And the jury didn't manage to decide who between Shu and his accursed competitor was the plagiarist, even when they had acknowledged that the sewing prowess would have tipped the balance in Shu’s favor. 

Instead, public opinion, stirred by the media, was fully against him. After all, for them, it didn't matter if Shu’s project showed a higher level of proficiency in sewing. That didn't mean he wasn't a plagiarist, only that he sewed better and the rabble wasn’t even able to value sewing for what it was. 

The worst was that Shu himself had started to doubt if he had not plagiarized someone else by accident. It was a stupid idea, of course but… but he couldn’t fully dispel its shadow.

For years now, he had been haunted by pictures of a particular set of clothes, both at night and during the day. 

He had long believed that those clothes were simply the product of the dreams of a child, which seemed coherent given that his imagination had given them more and more precise shapes over the years. 

But what if it wasn't the case? What if he had plagiarized someone else whose work he had seen as a child, and his competitor had plagiarized that person as well? 

Shu shook his head and pulled out his meal from the microwave before it beeped. 

No, that wasn't possible, since he hadn’t fully respected the design that lived in his mind, for numerous reasons, the first one being that Shu had never dared trying to reproduce that dreamt design on paper. 

For years, each time he had thought about it, he had shaken his head, thinking that his skills weren’t good enough yet, that he needed more experience. 

For years, he hadn't managed to see those clothes clearly in his mind. The garments that lived in a corner of his mind were old. From another time.

Sometimes, Shu could even picture the seams, and always, he was struck by his feeling that those clothes should not be sewn by a machine, but by hand. That using a serger or embroidery machine on them would mean going against himself, which was stupid, since he had no qualms to use humanity’s latest technological breakthroughs when it came to sewing. 

His iron was one of the best, and the same could be said for the half dozen machines that he kept on the shelves of his atelier. 

Even using metal eyelets had been a long debate against himself. Thread-bound was the proper way, a voice kept telling him. 

But thread-bound was such an ineffective way to seal holes in corsets or stays! Of course it was historically accurate, but not only did it take an incommensurable amount of time that Shu didn't have for a competition, but they weren’t anywhere as solid as metal eyelets. 

And in the end, Shu wasn't a historical sewist, so accuracy didn't matter that much. 

And yet, for that competition, he had decided to try to at least use those fabulous clothes as inspiration. They were to be a promise to himself that one day, he would shape them, and with them, be enshrouded in the light and warmth those clothes seemed to be a manifestation of. Despite the blur those clothes existed in, they always came with that feeling of deep, steady warmth. 

And with the vague feel of a smile, dazzling as the reflection of the sunshine on white marble.

Shu had thought that this artwork he would present to the jury would be a masterpiece. That even beyond the fame winning that competition alone would bestow upon him, his project would shine among the masses for what it was. 

Instead, someone had stolen his design and had claimed it as his. Worse, Shu’s sketches of the early designs were already too advanced for them to serve as credible proof that he was the one that had made them.

As soon as the point of his pencil had touched the paper, everything had come suddenly to him, as if he had been blessed by the gods of art right that instant. His hand had flown, for hours on end, late into the night as in a trance, and when Shu had drawn his last line, he had almost shed tears of excitement, convinced that this would earn him the first place and set his career. The patterning had taken him an unbelievably short time as well. 

The first try had been enough. Only minor subsequent adjustments had been necessary, which had seemed like a blessing of the gods with the deadline creeping on him. The mock-up had been flawless as well. 

Now, it seemed that the devil was the one that had whispered that artwork to him, and Shu was stuck, utterly unable to prove his innocence whereas his competitor apparently had sketches showing earlier stages than his. 

A honking car pulled him out of his thoughts and Shu realized that he was still standing in front of his microwave, glass container in hand. 

Jaded, he sat at his table after having picked a random fork and forced the first bite down his throat. 

Day-old food had never been to his taste. Today wasn't a matter of taste, though, only of sustenance and Shu had to pull himself by the bootstraps if he didn't want to worry Natsume even more.

To think that his friend had booked a plane ticket on the fly just for him almost brought tears to his eyes, and his fork, lifted in the air and stabbing some poor green beans, shook as violently as Shu’s shattered heart. 

Natsume would be here in two days. 

Shu took a deep breath, his hand set back on the table and he breathed in a second time. Alright. He’d do as Natsume had advised, and then, he’d clean this entire apartment. He couldn't welcome Natsume into such a mess. 

When Shu had swallowed as much of his food as he could, he set it back in the fridge. He almost dragged his feet all the way to his bathroom and when it was time to undress and shower, he almost renounced. 

Truly, he didn't have the strength right now.

But… what kind of senior would he be for Natsume, if he couldn't even take a shower? Natsume would likely insist for a video call tonight. Shu couldn't show himself like that. Not to him. 

Even with his dreams shattered to the ground, he had to do something to preserve his dignity in the eyes of his friend.

It didn't mean that doing so wasn’t an ordeal. Merely scrubbing himself was a trial today. Using his favourite soaps changed nothing to that fact. Even the feel of his bathrobe on his back felt wrong. So wrong, when Shu had spent hours selecting the fabric to make it, just to be sure that it would always feel right.

Well, not much felt right today. And when he had to pick up clothes, he almost didn’t recognise himself.

Shu Itsuki had no idea what to wear. Not because too many ideas were racing through his head. Not because he had no clothes. It simply was that only the void was answering him. 

He had to shake himself mentally to at least pick a basic white shirt with some trousers. It wouldn't be as beautiful as he would have liked, but at that point, anything was better than his dirty pajamas. 

Shu scrunched his nose when he picked up the shirt. He hadn’t had the time to iron it before, too caught up that he was in sewing his project for the competition. Well, now he had no strength to.

Wearing a wrinkled shirt was entirely against his principles. Shu still put it on. As soon as he saw himself in a mirror though, he changed his mind right away.

No, even if he wasn’t seeing anyone today, he wouldn’t be seen in such a messy state. Shu put the shirt back on a hanger and picked a few turtlenecks out of his wardrobe. As he was struggling to pick any between the four the had stretched upon his undone bed, Shu turned his eyes to his jewelry boxes. They were closed, but he didn’t need to see his various accessories to picture them clearly, not with how dearly he treasured some of them. 

Perhaps beginning with picking his accessories of the day would help him choose an outfit that would feel slightly right. Such an action wasn’t all too different from choosing the main colors of a painting to highlight a specific detail.

Eventually, he settled on the half of the drawer that was reserved for its largest collection and a weak smile almost came to him when he saw the reminders of the friendship he had been shown over the years. 

Ever since he had been a child, Shu had been obsessed with two particular gemstones. Lapis-lazuli and amber. As such, his friends had offered him countless accessories in which those particular stones were set, and each year, Shu received at least one piece that contained either lapis-lazuli or amber from his Eccentric friends. Last year, Rei had offered him an antique lapis brooch, purchased at an auction and that Shu had well worn now. Still, he always wiped its surface carefully each time he pulled it out of its black velvet case.

The year before that, Kanata had offered him amber cufflinks that he often wore to formal occasions. 

And the year before, Natsume and Wataru had joined what were then meager salaries to offer him a pair of asymmetrical earrings which Shu held the most dear to his heart. One was of amber and the other of a lapis gem that contained almost no inclusion, making it an almost perfect blue. According to the jeweler, the amber stud was supposed to be for the left ear, and the lapis pendant for the right one. 

Shu always swapped them around. It felt right, to do so. 

When he picked them from their precious case, a slight warmth filled his heart and he almost managed to believe that things would be alright. 

That there was still hope for his career, and that his friends would manage to help him, despite the distance and how busy each of them was. And yet, despite their schedules all filled to the brim, Shu knew that his friends cared about him. As soon as they had learnt about the plagiarism accusation, a group call had rung Shu’s phone, even when Rei was in the middle of a meeting, Wataru was practicing for a play, Kanata was giving a tour in his aquarium and Natsume was in the middle of testing some features in his last project. 

All had been up in arms, not leaving much room for Shu to talk, until wisdom hit Rei and he ordered everyone, especially Natsume, to calm down and keep quiet.

That day, Shu had been the only one who hadn't turned on his camera. He had been crying far too much for that and his friends had to have noticed it since none of them scolded him for that, when they usually tried to nudge him into switching the camera on. 

Shu sighed. 

He had to try to think about something else. Natsume had told him to take a walk outside, he would. 

⁂

Before he even realized, Shu noticed what he was standing in front of.

The gallery that hosted some of his works. The last one that ever would, most likely. No one would ever want to work with someone that stole other people’s work. Shu himself certainly never would. 

His heart tightened in his chest, screaming. All those years, spent honing his art so that he could present beauty to the world, and create a corner of light in that world that ripped people in pieces without a shred of mercy: down the drain. 

This was most likely his last chance to ever see his work be showcased, wasn't it? 

Shu contemplated the door of the gallery for a while and ultimately chose to push it open. If his career was to meet its end, he at least wanted to see the ghost of what could have been once more. The narrow selection of his works that were displayed here were in the back rooms, he remembered, and so, that was where his steps led him while bitterness slipped in his heart, drop by drop, each time he glanced at the myriad of beautiful artworks surrounding him.

He didn't think he’d even have the heart to ever return to an art gallery after that. 

… What was he even to do with his life, if he couldn’t pursue art anymore? That had been his vocation from the earliest age. 

Who was ‘Shu,’ if not an artist? 

That question echoed in his head, until he entered the room in which he was headed. 

As soon as he stepped in, Shu froze. He had expected to be alone. 

He wasn't. 

A dark-haired man was kneeling in front of the glass case keeping a dress Shu had made two years ago safe, and considering the sounds that came from him, that man was sobbing his heart out. 

Shu didn't understand. Why was that man crying? Paralyzed, Shu wondered if he should leave. If the reason why that man was crying was because he was crying of rage, thinking this too was a plagiarized work.

However, before he could do that, Shu’s eyes were caught by that man’s coat. 

It was carefully ornate, and his trained eyes could tell even from afar that it had been made by a sewist with years of experience, at least decades ago. And if it hadn't been made that long ago, then, it simply was a masterpiece of historical reproduction, down to the purposeful weathering of the piece. His eyes quickly ran down the few key characteristics of that coat and Shu situated them as clothes resembling that of the 1880s or 1890s, but with a notable eccentric touch. Not all the codes of that period were respected. There was a clear inspiration from Regency fashion in that coat, though it was faint.

Shu liked that piece of art all the same. 

The dark-haired man shifted, trying to wipe his tears away and Shu caught a glimpse of a pale yellow in the dark blue ocean that man’s coat formed. That man’s efforts were vain and tears kept shaking his shoulders, so loudly that Shu couldn't help but wonder if his art still had that power to elicit proper emotion, despite everything. 

If that man was the last one to bear proper witness of his work… then something in Shu wished to thank him. 

It wouldn't mean much, but it felt like a far more proper end to his art than his artworks being simply forsaken by all the people Shu had tried to reach through them. 

As such, Shu stepped closer to that man and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket.

“ Pardonnez-moi ,” Shu greeted, continuing in French. “May I offer you a handkerchief?”

The man wiped his tears again and when he looked up at Shu, eyes meeting each other, Shu’s heart stilled.

Lapis and amber, so keenly alike to those he was wearing on his ears right now. Those eyes were incredibly beautiful, despite the tears that were filling them. As if they were gem beads glistening with the morning dew. As if that man was straight out of his favorite paintings of Vermeer and Van Gogh. Oh, it was flooring, how beautiful those eyes were. Only one glance, and they already had Shu fully enraptured. Oh, such beautiful eyes should inspire wonders of art! They should–

Bitterness crashed his thoughts. 

What use was there in feeding them now?

“That’d be real kind of ya,” the man replied in flawless French despite the light accent that Shu couldn't pinpoint. Face still in his own handkerchief, the man sobbed a few other times. “But ya really don’t hafta, I have one, really…”

“If what you qualify as a handkerchief is that piece of embroidered cloth in your hand, I believe it’s too drenched to dry any new tear that might be born from your eyes.”

The man laughed and folded the handkerchief back into four and placed it in his pocket. He was about to take Shu’s handkerchief but his eyes fell on that dress again, and he started wailing again, loud enough for Shu to wonder if a member of the staff wouldn't come to check if things were alright.

Even Shu found himself wondering what that man could see in that dress for it to unleash such a wild show of emotion. He wasn't even sure if those tears were of joy or sorrow. They didn't sound like tears of joy. They were too loud. The thing was, that man, that Shu identified as Japanese despite his very good French, kept smiling even through them. 

Shu looked at him up and down again and this time, because the man had moved, he saw what was in his arms.

A porcelain doll.

The prettiest doll he had ever seen, with beautifully curled blond hair and emerald eyes. 

Again, his heart stilled and something imperious pulled him towards her, far more intense than anything he had ever felt for any other doll, despite his large collection at home. 

Words escaped his lips before he could think about how appropriate it was to say them right now.

“That doll is sublime. I’ve never seen any that was so beautifully done before. What’s her name?”

The man flinched and wiped his tears furiously with the handkerchief this time. 

“Try to guess it,” he replied, squinting at Shu. 

Shu raised an eyebrow. “I don't believe I have any chance of guessing right considering the infinity of possibilities.”

“Try all the same.”

Shu wandered his eyes on that doll, admiring her dress matching that of the man down to the embroidered flowers on the hem of her skirt that were identifical to that of the cuffs of her owner’s coat.

What could that man have even named his doll? He looked Japanese, so she had to have a Japanese name, Shu thought. If that man thought Shu could guess, it had to be some common name, like Sakura or Mei. 

And yet, his intuition told him that this was not the case. That this doll did not have a Japanese name. Shu kept thinking, eyes lost in the serene emeralds staring at him, and in the warmth captured in that painted smile. Words leaked through his mouth before he could think about what he was saying.

“Mademoiselle would make a fine name, but I doubt–” Shu interrupted himself, startled by how suddenly the stranger had sprung back on his feet.

“What did ya just say?!”

“I suggested that ‘Mademoiselle’ might be a fitting name but you may disagree–”

“No! That's actually her name! You… are you–” The man looked at Shu, again and again, up and down, everywhere that was in his sight, really, and Shu felt deeply uneased by just how violently that man’s behavior had suddenly changed. That was an odd coincidence, assuming that man wasn't lying, he could agree on that, but that man’s gaze was far too insistent, despite how akin it was to Shu’s favorite gemstones!

“What’s yer name, please?!”

“Itsuki Shu.”

“Oh, so you really are– You are the one who–!” Shu whitened at those words, expecting all that show of joy to deflate. Instead, the man sniffed loudly and kept smiling. “You’re the one who made that dress! Ya– Ya know, that dress’s really incredible. I love it, really. It’s… it’s so beautiful… and– An’ I’m so glad I got to meet you–” The tears came rushing again and that man hid his face into his hands.

Embarrassed, Shu mumbled, unsure of what to do, “I’m glad you appreciate it. However, my handkerchief will soon be soaked as well; what if… what if you followed me elsewhere? Since I exhibit my work here, I have access to the break room. I could make you a cup of tea, and give you a box of tissues. You seem to need it.”

“That– That’d be real kind, I’d really enjoy it!” he spluttered through the mess of sobs and tears. 

“Follow me then. It’s a nice room, you’ll be more comfortable in it.”

The man nodded several times and followed Shu a few steps behind, leaving just enough room for Shu not to feel too bothered. 

When they entered the room, Shu showed him to the armchairs lined in circles around a coffee table. The man sat in it, holding his doll to his chair and stroking her hair again and again with a wide smile, but with so much tenderness that that caress didn't displace a single hair. 

“Ah!” The stranger exclaimed. “You’re Japanese, right?! What language do ya prefer speaking? How should I refer to ya?!”

“Both French or Japanese suit me equally. Pick the one you speak best.” Shu picked two mugs in the cupboard above the sink and filled the kettle.

“Ma Japanese’s a bit rusted, so French’s good with me!” 

“Good.” Shu only plugged the kettle in, but the man kept looking at each gesture. In a way, it was so insistent that it was deeply unsettling. “What is your name?” 

“Mika Kagehira”

“I see. Then… since you’ve picked French, Mika, I believe using first names to be the most appropriate,” Shu replied, while still using the polite French you as they had both done up until now. “It wouldn't make much sense to use Japanese honorifics while speaking French, outside of Japan.”

“I agree! I had to deal with some passengers who disagreed though..."

“... Passengers?”

“Oh, I’m a flight attendant! That’s what I meant.” 

“If I may, what led the steps of a flight attendant in this gallery? You aren't from Paris, are you?”

“Nah, I ain't. But… to be frank… I saw yer art in the news.” Shu’s hands shook, so he crossed his arms, ready for the wave of hate to drown him. “I just wanted t’see it in real life. I’m really glad I came. Really, really glad.”

“If you saw my art in the news, I don't believe it was framed in any sort of positive light that was likely to foster that type of desire.”

“Artificial framing doesn't matter when it’s so obvious where real beauty an’ creativity lies.”

At those words, tears filled Shu’s eyes and he had to repress a shameful sniff. He agreed with those words. Of course he did. 

But they rang hollow in his heart now, despite how earnest they sounded.

“And I mean, ya did such an impressive job! R-really, there's so much that is worthy of praise, I'm so amazed at yer work! Fer starters, yer embroidery is so, so intricate an' beautiful! Did ya weave the lace ya used as appliqués yerself, or did ya purchase it?”

A bit thrown off, Shu mumbled, “I wove it?”

“So that explains why it’s so good! I see! Ya crocheted it, right? It’s far better than what we see usually these days, ya know? Except among expensive manufacturers, lace has lost so much of its soul because of the machines… I mean, I suppose it’s more regular now so it ain't worthless, but it ain't the same as antique lace at all! In any case, there’s so much life and care in your weave, it’s incredible! What ‘bout the bias tape? Did ya purchase as is, or did ya make it from another cloth? Its texture complements that of the skirt an’ sleeves so well! Perfect contrast, really! And also, everything piece of fabric looks natural is that on purpose or–"

“W-wait, I thought you said you were a flight attendant. ”

“Yeah, but that doesn't mean I know nothin’ ‘bout sewin’!’

“All that praise you’ve just showered me with aren't details that mere beginners would pick up either. Not with that language, at least. Have you graduated from a sewing school?”

Mika’s smile widened, as if he was proud of himself and he exclaimed: “I don't! I just used t’sew, that's all! I can still appreciate good art when I see it, though!”

Shu stayed silent, bewildered and far from even understanding who that man was. The kettle clicked and spewed steam, setting him back in motion.

“I haven't asked yet, but do you prefer black, green, or white tea?”

“Black, with two sugar lumps if ya have some please.”

“Alright.”

Teabags were put to infuse in each mug and when Shu sat in the armchair in front of Mika, this time, he tried to assess his age. 

He looked a bit older than him, in his late twenties, rather than in his early ones. 

… Did that mean that Shu ought to treat him with more deference? He sighed internally, and decided otherwise. No matter what, he remained the artist for today. He was still the one with the most authority here, even if they weren't using honorifics. 

“Thank ya kindly fer the cup!” Mika said, immediately picking it up with one hand and setting the mug on his thigh, next to his doll. 

“Be careful not to get burnt. There isn't any tube of Biafine here– I mean, of anti-burn cream.”

“Nah, don't worry. I’m quite burn resistant in any case.” Mika glanced at his cup and then back at Shu with a wide smile. “I really like yer earrings. Where did ya get them?”

“Thank you. My friends gifted them to me a few years ago, I treasure them dearly.”

“Oh, so ya have friends!”

Shu frowned, a bit offended, “Of course I have! What does that even mean?!”

“Nothin’ much!” Mika almost shouted, red and his hands uselessly flailing around to apologize. “I’m just real glad t’hear it’s the case! Bein’ surrounded by good people’s important, especially in yer current situation, so I’m glad if ya have people ya can rely on an’ trust.”

“... I see.” 

Silence fell awkwardly.

Shu looked around, then at his cup of tea and then at Mika again. This entire situation was so strange. But… but it didn't feel wrong. Not entirely, at any rate. 

“May I ask why you were crying in front of my art?”

“Sure! It’s just… It’s so beautiful, an’ ya put so much heart in it. A glance’s enough t’see that. How much time ya spent on that dress. Though I’m sure the other pieces were just as good! I just… didn't have the time to see much else. That dress was the first one I laid eyes upon and it moved me t’tears. Ya know, when I saw pictures of yer art on the TV, it really didn't make it any justice. It’s much prettier in real life. The colors don't pop out as much on a screen and it’s impossible t’make out the details properly, which is a shame considering how detailed your works are. The travel was worth it, really.”

That ramble was so extensive and fasf, Shu almost missed the one detail that ticked him off. “... The travel?”

Mika fell silent and laughed nervously, hand scratching his neck. “Yeah. I kinda jumped in a plane from Rome when I saw yer art… I arrived this morning.”

“... Excuse me?”

“Yeah, I know it’s weird but I just really wanted to see yer art with ma own two eyes an’ today was the last day before yer exhibition closed. I didn't have a choice.”

“You came from a whole other country just to see my art?!”

“Well, Rome an’ Paris ain't that far. The flight’s less than two hours. I’m used to more than that.”

“... I suppose you are, as a flight attendant. But… that’s such…”

“Yeah, I know, it’s goin’ a bit overboard. But… ya know, I’ve looked fer art like yers fer ages now. I wasn't ‘bout t’pass up that opportunity, even if I didn't expect t’meet ya at all. Honestly, I didn't even expect I’d get yer mail address or somethin’... So I really prayed the Heavens ya'd have at least one piece in my price range. I'm glad it's the case, though my jaw almost dropped when I saw just how high everythin' was assessed!” he sighed and took a sip of tea. “I have lotta money on the side, but art is so expensive nowadays!”

“Artists have to live,” Shu huffed.

“It wasn't a criticism of that! Of course you hafta make a livin’, I’d be very glad t’pay fer it! I was just crushed when I saw how much of ma bank account would disappear in one go! I mean, as I said, it’s one hundred percent worth it, but it’s still an awful lot! It's goin' t’take a few years of salaries,” he commented, laughing. Shu raised an eyebrow. Only a few years? Just how high was a flight attendant’s salary these days? Apparently, far higher than Shu would have guessed had he been asked before meeting that queer man.

“You would have bought that dress? Genuinely?”

“I sure would have! After all, ya need money, right? The news anchor said so. An’ I know very well how fast money dries up when you’re an artist! If ya don't get any, ya won’t create, so of course I was fully ready t’pay!”

“... If that is the only reason for you to buy that dress, don’t waste your money on me. Use it on another artist.”

“Ngh? Why would ya say that?”

“If you have seen the news, I believe you’d know my career is over. This is the last exhibition I’ll participate in. I’ll most likely leave the art world once the legal investigations are done.”

“What??!” Mika jumped in his chair, and cradled his doll closer to his chest. His eyes made wild and frantic, he almost shouted: “No, you can't! Please, don't do that!”

“You’ll find other artists that will suit your tastes. There are thousands of us out there.”

“N-no, you don't get it! It ain't ‘bout me at all I just–” He took a deep breath, visibly conflicted and took several glances at Mademoiselle. “It’s just… I can tell art means a lot to ya. I just think you’re made fer this, really. And it’d be a dreadful thing if ya stopped because of those allegations, when it’s so obvious that ya weren't the one who plagiarized. It’s so evident it’s yers!”

“I’m not listening to what a flight attendant has to say about this when a jury made of renowned couturiers couldn't.”

“It ain't ‘bout prestige! Art never was ‘bout pleasin’ people, or gettin’ fame, but ‘bout expressin’ yerself an’ invitin’ people into yer own world! It’s– I know things are hard fer ya right now, I really do, but… it’s just… I’d be so sad if yer art disappeared from this world.”

Hearing that, Shu almost wanted to try again, just so he could wipe away the tears in those eyes.

His heart, still torn apart and crushed, didn't let him do that. 

“You’re rambling. My art can't possibly mean that much to you.”

“But it does! I– I know it has to sounds like I’m exaggeratin’, but ma tears weren’t fake. Yer art truly moved me that deeply.”

“I owe you my thanks, then. I… I’m glad I was still able to reach someone on the last day of that exhibition.”

“An’ I’m very glad I found yer art but…” Mika paused ans shifted his grip on his teacup, uneased. “Shu, will you truly stop creating?”

“Unless the lawsuit is upturned, yes. I can't even pay my lawyer myself, my family took on the fees for me.”

“You lack money that much…?”

“Yes.”

Mika huffed and immediately started to rummage through his leather bag while Shu stared at him, frowning. Was that man about to just… give him money? As if he was a beggar?

“Argh!” Mika exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration and looking back at Shu. “I don't have a pen! Can I borrow one? There has t’be one here, right?”

“A pen?”

“That dress’s fer sale. I want it. So I’ll buy it right now.”

Shu almost spat out his tea, “It costs thousands!”

“Thanks, I can read, I ain't that dumb. It was written right next t’yer name. Pen, please.”

Bewildered, Shu shook his head: “Wait a minute, there are papers to fill! You can't just write me a check!”

“Alright, let’s go see the gallery’s owner then.” Mika put his tea cup on the table and stood up, his doll on his left arm and his bag in the other. He didn't even wait for Shu to walk through the door. “Let’s go. What are ya waitin’ fer?”

“B-but…”

“What? Ya said ya wouldn't exhibit yer work anymore, this is ma last chance. I ain't lettin’ it go by. I love yer art, I’ll buy it. Simple as that.”

“Give me one or two days, to think about it!”

Mika frowned and came back in the room. “I don't understand, it’s already fer sale.”

“It’s a dress ! What will you even do with it?!”

“Admire it, obviously? I could do just that fer a full year, ya know. Easily. A whole decade wouldn't be enough fer me t’tire out of it.”

Shu choked, would this man’s nonsensical hyperboles never cease?! “At least take a look at my other works, and I’ll resize the one of your choice for you! You fall into the averages, there has to be one that may be tailored back to you!”

This time, you’d believe Shu had announced to that man that he had won the lottery, seeing how wide his smile was and how many stars were filling his eyes. 

“Ya would do that?! Truly?!”

“It's only right to do it, clothes are meant to be worn!”

In a few steps, Mika was back in front of him. He leant towards him even, until he was frankly invading Shu’s personal space. Shu would probably have pushed anyone else to reclaim his own space, but somehow, he was so surprised that he didn’t. Especially when Mika grabbed one arm of Shu’s armchair, cornering him. That would have earned a kick in the loins to anybody.

But right now, Shu’s reflexes were entirely subjugated by the stars sparkling in that man’s mesmerizing eyes. “Really?! No lie?!”

“I just said I would!” Shu exclaimed, just as red as his favorite wine. “As long as you pay, I will!”

Mika giggled and headed back to the door. “Alright! ♪ Then, considerin’ that I’m ‘bout t’give ya a big sum of my hard-earned money, I want a favor from ya!”

“I don't believe you are owed–” Shu stopped, interrupted once again by the light in those eyes and smile. A bit of warmth reached him and he sighed. “Alright. Ask away, and I'll decide then.”

“Will ya be ma personal guide tour? It’s yer work, after all! If I’m to purchase somethin’, I wanna know everythin’ ‘bout the artwork! What motivated ya t’create it, what things were on yer mind, what other piece of art inspired ya, what themes ya hid inside, the struggles ya had workin’ on that piece… Everythin’! Is that reasonable?”

Shu uncrossed his arms and followed that strange man through the door and down the hallway. “Perfectly reasonable. Come, I’ll present the few works I have exposed here to you. You should remember that those are quite old. They date back from three to four years ago, that's why they're exposed here. My skills have tremendously improved ever since."

Humming cheerfully, Mika sent him another delighted smile, "Oh, I really ain't worried 'bout that at all!"

Walking back, Shu found himself stunned by just how bright that man was shining, now that his tears were gone.

And… he did feel a bit better by his side. A bit more warm, and looking at the doll in his arms, he felt fully at peace. He almost felt like reaching out for her.

Eventually, when they moved to discussing his work, a faint smile appeared on his lips, echoed by the joy of the man he was conversing with. 

“May I ask you a question?” Shu said between two works.

“Of course!”

“That coat you are wearing is a marvel like I’ve rarely seen. Who made it?”

“Oh! It was made a long time ago, by someone who never managed to make a name for himself. But… he was an incredibly talented man.” Mika stroked the hem of his sleeve, delineating the edges of the flowers on the cuff with a sorrowful smile. Ah, now that Shu could see them better, it was very obvious that those flowers were roses. “He was very precious to me as well. This is my favorite coat, and the last work he completed. Ya really haven’t seen anything like that before?”

Shu frowned, “No–” He interrupted himself and looked at that coat again. Unease settled in his chest when he realized how familiar that coat did feel. He could almost feel fabric under his fingers. 

He brushed that stupid idea off. That was simply something he knew instinctively as a fashion designer, nothing more. His eyes had always been extraordinary when it came to identifying rolls of cloth from one another. “I suppose it depends on what you mean by ‘like that.’ I’ve seen countless works made by people who take inspiration from that era, be it reconstitutions or revisitations.”

“Mh.” Mika’s eyes met the ground, and for a split second, he looked far away. Distant. Mournful, Shu would have even said. Eventually though, he looked back at Shu with a smile. “That’s what I meant, yeah. What value would you give it, as a reconstitution?”

“I can't assess that without flipping a single seam over. However, it is a very inspiring work, that, there’s no doubt on. Besides, it’d take me a good hour or so to evaluate it.” Shu paused, hesitant. “… Why? Do you plan to sell it?”

“Hah?!” Mika jolted and took a few steps back. He raised his free arm to his chest, as if to protect his coat. “Absolutely not! That coat is mine! It’ll be forever so! Even if someone offered me a billion, it wouldn't be up fer sale!” Mika paused and added in a mumble, fingers fiddling in Mademoiselle’s petticoat: “If ya wanna borrow it fer an afternoon, though, fer the sake of yer art, I could be persuaded. But only if you’re careful. Really, really careful.”

“I don't need to borrow it. Whatever look I’d take at it, I can do so in your presence.”

“Oh right!” Mika let out a sigh of intense relief and nodded several times. “That’d be much better!”

Shu nodded in turn and was about to begin another long row of explanations about the suit they were examining, but before he could do that, Mika took the conversation elsewhere entirely.

“So… would ya like us t’set a day ya can look at my coat in details?”

Shu stilled. That was an incredible offer, he couldn’t deny it. But wouldn’t it be more bitter than anything now? Looking away, Shu crossed his arms and replied: “I’m not that available, unfortunately.”

“Well, I can move around ma schedule fer ya! No trouble, really!”

“Aren’t you here to visit?”

“Nah. I’ve seen Paris a hundred times. Sure, some things change over time, but there ain’t much that is new for me. I meant it, when I said that I came fer yer art. That’s the only reason I’m here right now.”

“But still–”

“So, are ya interested or not?”

Shu paused and turned his gaze back to the suit. “I can’t say I’m not.”

Raising one hand to his mouth, Mika giggled. Instantly, flutters invaded Shu’s stomach, squashing everything and especially his ability to save his pride. That laugh, he wanted to hear it again and again. It felt like one of the most precious sounds in the world. It also felt so oddly comforting. As if it was filling that gap Shu had felt all his life, but never quite understood.

“I’ll send ya the address of the hotel I’m stayin’ at then! I even have other clothes ya might like in ma suitcase!” And then, just there, Shu received one of the most blinding smiles he had ever seen. It left him almost in daze. His knees almost went weak.

“Do you?” 

“Yes! They were made by the same person.” 

“Did they make your entire wardrobe?”

Mika shrugged. “Yes and no.” 

Shu frowned. How could the answer to that question be both yes and no? He was about to question Mika more, but he didn’t have the time to. 

Mika had already turned back to the suit, and was now looking at it in silence, almost with a reverence Shu had only seen in religious people before. As such, he didn't dare interrupt Mika’s entranced contemplations. 

It was jarring to see someone appreciate his work so much after days and days of hatred poured on him at every step. He could have been wary of it. Frankly, he should have. Each time he met this man’s eyes and smile though, Shu couldn’t help but trust him.

Still, he was badly thrown off, and even slightly offended at Mika’s next words.

“Do ya have other suits?”

“Do you not like this one?”

Shaking his head furiously, Mika exclaimed: “No way! I wouldn't ever spit on yer work like that. I just want t’make sure I buy the one I like most. That’s all.” 

“I see. Well, there’s another one in the corner, come, I’ll show you–”

Before he could step away, Mika grabbed his arm and tutted: “Nu-uh! We have hours before the closin’, we ain’t rushin’ goin’ through yer work. I’ll see it later, fer now, I want the end of yer presentation of this suit!”

Feeling Mika’s fingers embracing his forearm so boldly, Shu’s cheeks turned crimson in an instant and he lost all words. His own work escaped his mind entirely. All he could think about was how brazen this man was. How he kept invading his space, and yet, Shu wasn’t that bothered. 

That was a first. 

A first which somehow, didn’t truly feel like a first. With that man, it almost felt natural.

Shu didn't know what to make of it. 

But as he was resuming his explanations of every detail making up the suit, Shu decided that this was fine for now. 

If this man and his doll felt so eerily familiar, if his own defenses seemed to melt around him… then, he could always question Natsume about it later. His friend wouldn’t refuse doing a reading for him.  

For now then, simply enjoying the situation and the breath of sunshine carried by that man was just fine.