Kaito woke up with a pencil in his hand, Haruka's jacket draped over his chair, and a drawing of a cat in his sketchpad labeled "Not a Metaphor (Probably)".
The studio was quiet—rare. Peaceful—rarer. And free of Kenji's early morning naked sun salutations—miraculous.
He stretched, cracked his back, and tried not to think about The Date.The actual, honest-to-god, romantic date where he and Haruka had talked, laughed, shared miso, and touched hands like it was a goddamn K-drama.
He smiled. Then immediately panicked.
"Do I text her?""Do I wait?""Is there a cool way to say 'I like you' that doesn't involve emojis or emotional nudity?"
He settled for a mature, thoughtful message:
Morning. You left your jacket. Smells like rage and perfume. 10/10.
She replied within two minutes.
Keep it. It'll protect you from bad fashion choices.Also I left it on purpose.
Kaito stared at his phone.
He was in trouble.
That afternoon, the studio filled with the usual suspects.
Rei came in, holding a half-destroyed umbrella and the unmistakable aura of someone who'd judged three strangers before 9 AM.Yuuto followed, clutching a massive sketchpad and what looked like a Tupperware full of sorrow dumplings.Haruka entered last, late, smiling faintly—distracted.
"Where's Kenji?" Kaito asked.
Rei deadpanned, "He said he was doing 'a spiritual nudist pilgrimage' to Mount Fuji."
Yuuto blinked. "Is that real?"
"No," Haruka said. "But he is on a bus wearing nothing but a fanny pack and dignity."
No one questioned it further.
Today's class wasn't figure drawing. It was something Kaito hadn't done before:
Pair Drawing.
"You're going to draw each other," he said, clapping his hands. "Fully clothed. Or… whatever level of clothed you're comfortable with."
Rei raised an eyebrow. "That's a trap."
"It's about connection," Kaito explained. "It's not about form—it's about how you see the other person. Their energy. Their presence. Their vibe, if you're under 30 and own TikTok."
Yuuto looked at Haruka. Haruka looked at Rei. Rei looked at Yuuto like he'd just farted in a monastery.
"Let's… randomize the pairs," Kaito said quickly.
The universe, of course, had a sense of humor.
Yuuto & Haruka: Disaster and Diva.
Rei & Kaito: Ice Queen and Broken Sensei.
Rei looked at Kaito with the expression of someone being sentenced to a poetry slam.
"I'm not drawing you attractive," she warned.
"Please don't," he replied. "That would be dishonest."
They sat across from each other on the main rug, sketchpads in hand.
"You always look tired," Rei said bluntly, pencil already moving.
"You always look like you're planning an emotional coup," Kaito replied.
Rei's mouth twitched—almost a smile.
Across the room, Yuuto was nervously trying not to hyperventilate while sketching Haruka, who had somehow made sitting look like performance art.
"You don't have to get it perfect," she said softly. "Just draw what you feel when you look at me."
"I… I feel sweaty," Yuuto stammered.
"That's a start."
She, in turn, sketched him with surprising softness. Yuuto's hunched shoulders. His earnest eyes. His nervous hands. But she drew him tall. Like he had a spine made of something steadier than anxiety.
Kaito watched it unfold from the corner of his eye.
Haruka saw people. Even when they didn't.
Half an hour later, pencils slowed. Silence fell. Kaito stood.
"Alright," he said. "Time for the hard part. Show your sketches."
Rei flipped hers around first.
It was brutal. But beautiful.
Lines sharp, shading minimal—but honest. She'd drawn Kaito as a man standing in a hurricane. Clothes flapping. Eyes tired. But holding steady, gripping a flimsy umbrella with one hand and reaching out with the other.
He swallowed. "That's… really good."
She shrugged. "You're annoying, but you mean well."
Yuuto turned his around. It looked like Haruka mid-laugh, Brenda in the background. A sword in bloom.
Haruka blinked. Then nodded. "You made me look like I'm alive."
"You are," he said.
She flipped her own sketch. Yuuto, surrounded by waves. Pencil-stroked chaos, but his face calm. Like a lighthouse mid-storm.
Yuuto nearly cried.
Kaito blinked. "You guys are… good at feelings now."
Haruka grinned. "We were always good. We just needed someone to give us a reason to feel safe."
That evening, everyone left early.
All except Haruka.
Kaito was sweeping up, trying to act casual. He was 94% sure he looked like a substitute teacher hiding a crush on the school nurse.
Haruka stood by the window, sunset painting gold into her hair.
"That exercise," she said, "was more intense than nudity."
"Clothes lie," Kaito said. "Eyes don't."
She turned to him. "You didn't draw anything today."
He hesitated. Then pulled out his own sketchpad and handed it to her.
It was her.
Not a sexy pose. Not a performance. Just her sitting cross-legged, sipping tea, hair messy, eyes distant—drawn in pencil so soft it looked like memory.
Haruka stared at it for a long time.
"You didn't draw me strong," she whispered.
"I drew you real," he said. "I like you better that way."
She looked up.
And then—
No words.
Just the kind of silence that's not empty, but full.
Of truth.
Of warmth.
Of everything they hadn't said but had drawn a hundred times already.
She stepped close. Touched his face.
And kissed him again.
This time—no hesitation.
No swords. No blindfolds.
Just skin. And truth.
[End of Chapter 21]