Rin Epilogue: Coloring Within the Lines

Rin Epilogue:
Coloring Within the Lines

The easel. My best friend and worst enemy. Dangling the paintbrush from between my toes, I'm at a loss.

The first few strokes are usually the easiest for me. A dab of color, a fill of abstract ideas. Colors go on top of it to sharpen the smoke into something real.

As real as surreal can be.

But there's something wrong. I can't figure out what color I want to start with. I've been spending the last half hour mindlessly dabbing colors against the canvas just to see what color grabs me first.

It's hard for things to grab my attention.

It's always wandering, from the canvas to the carpet to the skies out the window to the people I can hear wandering the street below my apartment.

A doorbell catches my near-nonexistent attention, though.

Well, it's less of a bell and more of a buzz. A doorbuzz.

A doorbuzz draws my attention to the little panel near the apartment door. Sitting on a nearby table and pressing my toe against it, I speak.

"Tezuka residence. Please go away unless you're that weird guy who brings me art supplies from the crafts store."

I remove the pressure from the button and a voice covered in static follows it.

"...Do you always refer to me as the 'weird guy' when people ring your doorbell?"

I half smile at the little box that sounds like Hisao. I wish I could have a box that would talk to me and sound like Hisao when he wasn't around.

"You're the only one who rings my doorbell, Hisao."

"Oh... so why am I weird?"

"Because you keep visiting me."

"Can you let me in, Rin?"

"Can I?"

I can hear him sighing through the receiver without him even having to press the button to transmit his voice.

"I'll let you in." I press the little red button next to the transmit button to unlock the door downstairs.

Living in the city is weird. People are always so afraid of robberies and having their home invaded.

I'd probably just ask them if they'd like some leftover dinner or if they want one of my paintings. I think people focus too much on the material and less on the important things in life.

Like being alive.

Hisao opens my apartment door without me having to open it for him. He's got a backpack slung over his shoulder.

"You got the goods?" I ask in a hushed voice. He drops the backpack to the floor, unzipping it frantically. "Yeah, I got the goods. Had to sneak it by a good dozen starving artists. They'd have easily stabbed me with their sharpened paintbrushes to take these paint containers."

I grin at him, pecking him on the cheek.

"Want to help me mix the colors?"

Hisao nods.

"When have I never?"

"Will, have to account for when you don't want to. One day you might get tired of me."

Hisao laughs. "I don't think that's actually possible."

I sit back down on my chair in front of my easel. Hisao lifts the shoulder of my denim overalls and places it back on my shoulder.

"Hey."

"What?"

"What if I wanted that strap down."

"Why would you?"

"What if I wanted to paint naked?"

Hisao's eyebrow arches. "Is this something you do often when I'm not around?"

A wide smile spreads across my face.

"Maybe. You'd want to know, wouldn't you?"

Silence from Hisao. "Possibly. For you know. Artistic purposes."

This time he gets a laugh from me. "So is that what you're calling what we do when you sleep over? Artistic research?"

Hisao wraps his arms around me from behind. "Sure, that's what we'll call it. So, how's the painting going?"

I'm quiet for a while as I dash more colors against the canvas just to see what comes out.

"Poorly."

Hisao watches me fool around with colors, asking which colors I might want. I direct him in amounts and colors I want him to mix. More often than not, he understands what colors I want.

It's strange how things have changed. I was so certain no one would understand me. I don't understand me. Hisao? He seems to have a good grasp of me. He doesn't try though, which is the most peculiar thing to me.

Maybe I try to hard to understand myself?

I guess just accepting it like he does might be better.

I glance over to him. He's staring at the canvas, giving me small pointers. He says he's been taking a few art classes in-between business classes at his university. He understands art a little more now.

I'm glad he approaches art like he should, though. Classes usually teach you to look at art logically, to disect and take apart what it is. Art should be felt, not thought about.

At least, that's what I think.

That gives me an idea.

"Shirt."

I cut Hisao off in the middle of a sentence that I wasn't listening to.

"W-What?"

"Your shirt. Take it off."

"Excuse me?"

I lean forward, taking hold of the top button of his collared shirt. "Tae da shirt owff." I tug at the button and Hisao seems a little flustered and manages to separate my teeth from his buttons.

"I don't want to have sex. I just want you to take off your shirt."

"Why not say so?"

"Lazy. Off."

"Fine, fine."

Hisao undoes his shirt, draping it over the back of my chair. I look at his skin. It's not as pale as mine and there's that long jagged discolored scar running down the center. That's where they did the surgery to help him with his arrythmia.

His skin looks warm. The kind of warm I want to paint with. Why isn't there a 'Hisao' colored paint? I tilt my head slightly.

I have an idea.

I dip my paintbrush in a light color and then spread it across his chest. "Rin...?"

"Shhh. I'm doing art."

He sighs and I follow the rising and falling of his chest with my paintbrush, letting the light paint I've chosen compliment the color of his skin.

I start mixing other colors together in different places on his chest and begin building a composition out of them. This isn't like any art I've done before; I don't want to paint shapes on him. I don't want to make anything out of what he is; I just want to make him look more like I feel he does.

In my mind, he's an explosion of colors. He's refreshingly cold, like a blast of winter wind. Other times, he's overwhelmingly warm, like sitting in front of a summer bonfire on a chilly night. He's like the sky and the ground and the walls and everything inbetween.

When I realize I'm finished, his chest is a mural of flowing colors, like someone opened an ocean current mixed with an aurora all over his chest.

He's smiling at me.

I lean forward and kiss him, putting down my paintbrush. His hands rest on my shoulders and slip off the straps of my overalls as he kisses along my neck. "Do I get my turn now?"

I lean back a little bit. "Not sure. Depending how neat we keep this, we can continue painting. If it gets messier, we're going to have to lay out some newspaper." A devious smile takes control of my face.

"On the floor?"

"Yes."

"We're each others canvases now, huh?"

"When haven't we been?"

I lean forward into him, nuzzling my neck into his. "Blank canvases are meant to give shape, color, appearance. We're young, so aren't we just barely painted on canvases?"

Hisao is silent, playing with my hair. I close my eyes. It makes me feel like I'm falling when he does that and it's a nice feeling. Like I'm falling through clouds.

"We're each other's painters. I've changed since I've met you."

Hisao nods quietly. "I have too."

"I'm happy."

"Oh, are you? I couldn't tell."

"Well, I usually can't. It's nice that I can now. Thanks for that."

"So, you going to put your fancy university art classes to use?" I lean further away from him as he reaches forward with his hands to undo my bra.

"Nope."

"What do you mean, nope?"

"Have to paint like I do."

"With my feet?"

"Your mouth is fine too."

"This is starting to get really sexual, isn't it?" He says as he nears the front clasps of my bra with his face.

"I don't think so. Artistic research, remember? This'll be good for your classes. Give you insight on different painting techniques."

HIsao nods as he struggles with undoing the clasp. I'm not making it any easier, burying his face inbetween my breasts.

"Hey!"

"What?"

"You're not making this easier."

"Am I supposed to?"

"It'd be nice."

"In that case..." I take in a breath and protrude my chest for him. The clasps are right in front of him and he manages to pull them apart with his teeth.

I breathe a sigh of relief. Bras are annoying and make it a little harder to breathe. Hurt my shoulders too, as if painting doesn't do that enough, either.

"So, mouth or feet?"

"I think I'll go with mouth for now."

Hisao picks up a paintbrush inbetween his teeth and struggles dabbing the brush onto the nearby palette. I close my eyes, waiting for where he begins to paint.

"You don't need shapes, just focus on colors. Ones you think are me."

Although I thought he'd start with my chest, he begins with the side of my neck, close to the bottom of my jawline. Trailing the brush along, he stops at my collarbone.

This... tickles more than I thought it would. I keep my eyes closed while I wait for him to finish painting. I don't want to see it until it's done. I want to know what colors Hisao sees in me. Are they beautiful? Are they demure? Are they bright? Are they muddy? What color does he see in me?

I hear a quiet clatter and then feel a hand behind the back of my head, pulling me forward. I'm greeted by a slightly parted pair of lips, carressing mine.

He doesn't pull away, but rests his forehead against mine.

I open my eyes. I don't think I'm as interested in what colors I am anymore. I just want to enjoy the color of his eyes.

Maybe that's the color I should've started with?

Those eyes. Those warm eyes. They remind me of brownies.

Warm, soft -- they're a treat too sweet to have too often.

"I love you, Hisao."

"I love you too, Rin."

I stand up, walking towards my bedroom.

"I think we have more 'research' to do, though." A quaint wink as I vanish into my bedroom, hearing Hisao's footsteps following quickly after.