Written for the prompt: D. , Daisuke + or / Satoshi, they're two ordinary students - a rampant work of art causes them to forget everything else between them
Daisuke wakes up feeling like he dreamed a long, strange dream, that like most dreams was dissolved into echoes of emotion and sensation in the light streaming through his bedroom window. He rubs a hand over his face, having a moment of surprise when there isn't something soft and furry clinging to it. But then there shouldn't be anything furry in his room; he's never been allowed to have a pet.
He can almost pinpoint what the dream was about. He can remember flying—or was it falling?—and a girl's face, Riku (or Risa?) from class and being him but not him. It is a ridiculous idea, but Daisuke can't shake the feeling that when he looks in the mirror to brush his teeth he should be seeing someone else reflected back at him.
There isn't an obstacle course in the hallway. Mom has breakfast waiting. Daisuke's father is drinking coffee and Grandpa is reading the paper. There is something wrong with feeling surprised to see his own father at the kitchen table.
"Something wrong, Daisuke?" Mom asks. She has pancakes. It isn't even his birthday.
"No." He smiles and the weird feeling slides away. "It's fine."
At school, Daisuke looks at Riku and Risa and feels nothing though something tells him he should be feeling butterflies or have his palms sweating. Risa croons over some boy band lead singer. Riku laughs at something Takeshi told her. Daisuke passes lunch sketching a man with wings and a flirtatious smile. It doesn't feel quite right, so he adds a reflection. The white winged man smiles as well, but his smile promises pain where his reflection offers pleasure. Daisuke has no idea where they came from in his mind but they feel right.
Hiwatari is in the art room after class. Daisuke wishes he knew why seeing Hiwatari painting makes him want to cry.
Something is missing from Satoshi's world. The school work is easy—like he has done it all before. His classmates give him wide berth. He goes to class, paints with an ease that makes something in him uneasy and sad at the same time, and goes home. There is nothing more. There should be something more. He can't remember what, but this cannot be all that his life is. Satoshi thinks he should be doing something more with his life. If only he could remember what.
Niwa paints a man over and over and over. He has purple hair, purple eyes, and a smile that makes Satoshi want to paint over the canvas.
They aren't friends, but Satoshi paints next to Niwa four days a week.
Satoshi paints Niwa with wings.
There is a blond demon in his dreams. It wears the face of an angel and promises to kill him. But only after they kill someone else first. For some reason Satoshi considers burning his paintbrushes after these dreams. He never does.
Niwa is painting the winged man again. This time Satoshi does not pretend he isn't looking.
"Who is he?" Satoshi asks.
Niwa pauses. He blinks like he is seeing the canvas for the first time. Like he does not know what he has been painting. "I don't know," Niwa says after a moment. "He feels important though."
Satoshi looks at the canvas and at his own with the blond demon taking shape under his brush in dry, jagged strokes. Niwa's painting is fluid. It has harmony to the start of his discord. "He's missing his reflection," Satoshi says, the words coming from his mouth without any real thought. "Or maybe it's his shadow." Satoshi turns back to his canvas. The demon looks a bit more like the creature he's aiming for. The gold eyes stand out most, and the reaching hand. It could reach out of the painting and strangle someone. Satoshi thinks it would strangle him if it got the chance.
"How did you know what to paint?" Niwa asks.
"I didn't." The reaching hand is given fingertips with blood on their nails. A splash of red in white and blue and gold. It feels right. "I just paint."
"Oh." Niwa adds the last feather to his painting. It is full of rich shades of blue and violet and black with just enough gold that it makes Satoshi feel like their paintings are linked. "I think his name is Dark," he says, eyes on his completed painting.
"Do you ever feel that you are forgetting something?" Satoshi asks. He sets his brushes away. Niwa faces him, eyes serious and focused. He is different than the spacey boy Satoshi normally sees. This Niwa is how Niwa should be, something whispers.
"I feel that constantly," Niwa says.
Satoshi nods and looks back at his painting. The painting calls to and repulses him. He puts his fingers to the still-wet paint and pulls.
When Daisuke wakes up, Satoshi is there—and so are Dark and Krad in some sort of strange, translucent pile. Two paintings stand side by side; Dark and Krad as their hosts saw them. A cracked bowl is in the middle of the floor. Daisuke doesn't remember falling asleep, but he knows he must have. He feels like he had the strangest dream.