𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐊𝐄𝐘 - 𝐑. 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐀

𝐓𝐖𝐎

TWO
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It was the sixteenth day of September when Zumi sat down on a wooden bench by the Cherry Blossom Tree, with the view of the back of the school's building right in front of her.

Petals of pink gracefully falling down on to her lap as it was plucked off by the wind from the breeze coming from the west side – perhaps it was the god Zephyrus, carrying a message off to her relayed from nature, telling her that she wasn't alone, and that the softness of this flower's petal was a sign that it was alright for her to lean on to someone just like how it leant on her.

Perhaps.

She was sure that she needed someone to lean on, but unfortunately, nobody seemed willing enough to be there for her. So, she dusted the flower petal off of her lap as she continued eating.

Zumi placed lunch box down beside her on top of the bench right after she finished eating then picked up the art book that she usually carried around. Her fingers tracing the outlines and the rough edges of the worn-out cover, eyes blankly staring at the fascinating kind of beauty that these damaged black leathers held.

"Beauty in imperfections" – this was the true meaning of art for her.

Every jagged line that missed the direction that it was supposed to go as her hands commanded the pencil that it held, was beautiful in her eyes. Every single color that unintentionally went past the outline that it was supposed to follow was beautiful.

Everything is beautiful.

Other people might have cringed at this, but the very piece of art that she created, holding it an arm length away from her was what she finally considered to be a masterpiece. After all, it is rare that somebody was going to thoroughly inspect you from each and every angle up-close.

Sometimes, it is better to just keep your distance because your opinion was not needed and it was also not wanted. Though, this was something not everyone understood because of the subconscious voice that spoke in the back of their heads, telling them to walk away. Judging despite knowing that it was wrong.

It's alright. Zumi understands.

It was not their fault for them to see such hideous lines and marks that outlined her body, similar to the masterpieces that she created. It was not their fault to see such reddish lines and scratches overlining the original print that her skin, like other people naturally had. And it was also not their fault to see such splotches of painful-looking wounds, like how her drawings were colored that her papers contained.

But it also wasn't her fault – she didn't mean to do it. She didn't mean to look 'ugly' – pardon, rather 'physically unappealing' like how they thought her drawings were. So, who are they to blame now?

Oh yes, it was easier to blame her – yes, blame it all on the very person who carried this disease, that you just had to witness such a hideous and horrifying-looking person walk across the street. The melodrama that people held was astounding that it was almost quite hilarious.

And it is also such a delight to honestly be able to admit that society is incredibly shit.

Zumi sighed, opening her art book for the umpteenth time for this day but this time she planned to draw, unlike how she just usually examined her drawings. Her hand firmly held the pencil, dragging it carelessly around in different directions to create a drawing of a dead bug that she accidentally stepped on, on her way to the place where she sat as of the moment.

Her foot had accidentally squashed it, making her feel slightly guilty, with it its multiple arms and legs folding at an angle that could instantly tell you that it was definitely painful. Blood was drawn by shading the deformed circle, also emphasizing the reflection of light when the Sun shown against the deceased insect.

Then her eyes twitched. There were slow footsteps, as if that person was unsure if they were really going to approached the likes of her – she was quite intimidating because of the serious face that Zumi usually had, despite also having a baby face.

The description was contradicting, but it was surprisingly true.

Zumi lifted her head, making eye-contact with irises that held a grey color, a mix of yellowish hue can also be seen though she wasn't quite sure. Their eyes looked like they were about to close at any moment which made him look like he wasn't really bothered much about anything.

But upon making eye-contact, this person's eyes widened at getting caught. All he wanted was to sleep at the bench where usually slept like every other lunch period, but was surprised to see another student already occupying the place that he had mentally claimed 'his'.

"Can I help you?" Her voice was soft despite her face looking as if she was angry.

She was often told off by her relatives that she had to ease her expressions so that boys could finally approach her – 'no one would want to marry a woman who didn't act feminine'.

Fuck misogyny.

The tall boy shook his head and yawned before carelessly muttering, "No, I just wanted to sit beside you."

Zumi's eyes widened in surprise, her lips parting.

He looked at her in confusion before he realized how his words sounded then hurriedly added, "Because that bench is where I usually sleep on."

He winced at how weird and slightly rude his words once again sounded then shook his head.

Zumi's face immediately contorted back to a blank expression.

Oh, what was I expecting anyway?

She quickly kept her lunch box and placed it on the ground, allowing the boy to sit beside her. As he sat down, she felt him lean closer towards her to inspect the book that she held, stiffening at the proximity and at how nosy he was being.

"What are you doing?" Zumi blurted out.

The boy lifted his head up to look at her, moving away then answered, "Oh, I was looking at your drawings. They're really nice."

And her heart felt happy for finally hearing someone compliment her art for the first time.

"Thank you."

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a/n:

yes, fuck misogynistic
assholes as well.