tell me everything that you like - (KNY, ObaMitsu)
Her research had finally hit a breakout, which made her incredibly happy today. Because most of the work for the day was over already, Obanai decided to go out for a walk during her lunch break. The best part about her work was how much freedom she was given to stay outside the laboratory as long as she was done with her work for the day, but even then, she refused to leave it unattended for longer than thirty minutes. Because of that, the laboratory involuntarily became her second home, if not the only place she spends most of her day.
Her coresearchers all often said that she was too driven into her research, and that she should give the outside world a chance, but that’s just a big no for her. The outside world is too harsh, she keeps thinking, finding comfort within her specimens, surrounded by her notes, bringing new hypotheses, and studying the development of her research from up close. No weird looks because of her outfit, no mean comments from the teen girls in the subway, no looking at the mirror and finding out all the small, tiny details she hates about herself.
Whether she believes her skin is too dry, her shoulders are too broad, or her figure gives her away. She hated the mere idea of staying in her home for a second too long, because her own insecurities would permeate through her walls, repeating the same painful words from her own family. You’ll never be who you want to be, you’ll never be a girl.
Instead, in her workplace, she found peace. The petri dish, the microscopes, the smell of the chemicals, none of these things pose harm for her. They do not speak other things besides hard facts, and those are often answers to her hypothesis, instead of unwanted comments about her transition.
Obanai sighs as she takes out her white coat and she walks towards her office’s entrance. Before leaving, she wears her beloved black facemask first, which just so conveniently matches her entirely black outfit. It’s not like the end of the world will strike the very moment she steps outside of her workplace, isn’t it? Besides, it’s about time she gives herself some time to enjoy the view of the city during her lunch break.
As suggested by one of her coworkers, she was walking in direction to a nearby restaurant which seemed to have a pretty good discount on Mondays. She checks her phone, following the instructions on the map when something caught her attention as she walked by. The colorful walls made way into her peripheral vision when she stopped on her tracks to have a better look at the room inside.
“An art exhibition…?” Obanai reads the poster hung outside the entrance. She takes a look inside, watching how the place was rather crowded inside. “Ugh…” her interest plummets just like that, not totally convinced in walking inside at all.
Still, some interest sparked inside her as she saw the vivid colors surrounding the place. It seems rather lively to be an art exhibition, or, well, what she believes an art exhibition would look like. She looks at her phone, finding out then that she has actually quite a lot of time left, so she gives in to her interest and walks inside.
Obanai adjusts her mask as she walks into the long alleys with art pieces hung on the white walls. The place isn’t particularly big, but it’s not small either. The framed artwork varies in size, and it seems every piece is divided into two categories. The first half are portraits of people the artist knows, mixing both realism and abstract details into the paintings. The other half could be described as purely abstract, with various strokes made with different techniques and consistencies. The colors in all of the artworks are spirited, vigorous and dynamic. The prevalent shade would be pink and red, some even had yellow and green. The colors often match, but some of them are opposite of the other. Never once she saw hints of darkness in the artist’s work.
As she walks in and looks around she seems struck with the colorful and emotionally charged artwork, which makes her feel deeply connected to the pieces she sees. Every and each detail and feeling poured into these pieces make her heart pound heavily. Even someone like her, who can’t precisely describe herself as creative, feels attracted and driven to learn more about every and each painting, stopping by on each work to study it deeply.
The portraits all have names of people, meanwhile the abstract artwork seemed to be renditions of events in the author’s life. Summer, winter, morning, night, midnight conversation, afternoon coffee, lunch with friends. All of them seemed to be names of the artist’s life and the emotions they feel around those mundane events.
It wasn’t until she saw one of the pieces that she noticed how stuck she had become watching each and every one of these paintings. She stepped back for a little to have a better look at this one. An abstract design in some sort, but even then she could spot some flowers blooming, hidden under the broad strokes of red paint. This is the only non-portrait painting named after a person.
As Obanai looks deeply into the painting, a woman stands by her side. She didn’t notice when or why, but the woman seemed to be standing right beside her, a little too close for her liking. She didn’t particularly give her any mind until she cleared her throat, likely preparing herself to start a conversation with a total stranger.
“What do you think about this piece?” the woman asks. Obanai looks at her with the intentions of checking if she was actually asking her. Given that she was greeted back with big, round green eyes and a wide smile, she could only agree it was her who she was talking to, after all.
She clears her throat, tilting her head slightly. She could just say she likes it, but something inside her tells her the girl standing by her side wants to hear more than that. So, she gives her a look into her thoughts pretty easily.
“It seems the author poured the fleeting experience of a first love into this piece. I’m simply reaching by saying this, because this is the only non-portrait named after someone,” she begins, speaking as if she was talking of one of her research specimens – with as much detail as she can. “The colors are… vibrant. Even though the shade of red seems to make the artwork darker, the hints of yellow and gold, as well as the pink flowers hidden underneath makes the whole composition brighter and captivating.”
She continues, “Someone inexperienced like me could think there is no thought behind each stroke, but the more you look into it, the closer you look,” she turns her head, looking at her, pointing with her finger at the piece, “the more you notice how this acts as a poem to the innocence that’s shaken after experiencing the feeling of love for the first time.”
The woman is seemingly taken aback by her words. For a second, or two, Obanai thinks she might have just been too confident when talking about what she saw, almost smug with her words. Maybe this person is a critic, and believes everything she just said was utter bullshit, or, even worse, the woman believes this person is just boasting about her knowledge and using random words. What’s true is that she doesn’t know anything about art, but something about the vocabulary she learned as she overheard the public made her feel a little overconfident in her own thoughts.
“And… how does this piece makes you feel?” she asks before Obanai begins feeling embarrassed at her thoughts.
“How…?” she hums, looking at the painting.
She seems quiet for a second, as she begins thinking about what caught her attention into this piece to begin with. The fleeting first love is what she thought after studying the piece for long enough. Something Obanai has lacked for her whole life was that. Love itself. Let it be that of her mother and sisters, the love of a partner, and even deep down to the self-love everyone claims you should have. That’s something that always lacked in her life.
“I guess it makes me yearn for that kind of love.”
The woman gasps softly, looking at the art piece. Obanai can only feel more and more curious about her, so she peeks on her side to study her a little better. Her long hair reached her lower back, falling loosely on her shoulders like a colorful river painting her frame. It was exceptionally cute, she can admit. Not every day you see a woman with dyed hair, let alone a pastel pink with bright green touching the tips. Even her bangs matched the design in her hair. She was fairly taller than her, her round face and rosy cheeks were glowing, matching the glimmer in her eyes, as she smiled so wide her nose scrunched slightly in her happiness.
“I’m glad you like it,” she speaks with a softer voice, almost as if those words came from deep in her heart. “You’re right, it’s about my first love.”
Obanai’s eyes open wide as she steps back for a little. “Y—”
“Yes,” she chuckles. “I’m the author of these paintings.” She stretches her hand gently, introducing herself, “my name is Mitsuri Kanroji. And you are…?”
“Ah, uh,” she composes herself rather quickly, looking at her as she shakes her hand with Kanroji. “I’m Obanai. Iguro Obanai.”
“Nice to meet you, Iguro,” she smiles. “So, which one was your favorite piece?” she asks, beaming as she looks around, then back at her.
“Well,” she hums, looking around. “I guess there was one I liked more than this one. I just saw the name, but I can’t remember… something about coffee…”
“Afternoon coffee?” She asks, leaning closer to her. “Really? I like that one too!” she beams, hopping on her place.
Obanai can’t help but feel caught in her joyous personality. She seems to be so happy to be talking with her, a mere stranger. Someone who looks so incredibly tiny by her side, with her small frame and dark clothes, it’s easy to get lost in the crowd of people who all seem to stand out compared to her. But brighter, stronger than everyone else, there was Kanroji, who had known for half a minute, and seems to be brighter than the sun itself. No wonder her art is so vibrant and outstanding, when the woman behind the canvas is none other than her.
“Do you take commissions?” Obanai asks on a whim. It’s evident that as a researcher, her job pays just fine. Not enough to buy a whole artwork made from scratch, but she’ll figure it later. Deep inside, she only wants an excuse to keep talking with her for longer than just a small chat at an art exhibition.
“Oh? Well, I’m doing just fine selling my art this way…” she speaks. Bummer, she thinks. Maybe she got her hopes too high this time because the mere idea of a rejection hurt her a little.
“I see.”
“But…” she adds, fidgeting a little. She wants to say something, but she seems to struggle a little to find the words. After a minute, she sighs, starting from the beginning. “To be honest, all these people pretend and act like they know what they’re talking about, but most of the time they just praise my work with shallow comments because they can be closer to me,” she narrates, bitter.
“Closer to you?” damn, was she acting like this just now?
“Yeah… like… they just say ‘oh, this is pretty, can I have your number?’ kind of close, you know?”
Was I acting like this just now?
“But you… you’re the first one who actually… gave a deep analysis about what you think about my work,” she smiles, blushing slightly as she speaks with honesty. “You were so honest, so clear with your words, it made me really happy.” She speaks, walking closer to her, Kanroji’s soft hands gently grabbing her own.
So, I wasn’t acting like that, she reassures herself. Moreover, that’s not to worry right now. How did this conversation end like this, particularly? She feels the eyes of everyone burning into her as Kanroji holds her hands so tightly, smiling at her so tenderly it makes her heart skip a beat.
She places their hands closer to her as she speaks with utter sincerity, her warm fingertips were a total contrast to her icy, cold hands. “You see, I’m already working on my next exhibition, and I would really need someone like you around to help me with my pieces.”
“How so?” she leans back, a little too shy at how close Kanroji is getting to her. “Like… as a critic?”
“Maybe, yes?” she chuckles, blushing heavily. “Or… is it okay if I dedicate one of my paintings to you?”
What is she talking about? “What are you talking about?”
“I’m sorry,” she smiles awkwardly, stepping back a little. “You know, maybe everyone has told you this, but you have really pretty eyes,” she comments, releasing her hands. The feeling left in her fingers is the warmth of her touch, her skin already itching to be held again.
It’s true that other people have been interested in her eyes. Not everywhere you see people with heterochromia, and her own case really has perked people’s attention. To her, it’s not a thing worth envy of, because thanks to this condition her sight in one of her eyes is far worse, but it’s true that she has received praise for it. No wonder an artist thinks the same.
But something about her saying her eyes are pretty does make her feel a little nervous deep inside.
Given her lack of response, Kanroji continues with her conversation. “You may have noticed that my artwork is based on people or things I find in my daily life. Your eyes are so pretty, and, well, you are also really pretty, so I thought, would you like if I…?”
“A portrait, you say? In your next art exhibition?” She speaks before she can continue, looking at her with a curiosity brewing from deep inside her.
“Yeah!” she answers loudly, pointing at her with her index finger, beaming in joy.
“Well…” Obanai crosses her arm, a little hesitant.
When has she felt like this before? It’s an unknown feeling for sure. It’s evident Obanai likes this girl, but is she really willing to expose herself like this to a stranger? Being observed this closely as the woman paints every small detail and flaw on her face into a canvas made her feel another level of insecurity, one far, far worse to what she confronts every day in her life when she looks at herself in the mirror.
It’s challenging for sure, and way out of her comfort zone. Kanroji leans closer to her, expectant in her answer. It seems like she wants to hear a yes at all costs, but she isn’t even sure if she wants to try this out. Even if it means that she’ll lose the opportunity of her life, she doesn’t desire this level of vulnerability in her life. Not when her self-esteem is this critical, not when she’s feeling this bad about herself.
You’re also really pretty. Just now her words hit her mind. Even though she had said them just now, it didn’t hit until now that Kanroji thinks this high of her. Is she serious?
Or is she saying this because she wants a muse for her art exhibition?
Probably the latter, isn’t it?
Still.
“I’ll have to think about it,” she answers, bowing slightly.
“Oh,” she can observe from up close how she seems a little down about it, standing straight. “I’m sorry, I got so excited I didn’t look it could make you uncomfortable.”
“It’s not a big deal, really—”
“I know it must be weird to have a stranger ask you these things,” she chuckles, poking her tongue out as she tries to brush her embarrassment away.
Cute…
“Really… it’s not a big deal. I said I was going to think about it, you see?”
“I hear you,” she nods, smiling from ear to ear. “So, how about we go out for a cup of coffee this weekend? You’ll have all week to think about it. And, if you answer is no, we could still get to know each other a little more, don’t you think?”
“Uh, yeah… I… I think, yes?” she speaks so fast and quickly, it takes Obanai quite some time to understand what she means most of their interaction. Is she hinting something here? Are there other intentions with this cup of coffee? She could’ve just given out her number, or the other way around so she can say yes or no, but instead she opts for a date. Can it even be called a date?
Well, it’s not a date. It’s just… a cup of coffee.
“Here, have my number,” she speaks, picking up a business card from her wallet. “You can text me here, and I’ll send you the location. Is this Friday alright?”
“Sure,” she nods. “I’ll give you my number—”
“It’s okay. I’ve already bothered you enough. You can text me first and I’ll send you the location. Is that okay?”
She can’t deny she’s taken aback by how strong her personality is. Almost towering over her own. Even if Obanai is a highly positioned researcher in her workplace because of her vastly huge experience compared to her coworkers, it’s evident that, right now, she feels far smaller than Kanroji. She has yet to understand if she likes this or not, but had it not been for how willed this woman is, Obanai probably wouldn’t have walked back to her workplace with a date scheduled for this Friday.
“Okay. I’ll text you, then,” she speaks, looking at her watch. Ten minutes past the time to check back in. “I have to go now. I will be seeing you this Friday, I suppose?”
“Of course!” she answers, her eyes closing slightly from her wide smile. “I’ll see you this Friday, then! Thanks for coming, Iguro!”
“Thank you for having me,” she waves as she walks out, a little shy.
It takes her long enough into her walk back to her workplace to notice her heart was hammering inside her chest. She seemed so flustered; she got back into the laboratory in what seemed like few seconds. She holds onto the business card for dear life as she checks back in, taking off her mask and putting on her white coat back in, she walks into her desk typing down nothing but pure nonsense into her computer.
Her brain drifts back to the woman she met, the artist she skipped lunch for, over and over again.
