"You're so pathetic," said Leon clearly as he put down his cup of tea. The blond stared at his younger brother as though he could read his mind, and all the while his scrutinizing Len, he was petting the white tabby cat dozing off on his lap. "You're so pathetic, and yet you don't realize it. I don't understand what sort of an airhead have you become. Coming all the way here to ask for an advice and inspiration? Are you really an artist, Len?"

The younger blond, whose hair was held in a single, messy pigtail at the nape of his neck, just hissed and rolled his eyes. He hated being scolded by his brother when they rarely talked to each other in the first place. Len hated his brother's scolding more than he hated Rei's nagging. Shrugging, Len's eyes drifted towards the cup of tea Leon served him. "I didn't come here to be scolded, Leon. I'm asking a little thing. I hope this isn't much of an issue to you."

"It is an issue to me, dimwit." Leon tilted his chin higher, making his straight short hair fall right over his shoulders. Len could see the tear-shaped earring on Leon's left ear.

Len laughed mentally. Leon looked like Howl from Miyazaki's animated film version of a D. W. Jones' novel. Oh, Len loved her castle series.

"I hope you've been reflecting on your actions that day you won the grand prize, my dear lil' brother. We both know that such art was out of pure luck," Leon's voice hardened a little, perhaps proving to Len that everything about art was a big deal to him. Hence, he was digging the past to rub salt to the wound. Though technically speaking, Leon was a man who would deal with problems by knowing what caused it in the first place. And thus, so long as Len wouldn't come back to them with his so-called magnum opus, he would try to...be the big brother he never really was. "The best thing to do in order to get that inspiration you're yearning for...is to get over your weird fetish, sly fox."

"What the fuck, Leon?" The younger sibling grimaced, still surprised with what his brother said just now.

"Haven't you noticed, you are attracted to things which seem extraordinarily perfect and beautiful. You like to paint the sky, because you use to reason out that it is unchanging. You like to paint thr garden, because you believe that remaking the blossoming of life is so great. And you like to paint a girl, because she is the only girl who looks perfect to you. And maybe because you've sworn to never paint anyone but her."

Len sighed, picking up his cup of tea from the table. "Okay, all seemed accurate – besides the last one. I don't remember any girl and any promise. Sorry."

"Ungrateful bastard! Is that how you treat your muse?" Leon heaved a sigh and lifted his cup once again to take another sip. Blowing the tiny smoke away, he gracefully closed the distance between his mouth and the cup. "Isn't she the muse who–"

"She's a reference, not really a muse."

"Will you do the kindness to zip your mouth and let me finish my sentence, Len Kagamine?" Leon put down his cup with a clink. This silenced Len, hearing the (probably) Leon's rude personality to take over. Somehow, that clink signaled Leon's authority in the talk. "Reference or muse, I don't care. No, she's your muse. She has always been your muse. The girl is your first love, have you forgotten?"

"Okay, from muse to first love. You don't make sense. I shouldn't have bothered coming all the way here."

"It's a pain in the butt to watch you and Mikuo's sister cooing each other in our garden, you know. When you guys first met, that sly teal boy forced me to spy with him. You've sworn to paint her when you get better in portraits," Leon flipped his hair back. The tabby cat purred and shifted on his lap, but he continued to sleep anyway. "That's why when you painted her, I thought you guys were going to marry afterwards...especially when you painted her sensually–"

"It's not sensual!" yelled the younger blond, his ears flaming red.

"But it's a nude – somewhat symbolic – sort of work," Leon sneered at his brother. He enjoyed seeing Len fluster and blush. It was his belief that people lose their grace when they blush. "Nevertheless, its meaning depends on the viewer, no? That's the same case for all artworks there. But then again, when viewers interpret artworks, they are killing the artist."

Len huffed, ears still red. His cheeks were dusted with pink now, lips pressed together in a pout. It irritated him how Leon could talk as though they were really close to each other. What did he know about Len's first love when they never really spoke to each other a lot. However, Leon's words finally crossed his mind.

Did he and Miku really meet before? That would make sense, given that Mikuo used to come over in their house, but he had a hazy recollection of that all-smile dude. If they really met, why did she not recognize him? Why didn't he recognize her? Moreover, Leon said Miku was Len's first love. How did that...happen?

Well, he was certainly smitten when he met her that night, when they shared a dinner with Fukase. Though she was snobbish and pissy as shit, he found it really attractive. After all, girls were initiating moves on him and he would just go on and flirt with flow–as he phrased it. It was just refreshing to find a girl loathing him at first sight. So...how did she become his first love when this was the first actual conversation they had? So far this was all he could recall.

Sighing, he shrugged and glowered at his brother. "I came here to ask what will help me paint. I don't really care about first love right now. Plus, I don't remember meeting her as a child. Just give me an advice already."