Chapter Text
Lev was an ordinary guy; he didn’t have any passions.
He didn’t have many friends, he wasn’t that popular, but he had good enough grades and a stable home life to even it out.
If there was one thing Lev enjoyed, it was watching volleyball matches with his friends - he enjoyed the look of excitement and cheer that was plastered to their faces when their favorite teams won. He adored the way they’d jump up in joy and scream at the top of their lungs in victory. However, a hint of jealousy always clung to him.
This wasn’t his victory, he achieved nothing; why should he be celebrating something he didn’t earn?
This feeling of uneasiness made hanging out with his friends sort of a pain for Lev, he liked being around them, but it was also a constant reminder that he meant nothing - he had nothing.
Nothing but a revolting, yet unopened pack of cigarettes that constantly remained within his blazer pocket. Lev never dared to open it, he knew the risks well enough, but something about the crumpled box brought him security.
.
“I can’t believe we won that game!”
“Right? I was so certain we’d lose the entire time.”
We?
We did nothing.
Leaning back on his chair, Lev looked up at the team celebrating their win on the cracked screen attached to the wall of a dingy ramen restaurant. A dimmed, yellow light highlighted the wooden counter running along the bar, Lev sat slumped over it as he traced his finger around the grease stains. Despite his friends cheering beside him, the melancholy sensation of envy returned to him. Lev wanted nothing more than to party with his friends, but how could he when watching the game brought him so much agony?
He sighed, “I’m heading home now.”
This comment caught one of his friends' attention: Ryoma.
He was a sweet enough guy, polite, and straight forward - the kind of person that draws everyone in. Plus, he was effortlessly good looking which always came in handy. However, he didn’t take his studies seriously, he never did his homework and made little to no effort on his assignments. He was trouble, but got away with it. So, to summarize, he was a distraction.
“Now? Dude, it’s only 10pm, don’tcha wanna have a smoke break at least?” Ryoma leaned his head against his arm and waved his finger at Lev’s pocket.
Lev rolled his eyes, “Unlike some people, I actually want time to study.”
He subconsciously moved his hand to hide the opening of his pocket.
“Pft, said no one ever.” Ryoma chuckled, “Whatever man, see ya tomorrow.”
.
When Lev returned home, he was quite quickly bombarded by his mother with questions about his whereabouts, and when he was finally let go, he was too exhausted from walking for so long to do any studying. Without any hesitation, he slumped his body onto his bed and took a deep breath. The darkness was somewhat comforting, the lack of light made him feel real.
Slowly, he rolled himself over onto his back and stared at the ceiling, then his sister walked in.
Quickly, he sat up, “Alisa? Hi.”
She gave a warming smile, one that immediately lit up the room, “Have you been hanging out with Ryoma and the others again?”
That question hit Lev hard, and he nodded reluctantly.
Alisa shrugged and looked down at the floor, “They’re a bad influence on you, but I guess at least you’re happy.”
Lev didn’t know how to respond to that. In truth, he was far from happy, but his sister was the last person he wanted to turn to about his mental wellbeing.
“Is something wrong?”
He jolted.
“I can sense something else, do you want to talk about it?” She asked quietly.
Lev just shrugged it off and laughed, “It’s nothing, just lost in thought. It's late, so I should probably get some sleep. After all, sleep solves everything”
He couldn’t find anything wrong with that excuse, and it seemed as if she was buying it. Plus, there was some truth to his wisdom. In response, Alisa nodded and began to close the door, but for a split second she stopped.
“You need to put yourself out there, do something for you.”
Then the door closed.
.
All night, Lev couldn’t think of anything other than his sister’s words; they lingered in his mind, and it was tragic. His existence was pointless, he made no difference in the world, so equally it wouldn’t make a difference if he was gone. With his breathing hitched, Lev sat up and clung to his pillow - that recurring feeling of jealousy and dread had suddenly grown bigger.
Fortunately, the feeling of fear was rather draining, and eventually he fell asleep, but he did not feel good in the morning.
.
“Yeesh, you don’t look so good.” Ryoma chuckled, once again leaning on his arm, yet this time he was in a school uniform and at a desk.
Another friend, Takuro, replied too, “Yeah, you must’ve been up later than us and we stayed out an extra 2 or 3 hours.”
Lev just shrugged them off, “I just didn’t sleep well, it’s nothing.”
They both laughed at him, and then their lesson began.
It was boring, tiring even - Lev found himself struggling to stay awake. However, that particular emotion, that specific feeling Lev always gets dawdled in his mind once again. Lev feared it’d never leave him, that he’d be drowning in this sentiment of worthlessness forevermore. Even when he tried to shake it out of his head, it just wouldn’t go away. Perhaps his sister was right - maybe he did need to put himself out there.
As the day continued, Lev searched around school for any sort of club or activity he could join - for any poster inviting him to do something. Although, nothing seemed interesting.
Sports were a no-brainer, all rich guys with hot girlfriends and big mansions did sports, but Lev wasn’t really an athletic type of guy and relying on his height felt like cheating which went against the whole reason he was looking for a club. Then of course there were various music groups he could join, but Lev couldn’t afford an instrument, nor did he have the motivation to randomly learn to play one. Besides, could he really imagine himself on a stage with other people?
For a similar reason, theater wasn’t an option, he couldn’t cook, chess sounded boring, books were definitely boring and there wasn’t any point in learning another language when he was supposed to be learning Russian already (even if he wasn’t up to date with the lessons his mother thought he had been doing).
At the end of the school day, Lev had crossed off most of the clubs on his mental list. He leaned against the window sill of the school corridor and sighed. Looking into the wide distance reminded him of how small he really was, and then that feeling came back.
“This is pointless.” He kicked the wall, “How is someone like me supposed to do something huge? I can’t even go to sleep at night let alone find a new hobby on the spot.”
At that moment, as he was about to turn around, he saw a short boy with brown-blond hair and the biggest brown eyes run straight past him. Lev noticed the huge grey bag over his shoulders, it was flat - it looked like it may have been holding an enormous book.
The way he ran past was like a scene from a movie in slow motion. His red lips were slightly parted and the freckles on his cheeks were like little brown stars, but no matter how much Lev zoomed in, the colors that came to mind weren’t enough to capture this stranger’s beauty.
He continued to run, and soon an even shorter boy with black hair and eyes ran past him too. This boy was cute, but something about the previous one was more captivating.
“Yaku-saaan waaait uuuup!” The shortest boy cried out as he ran behind.
As he ran past, Lev observed the branded label on the similar bag: artxx. To Lev, that brand meant nothing, to these random students, it had a purpose.
They were art students.
Lev scoffed.
It wasn’t that he had anything against art, he could enjoy it the same way any average viewer could, but he never saw what was so special about it. Essentially, It’s expensive, wastes too much time, and why bother spending so much money on an art school when pursuing an art career is borderline impossible. To add on top of that, he believed it was solely talent based.
Previously, Lev had been to art museums with his mother - he’d be able to admit it nearly bored him to death. Looking at all of the paintings on the wall, there wasn’t a single one that stood out to him. Lev didn’t know who Picasso was, he didn’t know Vincent van Gogh or Hokusai on a personal level, so their art didn’t stand out to him - nor was he at all interested in their work. Some of it was impressive, but a lot of it confused him and left him thinking, “I could probably do that.”
So, the better question was what were these art students thinking?
.
“Could you do me a favor?”
About to leave his final class, Lev caught sight of his elderly literature teacher behind him. Mentally he sighed as he knew whatever she was about to ask of him would likely either take a long time or a lot of effort, but he was too nice to say no.
As he nodded and placed his bag back down, she walked over to the side of the classroom and picked up a rather heavy box. Carefully, she waddled back over to him and placed the box on his desk.
“During an event for middle schoolers, the art course had to use this classroom and left this box in here. I’d return it myself, but it’s quite heavy and I’m not sure I’d survive on all of those stairs.” She chuckled softly.
Lev exhaled reluctantly and picked up the box.
“Just my luck.” He thought to himself. Looking down, he saw lots of sketchbooks inside. Curiosity had definitely piqued, but Lev took it on himself to not get carried away. After all, there was a volleyball match tonight on TV, and a certain ramen restaurant was calling his name.
“Thank you, dear.” She smiled.
She certainly didn’t exaggerate, which literature teachers were quite good at doing, the box was extremely heavy. Carrying it up so many steps was proving to be a challenge, but Lev was tall which meant he had extra strength then some to match his height - which was probably why he was chosen for the job he had just figured.
Walking closer to the art classroom felt strange, a peculiar aura loitered around the door and Lev felt on edge - his shoulders were tense. He had never been down this corridor before, but he knew roughly the location of most classrooms. Still, he felt uneasy. Slowly, he crept closer to the door; he dragged his feet with every step. Then he shifted the box so he could grab the handle.
Increasing ever so slowly, the smell of clay and paint poisoned his nose and reminded him of his dislike for art - it was just a mess with a cute name to it. How did people find joy in something so unreal, when the entire world exists around them?
However, opening the door was like being welcomed to a new universe. As a wave of uncertainty hit him, Lev was suddenly met with the unknown. Equipment he’d never seen before were splattered across tables, paper was hung everywhere like posters in a teenager’s bedroom. All of this meant nothing to Lev, yet somehow he was intrigued - how did it get so messy?
Continuing to walk further in only sparked more questions, like what does this item do? What’s the point of those? Why does this look like that? Finally, he found a space to place the box down.
“About time, there’s no room to put anything down.” He wiped the sweat off his forehead, it was hard to believe such a small task could take so much out of him, “I suppose I should go now.”
Just as he turned around, he was met by something he couldn’t believe he had almost missed.
Leaning against the back wall was a massive painting. An orange boy, or perhaps he was red and yellow, held a paintbrush in front of his face, the streaks of paint it left behind looked like fire.
For once in his life, Lev found himself drawn in by a painting. Art had always passed him, he never understood its purpose; he always felt distant. Yet this painting had managed to hold him captive. Perhaps it had something to do with the use of colors, or the flicker of the brushstrokes, or the fact that the artist had somehow painted paint, but for whatever reason, Lev couldn’t stop himself from leaning in.
He wanted to get closer to it; he wanted to touch it; he wanted to understand it.
“Can I help you?”
Immediately, he drew his hand back.
Lev turned around to see the same boy from before, the cute one with the freckles, standing at the door.
“I-I’m sorry, I- I was just dropping something off-”
“Do you like it?” He asked quietly.
The question landed suddenly and unexpectedly - something in the air felt different. With his mind scrambled with words, each one racing to form the perfect reply, Lev discovered that he was completely taken back by such a surprising question.
“I mean, it’s impressive. Did you paint this?” Lev asked, and the boy nodded accordingly, “Yeah, it’s really good! You should be really proud of yourself, you have a lot of talent-”
Before he could continue his compliment, he was interrupted.
The boy closed the door and walked over to his painting, “I don’t like that word… talent . I think it rids someone of their effort. I mean, if someone was to spend so much time and dedication on a topic, and all of their commitment and hard-work was passed off as merely talent, does that really seem fair?”
Lev paused. The other boy hesitated.
“N-no, I’m sorry, you were being nice! Thank you for your kind words-”
So Lev interrupted him too, “I get it. You put in a lot of work to do this, so I suppose it must be annoying for your effort to be downplayed as just talent. I take it back then, because this really is out of this world.”
The boy chuckled awkwardly, “I’m Morisuke Yaku, I’m a 3rd year student. Are you interested in art?”
Lev shook his head slowly, “Er.. not really my thing. I’m Lev Haiba though, 1st year, it’s nice to meet you.”
They shook hands and Lev took a step back to admire the painting once again. There was a whole world out there based on art that he had been purposely ignoring this entire time, and this creation before him was the key to unlocking that new universe - he was almost craving to know what else was on the other side.
“Can I ask you a question?” Lev asked.
Yaku nodded, “Yeah, anything.”
Taking a deep breath, Lev prepared himself. Not for the question he was about to give, but the response he was expecting in return. For so long he had been blinded from such beauty, so focused on the idea that it was all natural talent, and now that his eyes had been opened to the idea of effort and commitment, a small part of him wanted to know more.
Lev bit his lip, “Why… Why do you like art?”
What he wasn’t expecting was the soft laughter from the upperclassman in front of him.
“Are you asking a serious question?”
Now he felt embarrassed, but he nodded sincerely.
“It’s different for everyone, my answer is way more complex than someone else’s.” Yaku shrugged, “There is a whole other world out there, one hidden behind the shadows of reality. It is the exact same as this one, but more free. Art lets you be yourself, it’s the only language that everyone can understand, the only one where you can stutter and it won’t matter. The freedom to be creative is such a gift, why should someone just throw that away? Why not make beauty from mistakes?”
“But you’ll never get anywhere with-”
Yaku stopped him, “With art?”
Lev froze - had he asked too much? It certainly sounded like he’d hit a nerve.
“I would rather fail something that makes me feel real then succeed at something that makes me feel empty. If you feel passionate, why go for something that’ll make you unhappy? Even if you’re no good at it, you should always put what you love ahead of everything else.”
Standing there, silently, Lev didn’t respond right away. He watched Yaku - really watched him. He observed the way the shorter boy’s eyes lit up when he spoke and for the first time, Lev started to understand. Maybe art wasn’t just random colors splattered on a page or perhaps it was more than a mess with some random meaning. Yaku’s words had unlocked something inside of him, and Lev wanted nothing more than to desperately grab hold of that feeling and never let go. He could even go as far as to say that the new emotion outshone the one of resentment that held him down.
Yaku let out a quiet sigh and crouched down to pick up the scattered paint brushes and paints on the floor beneath his big painting, “Seems I lost you.” He muttered quietly, “I shouldn’t be surprised, you said you don’t care.”
“What? I never said that-” Lev spun around to look down at Yaku - his eyes wide in shock.
He paused and held tight onto a thin brush, “No, sorry, you said art wasn’t your thing - you were being polite. Though, I’m not an idiot, I can tell your preferences just by looking at you.”
With that sentence, Yaku pointed at Lev’s pocket with a subtle gesture, and once again Lev instinctively tried to cover the quite obvious lump in his pocket.
“I’m not like that.” His grip on the fabric covering the cigarette box grew tighter.
“Oh, so a social smoker?
Those casual spoken words made Lev flinch, “No, I don’t smoke full stop.”
“Did I offend you?” Once having gathered all of the equipment spread out on the floor, Yaku stood up with them tight in his arms, “You shouldn’t sacrifice your health on something you don’t even enjoy.”
Lev let out a dry scoff, as if he hadn’t heard that before, “What, did I offend you too?”
Without a care to reply, Yaku simply rolled his eyes and left the art classroom - his footsteps quiet yet prominent. Surrounded by the stingy smell of oil and abandoned dyes, the silence in the room felt colder. Emptier. It was as if Yaku had taken something with him when he left—and Lev wasn’t sure what, only certain that he missed it already.
Lev exhaled softly, his breath slightly shaky as he took one last glance at Yaku’s painting. With nothing left to say and no one left to hear it, he finally turned towards the door. However, as he reached for the handle, he was brought to attention by a piece of A4 paper hung crookedly to the door —a poster he hadn’t noticed when he came in. For a while, Lev stared at it; his eyes were fixated to the poster advertising an art club that took place every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
Lacking any hesitation, Lev snatched the poster off the door and placed it in his pocket, then he vacated the room.