We Were Born Under Burnt Skies (Yakulev)

Chapter 4

Agonizing anxiety ate away at Mori. However, he is now facing a new problem; like he didn't have enough of those already. How to confront Lev. He hasn't seen the kid for a handful of days. Anytime Lev asks if he's busy, wants to get lunch, if he was still up at odd hours Mori ignored him. He was embarrassed that he'd cried over such a small thing, his pride simply wouldn't let go. Even then, he didn't have the extra time or luxury to be worried about it. He had to create at least one thing; to try and force himself from his art blocked stupor. So he did the only thing he really knew how to do anymore, worked.

~~*~~

While he sat sketching at his desk, knocking rang through the studio. No one ever visits so he thought they had the wrong place. Then it happened again, much louder this time. When he slunk up to the balls of his feet, peering through the tiny peep-hole, a familiar face stood just on the other side.

"I've checked everywhere else I could think of you being, I know you're here so..." the tone was so bleak its darkness seeped through the seams of the door.

He sighed and timorously opened the door. An intense gaze bored holes into him. The betrayal was evident in Lev's features.

"I brought food."

The door opened a bit wider and he walked in, faltering a bit at the unusual mess he was met with.

"The last two times I've been here it's been spotless. You get an idea?"

Mori shook his head and twisted his fingers, "I've just always cleaned before you've shown up."

"Oh... anyways. I thought of something." He started taking the food from the bags. Take out containers, warm bread, macarons. Mori stayed silent but hovered around him. He was hesitant to answer. He cried, he ignored him, how could he openly accept food and help? It would be horrendously selfish. He bit anyway.

"Hm, what's that?"

"You said you didn't have a muse."

"Right."

"You also said I'd make a good art subject." He placed one of the scorching containers in front of Mori with a set of plastic silverware.

"You'd... let me do that?" He looked up, wavering and unsure.

"Yeah! If you'll have me," he smiled, "I won't be offended if you don't like me and don't want to create things based on me anymore. But feel free to use me, Yaku."

"I would never use you, Lev. But thank you. And also I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it, I'm stubborn. Now eat." Lev took up his own meal.

"Can I start right now?" Mori breathed. Lev nodded in response. He got up excitedly and grabbed the sketchbook he'd abandoned. He drew the proportions of Lev's face and body as many times as it took for his hand to simply remember the shape. He orbited Lev a little more directly than he had the confidence to before this.

Pages seemingly filled themselves as the hours passed like mere seconds. Every detail of Lev's being was depicted with careful attention to detail. They spoke while Mori drew. Simple things, passing things that didn't feel all too important. Birthdays, favorite colors, childhood memories and past versions of themselves that had otherwise been lost to history.

For the first time in what felt like eternity, the way he perceived the friction of pencil on paper wasn't like a slow drowning. It was absolutely liberating. He'd experienced and incredibly viscous obstruction that had a rather elementary resolution. He greedily wanted to draw something that was presented to him but wasn't given the approval to do so.

The sun was setting by the time Mori felt like it would be alright to take a break. Lev wasn't necessarily going anywhere or disappearing but school starts again soon and Mori had a sneaking suspicion they were both going to be incredibly busy.

Lev glanced through all of the sketches. A grin grew larger on his face with every page he scanned. Mori had a way of admiring things and capturing how he sees them on paper, canvas, in stone, wherever necessary. Mori watched his face for a while before standing to open the balcony. The room had been filled with too much. Words and emotions were overflowing.

The dam that divided them had burst; waters were rough and unforgiving. When they settled a mere seedling was brave enough to cross the depths. It was afraid and yet embraced in full by rays of sunlight and delicate arms at the end of its journey.

Violent pinks and blinding orange painted the clouds and tainted the hues of the sky. The fleeting daylight brushed its fingers against even the farthest shadows and the world started to glow.

This was their true starting line.