Chapter 5 ECHOES OF PAINT

Akira Tsukino hadn't been able to sleep.

Not since the man in the studio-the one who sat like he was carved from shame and iron. The one who undressed not out of desire, but surrender. The one who let Akira sketch him like it was a confession neither of them would speak aloud.

He hadn't told Yuki about it. He hadn't told anyone.

But the sketch-the one he pretended not to care about-was now tacked to the wall above his bed.

He stared at it every night like it might answer something. And every morning, it stayed silent.

Morning – Reiji's Penthouse

The Takamura penthouse overlooked the city like a throne atop glass walls. But Reiji stood barefoot at the edge of the balcony, dressed only in his sleep pants, cradling a cup of black coffee he hadn't sipped.

His father had already left for the cabinet breakfast. Reika had texted him twice-once about a meeting with her family's PR manager, the second about their upcoming press shoot at the palace gardens.

He hadn't responded to either.

He kept seeing Akira's eyes.

Not just the shape. The challenge in them. The quiet fire. The way Akira looked at him like he already knew the parts of Reiji even Reiji wasn't ready to face.

He set the coffee down, unopened.

"Cancel everything until four. I'm not to be disturbed."

He sent the message to Kaori and left.

Akira's Studio – Early Afternoon

Akira was midway through a canvas when the knock came. He almost ignored it.

But something in the rhythm-three even taps, sharp and firm-made him freeze.

He opened the door.

Reiji stood there. Perfect again. Understated coat. Collar folded sharp. Eyes... unreadable.

"You came back," Akira said, voice neutral.

"You said you weren't done with me."

Akira stepped aside. "Come in before I change my mind."

Reiji crossed the threshold slowly, like he was walking into a memory he wasn't ready to confront.

The studio smelled like turpentine and smoke and something citrus. A soft jazz vinyl played in the background-something low and moody.

Akira gestured to the chair. "Same spot?"

Reiji nodded. He took off his coat, then hesitated.

Akira watched him. "You don't have to take your clothes off, you know."

"You said it helps."

"I said I need truth. If you can give me that in a suit, be my guest."

Reiji met his gaze. "What if I don't know what truth looks like anymore?"

Akira paused, brush in hand. "Then that's what we'll paint."

Reiji sat, this time less rigid. Still composed, but the tension in his jaw had softened. Akira moved around him, adjusting the light, the canvas, the placement of his own body.

"You always this quiet?" Reiji asked.

Akira shrugged. "Only when I'm trying not to say the wrong thing."

Reiji tilted his head. "You struck me as the type who says exactly what he means."

"Sometimes," Akira murmured. "Other times I'm too busy trying to figure out if the thing I want to say will ruin everything."

Reiji was silent for a beat.

"You won't ruin anything," he said.

Akira began painting. The brush moved slow, deliberate. He started with the edges-the suggestion of Reiji's jaw, the slope of his collarbone, the quiet authority in his shoulders.

"Do you always look at people like this?" Reiji asked.

"Only the ones I'm trying not to want."

The air thickened between them.

Reiji didn't respond right away. "And am I making it easier or harder?"

Akira smirked without lifting his eyes. "That's the problem. You're not making it anything. You just... exist. And it pisses me off."

Reiji chuckled, and the sound surprised even him. "Good. I thought I was only irritating on camera."

Akira stopped mid-stroke. "No. You're worse in person. Because in person, I can't stop noticing the way you breathe when you're trying not to feel anything."

Reiji's breath hitched. The tension returned, but it wasn't fear. It was restraint.

He stood up.

Akira lowered his brush. "Done already?"

Reiji crossed the distance between them slowly. "No. I just wanted to see what happens if I stop pretending for five minutes."

Their faces were inches apart.

Akira didn't move. "You sure you can afford that?"

"No," Reiji whispered. "But I can't afford to not know what this is."

Akira reached up and touched his face-just the cheekbone, barely there.

It wasn't a kiss.

It was a promise.

Later – Akira's Kitchen Nook

They sat in the cramped kitchen corner, knees brushing, mugs of instant coffee cooling between them.

Reiji glanced around the studio. "It's a mess."

Akira grinned. "It's honest."

"You don't lock the door?"

"Only when I'm trying to forget the world exists."

Reiji looked at him. "Are you?"

"Trying?" Akira said, eyes soft. "Not anymore."

Their hands touched briefly-enough to start something. Enough to know this wasn't going away.