Author's Note: Fic trade with jakehercy from tumblr.

The razor tore through the canvas, shredding an image that still smelled of fresh paint. The tears streamed down her face as she struggled, grunting at the resistance as she punctured holes in place of the eyes she had so delicately and painstakingly sketched to perfection – those eyes of his that she had admired and whose likeness she had hoped to capture. That didn't matter now.

The tears that streamed down her cheeks left a burning trail in their wake as she crumpled to the floor, her hand trembling as she thrust the box cutter away from her. Clutching at her chest, her fingers curled around a fistful of fabric as she hunched over. The sound of her violent sobbing echoed in the empty studio. All around her were crumpled sketches, ruined canvases, and a toppled easel.

No more – she didn't want to paint anymore. Never again.

—

"A mural?" he echoed the words that he had just heard, that stoic expression of his only registering mild surprise.

The usually upbeat and chipper Aiba gave something of a nod, as though feeling a bit dejected that his first proposal had been rejected. "Yeah, she said she wouldn't accept any proposal if it didn't have a mural."

"Then what is the issue?" Rather than sounding annoyed, he seemed more or less exasperated by his subordinate, that his of head cocking back slightly.

"Well..." Aiba looked a little uneasy for a moment as he flipped open his notebook and passed it over to his superior. "I got the contact info of the artist she wants us to use, but... I already tried contacting them and the number is out of service."

Finally understanding the issue, Kippei reached over and took the notebook in Aiba's hands. His eyes flitted over the words before his gaze turned back to colleague. "Alright, I'll try to get in contact with this artist. Smooth out your proposal and accommodate the customer's specifications."

"Y-yes, Sir!"

—

Her finger was poised to the wheel on her mouse – scrolling, scrolling. And she was bent over a fresh bowl of ramen, shoveling another mouthful of noodles past her lips. The air was filled with the sound of her slurping, the light from the computer screen reflected in her glasses as she swallowed.

A sudden banging on the front door of her apartment managed to coax her into leaving her chair after savoring one final bite. "Coming, coming," she bellowed in annoyance, pausing to glance at the mirror by the entryway.

Dark circles had formed beneath eyes that were as brown as coffee grounds – or at least that was what she likened them to. Perhaps it was on account of her penchant for caffeine. But for the moment she stared, she realized her hair – a similar color to her eyes – was disheveled, cut unevenly at her ears. She looked as though she had just crawled out of bed, which was somewhat accurate. But she took notice of one stubborn strand that seemed to stick straight up in the air. Frowning, she tried desperately to smooth it back, but it refused to cooperate.

Another knock on the door and she traipsed the rest of the way, peering through the peephole. An unfamiliar figure stood on her doorstep – he had a handsome angular face, his hair and eyes a more muted brown than hers. But more eye-catching than that was the suit he was wearing. He looked like a businessman.

Curiosity bubbling to the surface, she unlatched the deadbolt before cracking the door open. Still wearing a dour expression, she peeped out. "Who are you and what do you want?" Surely she could not have sounded more unhappy to see him. But frankly, she was not too fond of door-to-door salesmen. "If you're here to sell me some kind of product..."

"I'm not here to sell you anything, Miss," he said.

Her brows furrowed. 'Miss'? Well, he was being polite so it would be rude not to hear him out. She managed to tamp down the anxiety that was like a pot of boiling water in her stomach – resisting the urge to withdraw and slam the door in his face. "Then?"

"You are an art student from The States, right? Miss Jake—"

"Just Jake will do," she mumbled meekly. There was a nod of acknowledgment on his part as he dipped a finger into the front pocket of his jacket, withdrawing a business card that he immediately held out toward her. With some hesitancy, she accepted it and peered down at the name. "Kippei Ebihara-san."

"My company is currently conducting a renovation on a cafe. It was the owner's wish that you would paint a mural. There would, of course, be compensation—"

"I think you've got the wrong person."

Those brows raised a fraction, as though surprised.

"I don't paint anymore."

"But you are an art student—"

"Sorry," she said, feeling a little guilty all of a sudden. That expression on his face had conveyed sincerity. But all the same, Jake could not find it in her heart to even begin to consider his proposal. "I just don't feel like painting anymore. I apologize if you feel you wasted your time coming here, but I won't reconsider. Please find someone else." Bowing her head slightly, she nudged the door shut before he could get a word in.

Unbeknownst to her, the man on the other side of the door did not feel the slightest bit defeated. Never before had Kippei Ebihara allowed a client's request to go unfulfilled and he didn't intend for this to be any exception. He paused only as he was leaving to glance down at his watch. There was still much work to be done in the office, but he knew where she lived. He would return.

—

Doughnuts – it had been Aiba's suggestion. Although it should have been his matter to settle to begin with. And somehow, Kippei imagined his subordinate would have a far easier time trying to convince a depressed artist than he would. But since Aiba had provided the suggestion of "give her sweet things – the way to a woman's heart is through her stomach," Kippei found himself standing in front of her door again with a small white box dangling from his hand.

He looked ridiculous, he was sure. And moreover, he found himself a bit skeptical that doughnuts, of all things, would have any affect on Jake's mood. He had been here for three days straight already and she turned him away at the door every time.

"Patience! Just have patience!" Aiba had told him.

Even after two knocks on the door, there was no sound of someone inside stirring. Had she stepped out? Kippei sighed to himself, hand poised to knock again by the time a door to a nearby apartment swung open.

"Are you looking for Jake?" an elderly woman queried. Her face looked like a puddle of wrinkles, eyes barely visible and a smile stretched so wide that he found himself wondering if perhaps she was actually a—

"Yes," he answered after clearing his throat.

"It's a shame. She moved over here to be boyfriend. They were a sweet couple. He passed away about two months ago. Stopped coming out of her apartment as much then, and I've seen other students from the University come tryin' to talk to her but she seems to turn everyone away. I even offered her some miso, if she wanted."

His grip on the cardboard handle tightened considerably as he took in that information. The death of a loved one – was that the reason she had said she didn't feel like painting anymore? It made sense. And he could feel a flicker of guilt. Here he was trying to forcibly coax her—

"She left her apartment early this mornin'."

A look of surprise came over his face, eyes widening slightly. "Do you know where she...?"

"D'you know where her studio is? S'by the school, I'm sure that's where she's at."

"Thank you."

The only response he received was a warm smile that stretched those chapped lips of hers. Kippei immediately started toward the staircase, clambering down the creaking metal steps in his haste. He was sure he knew what studio the old woman was talking about. He had stopped by it before, though the doors had – of course – been locked. He had peered in, only to find that it seemed completely trashed.

It was a dilapidated building, a blinding shade of cream white that seemed to reflect the sun. But the paint was chipping and it was clear that the roof needed replacing. He noticed that the moment he stepped foot inside. The doors had been left ajar and though he had called out a few times, no answer had received him.

"Ebihara-san, right?"

The sound of her voice calling from behind him made him go rigid for a moment before he peered over his shoulder. "Ah, Jake..." It seemed so informal to be using her first name, especially without honorific. But she had insisted, and he knew enough about her culture to know it was a natural thing where she came from.

"You brought doughnuts?" Her gaze seemed drawn to the box in his hand. A smile curled at the edge of her lips.

"Yeah, a coworker suggested—"

"I'm still not painting for you. But... I thought I should clean out the studio. I have some classmates that would probably be willing to take on the work. And they are pretty talented. More talented than I am, anyways."

His lips moved to reject her, but his jaw clenched. It seemed heartless to push the subject when she was already clearly out of her comfort zone, trying to accommodate his wishes in her own way. "I have seen some of your work," he said finally. "You have a lot of talent."

Those cheeks of hers flushed as she pulled up a couple of stools, motioning for him to sit. They settled down across from each other as he lifted the box open. She reached over tentatively and plucked one of the doughnuts out, taking a small bite before peering up at him. "Aren't you going to eat one?"

"No, I'm not particularly—"

"Please, I wouldn't feel comfortable otherwise."

When she said it like that, it was difficult to refuse. "Alright."

"So how did you find out that I was here?"

A strong sugary taste rolled over his tongue as he took a bite out of one of the doughnuts. This was certainly not one of his preferred snacks. Though when he thought about it, he had actually skipped out on lunch in his haste to make it to her apartment during his break. There was not much time left that he could afford to spend with her before he needed to return.

"I found out from your neighbor," he said finally, after swallowing.

Jake gave a thoughtful nod. "Ah, she's kind of nosy, but she's nice. I imagine that's not all she told you."

This was where Kippei found himself most uncomfortable. How to respond to that statement? He could merely nod, though that seemed a bit too distant. Perhaps honesty was the best approach, after all. "I heard about why you stopped painting."

Having finished her doughnut, Jake dusted her hands off before standing abruptly. "What reason did she give you, Ebihara-san?"

"Your boyfriend—"

"It was one-sided," she interrupted. "We were only friends."

"—I heard he passed away."

There was a self-deprecating smile on her face as she turned her back toward him and started clearing away the crumpled sketchbook pages that were scattered across the floor. "That's how she told the story, huh?" Jake nodded thoughtfully to herself. "Well, it's true. He's dead. But she skipped out on mentioning the most important part."

"Important part?" he echoed with some measure of confusion.

Sullen, Jake peered back at him and gave a weak smile. "The reason he died is because I killed him."

The stool screeched as he stood abruptly, somewhat taken aback by her statement. And while he was instantly skeptical – if she really had murdered someone, she would be behind bars – it still did not shake the shock that registered on his face. By the time he managed to regain his composure, it was too late.

"You can leave now. Don't worry, I have your business card so I'll forward your contact information to my classmates. I'm sure one of them will be more than happy to do the work."

A glance down at his watch told him it was past time for him to return from lunch break. Leaving the box of doughnuts behind, he started toward the door, pausing only momentarily. A brief glance over his shoulder and he saw that small, hunched over back as Jake worked quietly to clear away the trash. She seemed to be trembling. He got the impression she might be crying. But if she was, she didn't let a peep out.

—

"I already told your subordinate, Ebihara-san. I will not budge on this matter. She has to be the one to paint the mural."

Although he had been warned well beforehand that this woman was insistent and stubborn, it was worse than he had imagined. Kippei gave a small, muted sigh. "There are many other talented artists that could—"

"No," the middle-aged woman reiterated forcefully, "It must be Jake. No one else will do."

"Why does it have to be her?" Aiba piped in from behind his boss. As rude as the question might have seemed, both he and Kippei were entirely exasperated with this woman's demands. And while it was her only demand, it was impossible to fulfill.

The woman pursed her lips for a moment, looking pensive. "My son... went to school with her. They were both art students."

"Were?"

"My son passed away a couple of months ago."

Kippei's eyes widened slightly. "I am sorry for your loss."

"He had been suffering from depression for a long time. I just hope that he feels happier now, that he doesn't feel miserable, lonely, or sad." She was wringing her hands, tears welling up in the ducts of her eyes. Offering a small smile, she hastily wiped them away before they managed to fall. "But that is why Jake must do the art. She needs to stop blaming herself and move on."

Suffering from depression...? "Blame herself?"

"Yes, she blames herself because she thinks she could have stopped him. But there was nothing she could have done to prevent it."

Aiba looked a bit uneasy, his lips quivering as though he was trying to come up with the words to say. No doubt he was thinking to offer some words of consolation, despite the fact that the impossibility of the task presented would only make his time on the job that much harder.

Kippei, on the other hand, gave a sudden bow of the head. "I understand your feelings. We will do our utmost to see this project through."

—

It was a strange feeling to see him on her doorstep again. For how long did he intend to keep coming back? Ever since she had called herself a murderer, he had dropped the subject of her being the artist for that cafe project of his. But why else was he visiting?

Exasperated, she pressed her forehead against the door. The metal felt cool against her skin, but the numbing sensation was not enough to distract her from her current dilemma. Swallowing back her second thoughts, she tested her hand against the knob before twisting it open.

"Hello, Ebihara-san," she greeted, voice measured by hesitation.

"Good evening, Jake," he responded in turn, holding up a box. Somehow he had taken up a habit of bringing her food. Usually sweets, though she could tell by the glaring red text on the side of the cardboard that it was Chinese takeout. Those long eyelashes of his cast a shadow over his cheekbones. There was something about him that was alluring. Maybe that was why she continued to open the door whenever he came.

"I feel bad," Jake confessed awkwardly, backtracking and swinging the door open wider so as to invite him inside. It was the first day she had ever thought to welcome another person into her apartment. "By that, I mean... you really should find some other artist."

He offered no smile to assuage her guilt – rather, he seemed forlorn, loitering there in her doorway as though he had no intention to take another step forward. Her eyes rested on him, waiting. The invitation sat at the back of her tongue but remained unspoken. Was he going to enter or was he not? Suddenly he thrust the box out toward her, and she had her answer.

"Did that coworker of yours advise you to bring me something again?" she inquired, accepting the box somewhat grudgingly. It seemed too cruel to disregard his kindness, although she still felt like she was somehow imposing without ever intending to do so.

Kippei cocked his head at her. "No, not this time."

"Then?"

"The woman that hired us to do the renovations..." he paused to swallow, "She knows you."

There was a blank look on Jake's face as though the information didn't sink in. "I'm afraid I don't understand what you're saying. Do you want to come in? It's kind of chilly outside." Her forehead wrinkled in concern.

His brows rose nearly to his hairline in surprise. "Oh—no—I..."

"I insist," she said, gaining a bit of a backbone in order to say those words.

"Alright."

When he stepped in, Jake realized just how much taller he was than her. His silhouette nearly towered over her as he proceeded into the dark front hallway. She led him to the main room – admittedly smaller than what she was accustomed to back in the States. It was strange huddling around a squatty table with only floor cushions to settle down on. It was not what she would have preferred for entertaining a guest. But contrary to her silent anxiety, Kippei seemed perfect content as he seated himself.

Moments later, after she had retrieved some plates, they had split the food and were quietly eating. To Jake, who had been living off of ramen for the past few weeks, it was nothing short of a sumptuous feast. She quite enjoyed the food that Kippei lavished on her. Although it did weigh on her mind that it was, essentially, bribery on his part. Or was it?

As she swallowed the last of the food on her plate, she peered up at him curiously. He had hardly touched his. It was clear by the expression on his face that he was mulling over something. No doubt how best to approach her and try to convince her to do the mural job.

"You said you were doings renovations at a cafe, right?"

He seemed a little startled by her question but gave a short nod. "Yes, that's correct."

"And the owner knows me?"

"Indeed."

Her gaze faltered, landing on the fingers that she had criss-crossed in front of her as this information sank in. "I see. I think I know exactly who you are talking about. The reason she wants me to paint that mural – is that her way of punishing me?" Before he could speak, she answered her own question, sounding doubtful, "No, she wouldn't do that. She's not spiteful or bitter. It's God's way of punishing me."

"No one is punishing you," he insisted firmly.

Jake swallowed back the bile rising up from the base of her throat. "But that's why you're here, right? You desperately want me to paint that mural. If I do, will you leave me alone? Will she forgive me?"

"It is not about forgiveness," he started to say.

"I don't care what it's about," she snapped back sullenly, only belatedly realizing how harsh her response must have sounded. Sinking back, she muttered a hasty apology before explaining herself, "I know she probably has good intentions... but I don't need her pity."

"It's not pity that she's offering you."

"Then support? I don't want it." That sounded more bitter than she meant it to, but it was true all the same. "You can say whatever you want because you don't know. I really don't need someone to preach or lecture me."

"I wouldn't think to do that to you."

"No? Why? You think you understand?"

That face of his blanched a bit as he averted his eyes. And for a moment his face was pinched in pain – he seemed to swallow back whatever anguish haunted him, turning that cold gaze back to her. "I won't say anything unnecessary – I know those are not words you need to hear right now."

"Oh? Then what do you think I need to hear?"

He breathed a short sigh before standing abruptly. "I have to return to work." Kippei made a show of checking his watch – an obvious excuse to flee. What then was it that he was trying to offer? Company? A shoulder to cry on?

Just as he turned to leave, she caught him by the crook of his arm. "W-what I need... is..."

"Yes?"

Her cheeks were burning with embarrassment. What was she saying? "Comfort," she blurted out at last. And for a moment it seemed almost innocent until she peered up into his eyes. "I want you to... comfort me."

His forehead creased. "I'm not sure I—"

"S-spend... the night with me." Her grip on his sleeve tightened, her knuckles turning white from the pressure. Jake was sure of the outcome. He would refuse her, be put off by her forward attitude, and never return. So much the better if it turned out that way. His kindness was too painful – especially when it was afforded only because he needed her. Needed her for the moment but would abruptly end contact shortly thereafter.

"Is that really what you need?" He almost sounded reproachful – as though he was disappointed that she had come to such a conclusion.

Jake didn't bother minding it, she pressed herself up onto her tiptoes, closing in the distance between them. "Yes," she lied. "This is exactly what I need. Please..." Her voice sounded pleading, and her eyes begged him silently.

He acquiesced under the power of her gaze, and for a moment their lips met and warmth spread throughout the whole of her body. It was wrong. It felt so wrong. But the slip of his tongue against hers was enough to convince her to throw out all manner of logic.

The tears burned at the edges of her eyes. He was just doing this for the sake of his job – but she couldn't pull herself away, even with that knowledge. Just a little bit. Just a little bit more – she wanted to feel it.

To finally feel loved.