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The first time he ever saw Yuka, Yatora thought that he’s weird. Who, in their proper mind would crossdress so casually at school, without minding what others thought of them? How could someone express their likes so freely? Going out of the norms, that’s basically asking for trouble.
Yatora was sure that even if someone forced him to do that, he wouldn’t have the courage to.
The first time they had a conversation, a polite greeting between classmates that aren’t meant to be friends, Yatora wondered how much can he dislike a person ever so instantly. It was the root of the mental list that he made that he continuously adds whenever an unpleasant situation occurs between them.
He thinks that they’re too different to get along.
Yuka, for once is blunt and confident. From an outsider’s perspective, such as Yatora’s, he seemed to like doing things away from the societal norms. He wants things to conform his own way. With the way he dressed, the way he talked, it’s as if he’s always different from the rest.
Some aren’t exactly amused with his personality, rumors went on his back in their first year such as homophobic comments that Yatora couldn’t keep but hear. It’s some people saying that what Yuka’s doing was wrong, immoral, and no one would respect him if he dresses up like that. It’s weird, they said, the bad type of weird.
Some, he could say, admired him. One time Yatora heard girls murmuring to themselves about how they loved how Yuka did what he wanted despite everything, about despite his gender, he looked too cute that they don’t mind it at all. There were guys, who liked how he’s pretty that they wouldn’t really care if he’s a boy or not.
And some, like Yatora is just another stranger in the same room who doesn’t really care. He’s pretty, sure. He’s weird, sure. But everyone has their own characteristics and wants, and people should just mind their own business as long as no one’s being hurt.
In their second year of high school, as their lives paced near to their college, their worlds crashed against each other. There were uncertainties because of the gradual changes in their lives. Still, Yatora could clearly remember the day the small argument happened, caused by curiosity and unborn passion. He could distinctly recognize the disdain on Yuka’s face as he talked, looked him down, telling him how he should properly use his pretty face instead of wasting his time.
It was harsh. Whenever he looks back at it, he couldn’t help but feel guilty, especially if aside from Mori san, Yuka was one of the reasons why he’d developed a passion for arts. Still, even with his confidence in his social skills, he didn’t know how to apologize to someone like Ayukawa.
Since he joined the art club, they both had to get along. It was easy, per se. Yuka was sociable, it was so easy to like them as a person and as a friend. The hard part was to actually discern what he was thinking.
“You’re really greedy, you know that?” Yuka told him once, “I like that part about you though.”
Yuka was weird. It was one of the facts that Yatora had always known from the start.
Getting to know him was a process that didn’t happen overnight. It consisted of metaphors including drowning, struggling to reach ashore to be alive, to be the person that people expected him to be. Yatora didn’t want to jump on the water, instead, he offered his hand so willingly, and it was up to Yuka if he’d reach out to be saved or not.
He’s not going to drown. They won’t drown.
Yatora thinks that sometimes, the nakedness that they shared along the sea was far too personal for friends. But considering the exhaustion that was visible in Yuka’s voice, the bags underneath her eyes weren’t a good look. He didn’t want to see him so tired, too deep inside his own world, but Yatora was just another stranger. It's not like he could do anything nor have the right to do something at all.
There was a thin wall between them when they decided to draw their own naked bodies. It was one of the rare times that they were ever seen as they are.
Yuka was weird. He was far too different from the person that Yatora conjured inside his mind. He wasn’t as confident, or as carefree, or as sure and it gave him a sense of familiarity, of not being able to know what he truly liked.
When the realization came upon him, Yatora chose to delay his thoughts, to dispel the difference with the way he looked at Yuka. He yearns to learn more, to listen more, to see what’s inside him, to touch him and tell him that he fully understands. It was little effort from ideas of what he could do, but he longed. It was a feeling he isn’t sure because of his lack of experience but called it 'love' anyways.
After the Gedai exams, they weren’t able to see each other for several months, until Yuka showed up at his front door, looking as if he had matured in such a short time.
“Draw me,” she said and Yatora simply obeyed his wishes, considering he’d been crashing pathetically, unable to enjoy painting as much as he did before college.
Now, staring at Yuka’s nude body resting on a solemn pose inside on his bed, it was too late for both of them to file their regrets because they’d already started.
Yuka is ethereal.
Even that word isn’t enough to describe how beautiful he is. If Yatora was in his right mind, like the one who’s smart enough to articulate his messy thoughts into actual coherent words, he could make several poems just to admire how Yuka’s hair rested oh so artistically at the bed or how his lashes curved perfectly on his eyelids.
He started sketching his figure, a pose that Yuka himself, chose. A line of action, then guidelines to map out his lean body and the place of his bones, and where his joint meets.
Once he figured out the composition, he took a long gaze at the expense of his face, his violet eyes clashing with his sight. There was an understandable silence between them, perhaps a tension that he could easily recognize. If only Yatora's mind wasn’t so quiet. If only his brain actually worked instead of letting his heart beat rise, and his muscles do all the work.
The details slowly came to be, his hand thoughtlessly working on a sketch to capture Yuka’s heavenly figure. Yatora wanted to save how several strands of his hair laid on his accentuated shoulder, or his collarbones dipped when his arm flexed with his own weight. He wanted to catch his lips, plump and pink, too immaculate to not dream upon. He tried to draw the expanse of his torso, slightly arched to project a portrayal of desire.
Yatora wanted. And only wanted, because he couldn’t do anything other than to want him. The other choices, if they existed, were forbidden enough to not even try.
He is not sure if he wanted to risk everything they had for such thoughts.
The time stretched for almost a few hours. They took short breaks in between, afraid to disturb the solitude of that given moment. When Yatora announced that he was done, Yuka heaved a breathe as he went off the bed.
Yuka stood and went his way where Yatora sat with his sketchbook in his hand. He leaned near him and observed the result with meticulous eyes while still void of his own clothes.
“You’re even better from the last time I saw you draw,” Yuka said, giving him a satisfied hum.
He averted his gaze, swallowing the lump on his throat. “Well,” he scratched his nape, an attempt to wash away the sudden stuffiness, “I’m glad.”
Yuka gave him nothing more than a glance when he dressed up, covering the bareness of his skin that for once, Yatora once laid a sight. He sat at the edge of the bed, reaching for the brush inside the bed that he brought, and combed away from the tangles on his locks.
Yatora placed his sketchbook on his table then settled comfortably on his chair, facing Yuka at the process. He busied himself staring, idly watching the repetitive moves that Yuka made.
He was like the ocean, Yatora thought. Fluid and restless, maintaining a calm exterior yet its atmosphere could lead it to destruction. He was like the ocean, blue and confident, something that should never be restricted. And Yatora was just another bird, wings freely soaring in the sky just like hundreds of his likes, but he’s the only one who dreamed to reach the depth of the ocean where most treasures are hidden from a naked eye.
“Next time,” Yatora says, shattering the deafening stillness between them, “I wanna paint you.”
Yuka replied quickly, certain and unwavering. "Sure," he told him.
With those words, his whole world turned blue, a claimed serenity especially when he saw the first genuine smile on Yuka's lips. Yatora understood simply that the ocean seemed to want him too. But this time, they’re willing to drown together.
Maybe he's just as weird as him, after all.