Kazuscara Oneshots

Paint and Piano

The sunrays slipped onto the window.

It spilled across the glass pane of the art studio, smudging itself all over his oil paint. The blaring orange light dabbed across the canvas, bringing the portrait to life. It shined into his eyes. He sighed, setting his paintbrush down.

It was a portrait of a boy. Who's the boy, you ask? It's too embarrassing to admit. He's just completing an art assignment assigned by his teacher; completing a portrait of a person of their choice. Scaramouche doesn't know why he chose the picture of that boy in particular, but it just felt right.

It was the student council president in their school. More specifically, his crush.

He was a year younger than Scaramouche, which makes if even harder for him to ever get the chance to talk to him. When he does see him, he's either super invested in a conversation with his friends, or crowded by a bunch of girls. Scaramouche admits, he's the handsome and smart type. Which makes him all the more desirable among schoolgirls.

He remembers vividly that one time they did interact. It was outside of school, in a local convenience store. Late night.

"...Are you from Miyasaki high school?" he would ask after a short small talk between them,

"Yeah," Scaramouche would reply.

He spent the remainder of him night rolling in his bed, his head buzzing from their conversation. He honestly felt like his entire body was going to light up on fire and burn their entire house down.

He added another stroke of white trailing from his hair. His hair was so damn hard to draw. Scaramouche cursed at his hairstyle in his head. Though, he doesn't want him to change his hairstyle, at the same time.

His art teacher was rather the gruesome type, not letting a single detail go the minute he spots a faulty stroke. He guesses that was why he – himself – was trained to be the type to torture himself on little details rather than the big picture.

He backed away from the painting, analyzing the bigger picture. He just spent a good two hours on the same location, picking on every little brushstroke. Fixing the parts he deemed as displeasing.

It looked pretty good. Of course, nothing compared to the artworks his teacher would make. His works were only the tip of the iceberg. The colorings of the rim of the shadow were too dull, her hair strands were still left as a rough sketch, and the positioning of her lips was still too off left. He's definitely going to be enduring another scolding by his teacher tomorrow.

Sighing, he threw his phone and water bottle inside his backpack. Swinging it over his shoulders, he made sure his paintbrushes were well organized. If he didn't store them in the right place, he was sure to be met with dried paintbrushes and an extremely displeased and cranky art teacher. After the incident a year ago, he always made sure to double-check the paintbrushes to see if they were placed in the right area.

He threw one last glance at the painting, and walked off.

Walking along the hallway away from the art studio, he checked his phone for any missed texts or calls. Two missed calls from his sister, but he could care less. His sister usually calls him for dumb shit like "Bring me a Starbucks drink! Remember to tell them to not add sugar! I'm on a diet.". He always ends up going home without a drink, and his sister would curse at him.

He let out a groan. He should go take picture of the sunset, if time allows. The sunset was pretty, today. Awfully pretty. The orange tint of spring marked the end of a terribly cold winter, he was able to wear light and thin clothes again without being scolded by his mother. He smiled innocently at the sunset.