Teshima doesn't mean to pry. It's not that he's trying to snoop in advance of their study session; it's more that it's hard, sometimes, to remember that his things and Aoyagi's are ostensibly different, to recall that the blond might have some things Teshima doesn't know about. Teshima certainly does, a few interests and recollections he hasn't yet shared, but it's more from lack of thought than actively distancing himself from the other boy. He committed to being a team that very first day, as soon as Aoyagi's mouth pulled into a smile Teshima knew meant agreement, and since then he has been actively pulling down any barriers between them as he sees them.
So when he finds the notebook in Aoyagi's bag, he thinks first that it's the class notes he's looking for. Aoyagi's out of the room for a moment, gone to secure a snack or a drink before they settle into his bedroom to study, and Teshima flips it open without thinking to wait for the blond's return. There are a few notes on the first page; they're for the wrong class and from months ago, but that's not what stalls his attention. It's the sketches at the bottom of the page, tucked into the margins like they're too casual to deserve space of their own; the teacher's face in profile, done in tiny quick strokes but perfectly recognizable for that, the back of a classmate's head, the curve of a smile separate the rest of the face.
Teshima blinks at the images, turns the page without thinking. There's more here, a little larger and more of them, creeping into the notespace as the words get more cramped in the center of the page. Some are half-finished, abandoned while just a few features are drawn before the rest of the image has taken shape. Some aren't of people, just books lying open or a branch of leaves through the classroom window. All are impressive, at least to Teshima's utter lack of experience. He had no idea Aoyagi could draw at all, much less like this.
The sketches of him start on the third page.
At first they're tiny, quick outlines like the very first one he saw. They are unquestionably of his face, he can recognize the shape of his smile inverted by Aoyagi's gaze from the expression he sees in the mirror. But there start to be more of them, and more detailed. A third of the way through the notebook any attempt at notes ceases entirely, and halfway through the sketches turn into what are clearly case studies of Teshima. There's a whole series of pages that are just Teshima's eyes done over and over, gaining realism as they go. His hands are the focus for a while, and apparently his hair gave Aoyagi some trouble; there are several pages of that, curls over his shoulders or falling against his hand or framing his chin. Teshima wants to voice protest to the absent Aoyagi, declare that he's not worth this much effort, that his face isn't worth this much time.
Then he turns the page, and he's staring at himself.
It's from a slight distance, like Aoyagi drew it from a few feet away. Teshima is leaning over his knees, arms angled over them and hands hanging in a way that makes his physical exhaustion as perfectly clear as the way his hair is clinging to the sweat against his hairline. But he's looking up, straight out at the viewer, and the smile on his face is so tender that Teshima can't actually breathe for a moment. His eyes look darker than he's ever seen them in the mirror, his hair softer, like Aoyagi's hand smoothed all the tiny flaws Teshima is familiar with into perfection, and that smile is warm and sincere in spite of the exhaustion in the drawing's body, as if he's looking up at his favorite person in the world. There's a title to this one, carefully written in Aoyagi's handwriting as he didn't bother to do for any of the others: "Junta."
Teshima is still staring at his name in Aoyagi's handwriting, waiting for the threat of tears to subside from behind his eyes, when the door opens and the other boy comes into the room. He pauses by the doorway; when Teshima looks up he's looking at the notebook, though there's no panic on his face, just faint self-consciousness.
"I didn't mean to," Teshima says by way of explanation. "I was looking for your class notes and...I didn't know you could draw, Aoyagi."
The blond dips his head, his mouth pulling in almost-a-smile of pleasure at the implied compliment, and comes forward into the bedroom to sit just at Teshima's elbow. The other boy looks back at the page in front of him, swallows, reaches out to touch the shape of his name at the bottom of the page.
"I think you made me too pretty, Aoyagi," he finally manages.
Aoyagi leans in to bump his shoulder - what part? - and Teshima reaches out to touch the sketch, lets his fingers flutter vaguely over the soft eyes, the curling hair, the bright smile.
"I don't smile like that," he finally says, as the most dramatic feature.
Aoyagi nods, sharp with disagreement in Teshima's periphery, before he offers one of his rare comments aloud. "You do."
Teshima laughs weakly. "I've never seen it."
Aoyagi's shoulder presses into his, steady and warm, as good as him saying I have, and Teshima has to grant him that one. When he tips his head down to chuckle Aoyagi speaks again - "Junta," - and Teshima's looking up before he realizes that was his first name, that he's never heard his name in Aoyagi's voice before. The other boy is watching his face, gazing at him with the abstraction of an artist, and when Teshima lifts his head Aoyagi reaches out, touches his fingers to the corner of Teshima's mouth as if to say like this.
Teshima didn't even realize he was smiling. For a moment he and Aoyagi are staring at each other, the warm smile he always has for Aoyagi lingering on his lips and the blond's eyes soft as they always are when he looks at Teshima. Then Teshima laughs, and Aoyagi smiles, and then both look away and down as Teshima closes the notebook and hands it back. His head is humming with the sound of his name on Aoyagi's lips, his skin oddly prickling with heat from the other boy's touch, but he lets the epiphany he can see coming curl back up in the back of his head, retreat for full consideration another day.
He can afford to wait. Neither of them are going anywhere.