Summary: Takemoto knows he's just another piece of furniture to her.
Timeline: Chapter 15 of the manga. (Volume 2.)
Closet I
Hagu was asleep in the corner, as if all the art in the world had exhausted her soul. She lay there limply, with that menacing poodle snoring beside her.
Takemoto wasn't jealous of the dog at all. In fact, he got so absorbed into the Herculean task of making this Versailles suite, he almost forgot about Hagu's presence in the room.
That's about it. Any more wood shaven off, and these delicate inverse C-scrolls will break off. Just a little bit of sanding on top… there. Where's that new special varnish?
It was only slightly larger than the palm of his hand, but in his eyes it was a perfect copy of Madame du Barry's mahogany armoire that once occupied a place in the Petit Trianon.
That's the problem with me, isn't it? Takemoto sighed. I'm good at copying things down to the last curl. Give me a ton of references and I will reverse-engineer any structure. But when it comes to making something new out of nothing… I simply fall apart.
His eyes drifted over to the girl, whose eyes took in everything, whose hands performed amazing feats of creation.
The girl. He wished he didn't feel so much for her that it left his chest feeling hollow inside.
If Takemoto could build himself a new heart out of hardwood and metal, one that didn't ache with longing and low self-esteem, would he still be the same man?
He didn't know the answer to that question. He didn't know he was even subconsciously asking himself such things. Skimming on the surface of his own thoughts, ignoring the obvious, he did the only thing he knew how to do automatically: Takemoto continued working.
He tightened the tiny screws, then gently oiled the hinges of the new armoire, wiping off the excess oil with care.
Takemoto studied his work with satisfaction. There. Now it was perfect.
The tiny doors opened up to reveal a fine empty space. Hagu will fill this with doll clothes soon, he thought. Perhaps without a second thought to the long hours that have gone into it.
I am like a good piece of furniture. Comfortable. Functional. Attention is only drawn to me when I cease to work properly.
Takemoto's maudlin thoughts ceased only when exhaustion overcame him. He fell into a deep sleep, his hand curled around his tiny creation.
