the relation of art and pain | jotakak

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Kakyoin has never been good at drawing from memory. People's faces blur together, making it difficult to recall distinct features. Generic names sometimes join the confused cluster, too. He does his best, though, to rough out the proportions of Jotaro's face as he waits in the cafe. His coffee has grown cold and eraser crumbs litter the table, but he finally has a base he thinks is decent enough.

His thoughts wander as muscle memory kicks in and Jotaro's features start to flow onto the paper. He makes an effort to draw someone else once in a while, but Kakyoin has to admit that Jotaro is simply the perfect muse. A more mainstream type of attractive, his face is symmetrical and well-defined, and his short wavy hair is easy to draw.

Symmetry.

Art.

Kakyoin bites the inside of his cheek, remembering that today he has to spend an hour with Kishibe again.

He has been doing well enough at holding himself together, but today has been off since the beginning. Once Jean had left, he had tossed his pills down the sink. He knew he shouldn't have, and the guilt has not quite faded away. He is not sure why he did it, only that he felt better afterwards. That has worn off. Instead, he now feels the effects of his split second decision. The bustling cafe is becoming overwhelming. He feels watched. He turns another page in his sketchbook once he grows frustrated with his shitty drawing, considering turning up to class early today.

Jotaro breaks him out of his trance when he slips into the booth across from him. "Mornin'," he says. His voice is different, groggy but not quite.

"Morning. Are you feeling alright?" Kakyoin asks. It feels ironic to be the one saying that now.

"Yeah. Why?"

"Your voice sounds... rough."

For a second, Jotaro looks as if he has been caught red-handed. It does nothing to ease Kakyoin's growing jitters. Ideas of what exactly he has done blossom in his mind, but Kakyoin does his best to shove them away. He has no reason to be suspicious of Jotaro; what does he even have to be suspicious about? Maybe he has a head cold. Maybe—

"Just stayed up too late, I guess," Jotaro says.

"Couldn't handle our night on the town?" Kakyoin jokes, despite himself.

Jotaro smiles a little. "I may have neglected to mention a paper or two before we hit the movies."

Kakyoin tuts. "Irresponsible."

"You're a bad influence," Jotaro jokingly accuses, nudging Kakyoin's foot under the table. "You're tappin' your pencil."

He hadn't even noticed he had started doing it, but Jotaro was right. He mumbles an apology and sits it down, resting his chin on his folded hands.

"I wanted to ask you somethin' about tonight," Jotaro says.

"Yes?"

"Holly's having a... party or somethin'. Can I hang out with you instead?"

"You're telling me you don't want to entertain a bunch of soccer moms during their book club?" Kakyoin asks.

"Absolutely not."

"They'd like you. You're young and handsome."

"God, please don't say that," Jotaro begs. Kakyoin fails at stifling a laugh.

-

Having Jotaro with him was a temporary relief. The rest of the day dragged on at a snail's pace, to the point where he watched the clock with desperation during his finance lecture. It is his favorite class, and he feels disappointed that he could not engross himself as he usually did. Exhaustion has set in by the time he trudges back to his dorm. His bag misses the dining chair he usually hangs it on and hits the ground at the same time he hits his bed.