#Next part is planned to be more just doodle snapshots of what happened rather than an actual plot... that is if I can draw it in time.

[donelywell]

Hopefully part 1 of my submission to my own event lmao-

I totally didn't push this off until the literal last day, who do you think I am?

Unfortunately, I have work today, so I can't spend all day drawing.

Part 2

[astxlphe-fics]

Snapshot.

Atsushi likes to draw in the park. He doesn’t realize how many times he’s drawn the handsome photographer until the man comes talking to him. 

Kuniatsu / Artist Atsushi, Photographer Kunikida (also ft. bug lover kuni)

Word count : ~3K

Atsushi settles down on the grass, back against the tree, and crosses his legs. He sets his cardboard folder against his knees and opens his sketchbook.

It’s new, and empty, a gift from Kyouka for his birthday, along with the set of pencils he’s brought with him. He puts the metal box on the ground next to him, picks on and looks around.

It’s a sunny day, in April, so the weather is still somewhat cool and the park isn’t as packed as in the summer months. Atsushi takes in the tree line, in the high building behind it, the people walking, the guy sitting on a bench playing a video game, the blond man lying on his stomach, a camera in hand.

He starts to draw.  

Broad strokes shape the trees, from gross shapes first until he moves on to smaller details, leaves and patches of grass and the shape of a man with a camera.

It takes over an hour for Atsushi to get to the point of drawing him, deciding last minute to add him to the scenery, and when he looks up to check if he has moved, he finds the man in the exact same position.

Utterly still, and a look of complete concentration on his face.

Atsushi draws him, smiling to himself, taking great care in the placement of his finger on the camera button, in the way his messy ponytail falls on his back, in the angle the sunlight makes his glasses glint.

About another hour later, about ten minutes after he changes page and takes on drawing a spider that crawled up his leg, the photographer sits and stretches, setting his camera around his neck. Then he walks to the man on the bench, who puts his video games in his trench coat.

They exchange a few words, and leave.

Atsushi tries to imagine what this man could possibly have photographed.

+

Bugs.

What Kunikida absolutely wants to photograph is close-ups of bugs.

It takes longer than he expects, but waiting is something he can do. His roommate is Dazai Osamu, so his patience is forged in fire, iron and exasperation.

The last bug close-up he takes is a caterpillar crawling its way to the nearest leaf, set right in front of his camera, and he has a pretty good shot of it eating.

When he is done, he sits back and stands, joining Dazai, who puts away his video game.

“Are you finished?” he asks, and Kunikida nods.

“I’m done.”

“Show me!” Dazai leans over to see the screen of his camera, almost knocking Kunikida off balance.

“Oi, be careful!” He huffs and turns the camera back on and opens the gallery, flipping through the different pictures he took during the last few hours.

There is, besides the caterpillar, a group of ants carrying bread crumb from where a family had picnicked for lunch. He shows him the ladybug as well, particularly proud of this one, as it's a picture of it as it takes off.

Several grasshoppers, a yellow butterfly and a bee.

Dazai looks over the pictures, and his nose wrinkles as he makes a face. “That’s gross, Kunikida, you could at least try to take pictures of more glamorous subjects.” He grins. “Like me.”

“Bugs are certainly glamorous,” Kunikida shoots back. “Unlike you, they’re an essential part of the ecosystem and are underappreciated. They need to be more recognized for the role they have in preserving our environment!”

Dazai sighs over-dramatically, draping himself on his shoulder. “Am I not an essential part of your ecosystem? Kunikida, you black-hearted man.” When Kunikida rolls his eyes, Dazai pulls himself straight again. “I’m only trying to help you. If the cute boy over there knew you took pictures of bugs—”

“The what now.”

“Don’t turn around,” Dazai orders, and Kunikida almost does as a reflex. Instead, he glances back to where Dazai is looking, to a (admittedly cute) white-haired young man sitting under the tree. “He’s been staring at you for an hour.”

“He’s drawing,” Kunikida hisses, starting to walk away. “This activity usually requires a lot of staring. He just happened to look in my general direction.”

Dazai doesn’t look convinced, but he shrugs. “Suit yourself,” he says. “But you’re wrong. He was looking at your butt.”

“Dazai.”

+

The park is a good source of inspiration, Atsushi decides on the third day of drawing there. He changes his spot every time, looking for new sceneries and people to draw. There are a lot of critters he ends up doodling, from birds to bugs and a few squirrels.

He brings a hot drink with him today. The temperature has dropped during the night, and it’s pretty much cold, so there is no one in the park besides Atsushi himself — and the photographer.

Today he has a tripod and facing away from him, and it’s an angle Atsushi rarely draws anyone in, so he takes the opportunity to put it down on paper.

His friend is with him today too, and Atsushi plans to draw him as well, but he quickly forgets about him. He puts special attention in the angle of the photographer’s shoulders, well defined by the blue coat he’s wearing. It stops under his knees, mid-calf, and then Atsushi makes sure to draw the folds of the pants just right.

Once, the photographer makes a movement to turn away, seemingly in Atsushi’s direction. Atsushi ducks his head, pretending not to be watching.

Then he tries something new. He looks up, trying to guess what the man is seeing, what he is taking a picture of, and sketches it as well as he can. It’s not perfect, but it’s a fun game that he finds out he likes to play, for now.

Once he is done, he catches sight of a cat playing in the grass and changes his subject.

Maybe, he thinks, he should bring Byakko to the park with him, next time?  

+

Kunikida comes back to the park often.

It’s not necessarily to take pictures of bugs, though he likes it, but he needs practice in taking pictures of larger sceneries and finding a focal point in it.

A subject, noticeable enough to draw the eye, placed in a way that makes it looks part of the larger picture rather that the focus of it.

He turns on his heels, and catches sight of the young man he has seen two days before — the one who, Dazai insisted, was looking at his butt. He’s sitting just on the line between shadows and sunlight, bent down, focused on his drawing, hair overshadowing his face.

His pen scratches at the paper, and he periodically looks up to the calico cat playing a few meters away.  

When he does, the light hits his face just right.

Kunikida twists the head of his tripod and turns the camera in his direction, making sure to include the cat. The white-haired artist isn’t paying attention to him at all so, the next time he looks up at the animal, Kunikida snaps a quick picture.

He opens the picture folder and stares at it.

It’s perfect.

+

It’s not the only picture Kunikida takes of him.

“You’re turning into a stalker~" Dazai teases, poking his side, and Kunikida flushes.

“I’m not a stalker!”

“S—ure. It’s not your fault he is so photogenic, right?”

On the latest one, he is lying on the ground, legs swinging slowly as he draws a different cat. This one is black and white, and Kunikida saw it arrive with him. It’s probably his cat.

Over the next few days, it seems like every time Kunikida tries to take a good picture, this young artist is just there, in a corner, looking a natural part of the place. He zooms in on one of them as much as he possibly can before it turns blurry.

He is smiling here, wide enough to show some of his teeth, to make his eyes crinkle and shine.

Kunikida spends several second looking at it, at every details of his face he can make out, committing them to memory. Then, he duplicates the pictures and crops it.

That’s a smile he wouldn’t mind seeing up close.

God, he’s starting to sound like Dazai.

Next to him, Dazai’s obnoxious laughter only gets louder, and Kunikida would strangle him with his bare hands if not for the attention it would draw.

“I should apologize to him,” he decides suddenly. Because taking secret pictures of a stranger isn’t simply weird, it can come off as downright creepy, and Kunikida is not a creep. Because he’s started to look for this young artist on shots he’s definitely not on, and to zoom in on his face, and this is getting out of hands.

“You can’t!” Dazai can barely contain his glee. “He’s napping!”

Indeed he is, and Kunikida gives up. He huffs and settles on the ground to take more pictures of bugs, stopping all movement to wait for one to approach him.

A few minutes later, he finds himself nose to nose with the young man’s cat, who bops its face on the camera lens.

Resigned, Kunikida adjusts the settings and presses the button. The cat’s nose looks enormous on the resulting picture, it’s curious eyes wide, its face magnified. One it's taken he sits up and shows it too the cat.

“There,” he says. "Are you happy?”

It stares at the picture of itself, rubs its head on Kunikida’s hand until he gives it a good scratch, and leaves.

+

The cold has passed now, as the end of April nears, and more and more people come to enjoy the sunshine and warmer weather. Atsushi sees families and several dog walkers.

He sets Byakko upon the grass. “Don’t go too far,” he tells the cat, who flicks her black-tipped tail at him before ignoring him.

The photographer is almost facing Atsushi today, so he has to be more discreet while drawing.

He focuses on his face, this time. On the line of his jaw, the curve of his nose, the shape of his eyes, and the way he frowns where he’s focused. He adds in as many details as he finds, and the more he draws the more his eyes are drawn to him.

By the time he is done Atsushi feels like he knows this face by heart.

The photographer’s expression changes as he takes different pictures of crowds while Atsushi records them in his sketchbook as fast as he possibly can, stomach fluttering as he discovers the range of emotions this man expresses.  

It’s wonderful practice, especially when his tall friend annoys him until he turns to him.

“Stop it, Dazai,” Atsushi hears him snap when the friend in question purposely waves in front of the camera to wave at him. He supposes the picture is ruined, because the photographer emits a loud noise of frustration. “Dammit, it’s all blurry now! Stop that, you useless waste of bandages!”

The sound attracts Byakko’s attention, and she wanders away from Atsushi. She curiously paws towards the pair until Dazai notices her and bends down to pet her.

She rubs her head against the man’s hand, before messing around, coming close to knock the tripod over. The sight it almost as Atsushi on his feet, but before he can Dazai looks up. His eyes catch Atsushi and he smiles, wide, like a Cheshire cat.

Atsushi’s face burns. He has been caught staring. To make it worse, Dazai tugs on the photographer’s arm and points to the cat, then to Atsushi. The man picks up Byakko and walks over to Atsushi with decisive steps.

He's mad at him, he thinks as he tries to read his face. He’s going to yell at him for staring or for letting his cat mess around his equipment.

The photographer stops right in front of him, and Atsushi realizes his work is in plain sight. He slams his sketchbook close, hoping he hasn’t noticed it — and the handful of drawings of his face all over the page.

“Is this your cat?”  

“I’m sorry,” Atsushi says, standing up to take her. “I’ll be more careful with her —”

“Please do,” the man answers, handing her to him. “What is she called?”

“Byakko.” He scratches at her ears and sighs. “I’m really sorry, I figured the park would be safer for her than letting her out in the streets.”

“No harm was done.” His face smooths over as he notices Atsushi’s distress, as if trying to reassure him. “She came over to me yesterday as well, and got her picture taken for her troubles.”

“Really? Thank you for not—you know—” He shrugs. “Uh, I’ve seen you around? Several times. I’m Atsushi.”

“Kunikida, it’s a pleasure.” His eyes fall on the discarded sketchbook. “I’ve seen you here as well, you seem to be a prolific artist.”

“I try!” He sends him a weak smile. “That’s how you progress, right?”

“Of course. Practice makes perfect— you must be skilled.”

“I can show you?” Atsushi offers, cheeks fading to a light pink. “If you want?”

Kunikida nods. “I can show you some of my work as well, if you’d like.” He gestures back at where his camera is still set. “I’m a photographer.”

Atsushi picks his sketchbook up again and flips it to the previous pages, trying to find one he likes enough to show off. He’s never liked showing his drawings to anyone, but Kunikida doesn’t seem the kind of man who would laugh at him, and something like excitation bubbles in Atsushi.

Until he realizes just how many times he has drawn Kunikida in the past few weeks.

“Uh—” The sketchbook snaps shut again, and he lets out a nervous laugh. “Would you look at the time! I should really head home!”  

“What—”

It’s obvious, from Kunikida’s face, that he’s seen them. He glances from the sketchbook to Atsushi, who is currently stuffing his things in his bag as fast as he can.

“I can hear my mom calling me!”

+

It’s only after he offers to show Atsushi his work that Kunikida remembers just how many pictures of him are on his camera roll.

He is almost relieved when Atsushi runs away, because it would have been a lot to explain. He would probably think Kunikida is a creep.

“Or maybe not,” Dazai tells him, thoughtful. “You say you saw that he’s been drawing you? So, I was right, he was looking at your butt.”

“Dazai, I’m sure he didn’t draw my butt.” He sets up his camera and looks around.

“Shame, it's very nice.”

After three days of going back to the usual park, Kunikida finally resigns to the fact that Atsushi isn’t showing up anymore. Since then, all his pictures have been bland — incomplete — so Dazai suggested moving location.

This new park is larger than the previous one and different enough to give him new material. The trees are denser and clear-cut paths run through it. A fountain stands in the center, the water flowing with a soothing noise.

Next to him, Dazai flops down on the grass, staring up at the sky and pulls out his earphones. Kunikida takes a picture, mentally labelling it as “Dazai being a lazy ass, as usual”.

It's only half-hearted, because Dazai doesn’t have to come with him on his photographing endeavors, and some days Kunikida wonders why he comes at all. Besides, saying he doesn’t enjoy Dazai’s company would be a blatant lie, they both know it.  

Suddenly, Dazai rolls on his side and takes one of his earbuds out. “Your favourite subject is here,” he points out. “Looks like someone had the same idea!”

Following his fingers, Kunikida finds Atsushi sitting near the fountain, scribbling in his sketchbook. He almost has his back to him, so he can’t see his face.

“You should—”

Kunikida doesn’t hear the end of Dazai’s sentence. He grabs his camera and walks towards him until Byakko, sitting by him, raises her head in his direction.

She stands and meows, attracting Atsushi’s attention, and he turns around. His eyes go wide as he sees Kunikida, and he stammers out something that sounds like “hello”.

“I would like to take a picture of you, please,” Kunikida declares, and Atsushi’s face turns into a deep, concerning red.

“Uh?”

He raises his camera. “You also don’t have to be embarrassed about drawing me. People watching — and drawing — is a strong hobby that can only lead to great progress in your art.” He pauses. “There are also several pictures of you I took without your knowledge and consent, I’m sorry. In my defence, you are often the only person who doesn’t move around.”

Atsushi looks a lot less panicked now that he knows Kunikida doesn’t hold anything against him, and laughs. “I hope you know how weird this sounds.”

“I’m aware.” His strict composure softens, and he pushes his glasses back up his nose. “So, can I take a picture?”

“Sure.” He sets his sketchbook down. “How would you like it to be?”

“Just a portrait.” He crouches to be on the same level as Atsushi, who is still sitting, and smiles as the camera is pointed to him.  

It’s the first picture he takes where Atsushi is looking right at the camera, smiling at him, and Kunikida’s heart jumps in his chest. He sits on the bench, right next to Atsushi, to show him.  

The young man leans over until their shoulders touch and stares at his own face, not unlike his cat did just a few days ago.

His cheeks are still pink when he pulls on of his uneven strand of hair behind his ear. “Could I see the other ones?” He gulps, and seems to gather the courage to add something else, twisting his hands: “I mean, I could show you mine—” his graphite stained fingers tap his sketchbook as he speaks “—and you can show me yours. Over coffee? Maybe?”

Kunikida blinks in surprise, taken off guard, but he smiles. “I would like that.”