Shining Acrylic

Author's Notes: Thanks to the people that reviewed. Reviews can really brighten a person's spirits. Thanks to Kikirini-chan for pointing out my "Uesagi" mistake. Guilty. I know this is a short chapter. You can send me hate mail if it makes you feel better. I decided to clip half of the chapter, and set it aside for chapter 5. Chapter 5 will be done no later than two weeks from now. The next scene shifts the focus of the story, and I thought it would be awkward to have it here.

Disclaimer: I still don't own Gravitation. As if there was any doubt...

In the day, the room was dark. In the night, it was even darker. Only a faint glow of stone blue tinted his cold skin. He ran a finger down his arm. A single finger mapped the fine details of his anatomy, as though it were an artist's brush. Ryuichi's eyes remained transfixed on a painting of himself. It was as though Tatsuha knew his body better than he did. The smooth muscles of an arm he'd never noticed, suddenly became elegant in their flowing curves.

Summer colors covered the canvas with warm tones, breathing life into the painting. The tanned, healthy skin in the painting did not match Ryuichi's own skin, which now glowed a pale blue from the lack of light. It was as though someone sucked the life from his body, leaving him to waste.

The faint sound of footsteps echoed from below, steadily growing in volume. Tatsuha promised he would be back soon. Ryuichi carelessly forgot his hat back in the main room of the temple. It may have slipped away from his fingers. He barely remembered taking it off at all.

Tatsuha came back into the room, flipping on a light switch. The color flooded back into the singer's skin.

"Here." Tatsuha handed Ryuichi his blue baseball cap. "I told you I painted a lot of Grasper," Tatsuha commented, pacing over to painting on the floor, which he turned to face the wall. Almost every painting Tatsuha left in his room was intimate, as though he knew no other way to paint.

Ryuichi carefully fitted the cap back over his soft hair, pulling it down to conceal his eyes which now lacked the glitter of innocence. His fingers ran over the worn brim of the hat which never failed him in disguise. The simple wear and tear of the long kept cap brought him comfort, in some unexplainable way.

"You're a good artist Tatsuha-kun," Ryuichi said, with a reserved smile, ever difficult to read.

Ryuichi watched as Tatsuha returned his smile, with a bright one of his own, as if to say, 'I know,' yet that wasn't how he responded.

"Thanks."

It wasn't just Tatsuha's paintings that made Ryuichi feel better. As wonderful as the artwork was, there was something very wonderful about Tatsuha himself. Something that went into his paintings... Something that made Ryuichi want to repay him.

"Tatsuha-kun, where are your crayons?" Ryuichi asked, walking over to a desk covered by numerous art supplies. He picked up a tube of paint, unscrewing the cap only to find that it was black. He frowned in disappointment. As he reached for another color, he felt the warmth of Tatsuha's hand suddenly cover his own. The hold was firm, yet ready to tighten.

"This is all paint... I don't use crayons too much, Sakuma-san. I guess you could say I grew out of them," Tatsuha responded, smirking. His black eyes seemed to shimmer, as Ryuichi looked up into them. For a moment, Ryu was completely stunned. He felt heated pink creeping into his face. Tatsuha was way too close. People didn't talk this close normally. The slightest breath stirred the silky strands framing Ryuichi's face, tickling his skin.

"Tatsuha-kun doesn't like crayons?" the soft voice of the singer asked.

Tatsuha's hold on his hand wasn't gentle, nor was it rough. It felt something like a Chinese finger trap, Ryuichi thought, like the kind people won at carnivals. Once the toy fit firmly around a finger, you knew you couldn't escape. The trap would only tighten as you tried to pull away. Only when you pulled away. That was the impression he received.

Maybe his statements weren't so stupid, as they were childish. Tatsuha stared down at Ryuichi, taken aback by a question about crayons. That question... shook every selfish thought from his mind.

So vulnerable. At least that was the way he seemed. The explosion at the last concert left nothing but small sparks of stardust in Ryuichi's eyes. It would have been so easy to take advantage of him. He was looking for comfort in a stranger... in a dream. Paintings were nothing more than illusions. The only aspect of himself any of his paintings ever reflected was his love of the body, selfish love that it was.

Slowly, Tatsuha released Ryuichi's hand, letting all chances of that action die. If not Ryuichi Sakuma, who would he respect? If not his idol...

He stepped away from Ryuichi, casually. "... Everyone who was ever a kid likes crayons," he responded. Let it drop. He opened a drawer in his desk. "Colored pencils...?" He lifted a pack of his pencils to show Ryuichi, as though he were aiming to please a child.

Ryuichi walked over, taking the box to examine the foreign objects. He took out a light blue pencil, and examined it closely, frowning. He scribbled a bit on the wall closest to him. "Not enough color." He looked over Tatsuha's shoulder, watching with childish worry. "Ne, Tatsuha-kun, no one ever gave you crayons? I have bright, pretty colors at home that Kumagoro and I share."

"Really? Maybe you should bring Kumagoro with your crayons sometime." Tatsuha closed the drawer, throwing Ryuichi another cheerful smile.

He had Ryuichi Sakuma all to himself, and this was what came of it... Maybe, just being around him was enough... for now.

The light of day passed to darkness.

Back in front of a blank canvas, it was easy to feel discouraged. Tatsuha closed his eyes, trying to get back to that place, for Sakuma-san. Ryuichi wanted a scene, as reminder of the intensity of a concert Tatsuha could never forget. Sad, beautiful intensity. There was no way to do it right. There was no way to capture it, yet Ryuichi Sakuma personally asked it of him.

Ryuichi's eyes seemed to darken as he asked about Nittle Grasper's fate, if only by a shade. Midnight blue. Tatsuha mixed the color using cobalt and black acrylic. It was strange. Performing truly meant everything to the lead singer.

Glancing over to his side table, littered by various tubes of paint, Tatsuha noticed the picture Ryuichi drew for him. Shiny, colorful, scribbled shit. He smirked, reaching over to pick it up lightly between two fingers. It was a sad day when he started looking for inspiration in rainbow barf. Ryuichi was a talented singer, but he drew like a five year old. He acted like a five year old too, yet there was just enough depth in his dark blue eyes to convince Tatsuha of the singer's true age and intellect.

Tatsuha ran his fingers over the waxy surface, tracing Ryuichi's autograph. He still had no damn clue what the picture above it was. It looked like a multi-colored walrus, wearing a top hat. The important thing about this picture was it was Ryuichi's way of saying it was okay to know him. He never introduced himself.

The room was dark, except for the overhead light shining down on the shadowy colors of a melancholy painting. With each stroke, it grew nearer to completion.