So, uh, I started this one big book of oneshots (as some of you may have seen). Some will be little scenes that aren't deeply (or at all) explored in the actual storylines, snippets from fanfictions that were written and never used, scenes from my fanfics at different PoVs I want to write (or are popularly requested by readers for me to write), ideas that didn't quite turn into full fanfictions (or ideas that I was going to turn into fanfics and then realized I already had about forty something fanfics in the works and decided to make into a oneshot instead because I still wanted to write it), little oneshots from other fandoms that I probably got bored or super motivated and wrote, little things I write when I want to try new styles, and requests. There might be the occasional two or threeshot, too. It won't have a regular updating schedule, though. Anyways, apologies for the late chapter again. I'm already five or six behind schedule and I don't have much of a chance of catching up until possibly Thanksgiving (seeing how many chapters I can write this week!), Christmas break, or summer and even then I'll probably have work, so who knows. I'm still going to try to stick to my every-two-weeks update schedules, but school and a lack of wifi is preventing that for the time being, so I'll make no promises (but I'll still try to write the chapters during that time so I can just post them all once I get wifi). And now, chapter seven (which might be a little different since I'm trying a lot of new styles lately).
September brings a cold chill on the air. The August heat flees in favor of the familiar weather of autumn; all chilly breezes, the scent of coffee in the air, red and brown leaves, sweaters, scarves, and boots.
Admittedly, I quite like the fall. I like all the seasons in their own way, of course. It rather disappoints me that the cherry blossoms in the schoolyard have long since fallen, but I'm glad to know that I'll be able to see them bloom here next year. Already, sitting in the stretching shade beneath the swaying pink blossoms has become sort of a relaxing thing to me. It always was back home, so I suppose it was just the thing I needed to begin feeling comfortable here.
My sixth period class is the only one I share with Feliciano; it's art, of course. The teacher is still quite eccentric and lenient. She doesn't have a set idea of what 'art' is like most people do. She thinks of everything as art, from the fluid movement of paintbrush across canvas to sculpture and contemporary. The result is typically freedom to create what we like.
Feliciano is painting something on one of the walls. I can't tell what it is from here, but for once his face is the very epitome of concentration and his eyebrows crease slightly right down the middle. He's squinting at the mixture of colors on his palette, it seems. Somehow, he managed to get paint in his hair and on his neck and around Lovino's wrist when he reaches out to pull the other over and ask questions. I'm quite sure Feliciano hasn't noticed, though. He's rather like a bird, I note, or a cat without most of the grace.
He figures out what he wants and I turn my gaze back to my canvas. I start it out as a pencil sketch, simply allowing the winding gray lines to form across the starch white surface. They stretch upwards and curl down towards the opposite side of the paper like fingers and now I'm picturing it. Now I'm picturing the delicate pink flowers covering the branches, leaning over a walkway or a house and waiting for someone to walk by and admire them or sit beneath them.
I watch as the branches form across the page and then my paintbrush moves in careful strokes, forming pink petals, drifting down. I imagine, remember the branches waving in the warm breeze, casting their petals down on people below. It's these trees in particular, though, that I know hang over a small, traditional Japanese house, somewhere just outside of Tokyo. A boy used to sit under them all the time when he would paint or write or simply relax.
They feel like home.
Feliciano's arrival startles me; he pokes his head around the edge of the canvas so abruptly that I probably would have fallen right off of my stool if I hadn't managed to balance myself at the last second. Feliciano seems oblivious to this, but Lovino, standing behind him, looks considerably more annoyed than he had upon entering the room in the first place. It occurs to me that Lovino rarely has an expression other than that of annoyance, but he's not a bad guy, honestly. Once or twice, I've spoken to him and though he initially seems rather wary, he calms down enough to carry on a civil conversation. I can't say we've spoken enough for me to have developed a full opinion of him, though.
I'd have a harder time believing they were siblings if they hadn't looked so much alike.
"What are you painting, Kiku?" Feliciano asks in that rather musical voice of his, tilting his head.
He clasps his hands behind his back and leans over my shoulder, half perching on his toes. I instinctively lean away, still finding myself rather uncomfortable to the boy's constant close proximity. I keep telling myself I'll get used to it eventually, and I honestly don't doubt I will, but I know it will take a while. Even Ludwig still never quite looks completely comfortable and I know they've known each other for a long time.
Then again, Ludwig and I are fairly awkward people.
"The sakura trees back home," I tell him, without looking up from the brown and pink-white streaks across my canvas. "They hung over my house and I used to spend a lot of time under them."
"Until you came here?"
"Until I came here," I confirm. "But even so, I speny a a lot of time under those trees you showed me when they were in bloom."
Feliciano is the type that wants nothing more than to help others to the best of his ability, even if sometimes it doesn't exactly help. But the way his grin lights up his face in that moment makes me wonder how often his efforts are actually appreciated. It's a rather upsetting thought; the Italian tries so hard. I admit I didn't have the best first impression of him, but now I wouldn't want anybody but him and Ludwig as my two closest friends here. They've helped me more than I can say, and still do.
Feliciano doesn't seem to have noticed that Lovino retreated while he was talking to me and now stands clear on the other side of the room. If I have to be honest, I didn't notice the other leave, either. I catch myself thinking of the one thing I always promise myself I will not think about; the three students that call themselves the Bad Touch Trio.
Another thought makes me pause. I recall the time they were running after first making contact with me in the cafeteria, and the albino – Gilbert? - had mentioned a "West" was coming, shortly before Ludwig and Feliciano joined me. Feliciano told me that Gilbert and Ludwig were brothers – I still have trouble believing that – so I assume Gilbert must have been addressing Ludwig.
"Feliciano-san?" I ask, lowering my brush into the murky water and turning to look at him.
He leans back abruptly and his smile slips as his golden eyes widen a fraction, almost as though I startled him. "Huh? What? Oh, that's me! What is it?" Feliciano quickly recovering and grinning widely.
The little slip startles me; for a brief moment, he almost looks baffled, if not utterly lost. I compose myself again, straightening up. "Why does Ludwig-san's brother call him West?"
Feliciano blinks slowly at me for a moment, before brightening up. "Oh, I know the answer to that one! Okay, okay, so you know how Gilbert is the older one?" He doesn't give me the chance to reply before plowing on. "So basically what happened was Gil was born in East Germany and then his family moved a few months later and Luddy was born in West Germany! So Gilbert has kinda taken to calling him West since they were kids and I guess it's just a way of showing his affection, kinda like I call Lovino 'Lovi,'" he flinches as said older brother hisses on the other side of the room. "oops, but anyways Gilbert actually told me that story one time so you're in luck, Kiku, even though I'm not sure why you wanted to know and oh, Ludwig would be so embarrassed if he knew so like don't tell him you heard it from me because he's actually super bashful and- oh, I should stop talking. Sorry~!"
"I-" I honestly knew a lot more than I initially wanted, but I suppose that was fine. I'm not entirely sure where to store the information that Ludwig is supposedly a bashful person, though. "-um. I-It's fine. Thank you, I think."
"Your problem!"
Feliciano promptly reddens and his eyes grow dramatically wide. I know my face twists into something to show my confusion. The Italian waves his hands rapidly and nearly smacks me in the process, lips opening and closing, but no words come out. It strikes me that Feliciano, despite his ridiculously outgoing personality, is a very anxious person.
"No! I-I mean- What I meant to say was- I went to say you're welcome, but then I also was considering saying no problem and it just- I'm sorry!"
He speeds off and flings himself at Lovino before I can even react, so I am left gaping and staring where the brunette had been no less than ten seconds before. What just happened? I am honestly very sure that I have never been so bewildered in my entire life.
The shrieking of the bell rips through my thoughts and I glance back at my unfinished painting, sighing. I decide to return after classes to finish it. I confirm it with the teacher, and true to my prediction, she's fine with it. Feliciano is already gone; he all but sprints out of the room when the bell rings. I quickly decide it's best not to tell Ludwig of this little incident.
My seventh period science class always tends to drag on. The teacher is a rotund man with a monotone voice that practically attempts to lull you to sleep. It really isn't the best when combined with the physics class he teaches. I try to pay attention, honestly, but hardly anything he says makes sense and I usually just go figure everything out later, anyways. Half the rest of the class is asleep and he has yet to notice, going on about forces on incline planes or something.
I'm honestly not sure anymore.
By the time we're released by the mercy of the bell, his terrible handwriting takes up the two white boards of the room and the entire class is none the wiser on the subject. We hurry out before he can think to give us homework.
I make my way back to the art room. A few others are scattered throughout the room, though I don't really recognize any of them, so I conclude they must be in her other classes. One is obviously in sculpture; he's a tired looking boy with shaggy, slightly wavy, chin length brown hair, and sleepy green eyes. His half complete sculpture looks suspiciously Greek in style, to me.
I return to my canvas after retrieving my now dry painting, setting it up and beginning to finish up. The trunk becomes delicate streaks across the canvas and the flowers bloom in beautiful shades of pinkish-white. Inexplicably, I find myself smiling. I love the fact that I can always carry a piece of home with me; at least in my memories. If the teacher doesn't request to keep this – she seems to do that quite a bit with her students' art, and nobody knows what she actually does with it – I think I'll hang it in my dorm.
It will go over my bed, I decide as I paint the sides of the canvas so it doesn't look empty. It will be my piece of home, the – other – trees I lay under here. The painting doesn't take too long for me to finish; I just put a few last touches on it and give the sides some time to dry so I can paint the bottom, too.
Upon finishing and signing the lower right corner, I wash my hands off at the classroom sinks and put my painting away. The teacher appears to be occupied attempting to wake the sleepy looking boy from earlier. Oddly enough, I find that he reminds me of a cat. I'm not sure why.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a familiar head of shoulder length blond hair. Francis sits on the other side of the room, legs crossed at the ankles and body leaning precariously forward on the stool. It doesn't seem as though he's noticed me yet; his attention is centered solely on the sketch in front of him, though I can't tell what it is from where I stand. His blue eyes seem unusually focused, something I have yet to see from him. I suppose I can't really judge him yet, since I don't know him very well and I honestly don't intend to attempt such a thing. As of late, at least, they haven't been bothering with me as much. At least, two of the three members haven't.
I decide it's better not to take the risk of finding out what said third member is drawing and instead I turn, hurrying out of the room.
Halfway back to my dorm, it clicks that something is missing. Somehow, it completely slipped my mind to grab my bag and I'm just now realizing that, yes, I left it in the art room. With a heavy sigh, I turn to go back.
The quick walk back is short enough since I've learned to navigate the halls. I round the corner back into the art hall and immediately note the very blond I've been avoiding. He probably notices me right away, but I look straight forward as I walk by him. A brief, daring glimpse reveals him to be gazing straight forward as well, something of a mischievous smile perching on his lips and something else tucked under his arm. In the brief moment, it seems to be a book, but I don't get a chance to look long enough.
He keeps walking and I release a breath I didn't realize I was holding, ducking into the art room and picking up my bag. It bothers me a bit that he didn't bother saying anything like he usually would, but I can't say I'm protesting. It's nice to have a break.
I sling my messenger bag over my shoulder and head back to my dorm, ignoring the nagging feeling that it's a bit lighter than usual.
Woooww, ahaha, I'm sorry for this pathetic excuse of a chapter. So, I keep forgetting that Kiku still addresses some people by their last names, and others by their first names. And that he only addresses them as such when speaking to them. Like, Osiria. Why do you do this. Why. Apparently, I like making everything harder for myself. Oh well. On another note, I skimmed through some of the old chapters (which I need to reread soon, anyways), and wow Kiku is a sassy child. I love it. Anyways, I'm sick and should actually be writing chapter twelve currently, so my sickness has given me an excuse to sit on my arse and attempt to write five or six chapters during my Thanksgiving break. I feel like most fanfiction writers are all "oops I'm sick sorry can't write" and then I'm over here like "yOOOO I'M SICK LET'S GET SOME WRITInG DONE WHEN I SHOULD BE RESTING." So 1/6 chapters done, let's see if I can manage this. As a final word... Same, Feli. Same.