Work Text:
Ryoshu didn’t used to draw you this often.
You don't mind. Not just because the drawings are flattering, though that certainly has something to do with it. You wouldn't go so far as to say that she draws an idealized version of you, but there's a certain fondness to each stroke or deep hue that only you can see– when she lets you see them. Of the many that she's done, you'd only been allowed to look at a few.
All that aside though, you don't mind because it seems to bring her some sort of peace. Something to do with herself when she can't stand to be left with idle hands. She's tried out all sorts of mediums, from pencil sketches to small watercolor paintings. How she decides which to use and when is a process only she's privy to; You don't have the same eye for this as her.
“Hold still.”
It should be embarrassing how quickly the movements of your hands cease at her order, left hovering in a gesture as you cease your rambling about something that doesn't feel too important anymore. It's such a familiar demand at this point that it feels like second nature to obey, though when you turn your head to look at her she frowns and waggles the charcoal stick at you.
“Y.M.T.M. Bad model.” She scolds you, but there's no venom to it when her voice is so soft it's almost lost in the sound of scribbling on paper. She's focusing hard, uncaring of her hair in her face as she hunches over the sketchpad. Really, she should know the value of a proper posture when she's working like this, but your countless warnings have fallen on deaf ears each time anyway. She's likely been sitting curled up around her work much longer than she's known you.
“I didn't know I was modeling.” Is your quiet defense of yourself, a frown tugging at your lips.
Ryoshu replies easily. “Your mistake. You're forgiven.”
“I wasn't–” you huff, but don't dare to move from your pose. There was no point in trying to argue with her, she looks too pleased with herself whenever she tries to get under your skin.
Sitting in silence with Ryoshu is nothing new. She talks more these days, at the very least with you, but she isn't one to just try to fill in quiet spaces. She never seems to mind you making conversation, so long as she isn't expected to reply when she has nothing to say. It's just harder when you know that she's a mere foot away, working on another portrait of you. The act isn't as embarrassing as it was the first few times, but there's a question you've been sitting on for a long time.
“Hey… how come you're doing this so often?” Your voice feels much too loud once you find it, even if it's hardly more than a whisper.
That red gaze just flits to your face for a moment, then moves back to the hand she must be working on sketching.
“Y.D.L.I?”
“It’s not that.” You assure her. The grip on the charcoal loosens a bit. Some tension you hadn’t noticed leaves her shoulders.
“You just didn't used to this much.”
She's a lot quieter today. As of late, she gets near silent whenever she draws you. A mix of concentration and something you can't quite place, face hidden in her hair save for the brief moments she takes to memorize an aspect of your pose. A teasing remark here and there, mostly directed at your inability to just hold still. Now you can see that she's trying to figure out how to respond, her movements on the sheet no less certain.
“...It's just in case. These memories of us sitting here, they're E.S. I don't…” Ryoshu doesn't need to finish the thought. Honestly, you feel a little silly for not having figured it out on your own.
You would reach out if you weren't currently locked in position. Or if she wouldn’t flick your forehead for trying to “coddle” her, muttering something under her breath about not needing your pity. So you both sit in silence, her sketching away at you while you're frozen in place. All she says is to stop making that face, and you're not really sure what she means, but you try to school your expression into something as neutral as possible.
“Can I see?” You manage to ask before she closes the sketchpad with that signature finality, fingers already poised on the edge of the cover.
It's not like Ryoshu is shy about her art. Sketching isn't exactly her preferred medium or anything, but unless she wants to get scolded for forcing a rewind, there's no way for her to use her actual specialty on you. These recent pieces just seem to be much more personal. More precious. Now that you understand why, you handle that sketchpad carefully, in a way you almost expect her to scoff at you for. Like her memory of the last few moments will fray if you aren't gentle. She hands it over, not quite hesitantly, but not thrilled about letting it go.
It's good. It's always good. There's confidence in the way she draws, either born from experience or from her own self assuredness. But there are little aspects to it that you can make out, the spots she focuses the hardest on recreating. Your face, particularly your eyes– she had lamented once (grumbled, really) about struggling to get them just right. Then to your hands, frozen mid-air in perpetual motion. Your favorite sweater, the design laid out as accurately as it could be. The date on the corner of the page.
The drawing almost feels like a love letter. Her reason for making it, the adoration etched into each line, makes your heart squeeze in your chest. You must be looking too sappy. Maybe the tears in your eyes are making your fresh perspective a little too obvious. Because something bops your nose, and the paper is pulled from your grasp when you're busy sputtering and trying to regain your bearings.
Ryoshu's fingers are smeared with charcoal, and you take note of the black on her callused fingertip when she pulls back. You nearly go cross-eyed trying to see the smudge on your nose, rubbing it on your hand and undoubtedly making it worse.
“It's J.A.S. No need to act like it's a masterpiece.” Despite her aloof look, leaning back on one hand with the sketchpad in the other, she wears a ghost of a smile.
You look up from the gray smear on your palm, uncaring of how unserious you look for this sort of conversation. The dopey smile you wear doesn't aid you much either. “It’s sweet.”
Ryoshu scoffs. She hasn't been referred to as “sweet” many times. When you first met her, you couldn't have ever imagined being the one calling her such a thing. Still, there's the faintest hint of a blush on her cheeks, that sketchpad held close to her chest as though she's cradling the real deal.
If she isn't in the mood for a heart to heart, that's alright. Maybe later you'll remind her that you'll be around to help create new memories, should these ones have to be sacrificed to draw her sword again. You don't mind making them again and again if you have to.