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kawaii-angelanne · 1 year

Text

TW/CW: nudity of minors (not sexual!), all characters (except the teacher) are in high school

KEY TAGS: spoiler-free/pre-canon, female reader (afab and themes of womanhood), second pov (reader's pov), meet-cute, fluff, strangers to ???

WORD COUNT: 6202

CROSS POST: ao3

OPENING NOTE: thanks for clicking on this! please do not repost, copy, modify, or overall plagiarize this work anywhere else please. plagiarism is never acceptable, both in mla 8 format and in fanfiction! for translations, message me, and we can talk about it! reblogs, comments, and likes are super appreciated :>

SUMMARY: "'So…' you trail off, shutting the door behind you, 'How should I do this? Do you have a certain pose in mind or…?'

The blue-haired painter (painter-in-training?) turns to you, 'Well, in order to start, it would be best if you began taking off your clothes.'

'E-excuse me!?'"

Or where Kitagawa Yusuke needs a nude model, and you unknowingly sign up.

“Why don’t you just get a job?” your friend, Yanai Toshiko, points out the most obvious solution to your money problem while chewing in one side of her mouth, “It’s pretty easy these days. All you have to do is take a magazine from the job stand in Shibuya Station, look for a job that interests you, and call them up.”

“Right, and,” your other friend, Akagawa Yokkako, takes a moment to swallow her food before continuing, “if you tell them you’re a Kosei High student, they will most definitely hire you.”

“But that’s so much work!” you groan loudly, burying your head in your arms on the table and then lifting your head up high enough to be able to see your friends, “Besides, my brother’s birthday is in a week. I wouldn’t get the money in time even if I got the job.”

“That’s your fault for leaving it to the last minute,” Yanai clicks open the next tier in her bento box, “I don’t understand how you’re still at Kosei with all your procrastination.”

You perk up at this, “Uh, just because I don’t do my work weeks ahead of time like everyone else here doesn’t mean I don’t do well, thank you very much.”

“What’re you even getting your brother that costs so much anyways?” Yokkako finishes the last of the bun she bought from the school store, crumpling the transparent wrapper in between her hands.

“Limited-edition action figure set of this anime he watches,” you drag your chopsticks absentmindedly across your school lunch, depressed from just remembering the price tag.

Yanai admires her octopus hotdogs, her chopsticks holding one in midair, before eating it whole, “Can’t you get him, like, crayons or something?”

You stop swiveling your chopsticks across the pile of rice on your tray at her suggestion, “He’s not six. He’s turning twelve!”

“What’s the difference?” Yokkako snickers behind her hand, earning one smack on the shoulder from you.

“Seriously, guys,” you now resort to hopelessly picking up singular grains of rice with your chopstick, “Do any of you know how I can get cash quick and easy?”

“Well—”

“And legally.”

Yokkako wilters at the last part, her eagerness to tell you to be a cam girl or start selling drugs vanishing in a flash. While she isn’t involved in stuff like that, you knew she would suggest such a thing anyways, which would have annoyed you more.

Yanai nimbles on her chopsticks in thought, “Y’know, on my way to the teacher’s office—I had to drop something off—, I overheard one of the art students asking around for a model. He said he was willing to pay in cash.”

“Really!?” you straighten up from your slumped position, eyes sparkling at the prospect of possibly getting enough money for your brother, “Who? Do you know how much he’s paying? Did anyone say yes?”

“Hmm,” Yanai places her chopsticks down, “I only heard his voice, so I don’t know who he is, sorry. I didn’t stick around long enough to hear everything, so...”

“Ask one of the art teachers!” Yokkako chirps up, “They might know who it is. I think their office is on the…third floor?”

You turn to Yanai for an answer, who nods silently as she focuses on packing up her lunch, and, with her confirmation, you immediately stand up from your chair, “I’m going to go now then! Can’t have anyone taking my precious money! I’ll see you guys later!”

Dashing off, you try not to bump into unsuspecting students, spitting sorries when you do. You’re going to find this art student no matter what!

“Oh, right, I heard Kitagawa asking one of my other students to be his model yesterday,” the first art teacher you encountered answers, “She said she was too busy.”

Still catching your breath from sprinting up three flights of stairs, you stare blankly at her. Her answer as to who was asking for a model was hardly an answer. For all you know, there could be tens of Kitagawas in this school (it would be funny if they were all in the same art class too). Also, why did she talk more about the person he asked? She isn’t your main concern.

She returns to her work, so you press the subject further, “Kitagawa…?”

“You don’t know?” she makes the effort to turn her chair to face you completely, “Kitagawa Yusuke? He’s one of Madarame’s students.”

“Who?”

“Madarame, the artist?”

When you shake your head, she gapes at you but immediately pulls herself together, “Never mind. What do you need Kitagawa for anyways?”

“I was hoping to ask him if I could be his model,” you don’t bother to explain all the itty bitty details about how you desperately need the cash; she doesn’t need to know that.

The teacher squints at the grid paper taped on the wall in front of her, “I have him next, so I can ask for you. I’ll email you what he says. What’s your name? Include your first name as well, so I know what email to use.”

After telling her your name, she writes it down on a blank notepad, and you thank her for the help before leaving. At least you don’t have to track down this Kitagawa Yusuke.

You slide the door open and then close. Checking your watch, you yelp at the time. Class on the fifth floor is starting in three minutes, and you don’t even have your bag!

“Crap, crap, crap!” you repeat under your breath and push your legs to move faster, brisk walk accelerating to a full-out run.

As you make an abrupt turn around the corner to the downstairs, you harshly crash into someone. You shut your eyes, groaning when you make contact with the ground. Still reeling from the fall, you see the obstacle you bumped into, who is somehow gracefully sitting upon the linoleum floor.

“Pretty boy…” the words flow out of your mouth without a second thought, and your hand slaps itself over your mouth.

But really, is there anyone who wouldn’t have the same reaction? Navy blue hair framing the boy’s cheeks so perfectly and shining like it belongs in a shampoo commercial. The lack of blazer all students have to wear with their uniform revealing his lissome frame. The longest eyelashes you’ve ever seen. The most luscious lips—.

“Are you okay?”

At his words, you cease your shameless ogling, “Y-yes! S-sorry, are you okay? I should have been watching where I was going!”

“I’m quite alright, thank you,” he gets up from the floor, brushing one stray hair away from his face, “Do be careful though. It would not be safe to bump into anyone else like that.”

Before you can retort, you remember why you were in such a rush earlier and rise to your feet, “Oh god, I’m really going to be late now! Again, sorry, but gotta blast!”

You abandon him and take off at the same speed as before. Screw getting your bag; you can just ask Yukkako for paper and a pencil.

Your mind races back to the slender guy you bumped into as you scurry up the stairs. You’ve never met him before. However, you don’t think your paths will cross any time soon. It’s been a month since school started, but you haven’t seen him in any of your classes. Besides, he’s too…graceful. And pretty! Definitely not your crowd.

The bell rings once you reach the fifth floor, and you frantically scramble to the classroom door. You practically fall through the back door. Somehow, no one but Yukkako notices your tumble in and waves her hand rapidly. The teacher strides in the front door the moment you sit down, and you breathe out a sigh of relief.

The moment you step foot in your dorm room, you toss your bag to a corner of the room and launch yourself into the comfort of your bed. Thank god your roommate isn’t here right now. As always, a day spent at the illustrious Kosei High deserves a nap.

Too exhausted to take off your uniform, you snuggle on the top of your bed (also too exhausted to get inside the blankets). Closing your eyes, you feel yourself hazing out of reality and into the wondrous land of slumber.

Ding!

Your eyes snap open, tranquility gone and irritation kicked in. When you reach down into one of your pockets, you pull out the rectangular device. The brightness burns, and you don’t hesitate to lower it.

When you read the subject, “Art Model Information”, you sit up from your bed like a vampire from their coffin. Unlocking your phone, you hastily scan the message.

“‘I asked Kitagawa…need to go to Madarame’s studio tomorrow…might let you model!?’ I’m not even hired!?”

You almost throw the phone down on the mattress out of frustration, sleep disturbed for this. You have to travel to his place and aren’t even guaranteed the job? What if you travel for nothing? That would be a waste of a good subway fee!

To calm yourself, you take a deep breath and release it with most of your annoyance. There aren’t any better options, so what choice do you have?

Scrolling down the email, you find the address of this “Madarame’s studio”—you still don’t know who Madarame is—and copy it to paste into your navigation app.

Your finger repeatedly jams the doorbell as you cower underneath the veranda too small to properly cover anyone. Even though the forecast reported no rain, it began to downpour mere minutes ago with no relent in sight. Fortunately, you had a jacket to drape over your head, but it’s not going to hold for much longer at this rate.

“Oh, come on, answer the door already!” you whine.

You pressed the button just once when you first arrived, but, the longer you went on without a response, the more fervent your pressing became. Maybe you should be more patient. However, how good would a drenched model be? You need to get in soon, or else.

Before you resort to holding down the buzzer, a voice slices through the heavy rainfall, “Who is it? If it’s Sensei you want, he’s not here.”

You pause briefly at the strange familiarity of the voice before answering, “Hi, I’m from Kosei High! I don’t know her name, but one of your teachers told you about me? It’s raining pretty heavy out here, so, if you could let me in, that’d be great!”

“One moment.”

The transceiver disconnects. Footsteps approach behind the door, and the voice’s speaker unlocks it. You can’t help but gasp when the door opens to reveal who was talking to you.

The pretty boy you bumped into yesterday!

“It’s you!”

“It’s you…”

You’re too stunned to move, despite the rain pouring (partially) on you. So, this is Kitagawa Yusuke? You even said yesterday that your paths wouldn’t cross any time soon! What’re the odds?!

“...Will you be coming inside or…?” Pretty Boy, now identified as Kitagawa Yusuke, raises an elegant brow while stepping to the side to let you through.

“Oh! Yeah, sorry!” you step inside and take off the jacket on your head, “I just didn’t think that you’re Kitagawa! Crazy coincidence, right?”

“Indeed, this truly is a trick of fate…”

“‘Trick?’”

What did he mean by that?

Kitagawa doesn’t answer you and immediately begins to circle around you. He mumbles to himself, too incoherent for you to understand. The longer this goes on, the antsier you get. It’s as if you’re being picked apart with his eyes punctuated by those sharp lashes.

It’s not exactly the most comfortable experience.

Before you can ask him if something is wrong, he returns in front of you, done observing you like an abstract work of art, “I suppose you will do for now. Normally, I would try to find a more inspiring subject, but I cannot afford to on such time constraints. Do not worry about taking your shoes off, and, please, follow me.”

Your eye twitches at his slightly objectifying attitude, but you follow him anyway. Before leaving, though, you wring out your soaked jacket directly over the poor excuse of a doormat. Seeing the water permeate fills you with mischievous satisfaction. Seeing how far away he was, you run over to catch up.

It doesn’t take long for you two to enter a small studio room. Towards the backend of the room there’s a window to let natural light in. However, there isn’t exactly a lot of “natural light” shining through due to the storm. The ceiling light seems to provide just enough lighting, some darkness accumulating in the corner.

Various painting and sketching supplies are shelved in the back of the room as well. Three stools are pushed to the side. One stool sits in the middle, and an easel without its canvas in front of it.

Kitagawa goes ahead of you to set up, and you stand awkwardly by the doorway with your jacket over your arms.

“So…” you trail off, shutting the door behind you, “How should I do this? Do you have a certain pose in mind or…?”

The blue-haired painter (painter-in-training?) turns to you, “Well, in order to start, it would be best if you began taking off your clothes.”

“E-excuse me!?” you almost drop the jacket onto the wooden floor from pure shock.

No…is this a nude modeling gig!? Even though themes of nudity happen to make up a majority of famous paintings, you never even considered this would be the case. You’re also a high school student, just like him! Is this even legal?

“Were you unaware that you would be modeling nude?” he strokes his chin, clearly confused, “I made sure to specify that to the teacher though…”

You gulp. Maybe you should have read the email entirely…

“You are more than welcome to leave if you do not wish to do this anymore,” Kitagawa already makes moves to clear up shop, disappointed and…annoyed(?) at this turn of events, “However, if it comforts you, I have absolutely no interest in your naked figure. I am purely doing this for art. I assure you I have no ulterior motives other than painting another piece of work for Sensei.”

“Uh, w-well,” you fidget about, not completely unswayed by his words (even though you should be!), “h-how much will you be paying?”

“Did the teacher not tell you that either?” his brows furrow even more (you really should have read the email entirely), “It might not be much, but, when we finish, I will pay you about one hundred and fifty thousand yen.”

One hundred and fifty thousand!? That would cover your brother’s birthday gift and still leave you some cash to spend! All of that for modeling? Granted, you’ll be naked, but it would totally be worth it!

Wait. Jeez, are you really that desperate for money that you’ll strip for some guy you just met? …No, no, that isn’t the case here! You’re contributing to the art world! So what if you’re in the nude? If this painting is a hit, you’ll be famous, have money, and make your brother happy for this birthday. Well, secretly famous. You don’t want this spreading around, especially to your parents.

“I’ll do it,” you declare despite your heart beating wildly at what you’re committing to, “B-but on one condition! I won’t be officially associated with this. I don’t want people to know that you painted me…naked. So, I don’t want to see my name anywhere near this, got it?!”

“You have my word, thank you,” he softens his curt tone in gratitude, and his lips even curve into a small, pleasant smile.

Your heart stutters for a moment at the unexpected nicety. While Kitagawa hasn’t been outright scornful, you couldn’t help but feel iced out at first.

“Do not mind me as you undress,” his back faces you out of consideration, “I will prepare in the meanwhile. Let me know when you are ready.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Even though his back is already turned to you, you turn your back to him as well for added protection. Well, it would only be your rear side instead of your front side he would see if he turned around (if he does, you’re leaving without a second thought!). When getting ready for today, you opted for a comfortable but still nice outfit rather than your uniform. Had you known you would be modeling naked, you would have just come in sweatpants and a hoodie.

Sitting on the stool, you first remove your shoes. You strip out of your clothes one by one, stacking them into a messy pile on the stool closest to you. Your hands pause at your undergarments. As the room’s chill travels across your skin, goosebumps prickle your skin.

You take a deep breath.

One.

Two.

Three!

You unclasp your bra.

Another deep breath.

One.

Two.

Three!

You push down your underwear.

Adding the two articles to the unorganized mountain of clothes, which had somehow not collapsed yet, you turn around to face Kitagawa. Your hands wrap around your torso, insecurity trickling in like water from a sōzu. Now that you’re actually naked, you don’t feel as confident as you did before when you agreed.

Still, you don’t want to back out now, not after you’ve gone through the process of taking off your clothes. Ugh, you better like that gift, Hanzu!

“Is everything all right?” Kitagawa asks, back still to you.

“Y-yep!” you breathe deeply again to steel your nerves, “I-I’m all ready now!”

He turns around, seeing your naked body for the first time. Despite that, his insouciant expression doesn’t change. He merely clutches his chin between his fingers again; you could almost see the cogwheels turning inside his mind. His ever-observant gaze causes you to cover yourself up even more, your hands sliding up more and legs gradually crossing over each other.

“Stop right there,” he commands with such purpose it freezes you into submission, “This heightened vulnerability and bareness… It perfectly encapsulates both innocence and womanhood at the same time! To think that you would be able to deliver such a concept… Yes, I can work with this. How foolish of me to doubt fate earlier.”

“Th-thanks?” you’re not sure whether you should be pleased or creeped out or if that even sounded like you.

“Please, remain still for now,” he sits at the easel, pencil in hand.

“Sure thing…” you search for an interesting crack in the wall to distract yourself with. With the state of the place, there are plenty of cracks to choose from, which means plenty of story material.

You’re unsure how much time has passed. All has been quiet save for your breathing and Kitagawa’s sketching. Since the session started, you’ve gotten more comfortable. Not completely, but definitely better than before!

However, you now face a new dilemma.

As you learned in psychology class, your brain requires stimulation. When it’s not getting stimulated, like right now, the urge to do something eats away at you like an annoying parasite. And it’s definitely not helping that you’ve been standing the entire time! But Kitagawa told you to stay still. You may have just met him today, but you feel that disobeying an artist’s orders, especially one as passionate as Kitagawa—that’s the impression you get anyway—is just as bad as waking a sleepwalker.

If you can’t move your body, you can at least move something else.

“So, how’s the drawing going?”

His hand falters in the line he was sketching out. With a sigh, he quickly erases it before redrawing. You quietly wince, not intending to irritate him. Maybe you should have realized that talking to him would have snapped him out of his artistic mojo.

He continues to sketch your figure, eyes flickering to you and then the canvas. The silence is even louder, and you’re too ashamed to ask again. Is there perhaps another crack you already didn’t make a story for?

“The sketch is almost finished,” he finally speaks, and you almost relax completely at an answer despite not wearing any clothes, “Sorry, I understand modeling for a painting can be difficult. Would you like to take a short break? I completed the part I was working on and can afford to pause now.”

A break? You thought he would reprimand you for speaking, but that was oddly considerate of him. Well, not like he hasn’t been, but…

“How close are you to finishing? Because, if it’s not too long, then I can handle it.”

He surveys his drawing, “Fifteen minutes should be sufficient enough.”

“Then we can continue, no worries,” you adjust your position to its original state.

“You have my thanks,” he nods and even flashes a gentle smile before resuming the sketch.

After a few more soft pencil scratchings and a few more riveting narratives of the Cracken terrorizing the town with no end in sight, Kitagawa picks up the small, deformed eraser and rubs it strongly against the canvas. His effaces become more and more frequent until he slumps over completely. Despair and hopelessness radiates from him.

“Uh, Kitagawa? Everything all right?” you make it your best effort to not move while also straining to get a better look at him from behind the easel.

“Something’s not right,” he lifts only his head to meet your eyes, “For some unknown reason, I cannot properly draw this last piece. Perhaps it’s the angle of your legs? Or maybe your arms?”

“I swear I didn’t move at all! Not even an inch!” you prepare yourself for a scolding, even though you are one hundred percent certain you didn’t move your legs at all no matter how badly you wanted to.

“I never said you did,” his expression shows no irritation, but his words still cut into you like the crack in the wall, “Allow me to think on this for a moment.”

Mumbling unintelligibly to himself, he pinches his chin between his fingers as his eyes scrutinize you once more like they had in the beginning. You immediately avert your gaze to the other side of the wall. Is it like an artist thing, or does he have this innate ability to pick you apart with his eyes alone?

“That’s it!” he sits up again with such a fervency it almost inspires you to do the same, “Please cross your left leg thirty degrees more inward.”

“D-degrees?”

With hesitant estimation—what exactly is thirty degrees?—you slowly slide your left leg.

“No, apologies, I meant your right leg.”

At his new orders, you, silent and compliant, move your right leg back to where it was originally and repeat what you did earlier to your left leg this time.

“A bit more, please, and point your right foot as well.”

You struggle to maintain your balance at the new position. Praying he doesn't make you do this for much longer, you attempt to keep the shaking to a minimum.

He tuts his disapproval, and your obedience slowly transitions into annoyance.

“Could you curve your foot a little more?”

“Please lower your right leg a little.”

“...Try moving your left leg outward.”

“No, move it back.”

“Why don’t you just do it for me then!?” you practically yell out, frustrated from having to adjust your already-sore limbs every second.

“Good idea, it would save us precious time,” he stands up straight from his seat with such poise and grace, it sends shivers down your spine.

“W-wait a minute, you’re coming over here?” your arms hug you tighter as an unsettling realization crawls on your back.

Not only is Kitagawa going to be extremely up close and personal, but he’s also going to put his hands all over your arms and legs and bend them at impossible angles!

He pauses in his steps with confusion scrawled all over his features, “Yes? Is that not what you asked?”

“W-well, it is, but…but I’m naked!” you state as if it’s the obvious reason (because it is the obvious reason).

“But you have been for the past hour or so,” he raises an eyebrow in even deeper confusion, “What makes now so different?”

“I’m naked,” you strongly emphasize the word “naked” as if Kitagawa somehow did not see an issue in the concept, “I don’t know about you, Kitagawa, but I am not comfortable with you putting your grubby mitts on me as you spread my legs and whatnot. It’s already enough that I’m modeling naked for you!”

“Spread your legs? Why would I ever—?” he stops mid-sentence, finally understanding what you were trying to get at, and his pale cheeks flush red, as if dragged from the center to the red side of the color wheel, “O-oh, I-I see…”

With a clearing of his throat, he continues, “My apologies for being so oblivious to your concerns. However, you currently seem to be incapable of properly executing what I envision for this painting. What to do…?”

Ain’t no way is he touching you! There has to be another way!

“M-maybe!” you interject before he decides that A) you’re not a fit model for him anymore and thus denied the pay you were promised or B) there is no other choice but for him to treat you as if you are nothing more than a wooden lay figure, “Maybe you can…pose like how you want me to? And then I can…mirror it? Yeah? How’s that?”

He stares blankly at you, and, as if a three-second timer went off, he livens back up, “What a splendid idea! Please do your best to imitate me.”

After adjusting his stance to better match yours, he first, as asked of you before, moves his left leg slightly higher to the crux where his legs crossed over. Oh, so that’s what thirty degrees are. Then, with a shift of his torso, he freezes with his eyes intently on you, silently commanding you to imitate him. You immediately follow suit, dumbfounded at how easy it was to copy him when you had failed multiple times.

“Perfect, now please stay like that for just a moment more,” he returns to his stool behind the canvas, pencil already in hand.

You sigh with relief, having successfully escaped any more torment, and focus back on doing what you were hired to do.

This time, instead of continuing to mentally write fanfiction between the crack on the left side of the wall and the crack on the right side of the wall—a true Shakespearean tragedy split by the great schism in the middle—, you find yourself staring at Kitagawa. Since you’re barely a meter away from him, you can see him up close for much longer than yesterday.

He’s so focused. His dark-blue eyes would unblinkingly scan across the canvas as his pencil dragged across the surface. Somehow, a mere glimpse to you can provide enough material to last him minutes of drawing. While his extremely hunched-over posture is left to be desired, his zeal clearly shows with how much he’s leaning in. Any further, and his nose would be touching the canvas!

You also take the time to comment (mentally, of course) on the strange seventy-thirty hair split he has going on. When it comes to parting hair, most go for a twenty-eighty or thirty-seventy split. However, he went the other way and managed to make it look as charming as ever. Even now, side parts aren’t the latest in style, but anyone who saw him would strongly disagree. Somehow, the right side of his hair perfectly frames his cheek. Yes, he has to push a strand or two out of the way every now and then. But, for the majority, it stays perfectly still, coiffed with enough curvature to not appear so limp.

Urgh, he’s a pretty boy in every sense of the word!

After some back and forth from behind the easel to you, the saccades shorter and shorter each time, his eyes then shift to your own. At the sudden eye contact, you flinch, caught red-handed.

“Is something the matter? You’ve been staring at me for quite some time,” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

“O-oh, it’s nothing!” you laugh awkwardly, trying to act as if you weren’t staring at him for the past couple of minutes, “I-I was just zoning out, haha! Don’t mind me!”

He accepts your excuse without a second thought (is he really that gullible?), “Well, I am just about done with the sketch. All that is left is to paint it. I greatly appreciate your service and—.”

“Ooo! Can I see?” you jump up from the wooden stool and bounce over to see what he was drawing for the past hour.

Kitagawa immediately stiffens at your close proximity, but you’re too enraptured with what’s before you.

When people meet you, there are some words that easily come to mind: rambunctious, tomboyish, immature, incorrigible. However, you don’t see any hint of that in Kitagawa's depiction of you. You see exactly what he raved about earlier: vulnerability, innocence, and womanhood. How was he able to illustrate you in such a way so different from how most characterize you despite only formally meeting you today?

You also can’t imagine how striking the painting will be when finished. Will he use pop, bright colors to imply your teenage youth? Or will he use muted mature shades to highlight a sense of coming-of-age?

A stammered yelp of your last name draws you back into reality.

“Sorry, sorry! This is just so amazing!” you practically squeal while covering your mouth with your hands, “I can’t believe someone so talented is my age! Can I take a picture? Whoa, this is so cool!”

“I-I thank you for your kind words,” he avoids your gaze, finding the floor most intriguing, “You can take a picture. Please be sure not to post it anywhere should someone come across it and choose to plagiarize my work.”

“Got it!” you hum all happy, ego also inflated from being drawn so well and so beautifully.

Instead of answering, he fully turns his body away from you. You move to his side to find a faint dusting of pink across his nose and the top of his cheeks.

“Hey, are you feeling okay? Your face is kind of red, and—.”

“I’m f-fine,” he clears his throat and shakes his head, all while still concentrating on the weathered floor, “I-I would greatly appreciate it if you can get dressed, though, so I can pay you for your services.”

You look down at yourself, suddenly remembering that you were indeed not wearing clothes, and feel your body heat up from embarrassment, the slightly-cold draft in the room be damned. Your face is as red as a tomato, and your ears are tipped in a similar shade. Squeaking out an apology, you hastily move to the pile of clothes on the chair and fumble through putting them on, too flustered to do so calmly.

Right as you slip on the last of your shoes, you snatch your phone out of your pocket to take a quick snapshot of Kitagawa’s drawing. Up from his stool but still with his back turned to you, he busies himself with something in the furthest corner.

With the press of a button, his sketch is saved on your phone. You observe it on the digital screen, but, even then, it doesn’t even compare to the actual artwork. Well, digital copies never amount to the original anyways.

Pinching in and out of the photo to pick out the finer details, Kitagawa approaches you with a thick, money envelope in his hand, “Here is one hundred and fifty thousand yen, as previously agreed upon. I once again thank you for being my model. You truly brought the perspective I needed for this painting. Don’t worry, I intend to bring this painting the beauty it wholly deserves.”

“Oh, thanks…” your heart skips a beat at his words, moved at his dedication.

With two hands and a slight bow, you accept the money from Kitagawa, who then moves to clean up his supplies. As you stare at it in your hand, unease settles in your stomach.

Was this really going to be the last time you saw him? You don’t share any classes with him. Hell, you never even knew the guy existed until yesterday!

You can’t place your finger on why, but you want to get to know him more. Was it because of his formal speaking mannerisms? His talent? His creativity? His pretty boy appearance (you most certainly didn’t forget that)?

Clutching the envelope tightly, you stride up to Kitagawa with a surge of unknown need, “H-hey!”

Great start.

He turns around from putting his pencils away with utmost confusion, “...Is something the matter?”

“W-well,” you gulp and spit out your first coherent thought, “I-I wouldn’t mind modeling for you again!”

“...Excuse me?” he looks even more confused, and you panic on how to explain yourself.

“Wh-what I mean is,” you clear your throat to stall for time, “I-I really want to see how you paint this and make sure it’s good! It is a painting of me after all, a-and I can be there as a real-life reference! I can even model again, i-if that’s what you need!”

Stupid, of course it’s going to be good. He already drew you perfectly. Actually painting it shouldn’t prove a problem, especially since he’s taught by Madarame, who you found out last night is actually a super famous artist.

Still, despite your floundering attempts, he appears to strongly consider this proposition, “It would be extremely beneficial if I had my subject with me as I painted… However, I wouldn’t be able to pay you again. Unfortunately, I’m a little low on funds this month.”

“That’s fine!”

“Then, it’s a deal,” he takes out his own phone from his pocket, “Let’s exchange contact information, so I can message you when I begin the painting process. It will most likely be in the next day or so, so please keep your schedule open.”

You mentally do a fist pump, “All righty, do you have LINE or something? I have social media too, if that’s better.”

“I must confess I am not all that interested in what the online world has to offer,” he pulls out his phone from his back pocket, “I also don’t have any messaging apps outside of the one already on your phone, so your phone number would be best.”

Nodding, you exchange phones and open his contacts. You’re astonished at the names that flood his screen. Arita Takemi, Mihara Kurumi, Natsuhiko Nakanohara—wow, both his names start with “N!” That’s kind of cool—, Yoshihisa Haru… The list goes on and on! How does he know this many people? Or keep up with them? You don’t even think you have this many classmates!

Choosing not to ask him about it, you put in your number as a new contact. With the addition of your name, you raise his phone in the air to take a selfie of yourself (with a peace sign, obviously). Handing it back, you take your phone to find his contact only with his full name and phone number.

Well, you didn’t really expect much more than that from him.

“Hmm, it appears the rain has yet to stop,” he checks the time on his phone, “and it’s quite late. My sincere apologies for keeping you here for so long. I would walk you to the station myself, but I need to prepare for Sensei’s return.”

Surely it can’t be that late; you got here around noontime. Checking your phone as well, you quirk a brow at his definition of late.

You jam your phone back into your back pocket, “Um, it’s only a little past 5:30, Kitagawa. I’ll be okay on my own, but I appreciate the thought.”

He doesn’t look convinced and leaves the room, “At least let me get you an umbrella. I won’t be long.”

True to his word, he comes back as quickly as he left with an umbrella too big for only one person.

“Oh, thanks!” you blink at it in your hands, surprised at his offer, before back at him, “Well, I’ll be on my way now, but I’ll return it next time I see you!”

“Farewell,” he waves you off, and you do the same.

Leaving the room and out the front door, you notice how the rain isn’t coming down as hard as before. In fact, it’s such a light drizzle, using an umbrella would be superfluous. Still, you open it up before walking out from underneath the extremely narrow veranda.

Kitagawa Yusuke.

He’s so strange and perhaps a little blunt.

But he’s also far more polite than the rest of your male peers.

You put a little more pep in your step and smile with anticipation for the next time you see him, hopefully sooner rather than later.

ENDING NOTE: i present to you a project months in the making with a huge hiatus in between completion! i thought this would be ready to release to the world a month ago but. i was wrong LOL!

so, for a little context, i have always wanted to play persona 5 ever since it came out six years ago. however, i never got a ps4. THEN! p5royal got announced for switch and other devices, and i pre-ordered it almost immediately. now, it hasn’t been long since it came out, but i just finished up makoto’s palace.

playing this game also reignited my love and worship for the man that is yusuke kitagawa. the amount of screenshots and videos i took during his arc is embarrassing. then, i read a yusuke x reader oneshot at like 2 am (it’s on ao3 titled “Emperor” by deareststars! so good, the friends to lovers in me enjoyed it so much!). i sat up from my bed with such urgency at the lightning strike of inspiration and starting writing this.

this wasn’t written all in one sitting; this took about...3 months, and, with college apps, my progress was quite stifled! i originally wanted to do this sunshine, tomboyish, easygoing reader with a begrudging, “i need you to do my painting (for madarame)” yusuke. so, yes, an enemies to lovers. however, i don’t think it was that enemies. i think it was quite normal LOL. there isn’t a lot of romance in this either. i was rlly struggling on what to tag this because there isn’t romance; this is just like. the start of it all! miniseries? no…probably not LOL. right before i was going to post this, i realized i forgot to include the posing scene. my original thought was for yusuke to actually move your legs to how he desired, but i was like reader wouldn’t like that, and yusuke wouldn’t do it if reader expressed discomfort (and she did so). so. you got that teehee.

tl;dr: this was self-indulgent 101%.

#kitagawa yusuke #kitagawa yusuke x reader #yusuke x reader #yusuke fluff #yusuke oneshot #persona 5 fanfiction #persona 5 #persona 5 royal #《angel writes》#《med shot》

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