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On a good day, on his best days, Yusuke can be a tad ridiculous: just in general. But when he’s in art block mode, it supersedes anything else. Futaba might be wary that he’s going to try and drown himself if it weren’t for the fact that he often just lays face-down on the floor for hours at a time and mopes to cope with it.
“Without art…without creating something…what am I? What is my purpose? How can I go on?”
“Maybe your purpose could be coming with me to the movies tomorrow. And hey, it could be that seeing a film totally jogs your artistic inspiration. Or something like that.” If there’s one that Futaba has learned through months of dating him, and even before this over years of friendship, it’s that Yusuke can find motivation in even the most mundane or unlikely places. It’s one of the things she adores most about him, actually.
It’s been a long time since she never saw anything but the four walls of her bedroom, but it still feels like she’s discovering new things about the world day by day—and Yusuke is very, very good at pointing them out.
“How marvelous! You’re right, it’s usually fruitful to take in some other kind of creative medium when in a slump. The movies are perfect. What did you want to see again?”
“Oh, it’s about aliens. They attack the planet and turn everyone into mind-controlled zombies.”
“Hm, intriguing. I can pay for the tickets this time—are you going to smuggle the snacks in?”
“Hehehe. I always do!” Futaba hasn’t paid for snacks at the movie theater in years, and lately, it’s just because she doesn’t want Inari getting any ideas and trying to spend all his money on every little thing for her—once, he’d blown his weekly transportation budget in order to buy her a limited-edition Featherman collectible lunchbox he’d seen at a shop, and she’d cried so hard while trying to scold him through her tears that it sort of freaked them both out.
Anyway, it hadn’t worked, and he remained as lackadaisical with his money as always…only now he wasn’t just looking for things that caught his own eye, but things that Futaba might like as well. He is so dumb, and it makes her heart ache a little. God, she likes him too much.
As Ryuji, a master wordsmith, had so eloquently put it back when their relationship was still a new thing to all their friends: “It works ‘cause like, you’re weird and loud about it, but Yusuke is weird on the inside. He’s quiet. You’re two halves of a whole weirdo. You know?”
“That was…masterfully put,” Yusuke had said drily, and Ryuji, missing the sarcasm, nodded deeply in agreement.
“I thought so. Pretty profound, right?”
Their reactions to it had made Futaba stuff her knuckles in her mouth to stifle a snicker. Really, could she be mad at Ryuji when he wasn’t exactly wrong? Yusuke was her opposite in a great deal of ways, but so much alike her where it really mattered.
One thing they have both agreed on for some time now: movie dates are the best kind. Going to the theater is fun, but Futaba is partial to cooking up some instant noodles, making a blanket fort, and getting her cuddle on in front of the TV at home—after they’ve argued back and forth for a while about what, precisely, to watch. Of course.
She tries that tactic now too, after watching aliens attacking planet earth on the big screen doesn’t do much to rile Yusuke’s mind. Futaba graciously even allows him to choose the home movie selection, some black and white film entirely in Italian, but it doesn’t seem to do any good. He doesn’t look towards his sketchbook even once the whole time, which isn’t a great sign.
“I’m afraid it’s no use,” Yusuke sighs, a sound so heavy that Futaba, leaning against his chest, can hear it thrum against her head. “Well…it does happen to even the best of us, I suppose. I can never seem to remember that lesson, however long ago I learned it.”
She knows full well that after some time, maybe a week or two, maybe a couple days, the dry spell will pass and something will catch Yusuke’s eye—a stray cat sitting outside on the windowsill, a gleam of rainbow oil stain on the pavement, a basket full of colorful flowers—and he’ll be off like a shot again. It always happens that way. But what kind of girlfriend would she be if she didn’t try to help him out a bit, in whatever way she can?
And right now, sitting in his lap with her back to his chest and his arms wrapped around, legs tangled together…it’s difficult not to think of a certain topic in particular. Futaba twists around so she’s facing him instead, trying to sound bolder than the sudden butterflies in her stomach would agree with.
“I think maybe you’re looking for inspiration in the wrong places. Maybe it’s a teeny bit closer than you think it is.”
His thin eyebrows furrow together at that. “You mean…somewhere in this room?”
“Come on, Inari, maybe right here in your lap!” Futaba insists, and waves her hands a little to gesture at herself. “I mean… ‘cause I know you’ve asked before…” He has, but something about sitting for a real portrait—or maybe just staying still for that long—has never really appealed to her, and he’s always deferred to her wishes without a problem. Oh, she knows that he’ll absentmindedly sketch her in the margins of his papers, like he can’t help himself…which she doesn’t exactly mind. Far from it. But it’s never been, like, a formal thing.
Sure enough, his whole resignedly crumpled face lights up a little more at the suggestion. “Yes, I have—but I certainly wouldn’t want to impose, or for you to feel like you have to.”
Well, hasn’t someone come a long way from blackmailing people into modeling for him—Futaba almost lets the snide remark slip, but catches it in time. He has truly come a great way, though it’s strange to think she hadn’t even known him or the others at the time, that she wasn’t there to deal with Madarame. Honestly, it’s just as well for the old geezer, because she would have curb-stomped him herself for all that he did.
“It’s not imposing,” She insists now, fiddling with the one sleeve of her hoodie and tugging it down slightly over her hand. “And I want to do it. But…with one condition.”
He tilts his head a bit to the side. “Oh? What’s that?”
“Don’t worry, it’s definitely one you’ll be OK with.” And Futaba has given it a bit of thought (without overthinking it, honestly, Yusuke isn’t the only one who’s made good progress in recent years), and has decided that she wants it to happen. It’s hard to articulate why, but she really, truly does.
“I’m not gonna be wearing anything for it.”
He makes a small sound at that and she feels his whole body jolt—she has to bite back a bit of a triumphant grin. Only because Yusuke, of all people, doesn’t treat nudity as a big deal. This shouldn’t faze him at all, unless…he’s thought about seeing her with her clothes off for purely non-artistic reasons.
All right, perhaps her reasons for this undertaking aren’t completely selfless, but…she has little idea about how to initiate what she’s been wanting with him, she’s definitely not at a high enough level for that. So maybe she can nudge him into taking the first move by making one thing quite clear: yep, I’m good with you seeing me naked. Got any other ideas while we’re out here?
Yusuke lightly rests a hand on her cheek. “Are you…sure? At the very least…it does require lying still for a couple hours. And you have to remain in place.”
“I’m totally good at remaining in one place for hours at a time,” Futaba reminds him.
“True, but you can’t be gaming or…doing much of anything else, really.”
“Sure, but we could like—put on a podcast or something, right? Oh no, wait, you don’t really like that—” Besides occasional, all-instrumental background music, when Yusuke is really in the painting mode, he doesn’t care for a lot of outside noise.
“Futaba. It would be a privilege. I mean that.” And Yusuke’s voice is teetering so much on hopeful and excited that it makes her pulse quicken a little. He wants this; she wants this. If the worst thing she can be is sort of bored for a short while, it’ll be worth it.
So she leans forward to give him a peck on the lips. “Well, then…what are we waiting for?”
***
A few days of mental preparation is all Futaba really needs—like psyching one’s self up before a big exam or something. Only…thinking of it like an exam isn’t really accurate. It’s not a test to pass or a level to clear, she reminds herself, it’s just…allowing herself to be almost frighteningly intimate with someone else.
Part of the allowance is relinquishing control, that’s how it has to be. Maybe it’s no big deal for people who do this kind of thing all the time (other artists, in short) but it feels that way to her…but she knows that Yusuke will respect that.
So she reminds herself of that as she sheds all her clothes in her bedroom and then slides her light blue robe on, pulling the long orange hair loose from the back of it like always. Yusuke is out in her apartment’s living room with a large sketchpad and charcoal pencils at the ready, and there was a distinct note of extra enthusiasm in the welcoming kiss that he gave her.
To know that he’s anticipating her is both thrilling beyond imagination but also nerve-wracking, as a childish, insecure part of her deep down whines: What if he doesn’t like me?
It’s stupid. He does like her, and there’s nothing wrong with her naked body, for god’s sake, and—
Well, she can’t keep puttering around her room and working herself up into anxious knots. It’s just Inari, and before they were anything else, they were friends, and they know each other.
Futaba sidles out into the living room and Yusuke looks up from where he’s sharpening the one pencil, a smile instantly lighting his face up. He dragged her couch out into a more convenient position, his own armchair a few paces away from it. He extends a hand out in her direction.
“Come here for a moment.”
When she does, he takes her hand in his and gives it a light squeeze. It’s a small, reassuring gesture, and now she grins as a movie quote pops into her mind—honestly, how is she supposed to pass this chance up? She might never get it again, and it’ll help settle her too.
“All right, Jack…now I want you to draw me like one of your French girls.”
Yusuke’s smile fades, he looks so completely bewildered she almost snickers. “I…what? What French girls are you talking about?”
Oh, somebody out there give her strength. “You’ve lived how many years on this earth and you’ve never seen Titanic?” Futaba demands incredulously, and Yusuke squints at her for a moment.
“Is that…the one with a large boat in it?”
“Yes, there’s a large boat in it!” She’s nearly giggling by now.
“Ah right, then I believe I saw part of it on television once. There was a shark too, yes?”
“A shark? Inari, do you mean Jaws?”
“Whichever. It was one of the two.”
“It’s not the same thing at all!” But Futaba is definitely laughing by now. He could list every single art movement that’s ever existed from memory, but can’t get his blockbuster movies straight. And he certainly doesn’t pretend to care in order to try and appease her.
She thinks that she may be in love with him a little.
Certainly she trusts him enough for this. She wants him to do this. And even as they have their more ridiculous conversation here, she can still see the look in his light gray eyes that tells her the same.
“Films I have or haven’t seen aside—whenever you’re ready to start, we can begin.”
All right, the moment of truth. Futaba takes a deep breath and reminds herself that there’s nothing to be afraid of, that this is Yusuke. She raises a hand to remove her glasses first, and then pauses—no, she wants to be able to clearly see his face when he looks at her for the first time.
And so she loosens the ties on her robe and lets it drop down to the floor.
She’s seen all of Yusuke’s expressions when he’s painting by now, that methodical, rather studious look he gets when concentrating, or the gleam in his eyes when something fascinating catches his attention. What she’s never seen is this—the way his eyes widen just enough to not be gawking but still riveted, the color that rises in his cheeks. She’s never heard that slight hitch, the tiniest inhale of breath.
He is looking at her with absolutely nothing left to the imagination, and he looks like a man entranced.
That combined with the rush of cooler air definitely makes her body react, nipples stiffening. Her first instinct is to reach a hand up to cover it, but that will only make her look more suspicious. More flustered. Which she’s not, really, only…
“You’re beautiful,” Yusuke says, quietly but sincerely. “Won’t you please sit down?”
She can’t help but smile at that, more of the nerves dissipating like dandelion puffs floating away on a breeze. Now she does take her glasses off and set them aside on the nearby table, making the whole world look a little blurry. Futaba then lies down and stretches out on the couch, her rather short stature leaving her plenty of room.
Yusuke makes his familiar picture-framing gesture at her and then, suddenly, shakes his head. “No, no, that won’t do—I miscalculated the angle of the light here. I need to move this back a bit.”
“Wha—” But without any more preamble, Yusuke has already stood up and walked over, pushing the whole sofa with her on it back slightly.
He frowns and briefly taps his chin, studying the whole set-up intently, and he looks very professional and decidedly uninterested in her body as anything but a subject to paint, and so Futaba squints up at him. “And how’s your angle now, Mr. Anglerfish?”
“Anglerfish? Where do you come up with these things?”
Instead of responding, she just pokes her tongue out at him—and that gets him to smile. Yusuke crosses back to his chair and reexamines the adjustment. “Yes, that’s much better.”
“OK…what do I do with my hands?” As she says it, Futaba raises her one hand and rests it behind her head as she might if she were just casually settling in to watch a marathon of anime episodes, propping her elbow on the arm of the sofa.
“Yes, that’s perfect!” Yusuke exclaims. “Natural, effortless—but can you hold it for a while?”
“I can try,” Futaba says, letting her other arm just rest in front of her, and Yusuke shakes his head.
“This cannot be a mere matter of ‘trying’—you can either do it or not. I did tell you that it requires lying still for quite some period of time. Do you have any doubts about that now?”
Do or do not do, Futaba thinks in the style of Yoda and holds back a snort—she knows Yusuke would get that reference at least (or hopefully, he would) because she’s definitely made him sit down and watch most of the Star Wars movies with her. Maybe she can pass the time by compiling a mental list of all the other great cinema this man needs to be educated on.
“Yeah, yeah—I mean, no, I don’t have any doubts. But what if I like…fall asleep or something?” She’s lying down on a couch after all, after a while; instinct would be to shut her eyes.
“That wouldn’t be a problem once I’ve drawn your face, of course. I’ve seen models nod off a little even when they were standing upright. But if you feel so inclined…well, I won’t blame you.”
“Hm. Don’t tempt me.” Now that she’s settled down, she feels far more relaxed. And she can just spot his face, looking up from behind the sketchpad and right at her…when she pulls a little face at him, his gaze softens so much she can see it herself.
She’s the one completely exposed here, but there’s something almost vulnerable in his own normally haughty expression. But then Yusuke gets ahold of himself, entering professional mode again, and points an admonishing figure at her. “No faces. No smiling.”
“Oh, please—”
“And no complaining either. Just…keep your face as neutral as possible. And keep your eyes on me.”
It is both the easiest yet somehow the most difficult instruction to be given right now. Futaba is definitely happy to sit back and study his own features, but meeting his gaze like that has her mouth running a little dry. The tiny electric fissions running through her body remind her, in a way, of a very faint echo of awakening to her Persona those years ago—there’s a kind of power there, something holding her spellbound.
And then Yusuke takes a small breath and starts sketching. It’s fascinating to watch his own face for a short while, how his eyes flick up from the paper to her and back again, how he brushes the bangs aside that keep falling into his field of vision. He’s looking at her but she’s going to shamelessly look back, and not for the first time, she wonders if he shouldn’t be on the other side of the canvas himself…he’s stunning.
“Has anyone ever drawn you?” She can’t help but ask, and Yusuke gives a noncommittal hum as he sketches.
“We’ll draw each other in art classes sometimes. For practice. But no, other than that…” His voice trails off as he gets absorbed in shading something, and Futaba makes a delicate, disbelieving sort of sound.
“Well. Somebody should. I mean…look at you.”
Yusuke looks up from the paper then, that tiny, almost mysterious smile on his face. “I’m looking at you. I don’t want to be doing anything else.”
Oh. She can’t help how her whole body flushes at that, and surely, he must see it too even with the lower lighting—but then he goes and ruins it by chiding her again. “Now. You’ve got to hold your face still, so no talking. And…move your hair a little bit over your shoulder for me.”
Futaba gets in one last squint at him before she relaxes her face again, and then falls into silence. He did put on piano music, and she wonders if that was mostly for her own benefit, so she has something to listen to. But really, her brain is pretty good at entertaining itself. She works on the list of movies Yusuke clearly needs to see, she thinks about an economics exam she has coming up, she remembers that she hasn’t responded to Ren’s invite to get together next weekend yet, and…well, she thinks about the man in front of her.
Part of her just wants to get to her feet and jump him, but no, she can’t do that to the big artiste. Patience has never actually been one of her strong suits, but she can abide it for a little while so he can get the portrait that he wants. But it’s hard not to think about where his hands could be instead, instead of drawing…
Maybe she does sort of doze after a little bit, she definitely lets her eyes flicker shut and her body relax more, but it’s comfortable here. In any case, it feels like she’s pulled out of a daydream when after however long it is, however many hours, Yusuke finally leans back in his chair and sighs—not a dramatic or troubled one, but one of pure satisfaction.
“There. Finished. Thank you for your patience.”
Futaba sits up, letting her legs swing over into a sitting position. Yusuke is still absorbed with putting a finishing touch on the drawing, so she takes the chance to at least scoop her robe up and shrug it back on, along with her glasses—better pretend to care a little bit about decency.
“Oh...sure.” It’s almost like a spell or something has been broken, like she’d been meditating for a while. And now, her heart is back to picking up the pace again. “Can I see?”
“Of course.” And Futaba has never seen him look so shy about it before, almost like he’s hesitating—but he obligingly scoots back a little to give her room so she can stand behind him and see the whole thing for herself.
Now it’s her own turn to almost lose her breath. Obviously she’s seen herself in photographs and there are truly lots of times where she’s felt really cute or good about herself, but this figure in the drawing…she’s beautiful. She is beautiful.
For all of Yusuke’s snipping about keeping a blank expression, that’s not what he’s captured at all—her lips are quirked upwards in the picture, just the barest hint of a teasing, almost quizzical smile. Sphinx-like. But her eyes are shining with a trace of mirth, with life. Her long mane of hair, swept over one shoulder as he asked, shields some of her shoulder and one breast from sight, but it looks like a waterfall, like she could reach out and touch it herself.
All the other little details—the sharpness of her (yes, rather pointy) elbow, knees curled up slightly, how her second toe is slightly longer than her big one…someone drew this, and for the first time it occurs to her that maybe this is what painting with their whole heart is. Yusuke talks about it, of course, all the time—but when she looks at this, she sees an artist who was captivated by his subject. And she can see why.
“What do you think?” He asks her then, eyes anxiously roaming over her face—and she responds by cupping his face in both her hands and tilting it up so she can kiss him full on the mouth.
He makes a startled, soft but appreciative sound at that, and a growing trail of heat licks up her spine. One of his own hands reaches up to stroke through the curtain of her hair and cups her jaw, getting a bit more demanding, and she’d be all too happy to acquiesce, but first—
First, Futaba has to part from him for a moment, and the tiny disappointed noise he emits at that is criminal. But she can’t help but beam, the smile almost hurting her flushed cheeks. “I love it. I…thank you.” There really are no words for how much her heart is squeezing in her chest, she would just trip over them and sound ridiculous.
But Yusuke seems to know. “I’m the one who should be thanking you. It seems that kind of…inspiration is exactly the thing I was looking for.”
“Yeah?” And it’s hard not to feel emboldened now, after this, and so she takes his hand that is on her face and guides it down to the curve of her breast, part of the robe gaping and slipping loose. “I believe it. I’m feeling pretty inspired myself.”
He laughs at that, but his hand gives her a gentle squeeze. “Are you attempting to persuade me into doing something highly unprofessional?”
“Is it working?”
In response, Yusuke just rises to his feet, and hooks his arms around her waist and lifts her up like she weighs nothing. Futaba squeals, “Hey, Inari! Watch the manhandling!” but really, the manhandling is welcome. The lean, wiry strength of his body has her squirming up against him in a way that completely contradicts her words.
“My apologies. I’ll find somewhere to put you down then.”
And he does, and it’s a good thing that that couch was on standby. Movie education night is just going to have to wait.