Chapter Text
In the Past
They met when they were young. By the ocean.
Tadashi's family lived in a small space with just enough room for the family. His father, mother, and two younger sisters all bustled about the kitchen, whether it was to help or hinder the process of dinner. He didn’t really mind the close quarters. Living in Okinawa meant the sea was never far away, it meant the concept of the beach was a bit mundane.
However, Tadashi found himself distracted by the salt in the air, the ever-present sound of the waves. He reveled in that peace, unable to focus on dinner preparation.
Giving in to his urges, he wandered out by the shore. Usually, as the eldest child, he stayed to help while his siblings played. Today felt different, though. The sunset looked absolutely stunning. He couldn't miss it, something inside him said.
He had grabbed his sketchbook and stuffed it into his backpack. His small container of used colored pencils rattled around as he walked.
When his shoes hit the sand, he shucked them off, leaving them behind. He crested the top of a sand dune. The sunset melted into a riot of oranges and reds before him. It took his breath away. He settled down where he stood, pulling out his book and his pencils.
However, before his pencil could make any meaningful changes, he heard a rustling nearby. The tall grass was disturbed by something other than the whispering breeze. His head whirled around, thinking maybe his younger sisters had followed him as they so often did.
Instead, a young boy stood there. A stranger with his white collared shirt haphazardly tucked into his shorts. His blue hair showed evidence of being mussed. Tadashi squinted: was that a leaf sticking out from his hair?
"Hello!" The strange boy called.
Tadashi felt a bit hesitant but replied with a less confident. "Hello."
"What are you doing?" The boy stood a little ways off and continued to shout.
Tadashi cleared his throat. "I'm about to draw." He had to raise his voice to be heard over the wind. "Would you like to come sit?"
He bounced over. With very little inhibition, he plopped down right in front of Tadashi. The presumably older boy frowned.
"Not there." He asserted. "You're blocking the sunset."
"Oh!" He peered over at the blank page, getting into Tadashi's space. "Am I not going to be in it?" He blinked up, his eyes red and glittering with mischief.
"Well, I suppose you can be." Tadashi relented. "Just sit a little further off, will you?"
He scooted back. His clothes were truly dirty, Tadashi noted. However, Tadashi could also tell they were a luxury brand. Who would dress their rambunctious child in labeled clothing? He wondered where this boy had come from.
But then, he was talking.
"I've sat for a portrait before you know-" He chattered. "My aunties insisted that we all get one. My father wasn't in it though-Too busy-" He rocked back and forth, grabbing his ankles, his legs crossed. "It's alright, though. He's a very important man, you know-"
They settled into a comfortable rhythm. Tadashi drew. The boy talked. Tadashi heard it all, about his family, about his life. He was a politician's son, mostly supervised by his three aunts. His mother wasn't around. Tadashi didn't know what was meant by that. His aunts were very strict. In fact, he had had to sneak out in order to even see the beach.
"How funny is that! The beach is so close to the estate!" The boy chimed, unassuming at the absurdity of it all.
Tadashi was able to lay down the groundwork for the scene, but the sun was dwindling now. It was nearly dark. He strained his eyes looking at the page.
"It's too dark to draw now." He interrupted the boy's rambling.
"Well, did you finish?" He scrambled over, kicking up sand.
Tadashi grimaced, "Of course not. I just did the sketching!"
"And you call yourself an artist-" He laughed, good-natured and pure.
"Yes, an artist, not a wizard!" Tadashi supplied.
"Well then," A little grin crossed his face. "I'll just have to come back tomorrow!"
Tadashi blinked. He looked down at his page. The unmistakable outline of a boy looked back. He had even included the little leaf. This strange boy had become an irrevocable piece of his landscape.
"I'll be here," Tadashi said. A promise passed between them.
He watched as the boy hurried down the shore. He paused to turn and wave, his arm flapping in the air. Tadashi laughed a little, throwing up a hand in response.
He would have to ask for the boy's name tomorrow.
....
In the Present
Sometimes, Tadashi chased that feeling from when he was young. The salt spray stuck to his lips. That boy's incandescent smile.
He worked in his sketchbook now, hurrying to scribble lines into something close to a cohesive shape. During this venture, he was imagining how time would have aged that smiling face. Would he have a straight nose? Would his hair be longer? Would there be crinkles around his eyes from smiling too often?
It was an exercise he often did. Tadashi had pages and pages of this person, this person who he hadn't really known at all. People had seen him working on these sketches. He never knew what to tell them ...
"Someone I met when I was young ... "
"Your muse?" They would remark.
"Something like that ... "
"Tadashi?"
His professor stuck her head out of her office door. He blinked out of his reverie, effortlessly sliding his book with its chaotic scribbling into his polite little messenger bag. "Are you ready to see me?" He stood in one smooth motion, slinging his bag over a shoulder.
"Yes, yes." She responded breezily. "Come on in."
Tadashi was a master at looking unphased. Even weighed down with secrets, he could keep his composure. He had had to do it all his life.
His family wasn’t exactly well off and his dreams of being an artist didn’t ring as a very practical choice. Still, they had supported him. He had hustled to pay for materials and school. His two sisters had also required supervision while his parents worked overtime. They had even let him attend University in Tokyo. None of it had been easy for any of them. He couldn’t be anything less than perfect.
So when his professor looked at him and told him that he needed to add another piece to his portfolio, it was barely a blip on his radar.
Tadashi, accustomed to change and flexibility, knew that the deadline didn’t scare him. He stared blankly at his professor who gazed back, waiting for his answer. This wasn’t an issue. Just one piece.
Tadashi thought about the size of his plate in relation to the growing amount of moving parts. Something for ceramics. Another piece for fabric construction. Then, there was the paper for Art History. His final for printmaking was well underway, at least.
But this …
“You want me to do a figure study?” He sounded a bit puzzled because well: he was.
His primary mediums didn’t involve people. He gravitated towards the abstract. His eyes snagged on the colors and flow of fabric. How could he harness the fibers and weave them into something intentional? He excelled at the detail and precision needed to create intricate tapestries. These pieces seemed to come to life before his eyes with dynamic textures. There weren’t many other students that incorporated loom work into their study. However, Tadashi worked at it until his fingers cramped. He liked that. The feeling reminded him not only of his own efforts but also the efforts of his family.
But working with a human subject …
His professor took on a placating tone. “Yes! I understand what your primary focus has been all these years, Kikuchi-san. I’m not trying to infringe on your preferred mediums. I just think diversifying your portfolio would be beneficial.”
"I’ve drawn figures before.” His hard stare was no doubt making his professor a bit squirmy. He tried to relax. She had been one of his favorites during his time at art school. She was just trying to help.
“Well, those are from your first and second year here.” She cleared her throat and added, “Something a bit more recent, perhaps?” with a pained smile.
Tadashi’s mind drifted to his disorganized personal sketchbook, filled with memories. No, that wouldn’t do for an official assignment. It wasn’t polished or cohesive.
He emitted a short little huff and packed the rest of his discontent in. “Alright, then.” He relented. “What did you have in mind for it?”
—
A model. He needed a model. Not just any person either. It had to be someone comfortable with being painted in the nude. Also, he had three months to do this. While that seemed like a decent amount of time, He had so much going on. The model’s availability would have to be considered as well.
His professor wanted him to compile a series of dynamic poses. A project that coalesced into one word: Transformation.
As he walked the path of his daily commute, he shoved his hands in his coat pockets. The February air bit into his exposed skin. Part of his move to Tokyo had entailed stocking up on more insulated clothing. Okinawa stayed pretty warm. Even the thick coat he had acquired didn’t stave off the chill. He gazed out into the sidewalks which were mulling with people. It had been a while since he had really considered people as a key component of his artwork. Sure, he put feeling into his work with textiles, but it was always about tenacity, dedication.
He picked his way through the streets until he arrived at his apartment. It was unbelievably small. Just enough room for himself, his bed, and a small kitchenette. He stood there in the entryway for a minute in his stark little room. The tiny window cast strange shadows. The blinking lights of the city still struck him every now and then. He sighed, refocusing. He needed a model.
With a new direction, he shuffled off his shoes and fished his cell phone out of his pocket. There was one person he could rely on in these situations. The dial tone sounded in his ear.
"I need to find a model, Kaoru." He said plainly when the call connected. Kaoru didn't really deal in niceties. A "hello" was already too much and too long.
"A model? What's this about, Dashi?" Kaoru leaned away from the phone to yawn.
Tadashi pictured him: in his dorm room, bent over his tablet screen, fiddling away at whatever design layout he had to tweak for finals. He probably needed to get up and stretch. And hydrate.
"Are you drinking water, Kaoru?" He held his phone to his ear as he took off his coat, carefully hanging it up.
"Yes, yes." Kaoru's voice slowly drifted back towards the microphone. "I have some coffee right here."
"That's not water. Also, it's 7 pm."
His friend groaned. "Oh, come off it. This graphic design assignment is due next week and it's got to be perfect. What's this about a model, now?"
"They want me to do a figure study. A full conceptual ... " He struggled to find the right word as he flopped down onto his made bed. "Thing."
"Hm. Yes." Kaoru grumbled. "Well, lucky for you, concepts and things are my specialty. I can draw up a flyer for you if you'd like."
Tadashi smiled a little. "I would appreciate that." His smile wavered. "Just one thing, though. They have to be comfortable modeling nude. And have pretty open availability."
"That's two things."
Tadashi ruffled his hair a little. "Well, that's just how it is."
"You can't just submit that diary you've been neurotically adding to for a decade?" Kaoru deadpanned.
Kaoru was the only one who knew the true source of his secret musings. It had slipped out one night during their first year of university. Kaoru had procured some beer from an older student and they had sat, huddled in this very room, laughing and divulging secrets. Kaoru had admitted to having a crush on the older student. Tadashi had rambled about his sketchbook. Neither of them had laughed at each other.
Now, Tadashi winced at his friend’s typical bluntness. "No, unfortunately, those are barely intelligible."
"Well back to the drawing board as they say."
"As we say."
"Ha. Ha. We can talk more about it tomorrow when we meet up." Kaoru was already rummaging in his desk for something in the background.
"We’re meeting up?" His brow wrinkled. He never forgot an appointment.
"Yes, I just decided," Kaoru said. “You can proofread my art history paper for me. An equal exchange.”
Tadashi smiled a little to himself. “I would've helped you anyways.”
“Well, now I don’t have to feel bad.” He groused in reply. “Alright, sleep well.”
“Goodnight.”
The phone call ended. Tadashi rolled over and released a deep measured breath into his pillow.