Well, here it is, chapter 8. This was originally one half of a chapter, but said chapter got to be too long, and could be easily split, so I divided it into two separate chapters. Chapter 9 will be up next week. Enjoy! And thank you for all the kind reviews!

Talking on Paper

by IdiotFromOsaka

"At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet" ~Plato

oOoOo

The weekend passed far too quickly for Kiku's taste. It felt as if there hadn't been two days of break, but barely one. Time had mushed itself together into a blur of video games and homework and wondering wondering wondering. Kiku hated it. His mother never ended up mentioning the events of a certain Friday evening. Kiku was unsure if he should be happy or sad regarding this lack of development.

On one hand, he wouldn't be forced to talk about any awkward relationship topics with his mother.

On the other, there was the fact that he just didn't know. His mother was the master of the neutral gaze, never letting an emotion, and opinion, slip into the open without conscious permission.

It was an inherited trait.

Kiku drew himself out of his thoughts, clasping a hand around the cool metal of the doorknob before him. A sigh blew from his nostrils as he gripped the knob a little tighter, twisting his wrist so that the lock moved with it. The door slid open, a burst of cool air finding it's way through the thin sliver of space between the door and it's frame. A chill traced it's way across Kiku's skin as he peered through the now-open doorway.

Orange. Orange everywhere. Leaves fluttered to the ground haphazardly, like tiny faeries having lost control of their wings.

A morbid thought, Kiku decided. Suited for a Monday.

Kiku forced himself to lift a heavy foot, placing it on the other side of the doorway as his mouth stretched into a wide yawn. As a teenager- no, scratch that- as a human, Kiku felt rather justified in his dislike of this particular day of the week. But he supposed it was not the day of the week he disliked, but what happened on it. And on his particular Monday, he hated Mondays more than usual.

Kiku lifted his other foot, fully stepping into the chill of the autumn morning. His gaze drifted past his own front yard, to the endless string of dull-colored houses and suburban sprawl that he called his neighborhood. Pulling his backpack a little higher on his shoulders, Kiku took another forced step forward, away from the warm comfort of indoors and toward his school. He couldn't see the building yet, but he knew the way like he knew the layout of his own house, he'd walked the path so often.

Kiku folded into himself as he walked, half to lessen the perceived the weight of his backpack and half to protect himself from the biting wind. For a moment, he fumbled with the zipper of his jacket, pulling the stubborn thing upward until there was no zipper left, before continuing his march forward. The sun had just began to peek over the horizon, finally deciding to leave it's well-chosen hiding spot to shed a bit of light on the earth. Kiku ducked his head down in an attempt to hide his eyes from the morning sunlight, letting his dark bangs fall over them like a curtain.

A length of uneven sidewalk caught his eye as he walked. Kiku's side of the sidewalk, by some mistake, was about an inch higher than the square of concrete beside it. A memory bubbled to the surface of Kiku's consciousness, only a month old, of a day when Herakles was too lost in thought to pick up his foot high enough to avoid the concrete ledge and ended up stumbling.

Kiku wanted to laugh and pound his fists into the nearest tree and dance and cry and he just didn't know so he just stepped over the damn ledge and kept walking.

It was sure to be a long day.

oOoOo

The day passed in a blur of printed text and anxiety. Normally, whenever stressful schooldays came about, Kiku could at least find a bit of solace in whatever art class he was taking that year. But, as fate (no, Kiku thought, chance, because fate was a silly concept that he could never quite believe in) would have it, the majority of his stress stemmed from the class and said class' seating arrangements.

But nevertheless, Kiku found himself stepping into art class that day, a light headache throbbing at his temple and too many books in his backpack.

A sigh found it's way out of his throat as Kiku stepped through the open doorway, the soles of his shoes dragging across the dusty floor. Five people inhabited the room when he entered, and only three were students. Two sat at their desks, lips moving as they chatted, while the other gathered painting supplies. Mrs. Tanner sat at her desk, swivel chair tilted towards Mrs. Lacy beside her as they talked. A giggle burst out of the younger woman as she looked up from her conversation, catching Kiku's gaze. She brought a hand up, calling Kiku over to her desk with a simple wave of her hand.

Kiku's eyebrows rose as he crossed the room, watching Mrs. Tanner as she sorted through the mess of paperwork and art projects piled on her desk. Her fingers wiggled impatiently as they darted across the desk, picking up small pieces of paper before deciding that they were not what she was looking for and setting them down again. Finally, a thick half-sheet of paper was pulled out of the mess. Mrs. Tanner grasped it tightly, an excited smile forming on her lips as she thrust the sheet at Kiku's chest.

Kiku grasped the paper with nervous fingers. The paper felt thick, official, like an important document or special invitation. Good news, important news, he decided before actually looking down.

The message was written in proud, loopy cursive, obviously trying to be as formal as possible. Enclosed by a thin border was the word Congratulations!

Kiku began towards his seat, taking in the message as it continued.

Kiku Honda

Your painting has been selected as one of the top ten paintings in our competition!

Your painting, along with other participant's, will be showcased on Saturday, the 8th, at the Red River Art Gallery.

We invite you to join us.

Winner will be announced at the end of the night.

Kiku practically fell into his seat as he arrived, eyes widened and heart thumping furiously. His grip tightened on the little slip of paper, so official and self-important and oh my god he'd done it.

He couldn't help the smile that appeared on his face as he read the words again. And again and again and again. Kiku ran the pad of his thumb over the parchment, relishing the rough feel of it on his skin, not because it felt particularly good but it meant that this paper existed. This was not just some figment of his imagination conjured by his mind to help relieve a particularly bad Monday. This was happening.

Kiku took a particularly deep breath, a sad attempt to calm himself down, before trying to relax into the stiff curve of his chair. The excitement in his mind began to bubble down, dimming into a nice, warm glow of happiness. But, out of nowhere it seemed, a pang of distress racked Kiku's brain, digging into his chest and knotting his brow.

Kiku felt his muscles begin to tighten as he scanned the room. Herakles wasn't here yet. Good. That was good. Maybe he wouldn't get here until the last second, or better yet, be late. Maybe he wouldn't be in class today. Maybe Kiku would have a bit more time to pretend the problem didn't exist. Maybe-

No, he couldn't think like that.

Kiku bent forward, reaching for strap of his backpack and pulling it towards him. Roughly, he unzipped the the largest pocket and reached in, pulling out his sketch book. He just had to focus, not on Herakles, not on his mother, not on anything but a drawing.

He had an idea already.

Quickly, he flipped open the sketchbook, turning to the next blank page as he rested it against the edge of his desk. He brought the tip of his pencil against the paper, dragging it so a slow, curved line began to form.

A dancer, Kiku decided. He'd draw a dancer.

Gradually, the contour of a woman's body was formed, one leg outstretched. She held one arm curved across her torso, the other stretching the opposite direction of her leg. Probably not a real move in dance, but Kiku didn't care. He didn't know much about any sort of dance. And besides, this drawing was for focus. To just focus on the drawing and nothing else.

Kiku sketched for a few more moments, adding in the basic shape of the woman's head and retracing the contour so the figure appeared more natural. But curiosity overcame him. His mind, and eventually his eyes, wandered to the doorway, and who was going though it.

Kiku pressed his lips together as he stared impatiently at the doorway. Perhaps it'd be better if they just got everything over with quickly. Like ripping off a band-aid.

A leg stepped through the doorway, bringing with it a body, a person, with sleepy green eyes and wavy hair. The person looked about the room, an unusual hint of worry hiding in his expression as his eyes met Kiku's. He pulled his backpack a little higher on his shoulders and bit his lip, his leg swinging itself in front of him.

Kiku ducked his head back into his drawing, trying to bring the pencil to paper and ultimately failing. Because he knew, he could see out of the corner of his eye, that the person was getting closer and closer, and his heart was beating way too fast and his brain just wouldn't focus. Kiku just gripped the pencil even tighter.

So he just waited waited waited, for a thousand years or maybe just a single minute, until a vibration echoed through the art table. A quick breath flew out of Kiku's nostrils as the sudden movement shook his sketchbook, and he gripped the spiral even tighter. He lifted his pencil again, laying the graphite against a sketchy line, and slowly, carefully, he drew a little more. Maybe it was silly, or stupid, but in that moment Kiku thought that he could just act like he was so focused he hadn't even notice the person.

Herakles.

Kiku couldn't help but watch out of the corner of his eye as Herakles situated himself at the table, messing with the zippers of his worn-down backpack, adjusting the position of that old, dust-colored jacket he liked to wear. A hand dug into the mess that was Herakles' backpack, digging through layers of textbooks and binders and papers, until it finally paused on a single sliver of red. Long fingers reached toward towards the red object- a spiral- and pulled it from it's position behind a math textbook. Kiku flipped his pencil away from his sketchbook as Herakles' thumb dug into the edge of the notebook, turning to a blank page.

Kiku's head rose, a sigh escaping from his lips as he let his eyes focus on the notebook. Herakles' hand coiled around a wooden pencil, not incredibly dull but certainly not sharp either. Kiku didn't dare let his eyes lift from the page, let himself see what Herakles felt, as the hand began to move, making long, thick scratches on the page.

Soon, words formed, made of wide W's and not quite connected D's.

What are you drawing?

Kiku's gaze fell down to his sketchbook, eyes examining the figure drawn upon it. The answer was obvious, surely Herakles had figured it out for himself with a single glance. Herakles could have easily ignored him.

A dancer, Kiku began, taking a cautious glance at Herakles' expression. Calm, or trying to be. His brow was slightly knotted, and while his eyes held their usually sleepiness, they were now accompanied by bags below them. I've never seen a one in real life before, but the figures are very fun to draw.

One side of Herakles' mouth curled into a smile. Well, it looks good. I really like it.

Kiku gave a short reply. Thanks.

The bit of conversation soon lapsed into nothingness, Kiku returning his pencil to the drawing and Herakles, after a short while of peeking over Kiku's shoulder, going to get his own art supplies. Herakles stood, the slow movement of his knees seeming almost reluctant, and Kiku couldn't help but watch as he began to amble towards the back counter of the room. His hair bobbed as he walked, appearing a bit shorter than Friday, but Kiku couldn't quite decided if Herakles' had gotten a haircut or it was merely an illusion.

Kiku's foot swung back and forth beneath the table, only on occasion brushing the floor beneath him. He stared down at the contour of the dancer, trying to figure out what to do next. Set the sketchbook down and peacefully get his stuff? Try to ignore the existence of last Friday? Bring it up as soon as Herakles sat down again?

He lifted the sketchbook onto the table, closing it with as little force as possible, and let his feet touch the floor and push himself backward. Retrieve his paints first, he decided. That was practical. But the quick backward motion was soon stopped by an object behind him. A bit of water fell onto Kiku's shoulder.

Kiku got to his feet in a whirlwind of apology, his toes wriggling in his shoes. A fist quickly formed at his chest, circling maybe once too many times before the action slowed, and his found it's place at Kiku's side. The object, a person, Herakles, squatted close to the floor, chin tilted upward with his lips pulled into a calm, forgiving smile. One hand made a smooth waving motion, brushing off the incident, while the other reached for a small plastic cup as it rolled back and forth on the floor.

A small pool of water had formed on the floor, seemingly having poured from the now-empty cup that Herakles grasped in his hand. Two sets of water color paints, along with a couple brushes, were neatly stacked a couple inches away from the mess, being moved ever so slightly as the puddle appeared to grow. Kiku swiveled his head back toward the sinks, catching a few people gazing at the mess they'd made with faint interest. He held up his index finger, as if to say "One second" and rushed to the paper towel dispenser.

As he went, Kiku found his feet twisting and turning, never quite finding a grip on the floor. The generally wet area near the sinks didn't help, and Kiku found himself almost losing his balance several times during the short venture. As soon as he arrived, he unrolled about a mile of paper towels before returning to his seat, his steps a bit more careful as he returned.

Herakles still sat squatted on the floor as he returned, half a smile on his lips and half present in his eyes. Such a nice shade of green, Kiku thought as ripped the dusty brown paper in his hands in half. He handed one half to Herakles, and the small smile molded into Herakles' features grew wider, thankful, as the creased

brown sheet passed between them.

Herakles then brought his head down, his back arced forward, and pressed the napkin into pooling water near his sneakers. Kiku soon joined in, following his lead. He pressed his hands into the spill, letting the cool water engulf his fingertips. His eyes stayed firmly on floor as he applied more pressure to the towel, trained on Herakles' fingers, the way they positioned themselves atop the towel, twisting and bending as they moved. Not because they were particularly intriguing at the moment, no. Kiku found himself locked in a one-sided game of keep-away.

He wasn't sure why- why Herakles' touch held so much power, why he was so scared of it- but Kiku decided it was, at that moment, best to avoid any sort of physical contact.

Herakles' hands would move forward and Kiku's would move back, and then a bit to the side. Herakles' hands would appear to follow (but Kiku hadn't looked up for some time now, so he wouldn't know if Herakles was as focused as he was, or simply just moving to places that need the most attention) and Kiku's hands would skit away as unassumingly as physically possible. To Kiku's relief, it wasn't long before the work was finished, water all soaked up and hands near their own bodies. The paper towels, molded into messy balls of damp, clingy paper, were quickly disposed of.

Kiku quickly slid back into the stiff comfort of his assigned seat, chin tucked down towards his chest and shoulder blades pressed against the cool plastic half-surrounding him. He reached for his pencil. It was a habit, holding a pencil between his fingers. Even if there was nothing to draw or write on, just the way the pencil balanced in the space between his knuckles was a comfort.

Kiku decided he drew to often.

A whisper of a breath escaped the slight 'o' of Kiku's lips as his toes curled inside his shoes. His shoulders rolled backward, in some attempt to make himself more comfortable. It really wasn't working too well.

With a tilt of his head, Kiku's gaze slid to his right, in the direction of Herakles. The taller boy's hair waved around him as he fiddled with the arrangement of art supplies on the table. He would pick up a set of watercolors, move it to one side of his desk, then the other, open it, change his mind, close it, pick up a paintbrush and repeat the process again. Two sets of watercolors, two sets of paintbrushes. That worn red notebook stayed unmoving in the center of it all.

Kiku reached a hand towards the spiral, catching the paper on the edge of his fingertips and pulling it towards him. Kiku looked down at the stretch of light blue lines, out the corner of his eyes noticing Herakles' indecision of tool-placement beginning to cease. Kiku stole a quick glance at him, but didn't let his eyes stray much longer, instead focusing his attention on his pencil, and conducting his hand to form words within the confines of the paper.

Kiku finished the sentence with a period and a sheepish line of a smile on his face. Sorry about that.

He decided it'd be maybe okay to look Herakles in the eyes then. He wasn't quite sure he liked what he saw. Sure, there was that forgiving smile and wave of a hand, but something was off. Kiku couldn't quite place what.

Herakles began to scribble a response.

Maybe it was the stiffness of his stature, or the tapping of his fingers against the table as he wrote. Maybe it was the slight furrow in his brow, or the way his writing made sharp indentions in the paper. Kiku didn't get enough time to find out, as Herakles soon lifted his pencil off of the paper, gently pushing the notebook in Kiku's direction.

It's fine, said the mess of letters. I was just an accident. Besides, I wasn't really watching where I was going. Kiku stared at the paper for a moment longer than it took to read the note, pretending he was reading but really just trying to figure out something to say in reply. His mind was blank, empty space of no suggestions, so he settled with a quick glance to Herakles, accompanied by a small nod.

One side of Herakles' mouth curled upward in an awkward smile, one that Kiku found mirrored on his own lips. But small exchange didn't last long, as Herakles suddenly found the cabinets extremely interesting and Kiku decided to study the dust on the floor.

It was very… dusty, Kiku decided as he lifted his head a little. Herakles' hand had gone back to the notebook. He licked his lips as he wrote, just a small quick little note that was finished in only a matter of seconds. Herakles' pencil lifted off the paper, and was set on the table before the notebook was pushed in Kiku's direction, with it a set of watercolors. The writing was cleaner this time, but it still cut deep into the paper.

Got you a set of watercolors, just so you know.

Considerate, Kiku thought, smiling widely on the inside but only let the slightest hint of a grin creep onto his real lips. He let a flattened hand move to his lips.

'Thank you,'

Herakles nodded in reply, the expression on his face seeming to mean 'Anytime,' or at least something of the sort. But after the movement ended, his hair ceasing to bob with the motion, Herakles' eyes grew soft and his shoulders began to slump. His teeth peeked out of the cave of his mouth, softly biting his own lip.

The awkwardness hung in the air like fog. A sort of poisonous fog, maybe, because Kiku swore he could feel it find it's way under his skin, into his muscles and bones. His eyes slid away from Herakles, because looking at him would only make this feeling intensify until his face was painted red and his heart exploded.

He could only wonder if maybe Herakles felt the same way.

Kiku was abruptly pulled out of his thoughts by a cool touch brushing against the top of his hand. His head snapped in the direction of the nearly-electric feeling, already knowing the origin of it.

(Kiku had felt those hands before, memorized every inch of them in the time they'd known each other. He knew how they looked, the length of every finger and the curl of every knuckle, but familiarity didn't dissipate the odd feeling in his stomach that came with every touch).

Herakles' sneakers twisted under his seat as he leaned, half hunched over the table before him and half twisted towards Kiku. A hand combed harshly through his dark hair, pulling it from his forehead so that the frustration on his face was even more evident. His lips pressed tightly together while his eyes looked towards Kiku, his expression unsettled, almost pleading.

Herakles pulled his hand out of his messy locks and moved it downward, forward, fingertips finding the edge of that familiar spiral and pushing it in Kiku's direction. There was no need for Herakles to pick up a pencil, as the words were already written, lightly and messily in the middle of the page.

Did I mess everything up?

There it was. Out in the open. The question had been boiling in Kiku's mind all day long, but finally someone had just written it out. There was a bit of relief in the action, like the lid being taken off a sizzling pan. The steam dissipated into the atmosphere, even if the food still cooked.

Sure, maybe things were a little different now. How could they not be? Maybe they were a little frayed, a little frazzled, but not broken. Not unfixable. Still… together.

Kiku lifted his head, a little less nervous now, and let his eyes meet Herakles'. There was worry, pooling in his eyes but never slipping past the surface. Kiku decided he didn't like it.

He shook his head. The tension in Herakles' face collapsed, and the muscles began to find their way into a smile. Kiku brought his hands up, his fingers beginning to form simple signs.

'We're okay,' he told Herakles.

Herakles responded with words on paper. Is okay good? he scrawled, words forming quickly, sloppily between the lines of the notebook.

Kiku nodded his head.

Okay was good.

Okay was… perfect.

oOoOo

After wasting quite a bit of time on their personal problems, Kiku and Herakles finally got to work.

Watercolors. Kiku wasn't the biggest fan, as they were harder to work with, and mistakes were so much easier to make and so much harder to erase, but he had to admit they were beautiful. There was a sort of ethereal quality to the color of them, the way they practically melted into the paper. Kiku took great care with each stroke, sure to make each colorful petal of the flower he was required to make as perfect as possible. His brush soon ran dry, however, and Kiku pulled it off the page and into the cup of water he and Herakles shared. It came back murky.

Kiku shot a glare towards the plastic cup before peering into it. The water, once nice and clear and perfectly usable, was now an ugly shade of greenish-blueish-redish-blackish-brown. Looks like he'd need new water.

Kiku reached for the cup, wet with splashes of water color that would be sure to stain his hand, and grabbed hold of it. He pulled the cup off of the table, but at the same time a brush was thrust towards the area where the murky water once sat. Herakles' brush did a little dance in the air, trying to find where the water cup had gone by itself for a few seconds, before the owner of the brush looked up, a curious expression on his face. Kiku moved his hand closer to Herakles, tilting the cup so that the other boy could see the mess of dyes within it. Herakles' brush returned to his half of the table, and he nodded, eyes a little wide with understanding.

Kiku pulled the cup back towards himself. He took the nod as an okay to go and refill the cup, so he turned on his heel towards the sinks. The area was devoid of people at that moment, with most of the students back at their desks. A few chatted with each other, but most were intensely focused on their own paintings. It was Drawing & Painting II after all; the people in this class really did enjoy art. They weren't just there for the art credit.

Setting down the cup, Kiku reached for the worn out handle of the tap, twisting it harshly so that warm water began to flow. The dark water was thrown into the sink, splashing about the sides and diluting until it was just light grey water swimming down the drain. Kiku let the cup fill with water before pouring it out again, just in case there was any dye still hiding in the cup. He didn't want the cup to get murky too fast. Kiku let the cup refill again, about three-fourths of the way to the rim before he pulled it out of the path of the incoming water. He decided that should last Herakles and himself for the rest of the class period.

Careful not to slip on any water that may be hiding on the floor of the area, Kiku retreated to his seat, eyes turning to Herakles as he walked. Herakles fiddled with his paintbrush, balancing it between his fingers, before his head tilted in the direction of Kiku's side of the desk. His neck craned, obviously trying to see something of Kiku's a little more closely.

Kiku came up behind his own chair and set down the cup between Herakles and himself. Kiku pulled out his chair, raising an eyebrow at Herakles as the boy shrunk back into his own seat. Kiku sunk into the cool confines of his chair while Herakles pulled the red spiral towards himself.

What's that paper over there say? he wrote, curiosity shining in his eyes. He lifted his index finger and pointed to a thick half-sheet of paper resting atop Kiku's books.

The invitation, Kiku realized. He probably should have shown the piece of paper to Herakles earlier, as it did involve him quite a bit (he was the subject of the painting after all). He picked up the card-stock and handed it to Herakles, watching as the expression on the boy's face slowly morphed from curious to a small, beautiful smile.

Herakles wrote again, his handwriting eager and messy as he tried to get the words down. Congrats. You definitely deserved it.

Kiku felt his face warm at the compliment, and his heart beat just the tiniest bit faster. Thank you, he replied. You can come, if you want.

Herakles' face lit up, expression more excited than Kiku had ever seen it. Herakles was calm creature, so it was odd to see him expressing this much happiness. Really?

Yes, of course.

Herakles smiled at Kiku, eyes crinkling at the corners and teeth slipping from the confines of his lips to grin widely. It was still a bit sleepy, still a bit calm, but Kiku could practically feel happiness pouring out of the smile.

The expression didn't stay long, however, soon slipping into one of pondering. Herakles began looking at Kiku, studying him almost. Kiku felt every gaze brushing his skin, curving around his jaw, his nose, his eyes. Finally, Herakles turned his focus to the notebook, to putting words on paper.

I have a question.

Kiku nodded. That much was obvious, but he didn't say as such. What is it?

Herakles pressed his lips together and jotted it down.

Are we dating?

It was at that point that Kiku's heart felt like it would burst. His face, he was sure, was red, and the small, restrained smile on his face was certainly not voluntary. Kiku didn't know the answer to the question. They did sort of… date-like things, yes. Went to restaurants together, shared secrets, held hands, kissed. But there had never been any real confirmation. They 'hung out', they never went on dates.

So Kiku settled for a middle of the road answer.

I think so, he wrote with a small, awkward chuckle. His toes curled impatiently inside his sneakers as he waited for a reply. Kiku knew he could be getting his hopes up, that Herakles could easily say that he liked someone else or that he just wasn't ready for any sort of relationship.

But Kiku doubted that. He let his hopes keep rising.

Kiku's mind drew out the pause between his own words and Herakles' reply. Too many thoughts rushing around to properly keep track of time. But the answer came, and that was all that mattered.

Herakles was smiling. Smiling. His response was a nod, and words on paper. Me too.

There was some weird sort of warmth pooling in Kiku's chest, tiny dancers flitting around in his stomach. He couldn't put a name to the feeling. It was nervous, but also happy. Deep anticipation filled every nerve, every vein in his body as Herakles wrote again.

So, are we dating now? His lips were curled in, tightly pressed against each other, and his eyebrows raised. His eyes were almost… pleading. Kiku could practically see the thoughts behind his eyes.

Say yes say yes say yes

Kiku's thoughts said the same.

He lifted his shoulders into a shrug, and he let his lips curl into a true, honest smile. Kiku's chin fell down, then up, then down again. It was such a simple action. There was maybe a few muscles working in his neck, seven in his smile. But it made Herakles so widely and Kiku's heart feel so light. If he had wings, he would be flying. He would spread the word to every bird, cloud, and airplane, smiling so wide at every passenger that they would mistake him for an angel. He would do flips and corkscrews and fly straight towards the ground only to lift himself up at the very very very last second.

But sadly, Kiku had no wings. So he sat in a dusty plastic chair, biting back the world's largest grin while he curled his toes and balanced a pencil between his fingers. He had words playing in his head, trying to climb down to his fingers and escape onto the page. Kiku gripped the pencil a bit tighter. Perhaps he should…?

Yes, he decided. He'd do something maybe a little out there for once in his life. He'd have a little confidence. He'd ask for what he wanted.

The pencil took a cautious stab at the paper, not even writing a letter. Just a scratch. Kiku could have easily left it there, but a quick glance at Herakles pushed him forward.

Would you like to go on a date?

His heart raced at the speed of a rocket as he drew the curve of a question mark. He could only watch the page, watch the line below his and wait for an answer.

It wasn't long before the answer came.

Kiku let out a long breath as he read the words, face slowly pulling upward.

That sounds nice.

All Kiku could write, think, was Really?

Herakles nodded, and they both laughed a little. And it was okay. But okay was good.

After a few seconds of just them, words finally found their way back to the paper.

Herakles was smiling. We should probably get back to work.

Kiku smiled back. Yeah.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter! For the record, I have no idea if a Red River Art Gallery exists, because I made it up. I like to think that both Kiku and his mom are the sort of people who believe if they just forget about a (personal) problem, it will just go away. Ms. Honda isn't a bad parent, just not very hands-on.