The first time Seijūrō saw Kōki drawing he was fascinated and moved forwards as if a magnet was attracting him. To begin with, all he saw was the dance of the charcoal across the page; he didn't see until much later the expressions on Kōki's face as if he had found some place in the world where he could settle into the cast of what he wanted to be. Kōki noticed when he was looking over his shoulder and slammed the sketchbook shut, before immediately blanching. "I'm sorry, Akashi-san," he said, though he still pushed the book behind him. "I'm not good enough to show people." He hunched his shoulders.
Seijūrō ignored his words. "You're very talented."
He blushed, but seemed rather pleased.
He had to say, that until he saw Kōki's drawings, he'd never had much of an interest in art. To him, it had seemed like a pointless waste of time—only of interest to those who had not much else to go for them. But after that, he started to see the appeal of creating or recreating worlds. Reinventing worlds. It seemed, in a way, to be a sort of ultimate power, where everything could be dictated by the artist. He mentioned that to Kōki at one point, who looked at him with wide eyes before saying, "It's not as if I have much control of these things. Maybe you would." He shrugged. "But when it comes to me, the drawing is already there. I'm just bringing it to the world."
Seijūrō cushioned his head on his arms and frowned. "You know that doesn't make much sense, right?"
"I know." He had a smile in his voice and when Seijūrō looked at him he passed the sketchbook over. Getting through to him had taken some time, but once he figured out that Seijūrō wasn't, in fact, thetype to stab people on a regular basis he'd become more comfortable.
Seijūrō twisted the sketchbook and almost lost his breath. "Is this really how you see me?" From the drawing, he was remote and inaccessible, but from the darkness on the corners it almost gave the impression that he was gathering light towards himself, and it was concentrated in the Emperor eye. His heart almost sank; if Kōki saw him like that, then he hadn't really gotten through to him.
Kōki was looking down at the ground when Seijūrō managed to look at him. "When you play basketball," he said.
There was maybe a small inkling of hope, then. Kōki looked up when Seijūrō passed the sketchbook back and followed it to press a quick kiss to his lips. Kōki's eyes were wide when he pulled back, but he didn't say anything. He merely turned to a new page and traced a finger over the white of the paper.
Self-appointed (more or less) as Kōki's muse brought events quicker within the relationship. The first date; not what anyone would call normal, but Seijūrō learnt more about what being an artist really entailed to Kōki when after walking and conversing aimlessly but comfortingly for over an hour, he took hold of Seijūrō's hand and dragged him forwards to a lake in the park. "The stars are reflecting off the water," he offered as explanation, which amused Seijūrō more than anything. As Kōki appeared to be memorising a snapshot of the reflections Seijūrō leant against his shoulder. Moving in together came swiftly; Kōki mentioned it in an off-hand manner when they were cooking together, but refused to say another word on the matter, blushing and stammering the entire while, until Seijūrō asked him outright to move in with him. The whispered agreement came several moments later.
And then there was the next stage. Seijūrō was thinking about it as Kōki painted something on his back; something he'd wanted to do for a while now. The coldness of the paint and tickle of the brush sometimes made him squirm and every time Kōki would batter at his head. "Hold still," he would say every time, almost losing patience when Seijūrō turned to glower at him. "I'm almost done, okay?" But Seijūrō was still reluctant to turn away from him what with the expression of utter contentment under the annoyance (the paint in his hair and on his cheek certainly didn't help the case). "Sei…" He twisted the paintbrush in his hand so he was brandishing the handle, and Seijūrō smiled at the pseudo-threat before turning back to the front. "Okay…" he finally said, drifting his fingers lightly down the nape of Seijūrō's neck and stopping between his shoulder blades. Seijūrō shivered and closed his eyes.
"Can I finally see?"
Kōki sighed but kissed his shoulder. "Okay." He took a picture with his phone and handed it to Seijūrō.
An utter reinvention of the night sky with colours that Seijūrō wouldn't have been surprised at learning that Kōki invented them himself. A perfect reflection over the small of his back and the suggestion of two figures. The image he had kept from their first date? Was this what he had really seen? When he looked questioningly at Kōki he seemed to say that it was.
"It's beautiful," he said, taking Kōki's hand and with his finger tracing out the question on his palm. Kōki frowned at his hand, then at Seijūrō.
"Did you just…?" He seemed too nervous to continue.
"Marry me."
He settled on his knees and started gathering the paint. "No."
Seijūrō blinked. "Kōki?"
Kōki shrugged as he got to his feet. "I'm pretty sure people only get married when they have nothing else to say to each other. It gives them something else to talk about."
Such an unromantic view, and so unlike Kōki that Seijūrō sighed. "You don't really believe that."
"No," he admitted with a smile. "But I do believe that nineteen is too young to marry. Stay with me a few more years and see if you want to ask me then."
"You've made up your mind then?"
Kōki looked at him thoughtfully. "If there was no doubt in the matter… some sort of certainty. I might consider getting married younger."
"Some sort of certainty… are you talking about fate?"
"More like reason."
"I'm sure we have reason enough."
"Perhaps. Let's say this." He was still smiling as he cleaned the brushes he had used at the sink. "If you can persuade me enough to ask you to marry me, I'll marry you whenever you want. Otherwise, wait a few years before asking again."
Seijūrō had never run away from a challenge, and more than that, had never lost a challenge. This one, like all the others, he took in his stride, certain that he would achieve what he wanted.