Archive of Our Own

Despite what most would probably think about him, Senku was capable of appreciating good art. Not in the way some admired specific brushwork or unique color theory choices, but more so in the way he could respect how a few lines and some splashes of color could capture reality with such vibrant accuracy, while still remain so human.

As someone who had personally spent many years drawing up blueprints and sketching out model designs for his rockets, he could especially appreciate realism. Precise lines, methodically balanced perspectives, and even simple, singular details most would overlook despite their impact in truly bringing a piece to life.

But abstract art?

If Senku was being honest, he thought it was just a cheap cop-out from people with no talent trying to make it big in a world they’d never need to really work for greatness in.

There’s no technique. No real story. No passion. And certainly no talent required. Just elitism that alienates the viewer while slapping a hefty price tag on a $50 canvas just for the hell of it.

Or, at least, Senku had believed that wholeheartedly, until this latest assignment for his required art credit.

He was supposed to observe an abstract painting and describe the artist’s intention when crafting it. Which was difficult, when all examples the class had seen earlier in the week looked like both a waste of paint and a waste of canvas.

The semester had started off easy, allowing students to choose an art piece they already knew and liked and describe exactly why such feelings were evoked. But as the class progressed further into his second year of college, they began to focus each unit on a different genre of art. Still life and landscape had been his favorites thus far, because details were important and accuracy was key to quality.

But lately his professor had transitioned into more modern art movements, like surrealism and pop art. He’d managed to dredge his way through those genres as best he could, maintaining good grades and outperforming his peers, as was typical for him. But after making the dumb decision of attending class a couple days ago as they began their newest unit, he had finally met his match.

Why majors in scientific fields were even required to take art credits for graduation was beyond him, but he’d originally figured taking Intro to Visual Arts could assist in future design work whilst at NASA after graduation.

Now?

Well, currently, Senku was this close to taking a lighter to his assigned art piece despite the assured jail time he’d have to serve, pushing his graduation date back further than he’d prefer. Damn that security guard posted one room over in the abstract sculpture gallery.

Sticking his pinky in his ear and sighing louder than was probably acceptable in the empty gallery, Senku leaned back against his open palms on the bench he’d planted himself on across from the piece. The last 40 minutes and 52 seconds of his life had consisted of him entering the museum free of charge with his student ID, wandering until he’d found the right wing, and then plunking himself in front of the ugly painting amongst a white-walled room filled with random splatters and finger smudges. He’d spent more than half the time just staring at the damn thing, trying to understand what the hell the artist (Ciara Something Something from Who-The-Hell-Knows-Where) had meant by calling it ‘Berries and Daffodil Daisies’.

What a stupid title.

It was just a bunch of pastel squiggles on a canvas. No flowers and no fruit to speak of.

Senku believed with every fiber of his being that his little sister, Suika, could’ve drawn something better. Hell, she has. Senku’s seen her drawings, proudly displayed on Byakuya’s kitchen fridge.

Unfortunately, Senku didn’t think his professor would really appreciate “The artist’s puerile craftsmanship shows her lack of competency and general sense of talent.” as the opening argument for his paper.

And yet…?

He was drawing a definitive blank on anything else at the moment.

And the last dozens of moments leading up to that moment.

At this point, Senku had resigned himself to failing the assignment and the resulting impact it would have on his perfect GPA.

Stupid art class.

“Ahem.”

Senku physically startled at the sound, righting his posture as he whipped his head in the direction of the voice. He hadn’t noticed someone else enter the gallery, his focus so absorbed in trying to restrain himself from throwing a tantrum at the expense of the painting’s safety.

The first thing Senku zeroed in on was the newcomer’s hair. White and black—like balancing tides of equal force—split perfectly down the middle. Except, one side hung lower, kissing the edge of his chin in a charming embrace. The asymmetrical contrast resulted in a truly striking and dramatic visage.

“You look as if the artist herself has personally wronged you.” The man spoke softly as a presumptuous half-smile pulled the corner of his lips up.

“She might as well have,” Senku replied within the same decibel, rolling his eyes and returning them to the canvas across from them. “I’m considering dropping my class if it means failing this assignment. Not my fault she doesn’t know what fresh fruit looks like.”

The newcomer laughed as quietly as was socially acceptable for the space they were in. “Well, sure. Her collection isn’t meant to depict still lifes, afterall.”

“Probably because she's incapable of drawing anything with remotely notable accuracy, if the art of hers in front of us is anything to go by.”

There was silence for a solid 46 seconds, before, “This is my favorite piece of hers.”

Senku’s eyes widened, his breath halting in his chest as he dragged his eyes from the frameless canvas to the man standing at his right. There was no way he’d heard that correctly. “You actually like this crap?”

The man at his side was no longer smiling when Senku’s gaze finally settled back on his face. In fact, his lips were sporting a particularly amusing pout as he stared straight ahead towards the piece.

“I think you’re missing the bigger picture here,” was the man’s rebuttal, brows pinched inward as the pout remained present across his lips.

“Actually, I’d prefer it if it were a smaller picture. Way too much brightness at this scale.”

The other man scoffed.

Actually scoffed.

He turned his eyes away from the painting and back towards the college student on the bench. “Just because you lack imagination doesn’t mean it's as errible-tay as you think it is.”

The indignity in his voice drew a red flush forth on Senku’s cheeks as he bit his tongue from responding just as snarkily. “Look, all I’m saying is her title makes no sense. There are no flowers and there are no berries. Just lines on a white background and a bigger insurance policy than on a car.”

The other man sighed, crossing his arms over his chest as his eyes closed briefly, before flitting open once more and returning their attention to the painting. “Well, firstly, you have to take the collection’s name into consideration. She painted four pieces in the collection and titled it ‘The Delicacy of Fragrance’. The four paintings all have titles corresponding to the different main categories of fragrance; floral, fresh, amber, and woody. This piece specifically represents floral fragrances and the inspiration those notes played in color choice and linework.”

Senku blinked.

Huh.

He had to admit… he hadn’t put those pieces together at all.

Then again, he hadn’t really tried in the first place.

Eh, still sounded like a bunch of excuses to him.

“Now, try looking at it again,” the man urged, effortlessly redirecting Senku’s gaze back to the painting.

Senku looked.

Aaaaaanndd… the squiggles hadn’t changed.

He noted that some were blobbier than others and some lines grew wider or thinner at different points. Hell, there was even a random big ol’ dot in the upper lefthand corner of the piece that didn’t look like it belonged there at all. More like the artist had accidentally dropped a brush on the canvas and decided to cover up the splat by rounding out the edges.

It looked like carpeting from a 90’s arcade.

“I don’t know… I guess there are darker squiggles and lighter squiggles?” Senku guessed, pulling a random observation out of his ass by noting the only obvious detail he could grasp without sounding any more inept than he already felt.

“Yes!” the other man exclaimed, slightly louder than the gentle whisper he’d been using since they’d started speaking. “You have the cooler tones, like the blues and the pink, and then you have the brighter yellows bordering the piece.”

“I guess,” Senku surmised.

“What else?” the man pushed, a spark igniting in his gaze as his pout slowly melted away.

Senku wasn’t entirely sure why he was even indulging the young man at this point. Whatever he could say wouldn’t change the fact that someone had clearly just thrown the lines across the canvas in only a few minutes, with no further thought than that.

Sighing in submission, Senku scowled before grasping at thinner straws than those little black ones people use to stir their coffee. “Well, she only put the yellow along the sides. And it kinda goes off the edge of the canvas in a couple spots. The rest is all kept closer to the center.”

“All wonderful observations!” the man gushed. “Based on the name of the piece, it’s easy to attribute the shades of yellow to the floral notes, while the cooler tones depict the berries. In fact, I believe the reason the artist chose to show only the yellows stretching beyond the confines of the canvas was to show how fleeting those lighter floral notes can be, in comparison to how grounded and central the deeper berry foundation settles at the heart of it all.”

“That’s a whole lot of speculation,” Senku groused, tilting his head to the side as if the change in position might provide a new perspective on the supposed not-so-randomness he was looking at.

“I wouldn’t say ‘speculation’,” the man started, scoffing for the second time since the beginning of their conversation. “Rather ‘astute understanding’. After all, I’ve spent hours looking at this piece, observing and understanding it with every brushstroke.”

“Riiiiight,” Senku appeased, drawing the vowel out in the word as he returned his pinky to his ear to scratch along the outer shell. “You say that as if you painted the damn thing yourself.”

The young man’s eyes widened, flinging his gaze back to Senku and away from the poor rendition of a Taco Bell Jazz drink cup.

“Well, no, of course not. But I would certainly attest that I am airly-fay qualified in this sort of thing.” The pitch of his voice had raised at some point, indignity and bewilderment visible in the scrunch of his nose and the snarling pull of his upper lip.

“Yeah sure,” Senku rolled his eyes before rolling his neck to the side to draw three cracks from his joints. He reached over to the long forgotten laptop beside him on the bench, pulling it onto his lap and unlocking it without glancing back in the other man’s direction. “Everyone’s a critic and everyone’s an expert.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?”

Ah, yes. Finally something familiar.

“Yeah, I get that a lot.”

Laughter.

Senku opened his previously abandoned Word doc as the man to his right laughed. Louder than the last time, and somehow even more amused. Senku didn’t look up from his screen as he changed the title of his paper and deleted the opening line he’d angrily typed out half an hour ago.

And if the corner of his lips quirked, lifting imperceptively, the other man said nothing before wordlessly stepping away from Senku’s otherwise now occupied attention.

It wasn’t until Senku was slowly retracing his steps towards the front of the museum a couple hours later, paper finished and submitted online, that he recognized other individuals wearing matching uniforms to the young man’s. And it wasn’t until just after stepping beyond the doors and down the marble steps that he realized the man from before must have been a docent of the museum.

Huh.

Noted.

One week later, Senku found himself back at the museum on Saturday, just like before. This time, however, the unit they'd started in class a few days prior was impressionism. It still wasn’t something entirely up Senku’s alley, still a bit too abstract and shapeless for his liking in most regards, but at least there was some shaping this time around.

The piece he’d been assigned this week was from a special exhibition that would only be at the museum for a month before the collection returned to the United States. Some artist named Erin Hanson from Colorado. Senku had never heard of her, nor seen her works before, but he was surprised to realize he probably wouldn’t mind stumbling upon them again in the future.

Her pieces certainly toed the line between fantasy and lifelike, some more somber, darker, and others closer to a Lisa Frank color scheme. But Senku kind of liked the chunkier strokes, he’d decided. Usually, he was more taken with pieces that had finer lines, brushstrokes so meticulous the viewer had to be up close and personal with the piece to be convinced it wasn’t just a photograph, but instead something physical. Handcrafted.

This wasn’t the case with this piece, though. ‘Reflections of Color’ was the title. The artist’s short, thicker strokes depicted a coastal sunset from California. It was bright (ostentatiously so), but somehow mellow. Despite the visible brushstrokes of thick oil paint one could easily make out from across the room on the bench he’d again perched himself upon, he could almost smell the salt from the sea water and feel the golden hour light upon his cheeks.

The unique way the artist had shaped the blazing light from a hidden sun in the sky kind of reminded him of a rocket during liftoff. The way the flames licked the clouds as something entirely manmade escaped the bounds of their planet to touch the stars.

He’d also decided he was impressed by how the artist had managed to shape the clouds into such round, bubbly shapes despite the fact that almost every stroke of her brush was short, thick, and straight. (The exact opposite of him lol).

Yeah, this piece was decidedly more interesting than last week’s.

“You’re back.”

Senku tore his gaze away from the painting to look over his right shoulder, surprisingly reluctant. He liked looking at the painting.

Well, Senku mused, barely noting the passing thought as it flitted across his conscious mind, the man he was looking at was considerably just as beautiful, so it wasn’t too much of a loss when it came to the view.

“I guess that means you didn’t drop your class?” the young man asked, hands clasped behind his back as his body tilted more towards the painting than Senku.

“Got an ‘A’ on that paper, actually. Thanks to you and that mini lecture you forced on me. So, thanks, I guess,” Senku said softly. Red eyes met steely blue for a second before turning back towards the fiery sky on the wall.

“Wouldn’t that be considered plagiarism, since those perspectives were mine and mine alone?” the man questioned. Senku couldn’t see the teasing lilt of a smile blooming across his face, but he sure as hell could hear it in the tone of his ribbing.

“Semantics. You have no proof. Besides, no one would ever question my academic integrity. I’m too renowned.” Senku didn’t try to hold back on the arrogant smile that forced itself upon his face.

In actuality, Senku hadn’t used any of what he and the man had discussed in his paper. The man’s opinions had been too ‘flowery’ for his taste, rather optimistic compared to the way he usually viewed things that caused him vexation. Rather, he’d used the man’s example as a way to form his own opinions of the lines and stupid singular blot with a mindset he wouldn’t typically view things with. His paper had only been deducted a couple points, with notes from his professor on other ways he could have interpreted the piece, but his paper had still been awarded the ‘A’ his GPA so desperately craved.

“Oh, so now you’re the expert?” The man continued his teasing as Senku raked his eyes along the shoreline of the water, noting the few longer strokes beyond the horizon’s edge.

“Hardly. Not with this stuff, anyway. But Astronautical and Chemical Engineering? Yeah, that’s definitely more my speed.”

Senku’s attention was entirely enraptured by the blues and purples of the clouds as he realized they reminded him of a nebula. And if the clouds were a nebula, the fiery light between them was a solar flare disturbing the silent stillness of the space around it.

Senku dwelled on the idea as he reached over to begin pulling his laptop from the messenger bag next to him on the bench. But as he looked up from the bag, shifting the device onto his lap in the process, he caught the wide eyes and slightly parted lips of the man next to him.

“What?” he asked, lifting a brow at the sight, as if goading the young man into a challenge regarding whatever had surprised him enough to make a face like that.

“Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting that,” the man said, moving his hands from behind his back to hide them in the front pockets of his uniform’s grey slacks. “I’m assuming those are your majors, then?”

“Yeah,” Senku affirmed, before finally breaking eye contact with him to pull up the Word doc he’d prepared in advance. “Wanted to do Applied Physics as well, but my advisor wouldn’t approve it ‘cause he said if I kept drinking Monster at the rate I was already going with just two majors, I’d die before I managed to graduate with three.”

There was a wheezed ‘pfft’ next to him before the sound was hastily muffled so as not to disturb the other museum guests around them.

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” the man giggled.

Giggled.

“But I can definitely say I’m impressed. What are you doing taking an art class, then? Needed a palette cleanser from all the rocket science?”

Senku’s eyes squinted at his screen. His typing halted instantly in the middle of his second paragraph before he slowly tilted his chin to the right to face the other man. “Was that a pun?”

“I have no earthly idea what you’re talking about, Stranger-chan~,” the man said, tilting his head to the side with closed eyes and a wide smile. Senku’s eyes tracked how the longer strands of white hair just barely grazed the top of his shoulder with the action.

“Senku.”

The man’s eyes opened instantly, smile dropping and head tilting back up. “Huh?”

“My name. I’m not ‘Stranger-chan’,” Senku grumbled, refusing to acknowledge the obvious pout on his lips as he shifted his gaze back towards the screen, continuing right where he’d left off as if he’d never been interrupted.

“Okay, Senku-chan!”

“What about you?” Senku asked, ignoring the nickname while splitting his attention between the words on his screen and the deepening gaze of the other man.

“Gen.”

Senku stopped typing again, his eyes flicking to his peripheral at the man– Gen. “No, I meant you seem a little young to be a docent. Already done with college?”

“Oh.” A light pink tinted the apples of Gen’s cheeks, urging Senku to tear his eyes back towards his laptop, fingers moving a mile a minute once more. “It’s just a part time job during weekends until I graduate in the Spring.”

Senku nodded, hitting the return key to start another body paragraph.

“I’m majoring in Art Therapy with a minor in Studio Art.”

“That’s a thing?” Senku asked, eyebrows raised as his hands continued their work. “Like, making art as therapy?”

“Yep!” Gen exclaimed excitedly, hands waving about in the air as if painting a picture to match his words. “It’s all about the creative process! Expressing emotions and working through trauma by putting those feelings towards something more constructive instead of allowing them to stew.”

“Besides,” he continued, calmer this time. More controlled. “I find it thrilling to psychoanalyse the way someone views something based on how they bring it to life.”

“Whatever you say, Mentalist.” Senku smiled.

“Wha– how ude-ray! That’s not even what that word means!”

“Eh.” Senku shrugged, scrolling to the top of the document to backread. “Close enough.”

There, now they were even. Both of them had a nickname. Checkmate, Mentalist.

“Whatever,” Gen muttered, taking a seat on the other side of Senku’s messenger bag while folding his arms. “Have I told you how insufferable you are yet?”

“Twice, now,” Senku answered, clicking the ‘submit’ button on his screen before closing his laptop. “But I’ll let you know if you ever make it to three.”

Senku shoved his laptop back into his bag, slinging it over his shoulder before standing. He raised his arms over his head to stretch his spine out from the slightly hunched position he’d spent a fair amount of time slumped down in.

“Sorry,” Gen apologized suddenly, shuffling slightly in his seat before Senku turned his body to face him. “Was I distracting you from your reflection?"

“Nah, it’s done now. Just sent it off.” Senku grasped the strap of his messenger bag where it lay across his chest, shifting from one foot to the other as he looked back towards the painting across from them.

“What?!”

Shushes scolded the two of them from the other side of the gallery. An older couple stared daggers at them for the sudden outburst as if the other two had just farted freely in the museum. Senku frowned right back.

“There’s no way you already finished a reflective essay that quickly!” Gen shouted much quieter this time. “You were here writing for a couple hours last week. How the hell did you manage to write the whole thing in less than 20 minutes this time, while carrying a conversation no less?”

Senku tore his frowning face away from the couple and back towards the man on the bench. “Of course I did. It’s way easier when it’s about something I actually like.”

It was only a two page reflection. Senku had worked out a formula his first year that broke down any essay into simple, repeatable steps. Opening statement, thesis, at least three supporting details, recap, and conclusion. Light work. Besides, splitting his attention had been easy for years since growing up with a talkative Byakuya during after school homework hours.

“Wait,” Gen breathed, catching his attention again. “You actually like this one?” He nodded towards the painting across from the bench with sparkles in his eyes.

“Yeah. It’s fine,” Senku answered simply, shifting his weight over to the other side now to stretch his hip.

In all honesty, it was more than ‘fine’. It was beautiful. It brought forth a sense of wonderment and childlike joy from the way his heart interpreted the colors and shapes. The reasons for which he’d found himself liking it may not have been anywhere near what the artist had intended, but they were what he found himself most drawn to regardless.

Gen clasped his hands in front of himself, smile growing wild as he looked up at Senku. He sure did go through a plethora of emotions rapidly. Senku’s hand raised to rub at the back of his neck, turning his face away from the other’s attention.

“I’ve been enjoying her collection so much! I’m going to be absolutely evastated-day when it goes back to America in a couple weeks,” Gen lamented. A deep breath was sucked through his nose before being promptly released as a quietly dramatic sigh.

“Hmm,” Senku pondered, looking back at the painting as a pang pulsed from somewhere behind his ribcage. “Guess I’ll have to visit it again before it's gone. Schoolwork willing, though.”

“Understandable.” Gen’s smile was back, much more subdued this time.

“I better go. Still have three lab reports due before Monday. See you next week, Mentalist.” Senku nodded once before stepping past the other where he sat on the bench and out of the gallery.

His steps followed a now familiar path through the maze of galleries and toward the front doors of the museum. His hand clenched the strap of his bag a bit tighter as his brows furrowed, lips downturned and nose scrunched.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he said that.

There was no guarantee he’d see Gen next weekend. Especially considering the syllabus listed they’d be starting in-class workshops this upcoming week, meaning no more reflections or unnecessary excursions until after midterms.

Whatever.

It’s not like the other would even remember or think about it by the time next weekend finally rolled around.

Not like it would have been something to look forward to, either.

Senku just hoped he’d make it in time for the 3 o’clock train so he didn’t have to wait too long to get back to his dorm. It must have been a bit hotter than usual in the museum, because his cheeks felt flushed and his hands had grown clammy. Random heat flares weren’t necessarily common this time of year, but the probability was never zero. Curse this marble-encased museum and its ancient central air conditioning system.

Senku did end up returning the next week.

Saturday mornings were usually a bit rough, due to his best friend and roommate, Chrome, allowing himself to sleep in after a long week of classes that started before dawn. That alone wasn’t inherently a problem, but the snoring...

Not even a pillow held to the other boy’s face could muffle it enough to get a thought in. Senku had so much work to get done before the end of the weekend, and the steady, chest-shuddering growls coming from his best friend’s unconscious nasal passageways made him want to bang his head against a brick wall. Repeatedly. Exuberantly.

So, there he was. Back at the museum, because at least most people there are conscious and almost everyone is conscientious of being too loud.

That was the only reason.

Plus, it certainly helped that the ambiance this early in the morning was like getting a tender hug from a doting parent before being sent out to play on a playground. The warm, indulgent sunlight streaming through the floor to ceiling windows past marble columns lining the second floor hallway felt like a loving embrace against his back as he found himself seated on a bench just outside some nearby galleries.

Other museum guests drifted up and down the hall, murmuring amongst themselves as if masterfully, purposefully, orchestrating the exact kind of white noise Senku needed.

His laptop rested atop his lap as he bounced the end of a pen between his teeth, arms crossed as he looked over the schematics he’d digitally drawn up earlier in the week for a rover he’d been working on. Later, he’d have to work out the thermodynamic and heat transfer rates for the rocket re-entry scenario his class had been given for another course. Then, there was also the clay sculpture assignment he needed to come up with an idea for before Tuesday’s studio time.

Maybe he should’ve drank another energy drink before getting off the train.

Speaking of—

“You look like you’re one Monster away from keeling over.”

Senku hadn’t realized his eyelids had begun to flutter—his mind struggling against the soothing warmth across his back—until there was a voice next to him on the leather-padded bench. He shifted his blurry gaze from the schematics on his screen to familiar black and white. Senku was pretty sure he was blinking like a normal human, but it was also possible one eye was currently slower than the other, causing a wave-like effect with his eyelids.

“Geez… Why don’t you grab some caffeine from the café downstairs?” Gen looked a little worried at Senku’s appearance. He also looked like he’d held back a visceral, physical cringe when their eyes met.

The action definitely didn’t cause something to squeeze in Senku’s stomach.

It’s not his fault pre-midterm cramming was kicking his ass worse than he thought it would. At least it wasn’t the material he was having trouble with, just the overwhelmingly laborious workload keeping him awake during 60% of his allotted sleep schedule.

Senku relieved the poor chewed up pen from between his lips, tucking it behind an ear before leaning back against the window behind him. “Too loud down there for me to focus.”

Which wasn’t untrue. There had been a particularly rowdy family taking up two tables when he first came in, eating breakfast pastries with a fussy toddler as if they hadn’t decided to drag the small child out of bed before the sun had risen for the day. They’d probably moved on to the more child-friendly exhibits downstairs by now, but standing up and walking down the stairs and then walking back up the stairs and to his claimed bench again seemed like so much effort at the moment.

“Just bring it back up here then,” Gen offered, as if the answer was sooooooo obvious.

“Fake news, sounds illegal. You’re just trying to get me kicked out. What, am I ruining your precious early morning introspective atmosphere with my burnt out college student vibes?” In all fairness, Senku didn’t know off the top of his head what the food and beverage policy was for the galleries upstairs, but he damn well wasn’t about to try and figure it out.

Gen gasped, slapping the back of his hand to his forehead dramatically as he turned his face away from him. “I’d never! Why would I try to rid myself or the museum of the beguiling green leeks you call hair?”

“You’re one to talk, Mentalist.” Senku laughed gently, shoulders shaking a bit with the motion. His voice was still raspy, definitely deeper than usual from having only woken up long ago enough to pull some fresh cargo pants on and drag his body onto the morning train. At least his voice didn’t crack. Why he was concerned about that though, he wasn’t entirely sure.

“I’ll have you know, Senku-chan, that this–” Gen said, pointing with one finger to the split line of color across the crown of his head. “is from a medical condition.”

“Poliosis, right?”

“Wow, I’m surprised you know what that is,” Gen said, all dramatics falling to the wayside as his eyes widened. His shoulders tensed and his lips twitched ever so slightly downward at the corners. Senku couldn’t remember seeing that much tension in his face before.

“I looked it up after the first time we spoke,” he explained. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to explain himself. Not like he owed the other college student his reasoning for the things that bring him curiosity.

“Oh, great. Good to know I look freakish enough for you to need to Google if it was a medical condition or from a mental breakdown.” It was said like he’d meant it as a joke, but Senku could tell it was anything but. Gen’s shoulders had raised 1.2 inches closer to his ears. His chin tilted downward and his eyes pinched shut a mere fraction of the way, as if attempting to hide the lack of shine usually nestled so brilliantly within.

Senku was confused. What was there for Gen to be so nervous or stressed about? It’s not like Senku’s opinion should hold any weight, regardless of how inaccurate Gen’s perspective in that moment was.

“It’s not freakish. It suits you.”

“Oh.”

And just like that, all the tension was gone. The crinkle at the top of Gen’s nose had smoothed back out again, and his lips relaxed from the uncomfortable looking grimace marring his supple cheeks.

That’s the most unguarded I’ve seen him, Senku mused to himself. A complete 180° from before.

“I used to dye it when I was in highschool,” Gen confided quietly. He wasn’t looking at Senku anymore. His body had turned to face the opposite wall while his face dropped back down. His eyes burned a hole into his lap as he twiddled his clasped fingers above his knees. “But after starting my art program and seeing all the other students’ style choices, I figured it wasn’t worth the financial burden anymore. It’s been nice, not covering it up the last few years.”

“I’m glad.”

And he meant it, which surprised Senku even more than the fact he’d said it out loud.

Gen smiled gently, thumbs trapping themselves tightly against the side of his hands before relaxing once more.

A comfortable silence fell over the two of them after that. Senku returned the majority of his attention to his rover design as Gen leaned his back against the windows before closing his eyes. His breathing hadn’t steadied enough for Senku to believe he’d fallen asleep, but he’d relaxed considerably compared to earlier.

Senku was glad for that as well.

About an hour later, Gen rose to his feet again, claiming he should greet other museum guests since he was still on the clock. Senku waved him off, frowning at the other’s retreating form until he’d fully disappeared down the hall and around the corner into the first gallery by the elevators.

Senku didn’t see him again before leaving at noon to grab some lunch.

The following week, Senku typed away on his laptop under the Gallery’s stark lighting as he drafted his email response to Dr. Xeno. It was concerning the numbers he’d sent him earlier that morning to go over in regards to the next launch for the ISS coming up. Such an occurrence was common between the two of them; the Doc used it as a way to test his mentee in expectation of his soon-to-be employment within the same offices at NASA. It was more like a game for the two of them at that point, like how some people started their mornings with the daily Wordle.

Just more advanced. And often with actual lives at stake if even a single line of numbers was off.

It was right as he’d finished typing out his sign-off on the email that he heard voices approaching from down the hall outside the gallery. Senku clicked the send button just as a group of British tourists entered the impressionist gallery, bringing with them a flurry of non-flash photography and English exclamations Senku wished he could ignore like the other patrons nearby who didn’t speak their language.

But what surprised him the most was the docent leading from the front of the group.

Gen walked backwards, facing the ten or so tourists as he led them through the space, all while speaking clear English as he moved from one painting to the next.

What surprised Senku most of all, however, was the fact that there wasn’t a single trace of a Japanese accent as he spoke to the group in front of him, as if the British tourists had managed to even colonize the docent.

Eventually, Gen drew their attention to ‘Reflections of Color’ across from where Senku was sitting while visiting the piece for the last time before it returned to America in two days. He told the group about the artist’s background and the origins of the piece in front of them, even pointing out specific details like the brush strokes and perspective focal point.

Before long, Gen then released the group to wander around the gallery at their own leisure for a few minutes before they’d eventually reconvene and move on to the next gallery down the hall. Senku’s focus had returned to the painting in front of him a bit before then, so he was slightly startled when Gen suddenly took a seat on the bench next to him.

“Your English is impressive,” Senku said, eyes still focused on the bubbling edges of the clouds in the sky and the gentle blended swirls of color along the water’s surface.

Gen waved his compliment away with a hand in his peripheral. “Oh that? It’s nothing. I’ve otally-tay heard better.”

“Still,” Senku pushed. “Definitely far more advanced than the average Japanese citizen.”

“Why, Senku-chan, I’m flattered!” The hand he’d waved his compliment away with moved to cup his cheek instead, covering the blooming pink beneath his palm like he was hiding it from Senku’s gaze.

It was a bit of an odd reaction, but then again Gen had always been a bit odd from what Senku had witnessed firsthand.

“I don’t usually see you leading the tours. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you lead a tour before,” Senku said, finally turning to the side to give the other man his full attention.

“Ah, yes. I usually only work as a tour guide on Sundays. But a coworker called in sick at the last minute this morning and I’m the only other person on staff today with comfortable enough English skills to lead the tours.”

Senku hummed in acknowledgement, turning an annoyed look at two of the British tourists standing against a different wall of the gallery, pointing at a painting and reflecting on it loudly. He rolled his eyes before returning his gaze to the painting in front of him as if there was simply no better place for his gaze to land.

Well, maybe, he supposed, he wouldn’t mind if his gaze landed to his side at the person sitting next to him as well.

“Rambunctious, aren’t they?” Gen suddenly whispered close to his ear, before giggling just as softly as he pulled away from his side.

With a sudden jolt, a shiver ran down Senku’s spine. His eyes remained straight ahead as he fought against some instinct to turn his head before the docent could pull further away from his face.

“That’s putting it lightly,” he replied instead. Taking a deep breath to regain control of his short circuiting brain as confusion flooded his still developing prefrontal cortex.

Not understanding his body’s reaction to the shortened close proximity of the other man, Senku huffed, running his hand back through his hair while pushing the two loose strands away from his face.

“Alright, slacker. Get up and get them out of here so I can go back to focusing. I’ve got a lot of work to do and I have somewhere to be before lunch.”

Senku wasn’t entirely sure why he lied. It wasn’t something he usually did. Like, ever. Never. It made him feel guilty, until he met Gen’s eyes and saw a knowing smirk tug at the corner of his lips.

“But of course, oh cherished museum guest,” Gen said as he rose to his feet. He bowed dramatically in ‘apology’ before raising his eyes to meet Senku’s.

Senku had to hold back a laugh, covering it up expertly with a snort and a knuckle over his lips. Gen’s smirk bloomed into something wicked as he rose to his full height again. He stepped back towards the doorway the group had walked through before, recalling the tourists as if they were children reconvening after recess. He kindly instructed the group to head down the hall the way they’d come from and took a step out of the room behind them, but not before throwing a wink Senku’s way as he disappeared around the corner.

Senku didn’t get any work done after that. He also ended up staying well past lunch, eyes combing over the pinks and blues in front of him as if they’d have answers to the questions he didn’t know how to ask.

Senku continued to return to the museum for a quiet place to work on Saturdays throughout the rest of the semester. Some days he was able to stay from open to close, utilizing the quiet, familiar space to lock in and focus until Gen shooed him toward the doors after dark. Other days, he’d only last an hour or two before a club field trip of grade schoolers scared him away with their loud exclamations of wonder and their snotty faces and grabby hands.

He’d managed to find a steady balance between working and pondering. He would occasionally bask in the gallery boasting impressionist landscapes, while feeling the dreadful loss of one piece in particular. He’d work some more. Explore occasionally on his own, especially to different nooks and crannies of galleries beyond his usual haunts on the second floor. Then work even more. Maybe even throw some more work on top of it all to really justify him being there.

Some days Gen would find him and chat his ear off about whatever piece of art was closest to his chosen work spot. They’d find themselves debating over artists’ intentions, the inspiration behind unique compositions or the symbolism in certain focal points. Even compare interpretations from research looked up on Senku’s laptop.

Other days, Senku would be locked in on an especially intense assignment, or would struggle to make sense of unusually confusing data points from a lab he’d recently run. Those days, Gen would easily note his body language, wordlessly nod to him in camaraderie, then move on to another guest of the museum or a gallery further away from his work space.

It was seamless, the way they’d learned to share this sacred space with each other.

Senku also liked observing the way Gen interacted with other guests before eventually making his way to Senku’s side. The way he would share his tasteful perspectives with other guests, noting the exact moment they went from passive observers to active commentators. The way it drew people further into the art they were viewing as if part of a once in a lifetime experience.

Which Senku didn’t think was too far off from reality.

Speaking to Gen—understanding and hearing his passion for art and witnessing the ways he drew others into it with purposeful peppiness—was a true marvel to behold. Senku had experienced it copious times firsthand. And if he was being entirely honest with himself, he didn’t think he’d ever grow tired of it.

Senku didn’t think he’d ever grow tired of Gen.

His homework, however?

Yeah, that was currently a different story.

This week, his Fluid Mechanics class began comparing equations for fluid flow in engines with drastically differing sizes. Normally, running numbers for such a topic would have been easy enough for him to do in his sleep. However, today he found himself distracted from the monotonous number crunching more than usual.

It definitely had nothing to do with a certain docent speaking to a man with expertly styled blonde hair, adorned in trendy clothes that made him look like he’d stepped right off a runway or away from a modeling gig just to attend a museum of all places.

The two stood in the gallery adjacent to the one Senku had set up camp in for the day; close enough for him to see and hear bits and pieces, but not enough to make out the entirety of their conversation. Based on what he could make out, though, it was obvious the man had Gen practically wrapped around his finger. He’d say something with a smirk while waving his hand at the painting on the wall in front of them. And nearly every time he did, he’d manage to get a laugh and genuine smile out of Gen in return.

At one point, Gen had even placed a hand on the other guy's arm to catch himself from a particularly intense laughing fit.

He touched. His. Arm.

It was normal for Gen to speak with others between galleries. It was his job, for heaven's sake. And yet, for some reason, today was different.

This was different.

The way they spoke with each other—with such familiarity it could rival the rapport Senku had built with the docent himself—made his blood boil over from within like a little green monster clawing its way out of the depths of Hell itself.

Which was how he found himself irrefutably distracted from his work. In a half-assed attempt to retain some semblance of control over the situation, Senku flipped to a fresh page in his notebook, pulled a pencil from behind his ear and put the pointed tip to paper. Despite the flaring adrenaline pumping epinephrine throughout his brain and body like a freaking fight or flight response, his lines remained steady. Smooth, still, purposeful.

Shapes masterfully bloomed across the page beneath his attentive hands as he continued to occasionally flick his gaze up to watch the two in the next gallery over. Gen’s hand was no longer draped over the other man’s arm, but they were still so close. Too close. Senku didn’t like how close they were. At all.

He didn’t know why, but surely it was because his initial judgement of others had always been pretty good at picking out the bad apples of society. There was clearly something off about the blonde that left a disgusted feeling crawling deep beneath the surface of Senku’s skin. That was the most logical explanation.

Unless…

What if Gen already knew the other man? Surely, that would account for the familiar physical contact between the two of them. The way the other hadn’t flinched or feigned acknowledgement at Gen’s simple touch. The way Gen had felt comfortable enough to do so in public, let alone while at work. Surely, Gen would never be one to be so brazen with a stranger in the same situation.

Right?

He’d certainly never touched Senku like that. And they’d known each other for nearly 3 months. They’d spoken, joked, gotten to know one another. Shared personal anecdotes. Been open with each other about more personal topics as well.

Gen had never made a move—not even once—to further the budding bond between them towards something physical. Not even a high-five, as childish as that sounds.

So then, did he and this random handsome man share a different kind of connection?

But, Gen would have mentioned by now if he had a boyfriend or partner.

And why did it bother Senku so much to consider the fact that he did and had chosen to not disclose that part of his personal life?

Senku’s thumb smudged out the edges of his lines, blending the shadows into the background to mimic the way the light graced the features of his muse. His eyes continued to flick up towards the other two, watching as they’d shifted closer to the doorway between both galleries to a different painting. The blonde man looked at it with a critical eye, shrugging at Gen when he turned away from it towards the shorter man. Gen smiled back, shook his head as he said something about the color palette not being quite right.

Just as Senku was about to tear his eyes away again so he could return his focus to the drawing in his lap, a loud, obnoxious ringing came from one of the many pockets of his cargo pants. The blonde man and Gen both turned to where he sat within the perfect eyeline of the doorway. Gen’s eyes widened in surprise as he found Senku’s already on him.

Senku felt his cheeks flush at having been caught, but also from the growing percussive murmur around him as others grew annoyed at the continued ringing of his phone. Mortification bled through him in panic as he shot up from his seat, abandoning his work and distraction on the bench as he fumbled to pull the phone from his pocket. He hit the answer button on the phone, bowing to a couple nearby groups of guests in apology for the disruption, before beelining out of the gallery and into the nearest hallway.

Byakuya then proceeded to talk his ear off for 5 minutes and 32 seconds. Senku barely even paid attention to what his father said as he tried to rush him off the phone as quickly as possible. His heart was beating a mile a minute to the point he could feel his pulse pushing and pushing in the vein on the side of his neck. He just wanted to grab his stuff from the bench he’d been sitting on and leave the museum to avoid having to explain to Gen why he’d been watching him in the first place.

Especially because Senku himself still couldn’t figure out exactly why he’d been so bothered by the other two’s interaction in the first place.

It took a couple extra minutes to calm himself enough to appear visibly settled once more. His heart was still beating erratically and he could feel his pulse in his left ear, but it would have to do.

Breathing a reluctant sigh and returning his now silenced phone to his pocket, Senku slowly moved back towards the gallery. He weaved between patrons, avoiding velvet ropes stationed in front of paintings along the walls, until he stopped dead in his tracks a few feet away from the bench and the two-toned hair of the man now sitting on it with his stuff.

In fact, he was holding Senku’s stuff.

His notebook.

His drawing.

Gen’s hand traced his linework with reverent care as Senku watched his eyes pour themselves across the page. His focus was enraptured by the portrait, completely oblivious to Senku’s return and anything else that may have been occurring in the world around them.

Before he could even think about what he was doing, Senku reached forward and ripped the notebook from Gen’s grasp, clutching it tightly to his chest as the pink on his cheeks grew darker in shade.

The small smile that had graced Gen’s cheeks quickly vanished in surprise. He jolted back slightly from the sudden panic in Senku’s eyes, before softening like he always did.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to touch other people’s stuff?” Senku questioned, feigned anger failing to hide the wobbling lilt in his voice.

“I didn’t know you were such a great artist, Senku-chan!” Gen responded, eyes practically sparkling as they zeroed in on the artwork still shoved tightly against Senku’s chest. “You’re very alented-tay.”

“Of course I know how to draw, Mentalist." Senku’s heart stuttered at the docent’s words. His breathing he’d worked so hard to get back under control out in the hallway was short and quick once more as his mind struggled to process the events unfolding before him. “How else am I supposed to be able to draw up blueprints?”

“That’s true.” Gen smiled mischievously, bringing a finger to his chin in thought as he tilted his gaze to the heavens above. “But that drawing sure looked a lot more like me, than a rocket or something else I’d expect you to be so diligently working on like the studious prodigy you are.”

Senku squeaked.

Fucking Squeaked.

Gen laughed from behind his fingers, just as Senku had seen him do many times before. “I’m just messing with you, Senku-chan~”

Senku frowned, stomping over in petulant fury to stuff his notebook into the messenger bag left abandoned on the other side of the bench. He sat down as far away from Gen as possible to finish cleaning up the rest of his belongings.

“Awww, I’m sorry, Senku-chan. Please don’t pout. It was really lovely, honestly! I genuinely didn’t know you could draw so well. I mean, the way you blended out the shading on the white half of my hair was masterfully done for having just used your finger, I’m assuming–”

Senku stood from the bench, slinging his bag across his shoulders before trying to step past the docent. He’d barely made it two steps when a hand reached out to grab his wrist before he could fully escape.

“Wait!” Gen rushed out quietly, eyes wide as all the glee previously alight in them faded into concern. “Senku, I’m sorry for looking. I tried to follow you out of the gallery because you looked upset but noticed your notebook face up on the bench. You had already stepped out to answer the phone, and I got distracted… you just–”

A smile melted softly across Gen’s lips, his eyes shifting down towards the point of contact between the two of them.

“You drew me so beautifully, I couldn’t help but take a closer look.”

Oh…

“I have to go, Mentalist.”

“Senku, I am so sorry. I would’ve never looked if– if–”

Gen’s hand shifted downward from Senku’s wrist until he was holding the other’s hand. He squeezed it so tightly, Senku was surprised it didn’t hurt.

What did hurt, though, was Senku’s chest. His heart beat faster than when he’d been forced to run the mile for gym class in high school. His vision was narrowed to a point, darkness pushing at the corners as his breathing grew progressively more shallow.

He didn’t know what expression Gen’s face held. He couldn’t look. Not when he was physically unable to pull his eyes from their clasped hands as his brows furrowed in the wake of realization.

“Will I still see you next week?” Gen pleaded. His hand squeezed Senku’s one more time before relaxing just slightly in his hold. “Please…”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

There was relief in the docent’s voice.

Senku still didn’t meet his gaze.

Instead, he pulled his hand free, raising it to his chest to clutch his bag’s strap.

Then he walked away. Out of the gallery and towards the front doors of the museum. Down the front marble steps and back towards campus.

That was the second time Ishigami Senku ever lied to Gen.

Senku laid in bed that night frozen, completely immobile like a stone statue. Chrome snored peacefully from the other side of the room, but Senku was barely aware of the grating sound. The only light illuminating the space in a warm, subtle glow was the nightlight plugged into the wall under the window separating their beds.

And in his hands, now ripped free from his notebook and held aloft above his face, was the drawing of Gen that had gotten him into this whole mess. His eyes traced the slim bridge of Gen’s nose for the hundredth time, across the high peaks of his cheeks to the soft curve of his jawline, before inevitably landing on the crisp, supple lines of his lips, forever captured in a moment of joyous laughter Senku could still hear rattling around in his memory. He’d been at it for hours at that point, raking his gaze to and fro across the page as if the next pass may change things.

May give him a different answer than the one he dreaded.

Increased heart rate. Perspiration from his palms. Chest pains. Increased blood flow to his cheeks. Avoided eye contact. Increased dopamine, adrenaline, cortisol.

It all finally added up.

The only reasonable conclusion he could have come to.

Senku… felt things for Gen. Things he’d never felt for anyone else.

Ever.

Senku had romantic feelings for Asagiri Gen.

The truth had crashed into him like a ton of bricks as he’d looked upon their clasped hands. After leaving Gen behind on that bench by himself—confused and alarmed by Senku’s strange behavior—his mind had gone blank, unable to remember how he made it back to his dorm earlier in the afternoon. He just remembered finding himself panting and heaving, gasping for air as he leaned back against the inside of his door, desperately trying to calm himself down.

But how could he when he’d just come to a conclusion no less ridiculous than if someone had claimed the sky was green?

Senku just hoped beyond belief that his feelings hadn’t been as obvious to the very man who’d stolen his heart.

Senku had never had a crush on anyone in his life. Sure, he’d admired others here and there, even knew he preferred others of the same sex in that regard, but never had he thought he’d ever actually act on it. He’d resigned himself to a long existence of solitude from a very young age, besides the titillation science would never fail to spark in his heart and mind. A constant excitement he could always depend on; reliable, expectant, clinical even.

He’d seen what feelings did to his peers, and even his own friends. It left them scrambling to make sense of things outside of their control. Floundering to win the approval of others in ways that shouldn’t matter towards personal growth and improvement. Senku had always thought such degradation was beneath him. Especially when considering the blow to his productivity such constant concerns would leave him with.

But now that there was a person—a real person with real feelings who really existed that really didn’t feel the same for him—that sparked the same exhilaration through every fiber of his being that science provided him, Senku didn’t know what to do. How to feel. How to deal with what he was feeling.

In an attempt to calm himself down earlier, he’d ripped the drawing right from his notebook with every intent to crumple it up and leave it to whither away in the trash next to his desk he hadn’t emptied in three weeks. But as soon as that page touched the tips of his fingers, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t crush the image of his affection. He couldn’t bear to see it in such disrepair, knowing he’d have been the one who damaged it.

Which was exactly why he couldn’t return to the museum. He wouldn’t be able to focus if he ever had to face Gen after such a realization. This afternoon’s disaster was simply evidence confirming years worth of personal beliefs about romance. The fact that he’d been so distracted then—even before he understood exactly why—he couldn't imagine just how dumbstruck he’d be if he returned now.

So that night Senku decided to stay away.

The first few days felt no different than any other beginnings to his weeks. He attended classes, spent time in the labs after hours on his own personal projects, responded to Dr. Xeno’s emails while sending his own questions in return, and forced himself to forget the drawing now safely tucked away at the bottom of his desk’s filing drawer.

He allowed Chrome to drag him to movie nights in their friends’ dorms, sat with them during lunch between classes in the on-campus cafeteria, attended group study sessions in the library, and let his dad talk his ear off for an hour at a time over the phone.

But when the first Saturday came and went, Senku never left his dorm. He resigned himself to snacking on granola bars and instant ramen between essays and articles. He kept the blinds closed and lights off, as if resolving himself to the stone age of social elegance. Chrome came and went throughout Senku’s silent spiraling, his own plans with Ruri keeping him occupied most of the day, leaving Senku to his devices both mentally and physically.

Senku got very little done, despite his best efforts.

He hoped as the following weeks came and went, each Saturday remanded to his dorm would get easier, but they never did.

When his art professor began assigning pieces for them to reflect on again, he looked the pieces up on his laptop and saved himself money from needing to take the train a couple stops away from campus every weekend.

Finally, after the third weekend by himself, he started venturing out of his dorm to study in the library. It was just as quiet, if not more so than the museum, but the lighting was so much more forgiving than most of the galleries he’d toiled away in; less harsh, more mellow. On the fourth weekend away from the museum, he offhandedly wondered why he hadn’t spent more time studying there instead, until steely blue flashed across his mind.

Senku decided to stay in his dorm room again on the fifth weekend away.

That Saturday morning, Chrome confronted him about the change in his behavior. Senku tried to brush him off, silent and stoic as ever when faced with something he didn’t want to be a part of, but Chrome had been allowed way too many years to learn how to circumvent his tried and true tactics.

So Senku told him.

“Wait, is that where you always go on Saturdays? Dude, I just thought you were a cryptid that went off to go scare children in the woods with potions to decompress or something.”

Senku frowned, immediately regretting his decision to be open while returning his attention to the laptop on his desk.

“So, what are you going to do now?” Chrome continued from where he laid atop his bed on the other side of the room.

“Nothing.”

“Wait, what?”

Senku heard shifting behind him, likely Chrome sitting up.

“Dude, you can’t be serious. In all the years I’ve known you, not once have you ever admitted to having feelings for anything other than stoichiometry. You have to do something.”

“No, I don’t.” Senku grit his teeth, rereading the same passage on his screen for the second time.

“Why the hell not?”

Senku was a bit surprised by the anger in the other’s voice, but not enough to dignify him with anything deeper than what he’d already divulged. “It’s impractical.”

“‘Impractical’ my ass, man. What’s the real reason?”

“That is the reason.”

Senku felt the exact moment hands were on the back of his desk chair, before he was swiveled away from his laptop against his will to face the other boy.

“For someone so smart, you are genuinely one of the dumbest people I think I’ve ever met.” Before Senku could take offense at the other’s uncouth words, Chrome continued. “You finally found someone smart enough in their own right to keep up with you, maybe even match you in some way, and you’re going to do nothing about it? There has to be a better reason to justify the stupidest decision you’ve ever made.”

“What more do you want from me, Chrome?”

“It’s not what I want from you, man, it’s what you want. Hell, probably even more so what he wants.”

“What I want is to focus on my studies and graduate so I can begin working at NASA. I can’t do that if I have someone else to worry about all the time. Being in a relationship would be a burden more than a freedom. That’s the truth, Chrome. Drop it.”

He didn’t dare tack on the fact he thought Gen already had a partner. Chrome had already pulled enough uncomfortable information from him for one day, and Senku didn’t think he could say those words out loud without completely crumbling.

Instead, Senku tried to twist his chair back toward the desk, but Chrome’s grip on the back of the seat held tight.

“Let go of my chair, Chrome.”

“No. Not until you admit you’re being an asshole.”

“What!?” Senku’s eyes widened as his mouth dropped open from indignity.

“Have you even once considered what this other guy might want?

“Why would I? There’s nothing to consider. He doesn’t have feelings for me.”

“And you’re certain of that?”

“Wha– Yes!”

“Your intelligence has left Earth’s atmosphere, dude.”

Senku scrubbed his hands over his face, frustration boiling up from within in tempestuous roiling fury. His breathing was no longer even, skin prickling with adrenaline as he fought against his own biology to remain in control.

“Why do you even care?”

“Because I’m your best friend, Senku. That means it’s my job to wring your neck when you start acting like a total dipshit.”

“No one asked you to.”

“That’s the whole point! Listen, you’re making the worst mistake of your life staying away from this guy. You’re a mess, man! From what you told me, it really does sound like he cares about you just as much as you do for him.”

“Hypothetically, even if he did, it wouldn’t change a damn thing. I refuse to become some sniveling, dopey sycophant for anything other than science. I have dreams, Chrome. Priorities. Gen is not one of them.”

Sharp pain lanced through his heart at his own words. It took everything within himself not to double over at the surprisingly physical reaction to something he thought he’d actually believed.

“Then maybe you need to rethink exactly what you want in life, because I know you’ll regret this down the line. You can keep ruining your own life and this guy’s in the process, but I know you’re better than that. You should be too smart for that. I’m disappointed, Senku.”

And with that, Chrome finally released his hold on the back of the chair, before grabbing his backpack and leaving their dorm room with a slam of the door behind him.

Senku sat there, dumbfounded.

Alone.

Whatever, he thought to himself, turning back to the now black screen on his desk. This doesn’t concern him anyway. Nothing can happen between Gen and I. It just… doesn’t make sense.

But the thing is, it did make sense.

They made sense.

Absurdly, effortlessly so.

But Senku was nothing if not stubborn. It was how he’d gotten so far in life so quickly. How he’d learned to protect himself from such a young age in a world he’d always felt just slightly removed from.

And yet…

Gen had somehow managed to break through every single one of Senku’s barriers without even trying.

He’d challenged him. Pushed him past his own self-imposed limits when he’d once chosen to give up on something, which never happened.

He made him think in new ways; provoked him to push past what he thought he’d once believed to see things from a new perspective.

He made him think beyond his own considerations, worrying subconsciously about the other’s misconceptions with the hope of dispelling any misunderstandings that could have come between them over the span of months.

He made him joke.

Made him laugh.

Made him want to explore interests in other things that had never really made him think beyond a passing regard before in his life.

Gen… had somehow managed to convince Senku that life could be bright colors reflected in lapping waves and hidden sunset vibrancies. Could be pastel squiggles wrapped around and through each other, with the occasional blob to right one’s past mistakes.

Senku owed him his truth at the very least, after everything Gen had unknowingly given him.

Even if Gen didn’t feel the same way.

The least Senku owed him, he supposed, was an apology.

Plus… Chrome was right. Senku had been worse off these last few weeks. He’d seen it in the dark shadows under his eyes and the slight dip his grades had taken. Nothing permanent enough to affect his GPA, but if he kept going at the rate he had been, it would certainly begin to do so.

It was time to stop ignoring the evidence staring back at him.

Literally.

Senku leaned back in his desk chair as he looked back at the haggard reflection of himself on his laptop's blank screen.

“Dammit.”

A gentle winter breeze threaded its way between the two loose strands of hair in front of Senku’s eyes. Bare tree branches rustled above him as the wind began to pick up ever so slightly, sending a chill down his spine as a cloud of warm breath slipped past his lips. He rubbed his hands together in front of him as he cursed himself for the umpteenth time for having left his dorm too quickly that morning to remember to grab some freaking gloves.

He’d just been so nervous, spiraling from one possible scenario to another in his head for hours the night before as he worried himself half towards a stupor about coming back to the museum for the first time in 6 weeks.

He’d taken Chrome’s words to heart. Yeah, they’d stung a bit, but he’d been right, and Senku definitely needed to hear it.

Which was why he was back. He was going to apologize to Gen for his behavior and for disappearing. And he would understand if Gen told him he never wanted to see him again after disappearing so cruelly, only to return weeks later with no repercussions as if he wasn’t the biggest jerk in the entire city.

He just… needed to enter the building in order to do all of that.

Senku had been standing across the street from the museum for the last forty minutes, rubbing his increasingly numb hands together in the chilly winter air. If he continued to postpone the inevitable any longer, he was beginning to worry his fingers would contract frostbite.

It would be just one more thing to add to his rapidly growing list of blunders.

Sighing as if he was about to walk himself to the gallows, Senku took his first step into the open crosswalk. Looking both ways, he took another step. A third, then a fourth. Fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, and suddenly he was standing at the bottom of the imposing marble steps he’d climbed a dozen times before. Up the stairs he went, through the front doors, towards the desk in front of the entrance to show his student ID, and down the side hall to the stairs that led to the second floor.

It was now or never, and Senku had never quit anything in his life. He sure as hell wasn’t about to start now.

Upon finding himself at the top of the landing, Senku approached the contemporary gallery towards the middle of the long hallway before him. It was the first gallery he passed with no other patrons, making it the best space for his eventual reunion with Gen, with what little privacy the space could afford them while the other was still on the clock. Settling on one of the benches amidst the center of the room after stripping off his coat and scarf, Senku breathed a shaky breath before he leaned back against his slowly rewarming hands.

The gallery’s collections had shifted over the span of the school year’s first semester, now showcasing pieces that had been briefly kept in the archives until the previous collection on display had returned to Brazil. Or at least, that’s what Gen had told him weeks ago.

The painting now situated on the wall directly in front of him wasn’t, personally, as breathtaking as another piece that had first captured his heart in this very museum, but it was certainly a stunning sight.

The piece (Day for Dusk (Penton Lane) 3) was by a British painter named Hannah Brown. Her pieces were right up Senku’s alley in regards to styles he’d always felt drawn to. Beautifully colored, detailed enough to feel vividly real, and with striking composition choices to boot. This piece in particular though, felt different.

The angle of the painting made him feel small. Like he was more tethered to Earth than ever before, yet still looking up towards the untouchable night sky he hoped to someday reach. But for now, he was here, on a floating rock drifting through space.

And the colors.

The darker blues tucked away in shadow—detailing the deepest leaves and the farthest corner of the sky he so desperately craved to reach—reminded Senku of Gen’s eyes. Soft, chasmal, inviting, and all-encompassing as they devoured his every waking thought.

Senku had only ever seen those eyes under the artificial overhead lights of the museum, but he wanted to see them under natural lighting like in this painting so badly. He wanted to see if they shifted to a warmer, springier tone when caressed by the sun’s rays.

He wanted to see them in every setting. Every aspect of life.

Together.

Senku swallowed thickly, shaking his head to clear away the thoughts that plagued his mind. That wasn’t why he’d come here today. No matter how badly he wanted it to be so.

Before he could mentally prepare himself in that final moment before inevitable confrontation, steps steadily, confidently approached the gallery from out in the hallway, causing Senku’s eyes to whip away from the canvas in front of him to the right.

He’d known it was only a matter of time before the docent stumbled upon him, but he certainly hadn’t expected it to be so soon.

Senku wasn’t ready.

But Gen had waited long enough.

Seconds later, blazing vermillion met steely grey-blue, both sets of eyes wide in panic and surprise.

Then, the docent crossed the tiled floors like a man on a mission until he was standing right over Senku. Gen loomed over him silently, out of breath and visibly alarmed, as their two heartbeats danced together in the vast open space between them.

Senku instantly wanted to reach out and touch his face. Smooth out the frown lines pulling at the edges of the other’s lips. Rub his thumb right over the crease between his brows. Caress the line of his bottom lip with his own—

Senku blinked, then hands were clutching the front of his sweater tightly, lifting him from his seat with surprising strength.

“What the hell is wrong with you!?” Gen all but shouted in the silent gallery.

To say he’d been expecting words along those lines would have been correct in the simplest sense, but he certainly hadn’t expected the other man to get physical as well. Senku’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment, and a little something else that he certainly wasn’t ready to explore just yet.

The hands on Senku’s sweater shook ever so slightly, knuckles white with intense ferocity. The material would likely stretch from the manhandling, but that was the least of his concerns at the moment.

Because Gen’s eyes were wet. They raked across his face, searching, seeking, as he blinked back the emotions warring behind their window. His teeth were bared and clenched, that wrinkle above his nose twice as defined as before.

Senku raised a hand at his side, desperate to comfort the other man in some way, shape, or form, before dropping it after thinking better of it. “Gen, I–”

“Weeks, Senku! You freaked out on me and left and you didn’t come back! You promised!” Gen hiccuped, his grip loosening as he began to deflate. “You promised…”

And just like that, Gen crumpled into his chest, hands still loosely wound in the fabric clutched between them. His shoulders shook with every breath he struggled to keep steady in time with the rapid beating behind Senku’s ribs. If he focused hard enough, he could feel a tiny wet spot forming right where the other’s face tucked itself away from the world around them.

Finally, Senku’s hands found Gen, running along the smooth fabric of his uniform’s vest. He wrapped his arms around the other’s waist, pulling him in closer as if he could protect Gen from himself. From Senku’s own shitty, stupid decision.

I did this to him, he thought.

“I’m sorry,” Senku breathed, one hand rubbing up and down Gen’s back as he fought his own mild discomfort at the situation to prioritize comforting the other. “You have every right to be angry with me.”

“I’m so mad at you,” Gen all but sobbed, his breathing struggling to even out against Senku’s front. His bangs fell across what little portion of his face that wasn’t hidden away against the fabric there, keeping the other’s features from Senku’s guilty gaze.

He held Gen for a while after that, allowing him to work through everything he’d struggled to keep at bay over the past month and a half by himself. It was the least he could do. Gen deserved so much more in a friend.

“I thought I ruined everything. I thought I pushed you too far. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Gen’s breathing was more in control than before, but he continued to hide his face away in the woolen maroon threads.

“What? No, Gen. No, you have no reason to apologize. Shit, I–” Senku roughly combed a hand through his own hair, still cool from the air outside the museum’s walls. “You did nothing wrong. It was all me. I fucked up and I regret it so much. You didn’t deserve that, but I didn’t know what else to do…”

Gen’s head tilted slightly upward. Glistening blue hid beneath thick lashes as they peered back at him in confusion.

“You’re insufferable,” he mumbled into the fabric between his fingers, audibly less volatile than before. More tired—subdued—like he’d spent way too many nights convincing himself he had been the problem all along and was now struggling to retrain his brain as new information kept rolling in.

“That makes three.”

It was a knee jerk reaction. Senku hadn’t meant to let the joke slip through, especially at a time like this, but he couldn’t stop it before their little inside joke burst beyond the nervous frown on his lips.

Sudden gasping chuckles filled the space around them as Gen turned his head to the side against his chest, placing his ear against Senku’s heart as if he’d been searching it out all along.

Senku pulled one hand away from Gen’s back to reach into his pocket, pulling a folded piece of paper from within. Once Gen noticed what he was doing, he worked a bit stiffly to release Senku’s sweater before taking a half step back. Immediately mourning the other’s embrace, Senku used both hands to unfold the notebook page, no longer sure if they were still numb from the cold outside or from the debilitating dread that weighed down his veins with a leaden, pulsing sense of disquietude.

“I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. I was just… scared. It wasn’t your fault though, and I shouldn’t have made you feel like it was. That was never my intention, I just–”

Senku pressed the drawing into Gen’s hands, relinquishing the image of his desire both physically and emotionally.

He needed to do this.

He needed to let him go.

“I want you to have it.”

Gen’s hands cupped around the edges of the page devotedly as he looked down at the pristine graphite lines once again.

“I should have never imposed,” Gen pushed, despite Senku’s words, hands trembling around the page. “Art is personal. Precious. I should know that better than anyone. I should have never snooped.”

“That wasn’t why I was upset, Gen. You did nothing wrong.”

“Then, why…”

Gen’s eyes lifted from the page to meet his own.

Senku debated holding his tongue. He’d already said too much. He’d apologized as best he could without bearing his deepest, darkest shame to someone who would never share such feelings.

But…

He’d already fucked up so much, pushing the other away after he’d done nothing to deserve such vial treatment. Not after he’d always been so open with Senku.

The least he owed him now was the truth. The whole truth and nothing less.

He didn’t want to lie to Gen a third time.

“Because I was scared you’d find out that I have feelings for you. I was scared to find out I had feelings for you, and I just… panicked and hid. You never asked for any of this though, and yet you were the one punished for it. I know I can never fully make it up to you, so I’d understand if you never want to see me again now that you know. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. You or your partner.”

“My what?” Gen’s head tilted to the side, eyes narrowed.

Senku’s brows pinched in response. “The man you were with that day in the other gallery. I know you, uh… never mentioned him before, but the way you were so familiar with him, I could tell you knew each other well and I guess I was jealous, but that should have never become your problem–”

“Senku, wait,” Gen stopped him, rubbing his empty hand under his eyes to wipe away the drying trails there before moving to rub at his temple with tense fingers. “Ryusui is not my boyfriend.”

“He’s not?”

“No!” Gen laughed exasperatedly, shoulders shaking as adrenaline burned away through his system. After a second to roll his eyes light-heartedly once more, he folded up the drawing to place it in one of his vest’s pockets as he explained.

“We’re good friends, yes, but that is most certainly it. He’s dating my roommate, Ukyo. We go way back; I’m actually the one that introduced them. They’re planning to move in together after graduation and he asked me to show him some art styles Ukyo’s shown interest in so he can decorate the apartment as a graduation gift. That’s it.”

“Oh.”

Gen’s face suddenly exploded into different shades of pinks and red, realization dawning in his gaze. His mouth opened, then closed. Opened again, then just hung there as he looked back at Senku.

“Wait, you– you have– you!” Gen squeaked, clamping his mouth shut tightly once and for all, hands clasped over his lips as if he were about to burst.

“Chrome was right, I am an idiot. I’m completely lost right now.”

Then Gen was laughing. Bright, loud, and smiling just as wide as he had in Senku's drawing. His arms flew up and around Senku’s neck as he threw himself at the younger man, tucking his face into the crook of his neck as endless giggles echoed with gentle breaths against his skin.

Senku’s arms rushed to hold him tightly in surprise as the joyous sounds reached his ears.

“I’m so happy,” Gen whispered, lips barely brushing against his neck.

“Gen?” Senku asked, brows scrunching once more.

“Well?” Gen asked instead of explaining, lifting his head to meet his eyes. The brightest smile Senku had ever seen him with spread wide across his cheeks.

“‘Well’ what?”

“Ask me!”

“Ask you what?”

“To be your boyfriend, you idiot!”

Senku balked.

Gen looked so happy, exhilarated. Like he’d just been promised the whole world.

And it certainly felt like it when Senku’s breath caught in his throat.

Was this… really what he wanted? Senku had resolved himself to never having the other in that regard. He’d come to terms with moving forward with his original plan of solitude, forever both burdened and warmed by the hole left in his heart by the docent in his arms.

Because surely, Ishigami Senku and Asagiri Gen could have never been together.

But here he was, being offered the opportunity of a lifetime on a silver platter.

He’d be a damned fool if he didn’t at least try to grab the opportunity by the reins and let it take him wherever they decided to go. Together.

Instead of saying any of that, though, Senku instead continued to be an idiot.

“You’re not still mad at me?” Senku questioned.

“Of course I am,” Gen scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically before looking back up at Senku with adoration in every line of his face. “But I’m more excited about this right now, so hurry up and ask me out already so I can finish scolding you later!”

Gen must have seen something in his face at that, because his shoulders softened along with his smile. His hand reached up to cup Senku’s cheek with such tender care, he thought he may melt. He was especially surprised by the sheer amount of tension he felt dissipate from his own body at the connection.

“Look,” Gen started, speaking softer, calmer. Reassuring, as if he were concerned about scaring Senku away. “It was an honest misunderstanding. As long as you promise not to run away again when things get confusing… I guess I can forgive you this once.”

“Thank you,” Senku said, lifting his own hand to mirror him by holding Gen’s cheek as well.

“I know, I’m just so benevolent~” Gen preened, raising his available hand beneath his chin as if showing off just how graciously perfect he was.

Before he knew what he was doing, Senku leaned in, softly placing his lips on Gen’s cheek. The brush of skin to skin was brief, so fragile and light. If he had blinked, Senku himself would have never believed he’d even done it in the first place.

They both froze. Gen’s hand that had been resting proudly under his chin dropped instantly, his eyes wide and mouth agape.

Senku was no better off.

Then, “Don’t you dare run away again!” Gen pointed at him, anticipating Senku’s impending nerves before he could himself, while dropping the hand that had been placed against Senku’s cheek to poke it insistently into his chest a couple times to drive his desperate point home.

Senku was the first to burst into a startled series of chuckles, quickly followed by the lilting gasps of Gen’s laugh as well. The absurdity of the situation left something warm, whole, all encompassing blooming from within his heart as he was blessed to continue witnessing the most amazing laugh up close and personal. He was tempted to lean back in, but this time just a couple inches to the right.

Instead, he held back. There would be plenty of time for that. Later. Preferably while Gen wasn’t still on the clock and a random stranger could walk in on them at any given moment.

Speaking of, “But… if you really want to make it up to me, I get off work tomorrow night at 7. Pick me up outside of the museum and take me to dinner. Your treat, of course. Oh! And afterwards, we can go to one of those late night pottery painting spots! I wanna see how far that artistic bone in your body can stretch!”

“Bones don’t stretch, Mentalist.”

“Semantics~”

Senku sighed.

This was what he’d signed up for.

And honestly? He didn’t think he’d ever find himself regretting it like he’d spent weeks trying to convince himself he would.

“Alright,” Senku conceded, smiling wickedly at the other. “But for our second date, you’re taking me to the planetarium.”

Gen’s smile grew even brighter, which was a miracle because Senku hadn’t thought that was even possible.

“Deal!”