The pale girl sat in the middle of a park bench, as if deliberately discouraging anyone from sitting next to her. She drew intently in a sketchbook, completely absorbed in her artwork. Her drawing rapidly took shape, a grinning three-eyed face framed by a red hood. As she brushed her short auburn hair behind her ears, she noticed a person standing a few feet behind her. She scowled, irritated that despite the many social cues that would normally act as deterrents, someone had decided to approach her. She grudgingly turned to face the intruder, her green-gray eyes narrowed in annoyance. He was equally pale, and similar in stature, with short dark hair and an obnoxious smile.
"Your drawing is quite good." he said, and his spurious smile widened rather than disappear as she had expected.
After she muttered her obligatory thank-you, there was a brief silence as they both surveyed each other.
His clothing was entirely black. The sleeves of his shirt were different lengths, and his midriff was left bare as the fabric failed to fall further than his ribcage. Her eyes traced down his sinuous abdomen to black pants that cut off to reveal tall sandals. She turned sideways to face him more directly, adjusting her black mid-calf length skirt over newly crossed legs, causing its thin white overlaying pattern to sway with the movement. Though clean and still in good repair, he observed that she was likely very fond of the skirt. Black Mary-Janes with platform heels swayed along with white stocking legs, indicating her disinterest. Her eyes moved to his hands, clad in fingerless gloves and clutching a spiral sketchbook, open to its outermost page.
"Your drawing is good too," she said, indicating his sketchbook, "May I see it?"
He appeared surprised, but gave it to her nonetheless. He sat beside her as she flipped through the pages, visibly impressed. He let his mind wander until he became aware that the sounds of the pages turning had stopped. She had not, as he had assumed, reached the end of the sketchbook, but rather she lingered on one particular page. My favorite, he thought absently.
"Does it have a name?", she inquired.
"No," he replied, somewhat coldly, "Does it need to?"
She frowned slightly, "I suppose not."
He saw that she was dissatisfied, and attempted to remedy the situation, " 'To become truly immortal, a work of art must escape all human limits: logic and common sense will only interfere.' "
Her frown intensified as she continued the quote, " 'But once these barriers are broken, It will enter the realm of childhood visions and dreams.' " She paused then added, "Giorgio de Chirico. And that has nothing to do with your question or mine."
His dark eyes widened slightly, and he smiled, although this time it approached sincerity.
"I suppose not." he said, "My name is Sai, what's yours?"
"Hibiki."
She returned to that bench daily. Only now she sat to one side, leaving space, space that he was glad to fill.