Work Text:
Maki stared at his canvas. Smudges of light pastels inked over the no longer empty space, taking the form of a bunny in a grass field. Maki’s third painting of a bunny this month. To the people who would see this painting, it was nothing more than a mere rabbit, but to Maki, it was much more.
Many fans compared Harua to a bunny. The way Harua chews food towards the front of his mouth, the way his nose scrunches when he laughs–the comparisons were honestly surface level. Maki saw more bunny-like characteristics in Harua’s personality rather than his mannerisms.
During audition days Harua and himself weren’t all that close. Harua, much like a bunny, was cautious and independent, while Maki was more high-energy and playful. Maki was always super touchy with his close friends on &Audition, but Harua was never one for that.
Maki tried to ignore it. He tried to ignore Harua pushing Maki’s hand off his leg, or Harua snaking out from under Maki’s arm when he laid it gently across his shoulders. Maki tried not to act hurt, too. But one night on the show, everything spilled out.
But if he was honest, Maki was grateful for everything then. Maki doesn’t know where he would be without the experiences throughout his trainee times, but he knows he definitely wouldn’t be where he is now.
Maki sighed happily as he slowly dragged the brush across the canvas, creating a new cloud in the baby blue sky. The door to his bedroom propped open with a small click, and Maki didn’t even need to look away from the canvas to know it was Harua.
Harua flopped down on the bed with a low groan. “Dance practice nearly killed me,” Harua whined, rolling around in the bed now.
Maki laughed a little. “Gross, don’t roll around on my bed if you’re all sweaty.”
Harua scoffed, “Please,” he said, “Your covers are completely smudged with paint anyway.”
“That’s different,” Maki hummed, “That was completely intentional.”
“Ever since you sprained your ankle you’ve been way more into painting,” Harua said.
Soon enough, Maki felt a chin resting on his right shoulder.
“It's not like I can practice dancing or do anything other than sing, so painting is a fun distraction.” Maki said with a smile.
“Sucks that you can’t perform with us this weekend, though,” Harua sighed, “And reblocking the choreo sucks, too.”
‘You think Lunè will miss me?” Maki sighed, putting his paintbrush down on the ledge of the easel, reaching a hand to play with Harua’s hair over his shoulder.
“Of course they will,” Harua said, “Why do you keep painting bunnies?”
“Not sure,” Maki lied, of course he knew why. He kept painting bunnies because Harua was stuck in his mind like something that would never leave.
“I think you do know why,” Harua smirked, “When are you going to stop painting bunnies and just paint me instead?” Harua hummed.
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Maki was still out of practice. He was finally off crutches though, which was less of a pain, but he hadn’t stopped thinking about what Harua said that night. Maki knew of his own feelings for Harua, he had known about them since they were trainees–but the hope that it might be reciprocated made Maki restless.
Maki stared at the canvas. A face stared back at him. It was Harua’s face, but something about it was off. He painted Harua’s facial expression much too emotionless, which was how Harua usually looked to be fair, but the real Harua typically looked like he had a soul at least.
The color he used for Harua’s skin tone was off as well. Maki had chosen a peach shade that was too pink. The curves of Harua’s painted ears were all wrong, too. Maki sighed and leaned the dried painting up against the wall behind his trash can. His first official failed work.
Normally, Maki would ignore the mistakes. He was no artist after all, not with paint that is. When Maki made a mistake in any of his other paintings he would find a way to incorporate it into the piece–but with a portrait of someone who you care so deeply about, it’s different. Maki wants to capture Harua perfectly.
Maki stared back at the trashed canvas as if it was mocking him. He was soon interrupted.
“Maki?” Nicholas entered the room, “You’re staying off your ankle, right?” He questioned suspiciously.
“Yeah yeah,” Maki waved him off, “You guys don’t need to worry so much, it’s only a sprain.”
Nicholas walked over to the empty easel and stood next to Maki. “Can’t have our maknae injured for too long. The leaders need someone to reprimand for their behavior.”
Maki laughed. “They’ve got Taki for that don’t they?”
“I guess so,” Nicholas smiled, “Anyway, dinner’s here. We ordered pizza to keep it simple.”
“I’m starving, pizza sounds incredible.” Maki practically drooled at the thought of eating.
“Need me to carry you to the kitchen?” Nicholas joked.
“Hmm,” Maki started, “You never know. I could be walking, fall down the steps and re-sprain my ankle.” He joked.
Nicholas laughed. “Don’t put that thought into Euijoo or Fuma’s head, they might become your personal carrier.”
Maki shrugged. “That doesn’t sound too bad, honestly.” Both of them laughed as they made their way down the steps.
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A few days later, Maki tried painting Harua again. Maki tilted his head as he stared at the canvas once more.
This time, Maki tried to paint Harua with a different expression as the one last time didn’t work out. But this expression was too overly happy. Harua was usually solemnly happy, only really showing it with a small closed mouth smile. Of course there were times when Harua’s entire body shook with laughter, but that wasn’t exactly the kind of emotion Maki wanted to encapsulate into the piece.
Maki picked apart the painting to no end. Wrong expression, too sharp of an eyebrow arch, nose too wide–every detail was something Maki analyzed and found something wrong with. Maki guesses he could never really even paint Harua and be pleased with himself.
He guesses that no amount of paint or no type of paint brush could capture just how unreal Harua is. A painting could never capture the way Harua’s eyes shimmer on stage, the way Harua lights up when talking about his latest nail design–no painting would ever give Harua’s beauty justice.
“That’s really good, Maki.” A deeper voice cut in from behind him.
Maki jerked, spinning around to see Fuma standing behind him intimidatingly. Maki thought he was completely alone in his room, his heart nearly jumping out of his chest from fear.
“Oh, um,” Maki cleared his throat, “Thanks. It’s alright I guess.”
“Just alright? You’ve got some serious talent, Maki.” Fuma smiled as he admired the painting.
“I mean, this painting just doesn’t scream Harua, does it? The facial expression is too joyful. Not that Harua is never happy but when he is happy he just usually gives a small smile, you know?” Maki pointed to the painting as he spoke.
Fuma blinked. “I never really noticed that, I suppose,” he continued, “You’re much closer to Harua than anyone in the group, Maki. Don’t be so hard on yourself over the small details.”
Maki sighed, “I just want to paint Harua in a good light, you know? I want the painting to be perfect.”
“Well,” Fuma said, “I understand you want the painting to be the best it can, but Harua isn’t objectively perfect in real life is he? Don’t stress about trying to capture Harua being perfect but rather paint him in his own natural light.”
Maki thought for a second. “Huh,” Maki said quietly, “Thanks, Fuma. That was actually really helpful.”
“That’s what sub-leaders are for,” Fuma chuckled, making his way out of Maki’s room. But before he was even halfway down the hall, he peeked back in. “Make sure to ice your ankle, okay? And no practicing. Yuma said he saw you dancing a few steps earlier.”
Maki groaned. “I can take care of myself just fine, you guys don’t need to fuss over me so much. And I only danced like 4 steps, I promise my ankle is feeling a lot better.”
Fuma nodded. “Alright, I’m happy to hear that.” Fuma turned again and led himself back down the hallway.
“What a snitch.” Maki muttered, biting back a playful smile.
______________________________________________________
Maki analyzed every inch of his work. This was it. His final try at painting Harua. With the help of Fuma’s words, Maki had realized that painting Harua in a portrait kind of way was the problem all along.
Painting Harua like that made him seem like a robot. Like he was programmed to make certain facial expressions, like his moves were calculated.
The real Harua was nothing like that. Harua was a breath of fresh air. Harua was smart, he was considerate, he was himself.
And in Maki’s eyes, the new painting captured that. Maki looked over the painted Harua, who was doing what he loved most. Singing on stage for his supporters.
It may seem cliché, but it truly was what Maki knew Harua loved to do. Not only because he had chosen it as his career--but he could tell by the way Harua’s eyes sparkle when he gets the chance to sing, the way Harua interacts with Luné, and the way he pins up the fan mail he gets onto his walls.
Painted Harua focuses on the crowd in front of him, gripping the microphone in one hand. His eyes shimmering as confetti falls down, the free hand reaching out to catch the pieces.
“Wow,” a soft voice said from behind Maki. “You really did it.”
Maki turned his head slightly to look at Harua, then back at the painting. “I mean, you asked me to, didn't you?”
“I implied it I suppose,” Harua smiled a bit, “You made me look..softer than I feel.”
“This painting is how I see you precisely.” Maki smiled a little, admiring his own work.
Harua's face reddened a bit. “It feels like I'm looking in a mirror. You really captured me perfectly.” Harua said quietly.
“The painting is alright, it's the muse that makes it perfect.” Maki hummed.
Harua swatted him lightly on the shoulder. “Don't say things like that, I'll take them the wrong way.”
“I don't think there's a wrong way to take it, Harua,” Maki said, “I meant it in every context.”
“Even in a non-platonic one?” Harua asked after a quiet moment.
Maki laced their hands together. “Especially in a non-platonic one.”