Title: And when they mix
Description:
"…we become one. I wonder what color he is?" Vignettes revealing 3 characters' love interests through their respective professions.
Disclaimer:
I don't own characters in Honey & Clover. Lyrics to A.S. belong to Nell.
"A quiet music flows,
In silence a conversation flows.
Seemingly and rather uneasily,
Yet readily, drunk off of each other…"
-A.S., NELL
Hagu.
Colors: thalo green, ultramarine blue, alizarin crimson—
They hold a pure and poignant quality, a sort of feeling you get when you reach into the depths of your heart. They are like residues under your skin, permanently affecting your emotions as your loved ones do. Like friends, family, and lovers… they affect you with each confrontation, with each stroke of brush dampened with their individual shades and distinctive colors. And when they mix, we become one. I wonder what color he is? A bright one I hope. Warm, touching, and caring… like feeling the soft flames within the hearth.
I stand in front of this canvas… it looms over me, reaching just over Shu-chan's height, I think. A palette of colors in my hand: so many choices.
Maybe I will never choose.
Mayama.
One hand shifts the main-line while the other completes a square form on the drawing board. A square, with further work, becomes an elevation, a side-view of the building we hope to construct. Electric erasers, lead holders, and triangle rulers—they dominate and fill up the space on my desk. This should be my life, my passion. To be inspired (and thus to have my inspirations take tangible form) — was the reason why I chose this study…
And now I can't focus. I've found someone who inspires like no one else does... She works as if nothing matters in life and I can't help but follow.
She walks with ease, despite physical difficulties.
And now I can't focus. She wants to die—I know it. When the drawings are done, she is finished. She wants to be somewhere else.
And now I can't focus. My hands are shaking. The lines slip ever so slightly—until the lead breaks in its descent down the thin sheets of vellum.
Morita.
I want to touch her hair. I've taken photos of her already and bought her a pair of mules—or whatever you call them. I know her, but I don't know her at all. We all keep our distance and that's alright. Nothing is more important than keeping your goal straight, even if your friends can't know. Everything else is funny and frivolous, and I choose to do whatever I want. And I want to touch her hair.
She sways like someone terminally ill;
She cannot hold her stomach at all.
She gags and coughs terribly yet gulps her tears down.
She withdraws from everyone else and finds peace on her canvas walls.
But I take a mouse hat and reach out—only to grab her suddenly and catch her unaware.
I mean no harm, and she knows that. I just want to touch her golden hair.