[Log : Masaru, Kumo] An Uncanny Encounter
OMG LIEK FINALLY.
The 25th Annual Nationwide Undergraduate Show proved to be a grand, but relatively reserved event held within the modernistic, pristine, cream-colored space and soft white lights of the Kishikawa Gallery. The turnout was impressive; the showcase of undergraduate artwork from all over the country, held this year in Tokyo, attracted art critics, art magazine editors, journalists, faculty staff and fellow students from different regions in Japan. The showcase opening was a short, simple affair, with a speech from the president of the organization and the sponsor, followed by a reception accompanied by a live jazz band.
Having never been to an art show, much less shown work at one, Masaru did not know the usual proceedings and was glad to find that there was no need to present his pieces to the viewers. Presentation of concepts was no particular difficulty to Masaru, if only his art were a little more conceptual, like some of the other work at the show. Mister Bones apparently had two of his sculptures selected for the gallery, but could not attend the event according to Sasaki-sensei. As Masaru mused as to why the stoic teen could not make it to a prestigious art show, in which his own work was entered, on a Saturday evening, he came upon a striking painting rendered in a curious blend of neo-classicism and modernistic abstraction. Only one of the many beautiful pieces of art he had seen all night. Really, if Mister Bones was as much an aesthetic critic and appreciator as Masaru was, he did not know what he was missing.
Akakumo Amimono walked around the gallery, looking at all the art closely. He glanced at a young man standing by his painting, and smirking, he moved towards the painting.
With all the attention to detail of an analyst, Masaru studied the painting formally, noting the layering of oils, the translucent quality of the red and black glaze, the palpable visual texture created by varying brushstrokes. Only vaguely did he note in his peripheral vision the willowy figure approaching the painting, and he did not notice the stranger looking at him as he uttered, "Mannerist. No, Parisian court style, neoclassic." under his breath, trying to pinpoint the art's influence.
"Well done." He spoke up softly, smiling at his painting. He was wearing red and black, so he almost matched the painting. "it's neoclassic, Parisian court style...You must be an honor student."
Surprised, Masaru turned to the source of the quiet voice to find a petite young man beside him. Upon first look Masaru noted the blonde highlights in the stranger's straight, long-ish black hair, slender form contoured by a casual suit ensemble of crimson and black, and slight curve of a subtle grin. Masaru smiled courteously. "Oh no, I'm just your average sophomore at Nihon University. I take it that you're the artist of this painting,..." He slid a glance over at the tag by the piece. "... Amimono Akakumo-san?"
"Call me Kumo." He smiled softly. "Yea, I painted that." He frowned a bit, "I think it's total shit, but my art teacher liked it, so I thought I'd amuse her." He looked at the man before him, checking him out.
"Really?" Masaru turned to regard the painting. "I rather think it's a successful fusion of the Renaissance with a bolder, avant -garde-esque touch. Visually appealing work that pushes the envelope of style hybridization. I think it's quite beautiful," he turned back to the stranger and smiled, "Kumo-san."
"No, please, just Kumo." He smiled softly and chuckled at the man's analysis. "I guess so." He glanced at the painting then back at Masaru. "I didn't catch your name."
"Oh, of course, I apologize." Masaru laughed lightly. "Sukiyama Masaru. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Kumo." With a smile he extended his hand.
He shook the hand, then froze a bit. "S-Sukiyama?" He blinked a bit. "Do you have an older brother?..." He let go of the hand.
Masaru did not let his smile falter too much upon his new friend's response. Really, he ought to be used to this by now, for his name would always be affiliated to, and overshadowed by, his brother's. Felt none too good though. Putting his grin back on, he replied, "As a matter of fact I do. Sukiyama Akira. Do you know him?" Stupid question, but one asked stupid questions in encounters like these.
"Yeah, he's my neighbor and he works for my dad." Kumo laughed softly, patting Masaru's shoulder. "But anyways, I saw your stuff. It's really nice too. I don't believe that a sophomore drew them." He smiled brightly, the moment of shock completely gone.
Well now that's something else. This time Masaru could hardly keep the surprise out of his voice as he replied with widened eyes, "For real? That's so strange. So you're my brother's boss's son. And both you famous people living next to each other in the same apartment complex, what are the odds?" He shook his head and grinned. "He doesn't make an all too exciting neighbor though, I expect. But yes, thank you, you're too kind. It's not fantastic work really, I need to refine my art in both skill and conceptual direction."
"Yeah, my dad's the head of the research department at Morita Corps." He shrugged softly. "I'm not famous cause my dad is famous. I made myself famous through modelling." He smiled softly. "I think you should try your hand at figure drawing more...That's usually what happens...If a person isn't good at abstract art, they should try other styles." He smiled handsomely.
Another surprise. "So you model as well as do art? Interesting." Masaru grinned appreciatively, before arching a brow to the other man's following remark, which might have been an oblique jab at his work, though Masaru could not be certain. He was usually quite good at reading people, but this enigma was proving to be a challenge. "Well, how would you define good abstract art? Cubist and Avant-garde work met fierce criticism in the early 1900s, and critics thought of it as artistic blasphemy. I believe art that stirs up that sort of commotion must be no less than good art." He mirrored Kumo's languid, confident smile.
"But yes, I do need more foundational work, I wasn't able to practice it much before I left bioengineering and transferred to arts."
"It's not a matter of what I think is good or bad. It's a matter of what feelings I get from the painting." Kumo smiled kindly.
"Really? Bioengineering? Why switch out of that?" He blinked softly.
"Ah, I see. I suppose you're right." Not a conceptualist either, it seemed. Masaru grinned. More of an... Art Nouveau kind of guy? The sophomore mentally hit himself at the thought. He really needed to get over the bad habit of boxing people up into categories upon the first encounter. He studied Kumo again and stopped the automatic train of "punk", "goth" and "visual J- rock" in its track by answering the question.
"I took it because it seemed like the most sensible thing to do, since my brother did and all. But I was never very good at it, and I never cared too much for it either." He slipped his hands into the pockets of his khaki pants and continued. "I've always been interested in visual arts, though, so I decided I'd give it a shot. The folks didn't take my decision none too well." He fashioned his lips into a wry grin.
"I see." Kumo glanced at his watch, "Oh, I gotta go. I have a shoot in about an hour." He smiled brightly. "If you want, you can come with."
Masaru raised his brows. "Photoshoot?" He grinned. He had no other plans tonight besides the showcase, and being very new in the field he had been to neither an art installation nor a photoshoot session. This could be something worth seeing. "Sure. Lead the way."
"Just follow me." He smiled and started walking out of the gallery. Outside, there was a limo waiting for Kumo.
This time Masaru really could do nothing but openly stare at the sleek, black vehicle parked outside the building. A limo? Are you serious? What is this guy, some sort of celebrity? Masaru tried to shake off his bewilderment as he followed Kumo into the car and gingerly seated himself on the plush leather seats. A little self-consciously he grinned at his host, smoothing out the creases in his denim blazer. "Nice ride."
"Thanks." He smiled softly, watching the other man from the corner of his eye. "So, how old are you?" He smiled sheepishly.
"20. Currently studying at Nihon University." A little more at ease now, Masaru settled more comfortably into his seat. "You?"
"19. Professional model and freshman at Nihon. My major's theatre arts, and my minor is design." Kumo smiled softly as they stopped at a red light.
Masaru raised his brows. This was becoming almost disturbingly uncanny. "Nihon too? Fancy that. I wonder why I haven't seen you in the art building before." He heard the faint pitter-patter of light rain hitting glass and turned to the window, watching the drizzle grow quickly from a trickle to a full spring shower. "Must be pretty busy, with a major and minor. And a career too," added Masaru, turning back to regard his host.
"Yeah, I usually have early morning classes, and I work the rest of the day." He watched the rain, running a hand through his hair. The limo took off once again and soon, it drove into an underground parking lot.
"Sounds tough." Through the remaining threads of water on the glass pane Masaru watched the limousine pull into the large parking lot until it came to a halt, and looked to Kumo. "So this is the place."
"Yeah, this is the place." He smiled brightly and climbed out of the limousine. Brushing off his pants to straighten them a bit. "I forgot...You don't mind watching two men cling and crawl all over each other, right?" He smiled innocently.
Masaru nearly bumped his head on the ceiling of the car as he emerged. In place of a head injury instead his eyebrows shot skyward. "... What?" His eyes widened some more. Wait, what? A gay magazine model? "Is that why I've never heard of you?" He treaded out of the vehicle cautiously and quickly placed a firm foot on the ground before Kumo answered, lest his host shocked another near-accident out of him.
Kumo blushed a bit, "Well, I'm an up-and-coming gothic lolita scene model. And sometimes I have to pose with a male partner...And today just happened to be one of those days." He chuckled softly, closing the door.
"Aah," answered Masaru, enlightened. Well that was not so shocking then, Masaru did consider himself quite open-minded. Kumo's phrasing was no less than alarming, and Masaru mused that he probably had that very intent. "Right. So you're going to wear a dress or something?" Masaru quirked a brow and grinned quizzically.
"We'll see." Kumo smirked mysteriously and started walking towards an elevator. He pressed the button to go up, and waited.
Behind the petite teen, Masaru quirked his other brow. Briefly he traced Kumo's svelte form with his eyes, before following him into the elevator when it arrived. He mused inwardly. We'll see.
The elevator arrived at the correct floor, and a flood of people stood outside it. All of them somehow contributing in making Akakumo look beautiful.
There was just nothing about this guy that was not surprising, thought Masaru as he slowly followed Kumo through the crowd, watching an endless stream of designers, consultants and make-up artists greet their model as he walked by.
Kumo waved to all of them and then walked into his dressing room, holding the door, waiting for Masaru to come in.
Upon seeing Kumo's name on the dressing room Masaru had expected the model to ask him to wait outside, but at the invitation he briefly shot a quizzical glance at the teen, before dropping his qualms and entering the room.
Kumo smiled brightly, closing the door. "Some peace and quiet until the shoot is nice...I wouldn't want you to get eaten outsde my dressing room." He chuckled brightly. "They might want to get you into the shoot as well, since you are quite beautiful." Kumo started undressing.
Masaru laughed. "You mean they'd start swooping down on me like the consultants do on Queer Eye For A Straight Guy?" At the compliment he flashed a charming smile. "But thank you, that coming from a model's pretty flattering." As Kumo began to take off his jacket and shirt Masaru almost asked if he should turn around, but thought against it. They were guys. Guys changed in the same locker rooms in high school and shared public baths. He snorted at himself inwardly for having such a ridiculous notion.
"Kinna like that." He laughed softly, putting on a crisp white shirt with a long back, he buttoned it, than started working on taking off his pants.
As Kumo began to unbuckle his belt, Masaru set himself down on one of the plush chairs by the dressing table, and tried to keep himself busy by inspecting the magazines and bottles of make-up on the table. In his peripheral vision he noted the pale, slender lines of the model's legs, and he briefly observed the teen from the mirror before shifting his gaze back to the table.
Minding his own business, Kumo walked across the room, crossing Masaru's line of vision, with no pants or underwear on. Obviously, he didn't care who saw him and in what state of undress he was.
As he did in any unfamiliar situation, Masaru fashioned his perspective to that of an objective observer and neutral analyst. Models probably did this sort of thing all the time. For someone who dressed and undressed and posed for the camera for a living, it was only natural. And for a model as attractive as Kumo there was probably no need for abashment or repression. All the same, Masaru found it only polite to maintain what little privacy both of them had, picking up a magazine and perusing it.
Kumo put on his pair of pants, followed by a black vest, his shoes and a big bow. The last thing to touch his body was a black top hat. He turned towards Masaru and smiled, "What'd you think?" He asked, moving slowly to the make up counter.
Masaru looked Kumo up and down, rising from his seat. He scanned the room and sighted a black top hat in a box by the dressing table, removed it, and placed it snugly on Kumo's head. With a wide grin and his hands still on the brim of the hat, he replied, "Very cute."
Kumo smiled cutely, his entire body language changing to that of a small boy. "Thank you!" He glomped Masaru tightly, then plopped on the couch, waiting for his call.
That was bordering on alarming. Masaru was no fan of sudden, unexpected physical contact, due to the very fact that he had never before experienced sudden, unexpected physical contact, much less from someone he had known for less than 2 hours. He tried to keep his change of expression minimal, and let his eyes widen briefly before resuming his composed countenance, and smiled back at the smaller teen as he let go. Taking a deep quiet breath, he calmly seated himself beside the model on the couch. Aniki would've bust a vessel in his head by this point if he were in my place, mused Masaru, smirking inwardly.
Fiddling with his shirt, he hummed softly. He was no longer the somewhat composed 19 year old, he was a little bratty 10 year old prince.
Kumo's manager came in and motioned them out.
Masaru observed the model's change in personality with concealed interest, before what seemed like the manager entered and beckoned for Kumo, who rose from the couch. Not one to make assumptions without affirmation, Masaru remained in his seat with his eyes to the teen in wait for an idication to follow, or to stay.
Kumo blinked softly, then grabbed Masaru's hand, "Come on!" He smiled brightly.
This time Masaru was not taken by surprise, and he let himself be half-pulled to his feet before following the now bubbly, childlike model out the door. Seeing Kumo's beaming smile, the usually reserved Masaru could not keep the grin off his face for very long.
Kumo smiled and pulled Masaru out of the room and into the studio where the photoshoot will be taking place. He then let go, bouncing happily over to a tall male model, pouncing him.
Masaru watched this with intrigue and amusement. The taller male model did not seem in the least bothered and merely languidly draped an arm around the petite teen, waiting for instructions with an idle expression on his face. Masaru hung back a few feet away from the pair, hands in pockets, and passively wondered if all models had this air of lazy, yet somehow exhibitionist arrogance about them.
Kumo smiled at Masaru, then looked back at the photographer of the shoot, nodding softly at what he was saying.
Masaru asked one of the staff for permission to occupy a chair, before dragging it over and sitting down, making himself comfortable. Folding his arms loosely across his chest, he watched in anticipation.
Kumo and the taller model went to the center of the scene, which was an old, Victorian garden, and wrapped their arms around eachother, looking as if they where a couple in love.
So this was how a Gothic photoshoot looked like. A Victorian garden set stood stark against the blank walls of a spacious, white hall, faux vegetation and architecture sprawling over the edges of the set-up's perimeter like an Impressionist painting spilling out of its frame. Surrounding the set was all sorts of lighting equipment, a network of of black stands and white reflectors and silver lamps, fortress of mechanic tools manned by their bustling organic operators. And amongst all this, the models in their intimate embrace, oblivious to the abstract discord around them like heroic lovers from a literary classic.
At that very thought, Masaru fished out his sleek digital camera from his blazer pocket and captured the scene before him. The set with its ring of equipment and staff right in the middle of the picture, the surrounding white of the walls like a frame, the curious photograph of a photograph shoot. Masaru grinned down at his handiwork, before he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to the face of one of the staff whom he believed was a supervisor of sorts.
"I'm sorry, but unauthorized photo taking is prohibited. Please remove the image from your camera."
"Oh, right, of course. My apologies." Masaru scrolled through the camera options while the man loomed over his shoulder, and felt just a little regretful.
Kumo glanced at Masaru, then ran over to them. "It's alright.." He panted softly, "He can take pictures..." Kumo smiled brightly at the supervisor.
A surprised Masaru looked up at Kumo, who beamed at him. The supervisor gazed severely at the model and, after a brief pause, relented. "Fine." Then he turned back to Masaru. "But if you were to be caught using this image for any commercial or illicit means, we will sue."
"I assure you, sir, you'll have no reason to. Besides, I'm just a penniless college student, so I shan't want to waste anyone's time." Masaru stood up to his full height. "In fact, why don't I hand the photos to you after I finish, and you may place the company copyright and watermark on them? You may print or distribute them as you wish, and for violating the company policy I will not ask for any payment for the service, only that I receive credit for the pictures." The sophomore grinned confidently.
The supervisor looked dumbfounded for a moment, then considered the option with furrowed brows. "All right," came the rather snappish reply. "If the photos are good enough, we'll take them. If not, you may keep only the ones that we endorse." The man set his jaw and rigid expression, at which Masaru only replied with an even wider grin.
"Yes, sir."
Kumo smiled brightly and leaned up to place a small kiss on the supervisor's cheek, before bouncing off to the photoshoot.
Akakumo stood infrotn of the other model, who was dressed in a more vampiric fashion, while the other leaned down a bit, about to latch onto Kumo's neck.
A triumphant smirk spreading slowly on his face, Masaru resumed his gaze to the set with camera in hand. Ah, so there's the Goth bit. The college sophomore was beginning to find this photoshoot a bit tame for the genre. As the models remained still for the camera-men, Masaru moved quietly around the set toward the rear and took a cropped shot that had the figures backed against the extreme left edge of the picture. He inspected the photo and grinned in satisfaction.
Following that Masaru took a series of photos around the room, of the models, set, equipment and even staff, employing unusual angles and crops. He finished just as the manager called out to wrap up the shoot, and approached Kumo to tell him to wait while he passed the photos to the supervisor, whom he followed into the office. With the supervisor once again looming over him, Masaru sat before the office computer and imported the photos, then deleting them off his camera. Upon finishing, he opened Photoshop and began to render the images, much to the surprise of the supervisor who expressed his bewilderment.
"You don't have to do that, we have professionals here for the very job."
"Oh, please don't mind, I'd just like to extend my services a little further. If you worry that I'll do a bad job of them," Masaru created a new folder and renamed the rendered photos "you still have the originals." The young man turned and grinned pleasantly at the supervisor, who still appeared nonplussed, but said nothing.
Masaru continued to work on the photos for another half an hour, with the silent supervisor hanging over his shoulder, before he realized that he must have been keeping his friend waiting. He uttered a quick apology for being unable to finish the job, which the photo rendering staff took over. Masaru handed the supervisor his phone number in case there were problems, bade him thanks and farewell quickly and left the office in haste, only half noticing the rather appreciative comments the staff were exchanging in regards to his work.
"Sorry, kept you?" he apologized upon sighting the model, already back in his original clothing and leaning against the wall in waiting.
Kicking off the wall slightly, Kumo straightened up, giving him a slight grin, "Nah, I took a little nap." He did look a bit bed rumpled, but that must've been some weird dream.
Kumo popped his collar up slightly, smiling a bit. "Ready to go?"
"Yup." Masaru pocketed his camera and fell in step beside the shorter teen. "Hey uh, assuming your ride's taking you home, could I take a lift? I haven't seen my brother in a while and I wanna try to jump a surprise on him." He flashed a mischievous grin. Arriving at the limousine and entering it, he continued, "If he isn't home I could just go back to campus by bus." Though, knowing his brother, Masaru thought the scenario highly unlikely.
"That's fine." Kumo climbed into the limo and told the driver to take them to his house.
"Thanks." Masaru smiled gratefully. The beads of remaining rainwater hung motionless like little clear gems on the window, and scurried down the glass in a slant as the car slid into motion. The darkness and silence, save for the soft muted purring of the engine, were quietening, the faint rumble of the moving vehicle lulling him into comfort and calm. Yellow and red lights whirred by in a brilliant, soft blur outside, but the interior was incredibly still. Masaru let himself slip into comfortable, unguarded rest, leaning his head back against the seat and sliding his eyes closed, allowing himself to enjoy this delicious calm, for just a little while.
Kumo slumped against the seat, snoozing softly after a day of hard work.
Masaru eased further into the dark leather, letting the peace fill him and feeling his mind slip into slumber, before he felt something bump against his shoulder. Cracking his eyes open, he saw that Kumo was asleep and had slid in his seat, dropping his head on Masaru's shoulder. The sophomore peered down at the delicate features and fair skin between tendrils of soft hair, noting long sweeping lashes and plush, pink lips slightly parted with even breathing. Masaru himself inhaled deeply, and, shifting his weight a little against the model so the latter rested more snugly against him, slid his eyes shut.
Kumo snoozed softly, cuddling into the warm mass next to him, mumbling something about Candyland.
Masaru slept with the warmth in his side and scent of herbal shampoo in his breath, until he heard a hazy baritone "We've arrived, sir" in his slumber. He stirred to find the vehicle stationary outside a condominium complex, and turned to find the model still asleep on his shoulder, snug against his body. Masaru blinked owlishly down at the smaller teen, and with his returning sobriety came a slight awkwardness that made him want to pull away and regain some distance between them. He could not for the fear of rudely jerking his host to awakeness, so settled instead for patting him lightly on the forearm. "Kumo. We're here, Kumo."
"Mrrr?" He mumbled softly, opening his bright green eyes, blinking slowly, "Oh...ok..." He smiled sluggishly, pulling away and straightening up.
Masaru nodded to the driver and thanked him before stepping out of the car, then followed the yawning Kumo into the condominium lobby. They entered an awaiting elevator where Masaru leaned against the wall, watching the lights flick from one floor to the next, he and his new friend in perfect, comfortable silence.
Kumo leaned on the wall of the elevator, his arms crossed, and his eyes closed. "I'm so tired..." He sighed softly.
The elevator arrived at the desired floor with a ding, and as the door opened, Masaru placed his hands on the model's shoulders and pushed gently from behind, guiding him out. "Come on now, just a few more steps. I don't know where you live."
Kumo chuckled sleepily, and lead the way to his door, taking out his keys. He unlocked the door, then pointed to the door on his right, "That's your brother's apartment." He smiled softly, then opened the door, walking in and slipping his shoes off.
"Thanks." Masaru grinned. "Great meeting you, and thanks for taking me to the shoot. Maybe I'll see you at school sometime, if not, the next gallery exhibit." Exchanging a wave, he watched Kumo's door shut before moving to his brother's.
Masaru smirked openly. His conservative brother was sure to be asleep by this time, and to rouse the man from slumber with a surprise visit... he could only anticipate his brother's reaction. He pressed the doorbell. He imagined his brother with mussed, nest-like hair and glasses askew, and snickered. Of course the guy would wear his glasses to sleep. And probably with his laptop and chemistry set by his side. And why the hell isn't anyone answering? The door remained still and shut. Masaru tried the doorbell again, and this time put his ear against the door. He thought he heard a faint shuffle, but too soon it was drowned out by a dog barking somewhere lower in the apartment complex. He stood back and waited. Still the door did not open. Masaru stared at the dark wood both disappointed and bewildered. Where on earth could his brother be at this time of night?
Giving the obstinate door one last glare, he turned back to Kumo's. He was reluctant to trouble the model to open the door to ask for the closest bus stop, and figured he would just call a cab. Flipping open his cellphone, he was suddenly reminded that he never learned the number of the cab service, since he had never needed to take one. Feeling rather daft, he turned back to Kumo's door and sheepishly pressed the doorbell button, hoping that his friend had not yet gone to bed.
TO BE CONT'D.
The 25th Annual Nationwide Undergraduate Show proved to be a grand, but relatively reserved event held within the modernistic, pristine, cream-colored space and soft white lights of the Kishikawa Gallery. The turnout was impressive; the showcase of undergraduate artwork from all over the country, held this year in Tokyo, attracted art critics, art magazine editors, journalists, faculty staff and fellow students from different regions in Japan. The showcase opening was a short, simple affair, with a speech from the president of the organization and the sponsor, followed by a reception accompanied by a live jazz band.
Having never been to an art show, much less shown work at one, Masaru did not know the usual proceedings and was glad to find that there was no need to present his pieces to the viewers. Presentation of concepts was no particular difficulty to Masaru, if only his art were a little more conceptual, like some of the other work at the show. Mister Bones apparently had two of his sculptures selected for the gallery, but could not attend the event according to Sasaki-sensei. As Masaru mused as to why the stoic teen could not make it to a prestigious art show, in which his own work was entered, on a Saturday evening, he came upon a striking painting rendered in a curious blend of neo-classicism and modernistic abstraction. Only one of the many beautiful pieces of art he had seen all night. Really, if Mister Bones was as much an aesthetic critic and appreciator as Masaru was, he did not know what he was missing.
Akakumo Amimono walked around the gallery, looking at all the art closely. He glanced at a young man standing by his painting, and smirking, he moved towards the painting.
With all the attention to detail of an analyst, Masaru studied the painting formally, noting the layering of oils, the translucent quality of the red and black glaze, the palpable visual texture created by varying brushstrokes. Only vaguely did he note in his peripheral vision the willowy figure approaching the painting, and he did not notice the stranger looking at him as he uttered, "Mannerist. No, Parisian court style, neoclassic." under his breath, trying to pinpoint the art's influence.
"Well done." He spoke up softly, smiling at his painting. He was wearing red and black, so he almost matched the painting. "it's neoclassic, Parisian court style...You must be an honor student."
Surprised, Masaru turned to the source of the quiet voice to find a petite young man beside him. Upon first look Masaru noted the blonde highlights in the stranger's straight, long-ish black hair, slender form contoured by a casual suit ensemble of crimson and black, and slight curve of a subtle grin. Masaru smiled courteously. "Oh no, I'm just your average sophomore at Nihon University. I take it that you're the artist of this painting,..." He slid a glance over at the tag by the piece. "... Amimono Akakumo-san?"
"Call me Kumo." He smiled softly. "Yea, I painted that." He frowned a bit, "I think it's total shit, but my art teacher liked it, so I thought I'd amuse her." He looked at the man before him, checking him out.
"Really?" Masaru turned to regard the painting. "I rather think it's a successful fusion of the Renaissance with a bolder, avant -garde-esque touch. Visually appealing work that pushes the envelope of style hybridization. I think it's quite beautiful," he turned back to the stranger and smiled, "Kumo-san."
"No, please, just Kumo." He smiled softly and chuckled at the man's analysis. "I guess so." He glanced at the painting then back at Masaru. "I didn't catch your name."
"Oh, of course, I apologize." Masaru laughed lightly. "Sukiyama Masaru. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Kumo." With a smile he extended his hand.
He shook the hand, then froze a bit. "S-Sukiyama?" He blinked a bit. "Do you have an older brother?..." He let go of the hand.
Masaru did not let his smile falter too much upon his new friend's response. Really, he ought to be used to this by now, for his name would always be affiliated to, and overshadowed by, his brother's. Felt none too good though. Putting his grin back on, he replied, "As a matter of fact I do. Sukiyama Akira. Do you know him?" Stupid question, but one asked stupid questions in encounters like these.
"Yeah, he's my neighbor and he works for my dad." Kumo laughed softly, patting Masaru's shoulder. "But anyways, I saw your stuff. It's really nice too. I don't believe that a sophomore drew them." He smiled brightly, the moment of shock completely gone.
Well now that's something else. This time Masaru could hardly keep the surprise out of his voice as he replied with widened eyes, "For real? That's so strange. So you're my brother's boss's son. And both you famous people living next to each other in the same apartment complex, what are the odds?" He shook his head and grinned. "He doesn't make an all too exciting neighbor though, I expect. But yes, thank you, you're too kind. It's not fantastic work really, I need to refine my art in both skill and conceptual direction."
"Yeah, my dad's the head of the research department at Morita Corps." He shrugged softly. "I'm not famous cause my dad is famous. I made myself famous through modelling." He smiled softly. "I think you should try your hand at figure drawing more...That's usually what happens...If a person isn't good at abstract art, they should try other styles." He smiled handsomely.
Another surprise. "So you model as well as do art? Interesting." Masaru grinned appreciatively, before arching a brow to the other man's following remark, which might have been an oblique jab at his work, though Masaru could not be certain. He was usually quite good at reading people, but this enigma was proving to be a challenge. "Well, how would you define good abstract art? Cubist and Avant-garde work met fierce criticism in the early 1900s, and critics thought of it as artistic blasphemy. I believe art that stirs up that sort of commotion must be no less than good art." He mirrored Kumo's languid, confident smile.
"But yes, I do need more foundational work, I wasn't able to practice it much before I left bioengineering and transferred to arts."
"It's not a matter of what I think is good or bad. It's a matter of what feelings I get from the painting." Kumo smiled kindly.
"Really? Bioengineering? Why switch out of that?" He blinked softly.
"Ah, I see. I suppose you're right." Not a conceptualist either, it seemed. Masaru grinned. More of an... Art Nouveau kind of guy? The sophomore mentally hit himself at the thought. He really needed to get over the bad habit of boxing people up into categories upon the first encounter. He studied Kumo again and stopped the automatic train of "punk", "goth" and "visual J- rock" in its track by answering the question.
"I took it because it seemed like the most sensible thing to do, since my brother did and all. But I was never very good at it, and I never cared too much for it either." He slipped his hands into the pockets of his khaki pants and continued. "I've always been interested in visual arts, though, so I decided I'd give it a shot. The folks didn't take my decision none too well." He fashioned his lips into a wry grin.
"I see." Kumo glanced at his watch, "Oh, I gotta go. I have a shoot in about an hour." He smiled brightly. "If you want, you can come with."
Masaru raised his brows. "Photoshoot?" He grinned. He had no other plans tonight besides the showcase, and being very new in the field he had been to neither an art installation nor a photoshoot session. This could be something worth seeing. "Sure. Lead the way."
"Just follow me." He smiled and started walking out of the gallery. Outside, there was a limo waiting for Kumo.
This time Masaru really could do nothing but openly stare at the sleek, black vehicle parked outside the building. A limo? Are you serious? What is this guy, some sort of celebrity? Masaru tried to shake off his bewilderment as he followed Kumo into the car and gingerly seated himself on the plush leather seats. A little self-consciously he grinned at his host, smoothing out the creases in his denim blazer. "Nice ride."
"Thanks." He smiled softly, watching the other man from the corner of his eye. "So, how old are you?" He smiled sheepishly.
"20. Currently studying at Nihon University." A little more at ease now, Masaru settled more comfortably into his seat. "You?"
"19. Professional model and freshman at Nihon. My major's theatre arts, and my minor is design." Kumo smiled softly as they stopped at a red light.
Masaru raised his brows. This was becoming almost disturbingly uncanny. "Nihon too? Fancy that. I wonder why I haven't seen you in the art building before." He heard the faint pitter-patter of light rain hitting glass and turned to the window, watching the drizzle grow quickly from a trickle to a full spring shower. "Must be pretty busy, with a major and minor. And a career too," added Masaru, turning back to regard his host.
"Yeah, I usually have early morning classes, and I work the rest of the day." He watched the rain, running a hand through his hair. The limo took off once again and soon, it drove into an underground parking lot.
"Sounds tough." Through the remaining threads of water on the glass pane Masaru watched the limousine pull into the large parking lot until it came to a halt, and looked to Kumo. "So this is the place."
"Yeah, this is the place." He smiled brightly and climbed out of the limousine. Brushing off his pants to straighten them a bit. "I forgot...You don't mind watching two men cling and crawl all over each other, right?" He smiled innocently.
Masaru nearly bumped his head on the ceiling of the car as he emerged. In place of a head injury instead his eyebrows shot skyward. "... What?" His eyes widened some more. Wait, what? A gay magazine model? "Is that why I've never heard of you?" He treaded out of the vehicle cautiously and quickly placed a firm foot on the ground before Kumo answered, lest his host shocked another near-accident out of him.
Kumo blushed a bit, "Well, I'm an up-and-coming gothic lolita scene model. And sometimes I have to pose with a male partner...And today just happened to be one of those days." He chuckled softly, closing the door.
"Aah," answered Masaru, enlightened. Well that was not so shocking then, Masaru did consider himself quite open-minded. Kumo's phrasing was no less than alarming, and Masaru mused that he probably had that very intent. "Right. So you're going to wear a dress or something?" Masaru quirked a brow and grinned quizzically.
"We'll see." Kumo smirked mysteriously and started walking towards an elevator. He pressed the button to go up, and waited.
Behind the petite teen, Masaru quirked his other brow. Briefly he traced Kumo's svelte form with his eyes, before following him into the elevator when it arrived. He mused inwardly. We'll see.
The elevator arrived at the correct floor, and a flood of people stood outside it. All of them somehow contributing in making Akakumo look beautiful.
There was just nothing about this guy that was not surprising, thought Masaru as he slowly followed Kumo through the crowd, watching an endless stream of designers, consultants and make-up artists greet their model as he walked by.
Kumo waved to all of them and then walked into his dressing room, holding the door, waiting for Masaru to come in.
Upon seeing Kumo's name on the dressing room Masaru had expected the model to ask him to wait outside, but at the invitation he briefly shot a quizzical glance at the teen, before dropping his qualms and entering the room.
Kumo smiled brightly, closing the door. "Some peace and quiet until the shoot is nice...I wouldn't want you to get eaten outsde my dressing room." He chuckled brightly. "They might want to get you into the shoot as well, since you are quite beautiful." Kumo started undressing.
Masaru laughed. "You mean they'd start swooping down on me like the consultants do on Queer Eye For A Straight Guy?" At the compliment he flashed a charming smile. "But thank you, that coming from a model's pretty flattering." As Kumo began to take off his jacket and shirt Masaru almost asked if he should turn around, but thought against it. They were guys. Guys changed in the same locker rooms in high school and shared public baths. He snorted at himself inwardly for having such a ridiculous notion.
"Kinna like that." He laughed softly, putting on a crisp white shirt with a long back, he buttoned it, than started working on taking off his pants.
As Kumo began to unbuckle his belt, Masaru set himself down on one of the plush chairs by the dressing table, and tried to keep himself busy by inspecting the magazines and bottles of make-up on the table. In his peripheral vision he noted the pale, slender lines of the model's legs, and he briefly observed the teen from the mirror before shifting his gaze back to the table.
Minding his own business, Kumo walked across the room, crossing Masaru's line of vision, with no pants or underwear on. Obviously, he didn't care who saw him and in what state of undress he was.
As he did in any unfamiliar situation, Masaru fashioned his perspective to that of an objective observer and neutral analyst. Models probably did this sort of thing all the time. For someone who dressed and undressed and posed for the camera for a living, it was only natural. And for a model as attractive as Kumo there was probably no need for abashment or repression. All the same, Masaru found it only polite to maintain what little privacy both of them had, picking up a magazine and perusing it.
Kumo put on his pair of pants, followed by a black vest, his shoes and a big bow. The last thing to touch his body was a black top hat. He turned towards Masaru and smiled, "What'd you think?" He asked, moving slowly to the make up counter.
Masaru looked Kumo up and down, rising from his seat. He scanned the room and sighted a black top hat in a box by the dressing table, removed it, and placed it snugly on Kumo's head. With a wide grin and his hands still on the brim of the hat, he replied, "Very cute."
Kumo smiled cutely, his entire body language changing to that of a small boy. "Thank you!" He glomped Masaru tightly, then plopped on the couch, waiting for his call.
That was bordering on alarming. Masaru was no fan of sudden, unexpected physical contact, due to the very fact that he had never before experienced sudden, unexpected physical contact, much less from someone he had known for less than 2 hours. He tried to keep his change of expression minimal, and let his eyes widen briefly before resuming his composed countenance, and smiled back at the smaller teen as he let go. Taking a deep quiet breath, he calmly seated himself beside the model on the couch. Aniki would've bust a vessel in his head by this point if he were in my place, mused Masaru, smirking inwardly.
Fiddling with his shirt, he hummed softly. He was no longer the somewhat composed 19 year old, he was a little bratty 10 year old prince.
Kumo's manager came in and motioned them out.
Masaru observed the model's change in personality with concealed interest, before what seemed like the manager entered and beckoned for Kumo, who rose from the couch. Not one to make assumptions without affirmation, Masaru remained in his seat with his eyes to the teen in wait for an idication to follow, or to stay.
Kumo blinked softly, then grabbed Masaru's hand, "Come on!" He smiled brightly.
This time Masaru was not taken by surprise, and he let himself be half-pulled to his feet before following the now bubbly, childlike model out the door. Seeing Kumo's beaming smile, the usually reserved Masaru could not keep the grin off his face for very long.
Kumo smiled and pulled Masaru out of the room and into the studio where the photoshoot will be taking place. He then let go, bouncing happily over to a tall male model, pouncing him.
Masaru watched this with intrigue and amusement. The taller male model did not seem in the least bothered and merely languidly draped an arm around the petite teen, waiting for instructions with an idle expression on his face. Masaru hung back a few feet away from the pair, hands in pockets, and passively wondered if all models had this air of lazy, yet somehow exhibitionist arrogance about them.
Kumo smiled at Masaru, then looked back at the photographer of the shoot, nodding softly at what he was saying.
Masaru asked one of the staff for permission to occupy a chair, before dragging it over and sitting down, making himself comfortable. Folding his arms loosely across his chest, he watched in anticipation.
Kumo and the taller model went to the center of the scene, which was an old, Victorian garden, and wrapped their arms around eachother, looking as if they where a couple in love.
So this was how a Gothic photoshoot looked like. A Victorian garden set stood stark against the blank walls of a spacious, white hall, faux vegetation and architecture sprawling over the edges of the set-up's perimeter like an Impressionist painting spilling out of its frame. Surrounding the set was all sorts of lighting equipment, a network of of black stands and white reflectors and silver lamps, fortress of mechanic tools manned by their bustling organic operators. And amongst all this, the models in their intimate embrace, oblivious to the abstract discord around them like heroic lovers from a literary classic.
At that very thought, Masaru fished out his sleek digital camera from his blazer pocket and captured the scene before him. The set with its ring of equipment and staff right in the middle of the picture, the surrounding white of the walls like a frame, the curious photograph of a photograph shoot. Masaru grinned down at his handiwork, before he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to the face of one of the staff whom he believed was a supervisor of sorts.
"I'm sorry, but unauthorized photo taking is prohibited. Please remove the image from your camera."
"Oh, right, of course. My apologies." Masaru scrolled through the camera options while the man loomed over his shoulder, and felt just a little regretful.
Kumo glanced at Masaru, then ran over to them. "It's alright.." He panted softly, "He can take pictures..." Kumo smiled brightly at the supervisor.
A surprised Masaru looked up at Kumo, who beamed at him. The supervisor gazed severely at the model and, after a brief pause, relented. "Fine." Then he turned back to Masaru. "But if you were to be caught using this image for any commercial or illicit means, we will sue."
"I assure you, sir, you'll have no reason to. Besides, I'm just a penniless college student, so I shan't want to waste anyone's time." Masaru stood up to his full height. "In fact, why don't I hand the photos to you after I finish, and you may place the company copyright and watermark on them? You may print or distribute them as you wish, and for violating the company policy I will not ask for any payment for the service, only that I receive credit for the pictures." The sophomore grinned confidently.
The supervisor looked dumbfounded for a moment, then considered the option with furrowed brows. "All right," came the rather snappish reply. "If the photos are good enough, we'll take them. If not, you may keep only the ones that we endorse." The man set his jaw and rigid expression, at which Masaru only replied with an even wider grin.
"Yes, sir."
Kumo smiled brightly and leaned up to place a small kiss on the supervisor's cheek, before bouncing off to the photoshoot.
Akakumo stood infrotn of the other model, who was dressed in a more vampiric fashion, while the other leaned down a bit, about to latch onto Kumo's neck.
A triumphant smirk spreading slowly on his face, Masaru resumed his gaze to the set with camera in hand. Ah, so there's the Goth bit. The college sophomore was beginning to find this photoshoot a bit tame for the genre. As the models remained still for the camera-men, Masaru moved quietly around the set toward the rear and took a cropped shot that had the figures backed against the extreme left edge of the picture. He inspected the photo and grinned in satisfaction.
Following that Masaru took a series of photos around the room, of the models, set, equipment and even staff, employing unusual angles and crops. He finished just as the manager called out to wrap up the shoot, and approached Kumo to tell him to wait while he passed the photos to the supervisor, whom he followed into the office. With the supervisor once again looming over him, Masaru sat before the office computer and imported the photos, then deleting them off his camera. Upon finishing, he opened Photoshop and began to render the images, much to the surprise of the supervisor who expressed his bewilderment.
"You don't have to do that, we have professionals here for the very job."
"Oh, please don't mind, I'd just like to extend my services a little further. If you worry that I'll do a bad job of them," Masaru created a new folder and renamed the rendered photos "you still have the originals." The young man turned and grinned pleasantly at the supervisor, who still appeared nonplussed, but said nothing.
Masaru continued to work on the photos for another half an hour, with the silent supervisor hanging over his shoulder, before he realized that he must have been keeping his friend waiting. He uttered a quick apology for being unable to finish the job, which the photo rendering staff took over. Masaru handed the supervisor his phone number in case there were problems, bade him thanks and farewell quickly and left the office in haste, only half noticing the rather appreciative comments the staff were exchanging in regards to his work.
"Sorry, kept you?" he apologized upon sighting the model, already back in his original clothing and leaning against the wall in waiting.
Kicking off the wall slightly, Kumo straightened up, giving him a slight grin, "Nah, I took a little nap." He did look a bit bed rumpled, but that must've been some weird dream.
Kumo popped his collar up slightly, smiling a bit. "Ready to go?"
"Yup." Masaru pocketed his camera and fell in step beside the shorter teen. "Hey uh, assuming your ride's taking you home, could I take a lift? I haven't seen my brother in a while and I wanna try to jump a surprise on him." He flashed a mischievous grin. Arriving at the limousine and entering it, he continued, "If he isn't home I could just go back to campus by bus." Though, knowing his brother, Masaru thought the scenario highly unlikely.
"That's fine." Kumo climbed into the limo and told the driver to take them to his house.
"Thanks." Masaru smiled gratefully. The beads of remaining rainwater hung motionless like little clear gems on the window, and scurried down the glass in a slant as the car slid into motion. The darkness and silence, save for the soft muted purring of the engine, were quietening, the faint rumble of the moving vehicle lulling him into comfort and calm. Yellow and red lights whirred by in a brilliant, soft blur outside, but the interior was incredibly still. Masaru let himself slip into comfortable, unguarded rest, leaning his head back against the seat and sliding his eyes closed, allowing himself to enjoy this delicious calm, for just a little while.
Kumo slumped against the seat, snoozing softly after a day of hard work.
Masaru eased further into the dark leather, letting the peace fill him and feeling his mind slip into slumber, before he felt something bump against his shoulder. Cracking his eyes open, he saw that Kumo was asleep and had slid in his seat, dropping his head on Masaru's shoulder. The sophomore peered down at the delicate features and fair skin between tendrils of soft hair, noting long sweeping lashes and plush, pink lips slightly parted with even breathing. Masaru himself inhaled deeply, and, shifting his weight a little against the model so the latter rested more snugly against him, slid his eyes shut.
Kumo snoozed softly, cuddling into the warm mass next to him, mumbling something about Candyland.
Masaru slept with the warmth in his side and scent of herbal shampoo in his breath, until he heard a hazy baritone "We've arrived, sir" in his slumber. He stirred to find the vehicle stationary outside a condominium complex, and turned to find the model still asleep on his shoulder, snug against his body. Masaru blinked owlishly down at the smaller teen, and with his returning sobriety came a slight awkwardness that made him want to pull away and regain some distance between them. He could not for the fear of rudely jerking his host to awakeness, so settled instead for patting him lightly on the forearm. "Kumo. We're here, Kumo."
"Mrrr?" He mumbled softly, opening his bright green eyes, blinking slowly, "Oh...ok..." He smiled sluggishly, pulling away and straightening up.
Masaru nodded to the driver and thanked him before stepping out of the car, then followed the yawning Kumo into the condominium lobby. They entered an awaiting elevator where Masaru leaned against the wall, watching the lights flick from one floor to the next, he and his new friend in perfect, comfortable silence.
Kumo leaned on the wall of the elevator, his arms crossed, and his eyes closed. "I'm so tired..." He sighed softly.
The elevator arrived at the desired floor with a ding, and as the door opened, Masaru placed his hands on the model's shoulders and pushed gently from behind, guiding him out. "Come on now, just a few more steps. I don't know where you live."
Kumo chuckled sleepily, and lead the way to his door, taking out his keys. He unlocked the door, then pointed to the door on his right, "That's your brother's apartment." He smiled softly, then opened the door, walking in and slipping his shoes off.
"Thanks." Masaru grinned. "Great meeting you, and thanks for taking me to the shoot. Maybe I'll see you at school sometime, if not, the next gallery exhibit." Exchanging a wave, he watched Kumo's door shut before moving to his brother's.
Masaru smirked openly. His conservative brother was sure to be asleep by this time, and to rouse the man from slumber with a surprise visit... he could only anticipate his brother's reaction. He pressed the doorbell. He imagined his brother with mussed, nest-like hair and glasses askew, and snickered. Of course the guy would wear his glasses to sleep. And probably with his laptop and chemistry set by his side. And why the hell isn't anyone answering? The door remained still and shut. Masaru tried the doorbell again, and this time put his ear against the door. He thought he heard a faint shuffle, but too soon it was drowned out by a dog barking somewhere lower in the apartment complex. He stood back and waited. Still the door did not open. Masaru stared at the dark wood both disappointed and bewildered. Where on earth could his brother be at this time of night?
Giving the obstinate door one last glare, he turned back to Kumo's. He was reluctant to trouble the model to open the door to ask for the closest bus stop, and figured he would just call a cab. Flipping open his cellphone, he was suddenly reminded that he never learned the number of the cab service, since he had never needed to take one. Feeling rather daft, he turned back to Kumo's door and sheepishly pressed the doorbell button, hoping that his friend had not yet gone to bed.
TO BE CONT'D.