Day 23/30 - [Japan x Reader]

The house is silent for all but the scratch of a pencil every few seconds, a pause, and then the sound continues. The home is dark excluding the sole candle shining in the Shoin.

Kiku drags the pencil lightly over the canvas as he takes a quick glance at the picture frame placed in front of him. He has to get this right, else even the thought of not perfecting it will keep him up until he can no longer breathe without having to think about it.

Days have passed already yet he is still unsatisfied. Canvas after canvas is scrapped, torn, thrown to the side in distaste. None of them are right. He must do this correctly or the entire process would be in vain.

He returns again to the photo and takes a deep breath, concentrating on capturing the life within the frame and transferring it through his pencil onto the expanse of his work area. His breathing is quiet and slowed, as though the slightest breath could force him to taint his sketch.

First, he frames the face. Delicate in his eyes, he is sure to make the lines light and precise. There is no room for mistake. He draws the cheeks carefully, curving down to sculpt the chin. The image is starting to take its shape.

Next he figures the eyes. Ah, the eyes, the part he is most concerned about. His eyes flicker upwards towards his subject, he is able to still see the raw emotion behind the irises despite it having been too many years ago for him to remember when it was taken. He only focuses on the fire that burns, and almost loses himself in them.

Within a second he himself is being seared. The flame captures and entangles him, and is yet alluring with its small wisps and light flickers. His hand flies, and he suddenly feels himself burning. He sees her, the smile that always lights up the world with a single sound, her eyes that bring up the morning even when night seems to hang over his head for an eternity. He's flying, leaping, soaring with her, her laugh twinkling like bells that resound deep within his mind even in the noisiest of places.

And suddenly he is on the ground again. He is cold, and everything is once more dark. He pulls away from the parchment and now realizes he is finished. A gasp escapes those thin lips, and tears threaten to break free from the dark abyss that refuses to show how it feels.

It is her.