Haruka watched as Michiru painted, amazed at the intense concentration on the artist's calm face. She watched the light play across Michiru's face as the sun set and the artist's brush moved faster and in shorter strokes. Michiru's hair was pulled back into a ponytail to keep it out of the way while she painted, but one long strand had come free, playing across her face and caressing her cheek even as Haruka imagined doing. She let her imagination move from Michiru's cheek to her neck and down further, but she caught it before it did something she would regret. Haruka very much wanted to touch Michiru's soft skin, though. Michiru looked up suddenly, as if sensing the direction the blonde's thought were wandering. She locked eyes with Haruka for a moment, grinning as she looked away. "Come see." Haruka swung off the couch and sauntered over to stand behind the artist, who warned her not to touch the wet paint. It was Haruka, wearing a flowing blue dress and seemingly jumping into the wind. "It's beautiful," the blonde breathed. "I could never do something so wonderful. You drew the wind. What are you going to call it?" "I drew the wind because it seems to be your power, or so I gathered after watching you race. I have named it ‘Kaze ni Naritai'. I hope you like it." "It's perfect." Haruka glanced at the artist beside her, amazed that she could produce such beauty. "I didn't know anyone possessed such talent. Do you draw people often?" "Never. I've been waiting for the perfect subject." "Who?" Michiru looked at her creation and smiled as she put her paints away. "You, apparently. You're perfect." "You're not only a good artist, you also know how to boost the old ego." Haruka smiled, a rarity for the lone racer, stepping away from the painting before she did some sort of damage. "I could never draw that well." "No? I don't believe you. I think you'd do fine if you were only given the chance." "Impossible! You must have three or four art classes a week and I haven't picked up a brush in years." In her mind, she added, nor have I touched a piano. Not since my family died. "You painted?" "Once. Long ago." This was not a subject she did not care to pursue, but she somehow didn't mind when Michiru asked. Michiru squealed in girlish delight as she moved her canvas and pulled a blank one in front of the chair. Pushing Haruka into the chair, she handed the tall blonde her brush and palette and stretched out on the couch opposite the stunned racer. Haruka looked around, green eyes wide. "Michiru-san, what do you expect me to do?" "Draw something. No one will ever see, so you don't have to be afraid of how good you are or how bad you are, just draw whatever you want to. There's plenty of stuff here in my studio, or you can go sit at the window as I do sometimes." Haruka bit her lip and thought for a moment, instantly trusting the woman in front of her. She didn't have to be afraid around Michiru. Taking a deep breath, the blonde touched brush to the thick paper sitting on the easel. She wondered if she could really paint again after so long or if she would just ruin Michiru's good canvas. Michiru fell asleep, exhausted from the energy she put into every masterpiece, and Haruka let her rest as she finished her first work of art in years and quite possibly her best ever. She was surprised that all of her old skills returned so easily, and she briefly wondered if the same thing applied to her piano playing. Haruka put the finishing touches on the painting, smiling as she realized that it wasn't all that bad. She put down her supplies and stretched her aching muscles, crouching down beside the couch where Michiru was sleeping. Smiling, she pushed a wayward strand of hair away from the aqua-haired woman's cheek, the semi-caress waking the violinist. "Are you done?" "Yes. It's not as good as yours, but you can come see if you'd like." Michiru stretched and followed Haruka around the canvas, gasping at the painting. Haruka had drawn her! The picture on the paper was of Michiru, sound asleep on the couch, but the couch had been changed into a huge seashell floating on foam in the ocean and she had transformed into a mermaid with a long blue tail, her breasts cleverly hidden by her sodden aqua locks. Her skin glistened in the light, tinged a slight blue-green to match her elegant tail. "Wow," Michiru breathed. "It's absolutely gorgeous! You're a wonderful artist! How did you pick a mermaid, though?" "I'm not sure, it just seemed to fit. Do you swim?" "Religiously. You run, I swim. But I never told you." "I think I just knew." She glanced at the paints, a new fire in her emerald eyes. "Could we, um, could you put on something else so I could try again?" "Like what?" "A dress, maybe. Those are fun to draw, though not fun to wear. Please? One that sparkles." "Fine, my overeager young apprentice. Come help me choose something appropriate."
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