Alla Prima || Haruka Hashida X OC

Entry 2 : Decoupage

It wasn't until after meeting him that Mai Yuuto realized how much they disliked the title of a child prodigy.

The glitter that stuck to them felt like a skinsuit. Fitting? Yes — but so uncomfortable. The desire to break free constantly expanded in their chest, but where to? Nakedness was an even more uncomfortable idea for them, for the world to look at (they were still so young! nudity was such a mature, adult thing). And so they could only don their skinsuit, which consumed and stick to their flesh until it morphed into their skin.

They realized they were now a performance, performing a caricature of a person wearing the facade that would otherwise be too painful to take off of — a child prodigy. It was so young for them to know this, to know they were no different than a canvas in an exhibition.

But with him, they didn't need to pretend (whatever that meant. was there someone else underneath this skinsuit, in the first place?). They called themselves childhood friends, even though he liked looking at their art just like other people, but the fact that they grew up together made him different.

When the world was tearing at its seams, amidst the disorder they felt along with fear — since when did they fear to continue being a child prodigy? since when did they fear it was all they will be? — he was their anchor.

And this all started when he invited himself to sit beside them.

They remembered. They were 8, completing their task of the day, which was something allotted to them after their endless pestering to "be better". This included 6 hours for basics, another 6 for dessin and oil painting, followed by 3 hours of studies. 15 hours of a hellish regime, every day.

It was painful, but it was undeniably... fun, to them. It was almost lovely to how much they had spent their time with art. For they chose art, and art chose them, fate was simple as that. Because of such, they had no choice but to love art.

Love, love, even if it was one-sided, it was still love... For Mai Yuuto was blessed to be born from the Sango couples, in the hands of the highly skilled and experienced as they continuously pursue the approvals from the professionals, to achieve the standards set by them.

To chase a higher form of love, of beauty.

But — yes, before that.

They remembered. It was evening, the sky was dyed pink. There was the scent of summer, the voices of children, the harmony weaved by trees rustling and the cicadas' choir. There was them — resting beneath the shadow of leaves. Their eyes were set on people — people who minded their own business, people avoiding their eyes, people whispering into other people's ears — their hands capturing their form onto simple strokes and shapes.

'The task of the day is life studies,' a bold line crossed the blank paper while they immersed themselves in their thoughts. '15 sketches should be done by the end of today.'

There was also him — creeping up to them silently, eyes fixed on their hands. He kept his footsteps silent, and his presence under the wraps, in fear that he would startle the artist who appeared so fawn-like and cause them to flee.

They had round grey eyes which resembled a doe's (but what reflected in them was anything but innocent, it almost felt too adult with how they stared, as if they had gone through something he couldn't quite understand as a young boy) and a tiny figure that looked so fragile like it would break if there was more pressure applied to it.

And he wouldn't like them to break. He'd only wanted to watch them draw.

To him, it was as if magic was performed directly in front of them, it marvelled him.

And perhaps he marvelled a little too much, because the artist noticed him. His tall, intimidating build.

Mai sprung themselves away at the sight of their reflection in his ink-black eyes, which stared at their reaction in bewilderment. A smile danced on his lips as the tip of their ears flared — the young child admitted they didn't know what to do in this situation. It wasn't anything like they encountered in art galleries, where they only needed to nod and put on a smile until it exhausted their cheek muscles. To face someone close to their age (not an adult, finally!), arguably a charming one, they were at a loss with words and actions.

"It's pretty," Before they could come up with something (which they couldn't), he glanced to the pages of their notebook and gave praise.

"Can I keep watching you?" He leaned forward slightly, pupils dilated and twinkling in curiosity, childlike joy. Like they were the first artist he had ever seen, Mai was taken aback by the straightforward awe in his gaze. Unlike the stares other adults gave them, which was the kind they throw at circuses or performances — amusement, they learned.

They liked how he looked at them, it was different, but they liked it.

"...Okay."

It was the first time they felt something existing beneath the skinsuit.

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Before both of them could notice, the sky was doused in navy tint. The moonlight showered them in a gentle glow after the black-haired boy repeatedly offering to walk them home. Mai had no choice but to accept it, gulping down the advice that their parents gave — don't walk with strangers. But they had spent a few hours together (albeit in silence), so he wouldn't count as one, right...?

"Um..."

He paused his footsteps and turned to them, their cheeks flushed in shame.

"I still don't know your name..."

A soft chuckle spilt from their lips. It sounded like bells — jingle bells that hung around the street during Christmas, ones that threw their heartbeat in disarray along with it when they chimed.

"My name is Haruka Hashida," He tilted his head slightly. "What's yours?"

"Mai Yuuto..."

A flash of recognition glimmered in his eyes.

Ah.

They never thought it was this scary for someone to know who they were. A stab of guilt speared in their chest. They felt like a clown who wasn't smiling despite being in their costume — a failure of performance. Their name felt like a lie. Tears were welling up unknowingly.

"Can I call you Mai-chan?"

This time, there were tears for other reasons.

Hashida knew who they were, yet grant them the freedom to be who they... were? It was different, different from adults who were only interested in seeing them paint in a certain style. He looked at them differently, treated them differently, even if he knew who they were.

In his eyes, were they perhaps not a 'child prodigy'?

The skinsuit they desperately sought solace and their sense of self in started to peel off, layer by layer.

"Mai-chan, don't cry. I'll see you again."

His attempt at reassurance was clumsy. He dabbed their tears with a tissue, mistaking it to be tears caused by his departure (he wasn't that far off though). However clumsy it was, it was warm. He was warm.

They nodded, tears still spilling uncontrollably.

Under the growing cold air, they were, for the first time, surrounded by warmth.

At that moment, this was enough for 7-year-old Mai Yuuto.

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