MikaYuu One-Shot Collection

The Artist's Dream

A/N: Another drabble for Mika Week 2016! Day 5 - Sapphire/Ruby. Enjoy!

Once, there was an artist. One night, he had a dream, a dream of death and blood and misery and loneliness. The artist's dream was also filled with warmth, and brightness, and he never knew why he was having these dreams. Something always haunted him in those dreams. A flash of blonde and blue here, a flash of the same blonde and red there. The artist was determined to find the exact shade of red, and the exact shade of blue, and paint something that did this person justice.

The artist didn't know what compelled him to work so hard, but he did. He worked for whole days and sometimes into the night when he couldn't sleep or woke from a nightmare. Painting and repainting and re-touching helped clam him down and comforted him when there was no one.

Finally, he decided the painting was complete, and the blue of the left eye was a bit lighter than his, but the artist was okay with this. Nothing would be precise, and the red was a slight shade darker, but that couldn't be helped. He called his friends, the baker, the florist, the librarian, and the nurse, and they all helped the artist to move his painting. After all, it was the single most important painting to him. And it was larger than most of his other paintings, but none of them minded.

That night, at the art show, dozens gathered around the painting, cooing and offering praise to the young artist, and while he appreciated it, he did not care much for compliments from them. He was waiting for someone, but he did not know who. All he knew was that he had to stay there, near his painting.

Later, as the guests thinned out, the artist spotted a man he knew had been staring at his painting for a while now. As the man got closer, closer, and closer still, his features became more prominent. White golden hair, and the bluest eyes he'd ever seen in real life. He'd seen those eyes before. And they were up on that painting for everyone and no one to see. But he noticed, and he knew.

"Yuu-chan?" The man whispered, smiling cautiously.

"Mika?" The artist whispered back, coming closer and closer until they were separated by mere inches. At last, neither could stand it any longer, and they leaned into one another. The artist had never felt more at home than in Mika's arms.