Hello everyone! I apologize for the slight lateness of this chapter, but, as you can see, it's really really long. Well, for me at least. It's this story's longest chapter- over 5000 words. I still can't believe I wrote that much. I really love this chapter though, and hopefully you guys will too.

A couple things: Firstly, thank you for all the reviews! Seriously, I love you guys so much. If I could give you all hugs, I would. Secondly, a couple times in this chapter, Kiku mentions the frame of his canvas. This doesn't refer to a picture frame, but instead the wooden frame that the canvas fabric is wrapped around.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or it's characters. All rights go to their respective owners.

Talking on Paper

By IdiotFromOsaka

"In our life there is a single color, as on an artist's palette, which provides the meaning of life and art. It is the color of love." ~Marc Chagall

Kiku gazed out across the horizon, marveling at the sight. The sun had sunk low in the afternoon sky, it's golden fingertips gently touching everything in view. The trees were still mostly green now, but, occasionally, Kiku could spot a warm-colored leaf riddled in the mess. The rest would change color soon, he knew, but there were always a few leading the pack, being themselves and not caring what the other leaves thought.

Kiku sifted a few fingers through his hair, lifting his gaze away from the horizon and to the figure beside him. A certain Herakles Karpusi pulled his backpack a little higher up on his shoulders.

Kiku examined him a little closer; the up and down of his chest as he breathed, the outline of his jaw. Kiku pulled his eyes away, tugging the hood of his jacket closer to his neck. A sad attempt to hide his reddened cheeks.

He held his painted canvas a little tighter. Despite what every calendar said, Kiku still couldn't believe that it was the end of September. Well, more precisely, he didn't want it to be the end of September. Because the end of September meant that, soon, the painting he held firmly in his hand would be given a grade, and it'd be hung on his school's wall for all to see.

It meant the end of these little excursions.

As much as Kiku hated to admit it, he'd come to enjoy Herakles' presence over the course of a month. Filling up that dark green notebook, hands decorated with charcoal and paint, soft smiles and bits of sign language, they were part of his routine now. Kiku liked routine.

He also liked Herakles.

He'd admitted it now. The confession sat in the pit of his stomach, heavy. Kiku didn't like the idea of love (but it wasn't love, he told himself, just a silly little crush). Love was unpredictable, uncontrollable, and unreliable. It wasn't like a video game. It wasn't the same every time you replayed. You couldn't just erase your data, start over. That scared him.

Kiku prayed that these strange little butterflies in his stomach would fade, and soon.

Kiku was now incredibly aware of the the presence beside him, lazy steps walking in time with his own. Kiku's heart sped up, just a little. He'd tried his best to keep his feelings locked in a tight little box, but it took effort.

Herakles was simply too easy to fall for.

Kiku's thoughts were halted as he felt a large hand fall upon his shoulder. He turned his head, eyes falling on Herakles. The boy had backed up a few steps now, eyes focused on the branches above them as he held up a pointer finger in Kiku's direction. Bending his knees slightly, Herakles jumped, one hand outstretched towards the trees. He landed with a satisfied smile,

In his hands he twirled a perfectly yellow leaf. Herakles lifted his head, letting his gaze meet Kiku's, and then extended his hand.

Kiku cocked his head, puzzled by the action. He glanced down at the leaf, then to Herakles, letting their lines of sight meet. The taller boy nodded his head. His hand, still trapping the heart-shaped leaf within his grasp, motioned towards Kiku.

Perhaps, Kiku thought, he was offering it?

He decided to test the hypothesis, bringing an unsure hand to the same height as Herakles'. Carefully, Kiku grasped the tip of the leaf and pulled it towards himself. The corners of Herakles' lips rose, just a little.

Kiku looked up. He stared at Herakles incredulously as he spun the leaf in his hand. The piece of brush left a cool feeling against his skin.

Herakles, using the bit of sign language he had learned so far, brought his hands up and began to sign.

'Gift. For you.'

Kiku tilted his head, sending Herakles a confused sort of smile. But then he laughed, nodding, and grasped the golden leaf a little tighter.

Strange, that's what Herakles was.

Beautifully strange.

oOoOo

So. There they were.

Herakles and Kiku sat silently, bodies embraced by the leather of the Karpusi couch. Even through the fabric of his shirt, Kiku could feel the roughness of the leather. It was old, and decorated with scratches just large enough to belong to a cat.

The nervous tension could barely be cut with a knife.

Kiku stared straight ahead, towards the fireplace. He couldn't look down, not at the painting in his hands. He couldn't look right, not towards the kitchen that held too many memories. And there was absolutely no way he was looking left. Towards an equally nervous Herakles, fiddling with the black paper backing his drawing, which he'd just retrieved from his bedroom.

Absolutely no way.

Kiku could feel his own nervousness deep in his bones, making his arms fidget, his toes tap. But for the life of him, he couldn't figure out where it was stemming from. The most obvious answer, the one an outsider could see, was that he was scared about was Herakles would think of his painting. That was true, yes. But it wasn't all. There had to be more to this.

Kiku began to drum his fingers on the canvas' frame.

Maybe it was because Kiku knew, as did Herakles, that this was the end. After this, there was no excuse to be together every day of the week. Could that be it?

Or perhaps it was the position of their hands. Kiku's and Herakles' hands laid side by side, only centimeters away from each other. There was no reason to have them this close together. So close, so easy to reach over a finger, to touch…

Kiku's heart pumped faster as he suddenly became a bit too aware of the position of his hands. He didn't move them.

Probably, though, it was a mixture of all three.

Kiku had to wonder, did Herakles feel this nervous right now?

Giving into temptation, Kiku pulled his eyes away from the hearth, slowly gathering courage to look at the other boy. Herakles looked down, wriggling his toes and playing with the corner of the paper backing his artwork. A small smile danced on his lips, but his eyes weren't in it. That perfect shade of green seemed a little more blue today.

Kiku let go of his canvas, letting it rest against his knees, and brought the hand that once held it up to his face. 'Herakles,' he signed, hoping that the other boy had caught the movement in his peripheral vision. Herakles blinked once, then twice, before he raised his head, eyes gliding to meet Kiku's. He sent a sort of half-smile to the shorter boy, chapped lips refusing to reveal his teeth.

Herakles zipped open the backpack at his feet, pulling out a notebook, a red one. Not the one that they normally used (Kiku had forgotten that one at home), but a brand new spiral, one that had not yet been nearly torn apart by overuse. With it, he pulled out a pencil.

Flipping to the first page, Herakles began to write.

You ready? The question danced in Herakles' eyes.

Kiku had regained his grip on his painting. Was he ready? Well, probably not. Something churned in his chest, a feeling of unease, that something wan't quite finished, that it wasn't quite good enough. But, said the rational side of Kiku's brain, Herakles would end up seeing it anyway. So he might as well get it over with, right?

Squeezing the frame a little tighter, Kiku nodded. He tried to ignore the fervent beating his chest and pull his lips into a smile.

Okay, I'll count down from 3 and then we'll show each other at the same time, Herakles scribbled. Zeus and Demeter had found their way to their owner, gathering at his ankles and purring. Herakles passed the pencil to Kiku.

That's fine.

Kiku set the notebook and the pencil on the wooden coffee table before him, and then turned to Herakles. He gripped his painting so hard he thought it might break, but it was the only thing keeping his hands from shaking right now.

Herakles brought a hand up to his chest, only his thumb and pinky finger tucked in.

Three.

Two.

One.

Go.

Both boys flipped their artwork, holding it up for the other to see. Kiku almost wanted to close his eyes, so he could hide himself from whatever expression appeared on Herakles' face. But he didn't. And that was likely a good thing.

He was met with two amazing sights.

The first was Herakles' drawing. The portrait was drawn in charcoal, capturing Kiku in the center of the page. Shadows were softly brushed around his countenance, not too dark but not too light either. Small traces of white charcoal decorated the highlights of his face, his hair, his eyes. Only where the white was it's whitest. It was almost like looking into a black-and-white mirror. Herakles had captured his essence nearly perfectly; every thing from shape of his face to the curve of his cheekbones to the small, polite smile drawn on his face. The background wasn't exempt. Etched into the charcoal paper were swirling tendrils, almost resembling waves. They danced around the space, in no particular pattern, framing Kiku's features.

To say Kiku was awestruck would be and understatement.

The second sight was Herakles himself. Herakles stared at Kiku's painting, a beautiful yet odd expression on his face. Beautiful because of the way his eyes were widened, his lips parted, his eyebrows slightly raised. Odd, because Kiku hadn't seen Herakles wear that expression before.

Then, Herakles' eyes met Kiku's, and Herakles smiled a small little smile, lips parting to show his teeth. Kiku smiled back.

Kiku grabbed the notebook and pencil from the coffee table, hurriedly opening to the first, no, the second page. He brought the pencil to paper, dragging the graphite so it formed letters, then words.

He held up the notebook when he finished.

It's beautiful.

Herakles smiled a bit wider as he took the notebook into his own hands.

You think? he wrote, the smile on his lips dancing in his eyes. Any hint of sadness was gone now, or at least diluted to the point where it was unseeable. I like yours better.

Kiku signed back, 'Thank you,' because he knew how Herakles loved any opportunity to practice. He took the notebook back.

I really like yours, though. It looks like me. And the background is beautiful.

Herakles shrugged his shoulders. I remembered what you told be about wanting to see the ocean. And I think that Kiku and the ocean mesh well.

Kiku looked up at the taller boy, taking in his sincere smile, the light blush that covered his cheeks.

I can't believe you remember that.

Well, you kind of remind me of the ocean, I guess. So I think of that conversation when I think of you.

Kiku looked down at the words, then up to Herakles, then back to the words. An utterly teenage-girl-esque thought popped into his head.

He was thinking about him?

Kiku shook the thought out of his head and decided to pose a question that wasn't incredibly awkward and stupid.

Why do I remind you of the ocean?

Well, not quite as incredibly awkward and stupid.

Herakles caressed the loose-leaf paper in his hands, using his thumb to stroke the rough edges. His eyes studied the soft blue lines, and then the words on them. Suddenly, he looked up, and Kiku's gaze met his. Kiku's heart pulsed faster at his small, sheepish smile. Color flooded his face as Herakles scribbled characters onto the paper.

You seem so calm and beautiful from afar, but you're also really full of mysteries… and I don't you're the type of person I'd like to see angry.

Kiku stared at the words in disbelief.

You're not supposed to call boys beautiful, he wrote.

Says who?

The question was so simple, so innocent, so… Herakles, that Kiku could do nothing to keep his lips from pulling into a tiny smile. Kiku was pretty sure that the other boy was aware of that bit of social etiquette, but simply chose to ignore it. Herakles tilted his head, mess of wavy hair falling to the side as he did.

Kiku simply shook his head, a small laugh escaping his lips.

Herakles dismissed the action, instead turning his attention to Kiku's painting. With his less-dominate hand, he reached up and let his fingers trail along the outside of the canvas, admiring the work. He pressed his lips together.

I like how you included Zeus and everyone, he wrote, strokes of graphite light on the page. You even got all of the markings right.

Kiku leaned forward a little to see the painting, even though he knew what it looked like. It was nearly the same photo that he had taken several weeks ago. Herakles' profile was painted delicately onto the right side of the canvas, complete with sleepy green eyes and unkempt hair. Zeus, Demeter, and Artemis had all found a place to rest on their master, brush-stoke fur shining in the painted light. Kiku found the picture perfect- not because he painted it, though. He, like every artist, always thought that it was missing something (but, like every artist, he didn't fix it out of fear of ruining what he already had).

It was perfect because of how…. Herakles it was.

(In the dictionary of Kiku's mind, Herakles was now officially both a noun and an adjective.)

Thank you, Kiku wrote, despite how easily he could've signed it. I thought it suited you.

Herakles cocked his head. In what way? His eyes did not hold confusion, but instead an invitation.

Well, you like cats, and you're also somewhat cat-like. It was only after he'd written them that Kiku realized how much the words mirrored Herakles'.

Herakles read the words, then looked up. He tilted his head to the side, raising his eyebrows as he did, as if asking 'Why's that?'

Because, Kiku answered, you seem to enjoy being by yourself, you sleep a lot, and you're also very smart.

And cute, part of him wanted to add. He resisted the urge.

Cats and the ocean usually don't get along well, Herakles scribbled. By now, Zeus and Demeter had found their way to their owner's shoulders.

I suppose we're an exception.

Their eyes met, and Kiku almost didn't notice how Herakles lifted his hand from it's place beside Kiku's. Not until Herakles' fingers slipped between his own.

And against all logic, against the knowing knowing knowing that it was just a crush and it would pass soon, Kiku didn't pull away.

He adjusted his hand so their fingers intertwined more comfortably, but nothing more.

For the next few hours, they just sat there, completely content in each other's company. They talked about nothing, and they also talked about everything. All the while, Kiku tried to ignore the growing warmth in his chest.

The only reason he decided to leave was a text from his mother, telling him that he needed to come home if he wanted any dinner. Not wanting to disrespect his mother, Kiku complied, and the pair was forced to say their goodbyes.

Slowly, Herakles relinquished Kiku's hand.

Walking home, Kiku admired autumn's perfect temperature, feeling refreshed as the cool breeze played in his hair. The sun began to set, painting gold across the landscape. It felt like the scenery was rejoicing, dancing with light and color. Everything, even the small graveyard he passed, had become beautiful.

Kiku decided he'd like to paint such a scene.

oOoOo

Per usual, Kiku went to school the next day.

Kiku had always liked the fact that he had art class at the end of the day. Especially after long days, filled with far too many projects and pages of homework to do, it was nice that he was given a small slot of time to simply relax. He could do nothing but draw, paint, and talk to Herakles. He didn't have to worry about anything for once.

Well, except for today of course.

Today happened to be the day when Kiku, Herakles, the whole class, had to present their projects to everyone. Kiku was dreading it.

It wasn't that he wasn't proud of his painting- he was. It had turned out well, and Herakles had liked it. That was all that really mattered.

But there was that lingering problem of Kiku's nervousness, the type that only stemmed from talking in front of large groups of people. People… stared. Well, that was probably normal. It was the way that they stared that Kiku didn't like. It was as if they were judging him, trying to put him into a little box that they could wrap their mind around. It'd be even worse when they had a painting to judge as well.

Polite claps didn't make him feel any better.

However, there was a small sort of relief in the fact that everyone else had to present their projects as well, whether they were completely comfortable in front of crowds or hated it with a passion.

Kiku almost felt guilty.

Herakles, through some form of magic, arrived to the classroom before Kiku that afternoon. He was already collapsed on the table when Kiku arrived, head rested peacefully on his arms and breathing lazy breaths. His drawing rested against the legs of his chair.

Kiku couldn't help but smile a little. It was a common sight, to walk in and see a resting Herakles, or for him to walk in and succumb to sleep as soon as his legs hit the chair.

Kiku had to wonder, was Herakles as nervous as he was?

Knowing Herakles, probably not. Or if he was, he wouldn't show it.

Kiku pulled out a chair for himself, setting down his books on the dusty table. The wobbling of the table did nothing to wake Herakles, his eyes still closed. Kiku, although a little unsure about waking the other boy up, reached out a hand and placed it on Herakles' shoulder. Gently, he shook him awake.

Herakles' eyes fluttered open. For a moment, he looked a little dazed, but smiled when he locked gazes with Kiku. He raised a hand.

'Hi,' Herakles signed. 'How are you?'

'Good,' Kiku replied. 'How are you?'

Herakles yawned, bringing a hand up to eye-level. 'Sleepy.' Kiku couldn't help but laugh a little.

'You're always sleepy,' he remarked, a smile playing on his lips. Herakles shrugged. Casually, he leaned under the table and unzipped his backpack, pulling out a slightly damaged red spiral and two pencils. He flipped to the next available page.

So, are you ready? Herakles wrote.

Kiku wasn't, but he didn't plan on telling Herakles this. I suppose.

Herakles smiled softly at him, nodding as he lifted his eyes off the paper. Lazily, he surveyed the room. What do you think everyone else's portraits will look like?

It was a good question, Kiku decided. The assignment was to create a portrait the captured both a person's looks and personality, so the drawings and paintings were destined to hold quite a bit of individual charm. Not only would the papers and canvases be filled with the artist's own style, but the figures captured within them would show who the subjects were- their likes, dislikes, temperaments, eccentricities.

Surely, they would be more interesting than normal portraits.

Cautiously, Kiku stole a glance at the boy to his left; Alfred Jones, a blonde, bespectacled ball of energy whose mouth liked to move at a mile-a-minute pace. Beside him was a certain Arthur Kirkland, a thin blonde boy with harsh green eyes and eyebrows that were a bit too big.

Well, Alfred's style is more modern, Kiku wrote, drawing the observation from the several art classes he'd shared with the boy. He'll probably draw his partner in a cartoonish style.

And Arthur is more classical. It'll be interesting to see how theirs turn out.

Yes, I'm looking forward to it.

Herakles rolled his shoulders backward as he lifted his head. Yao likes water colors, so he'll probably do something with that. Don't know who his partner is though.

Kiku tried to sit a little taller, as to see who was sitting beside Yao. No one, actually. The plastic chair was empty. But it didn't seem as if the bell had rung yet, so whoever it was wasn't late yet.

Students began to settle into their seats as Mrs. Tanner strode to the front of the room.

Well, now they were.

Herakles, seemingly taking notice of class starting, wrote a small, final note on the lined paper.

I guess we'll know soon. And his lips curled into smile so contagious that Kiku couldn't help but mirror it. He nodded a reply and closed the notebook.

When he looked up, it appeared that he'd already missed a bit of class. Mrs. Tanner's jaw moved up and down and up and down as she stood at the front of the classroom, talking as much with her hands as she was with her mouth. She seemed to be a bit more energetic than usual, filled with almost as much enthusiasm as she had on the first day of school.

Kiku looked to Mrs. Lacey a few feet away from her.

'So, I hope everyone is ready to share their projects today!' Half the class deflated in their seats, not unlike popped balloons, while to other half sat a little straighter. Mrs. Tanner flipped a piece of blonde hair behind her shoulder. 'It won't be hard or anything, I promise. You and your partner just need to come up here, show your art, and say a little bit about how your partner's personality is in it. Okay? Nod at me like I just made sense.' The class nodded.

'Okay then!' Mrs. Tanner said, practically skipping up to her desk. She walked around it and climbed into a large swivel chair, clasping her hands as she sat. 'We'll start at the front of the room. Yao?'

And so it began.

The presentations went basically as Kiku and Herakles had predicted; Yao used watercolors to capture his partner, who turned out to be an annoying Asian boy named Yong Soo who once sat by Kiku in math class. He was home sick. Alfred painted, in a rather stylistic manner that didn't really represent his partner. Arthur did a much better job.

With each little detail that Herakles and Kiku had predicted, the pair glanced knowingly at each other, trying to hide their smiles.

Kiku tried to keep his mind distracted, trying not to think of the fact that there were only 3- 2- 1- groups left until his turn, but after the people beside them went there was no more room for denial. Softly, Kiku sighed. It was their turn.

Grudgingly, Kiku reached for his painting on the floor. He thought of what to do- don't ramble, don't your hands shake, don't say anything stupid, don't look the audience in the eyes, think of something the makes you comfortable, think of the painting, think of Herakles.

Herakles always managed to worm himself in there, didn't he?

Kiku and Herakles stood, Kiku shooting the other boy a cautious glance. Herakles didn't seem too nervous, if the somewhat calm expression on his face was anything to go by. Herakles caught his gaze and smiled reassuringly. He was playing with the corner of his drawing again.

They walked, side by side, to the front of the room. Kiku tightly grasped the frame of his painting, fingernails attempting to dig into the pale wood, as if it would in someway calm himself down. He'd get splinters if he kept this up much longer. Almost reaching the board, they stopped.

Out of Kiku's lips spilled a deep sigh, having escaped from the constrains of Kiku's tight ribcage. Now, who would go first? Kiku straightened his shoulders a bit, and prayed that Herakles would take the initiative and speak.

Luckily for Kiku, the perceptive-as-ever Herakles opened his mouth. Something released Kiku's chest, filling him with absolute relief as he turned to Mrs. Lacey. His hands held his painting a little more loosely.

'Well,' the older woman signed, 'the way I included parts of Kiku's personality in this painting is by drawing him with an expression he wears a lot.' He didn't mention the ocean, Kiku noted. He supposed it was their little inside joke now. (They had inside jokes? Had they really known each other that long?)

Mrs. Lacey's hands ceased to move, and Kiku took it that it was his turn to present. He set his painting down at his feet so that it rested on his shins and secretly prayed it wouldn't fall during during his time presenting.

As his hands began to move and his interpreters lips opened, Kiku stole a glance at Herakles.

A knowing nod and a reassuring smile was all he needed.

'I let parts of Herakles' personality show in this painting by painting him with his cats, because they are his favorite animal.' Apprehension having lessened, Kiku's gaze slid over the audience, seeing them but not really looking. 'And I also used cooler colors to show his calm personality.' He didn't mention Herakles' cat-like personality. (An inside joke, right?)

As his hands stopped moving, the students brought their hands together and clapped a few times, out of pure politeness and social etiquette.

Beside him, Herakles' face had pulled into an amused grin. As he reached down to grab his painting, Kiku sent him a questioning look. Had he said something stupid?

Together, they marched back to their seats. Kiku's hands barely held the frame of the canvas, and it loosely swung back and forth as they walked. When they reached their chairs, Herakles quickly reached for the closed spiral that still laid in the center of the table. Skipping to the next blank page as he sat, Herakles scribbled something between the faded blue lines.

I could understand some of what you signed. Suddenly things made a bit more sense. Herakles was practically beaming with pride, his eyes a bit brighter than earlier. Kiku would be lying if he said he wasn't a bit happy as well.

Really? he wrote. Which words?

Herakles bit his lip, and his eyes rolled upward in thought. Then, he brought up a hand to about collarbone level, positioning it so it was straight up and down, the side of his palm facing Kiku. With his other hand, he brushed his fingers back and forth against his palm.

'Painting.'

Kiku nodded, wanting to see more.

Herakles moved one hand up to his nose, his forefinger and thumb forming an open circle while the rest of his fingers stood up. As he reached the side of his nostril, he closed the circle and quickly pulled away, outward.

'Cat.'

Kiku chuckled a little. Of course Herakles knew that.

Herakles' hands moved back down to his chest again, this time with his fingers slightly curled in towards his ribcage and his thumbs sticking out. His hands were positioned on the far edges of opposite sides of his chest. Somewhat slowly, he moved them inward, towards his sternum, then outward again. He repeated the motion once more.

'Animal. And,' he signed, 'color.' Herakles brought a hand up to his chin, fingers outstretched, and fluttered the fingertips.

Kiku smiled in response, his chest flooding with a kind warmth. Herakles was doing so well. 'Very good,' he praised. Herakles' smile widened a little at the motion.

Kiku picked up a pencil from the table before him and pressed it to the notebook. You're getting very good, he wrote. Is your class fun?

Yeah, the teacher is nice and I learn a lot.

Kiku nodded. That's always good. Herakles dipped his head in response. There was a small moment where their hands were still and the paper was empty and Herakles' lips softened into something that wasn't a frown but wasn't quite a smile either. In a sudden spurt of movement, Herakles lifted a hand to his ear.

'Kiku.' Kiku's eyes grew a little wider and his eyebrows raised, as if asking 'Yes?'. Herakles began to scribble on the paper before him. We can still hang out, right? Even though the project's over?

Kiku's heart beat a little faster in his chest, and he felt a bit of blood rush to his cheeks. Was Herakles really worried about such a thing? The answer was obvious, and was written immediately. Of course. We're friends, right? (Friends, he told himself. Friends friends friends.)

The corners of Herakles' mouth pulled upward. Yeah, he scribbled in his large, clumsy handwriting. Do you want to hand out this weekend?

I'm sorry, I have a project to work on this weekend. Herakles' smile faltered. Another time?

Herakles nodded, lips having curled upward again but his eyes still a little dull. Sure, another time.

Kiku's heart hurt, just a little, from seeing that expression. But he shook the feeling away, instead turning his head back to the front of the room. The final partners had begun to walk back to their seats. Had they really been talking that long?

Mrs. Tanner's mouth opened, and his eyes flitted to Mrs. Lacey. 'Okay, great job everyone! Bell's about to ring, so just remember to drop off your art at the front of the room before you leave, okay?' The rest of the class began to pack their bags, beginning to open and close their mouths as they did. Then, everyone started to stand up, flocking towards the door.

Kiku and Herakles followed suit, Herakles taking the notebook and slipping it into his backpack. 'See you later,' he signed, pulling his backpack up onto his shoulders. Kiku waved in response, and Herakles strolled to the front of the room.

Kiku wasn't far behind, stacking his painting on a small cart, right on top of Herakles' drawing. He had started for the doorway when a sheet of paper flew into his vision.

The thin parchment was captured between the fingers of a certain Mrs. Tanner, smiling a sunny smile. The teacher looked up at him from her desk, expectantly. Did she want him to take the paper?

From the way it looked, probably.

Kiku took the paper into his own hands and Mrs. Tanner smiled, turning back to whatever she was working on before.

It appeared to be… a flyer?

At the top of the page, in bold lettering, was the name of some art contest- but what Kiku first noticed was, at the top of the paper, a couple lines of loopy handwriting.

Kiku, it wrote. I learned about this contest a couple weeks back and thought one of my students might be interested. Your painting was really great, so I thought you might want to enter. Just let me know on Monday if you're interested!

Kiku began to take slow steps toward the door, eyes scanning the rest of the page.

It was a painting competition, for high school students in his area. First prize was five hundred dollars, second was two hundred, and third one hundred. It wasn't the money that drew him in, though. First prize got their art displayed at a local museum for a month. That could be a big break for him, for so many people to see his work.

And besides, he hadn't ever entered a contest before.

Kiku stepped into the hallway, folding the flyer in half.

He'd decide later.

Well, there you go! I hope you all enjoyed reading as much as I did writing. I find it kind of weird that in a story that is from the perspective of a deaf person, my main inspiration is music. I feel the need to listen to certain songs when writing certain scenes. For the first half of this chapter, it was Oats We Sow by Gregory and the Hawk, and for the second it was Comes and Goes by Greg Laswell. I suggest looking them up!

Also, it seems as I write more and more, more literary elements like foreshadowing and motif seem to slip their way into my writing. Hmm. Also, it is my head canon that Kiku, deaf or hearing, doesn't really like public speaking all that much. He's a bit shy.

Anyway thank you for reading! Reviews are very much appreciated. I will try to get the next chapter out by mid-March