Monday begins with a full moon hangover—despite the fact that it's 10 a.m., and no one drank anything stronger than herbal tea last night. The mood? Weird. The energy? Cosmic. The studio? Slightly sticky, because someone (Yuuto) spilled mango juice on the floor and didn't tell anyone.
Kaito walks in, sees Suzu already meditating naked on a yoga mat that reads "F*CK FABRIC" in sequins, and doesn't even blink.
"You're here early," he says.
"I was born early," she replies, eyes still closed. "Three months premature. I've been inconvenient since day one."
Fair enough.
Today's theme:"Truth through Absence."Suzu's interpretation: stand naked, arms wide, eyes closed, on a pile of blank canvases. Like a minimalist messiah. Or a refrigerator magnet that went to Burning Man.
Yuuto's hand trembles. Again.
"Is it weird I feel like she's both there and not there?"
Kaito nods. "That's the theme. Welcome to advanced-level weird."
Rei arrives late, carrying a flat, covered canvas. She doesn't speak. Doesn't look at anyone. Just sets up and starts sketching Suzu with the intensity of someone drawing a live grenade.
Kaito's too afraid to ask about the mystery canvas. But it glows in the corner. Like guilt. Or radioactive love.
As Suzu shifts into a new pose ("This one's called Exhausted Capitalism Swan"), Yuuto breaks down mid-sketch.
"Negative space!" he cries. "It's eating me alive!"
"Let it!" Suzu shouts. "The void is sexy!"
Rei looks up. "Stop yelling. You're scaring the light."
Kaito pinches the bridge of his nose and deeply regrets all his life decisions except hiring these beautiful maniacs.
Break time.
Suzu wraps herself in a blanket of torn fashion magazines ("Symbolism," she claims) and sits criss-cross applesauce near the incense burner.
Yuuto munches on a rice cracker, still whispering "negative space" like it's a prayer or a threat.
And Rei?
Rei uncovers the painting.
Kaito notices first. It's oil on canvas. Rough. Unfinished. Angry. A figure in crimson. A face half-erased. A storm where the chest should be.
It's not art. It's bleeding.
Yuuto looks over her shoulder and immediately sobs into his rice cracker.
"Is that… is that a self-portrait?"
"No," Rei says flatly.
Then, softer: "It's someone I lost."
Kaito sits beside her on the floor. Doesn't say a word.
The silence is gentle this time. Not awkward. Not heavy. Just real.
Then Suzu, in typical Suzu fashion, chimes in:
"Can I pose holding it? Nude sorrow fusion?"
"Absolutely not," Rei and Kaito say at the same time.
The session resumes.
This time, Rei paints—not sketches. Not outlines. Paints.
Colors. Real ones. Pale gold, ash blue, wounded pink. She dips her brush into pain and pulls out poetry.
Suzu poses like a leaf caught in wind, speaking in riddles no one understands but somehow feels.
Yuuto draws a perfect sketch of her shadow. Just the shadow. Nothing else. It's hauntingly beautiful.
At one point, Kaito wonders: Did I accidentally build a church? Like a weird, sexy, emotional church?
And then he finds a letter taped to the studio door.
To: Kaito FujiwaraFrom: Anonymous
I heard about your school. The one where people undress to heal. I want to be your next model. But there's a rule: I won't speak. I won't pose in light. You may draw me—but never see my face.
If that sounds strange, then I'm in the right place.
— Call me "Nocturne."
Kaito stares at the letter.
Turns it over.
It smells faintly of lilac and cigarette ash.
He looks up at the studio.
Inside, Rei is painting like her life depends on it. Suzu is balancing upside-down on a stack of pillows. Yuuto is hugging his sketchbook like a security blanket.
And somehow, it all makes sense.
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