The place Hatano led Shinomiya to was a small craft workshop in the city.
The white-painted studio, nestled in a side street just off a main road, displayed numerous crafts behind glass like a showcase. Shinomiya, seeing the stylish storefront that would make anyone stop in their tracks if they glanced its way, and then the sign for the craft workshop, let out a doubtful voice.
“A… craft workshop?”
Shinomiya seemed unable to grasp Hatano’s intentions, but at Hatano’s grinning words, “You’re free anyway, right? Keep me company,” she nodded timidly and followed Hatano into the shop.
Inside, where the faint scent of ink lingered, several tables were arranged. Seated there were parent-child pairs and girls in what appeared to be high school uniforms.
On the tables were large quantities of painting tools like brushes, paints, and pens, with newspaper spread out like tablecloths. Lined up neatly on the tables, reminiscent of a festival scene, were slightly small-sized paper lanterns.
The customers—these girls—were painting their own designs onto the lanterns, which had their paper shades held by circular frames.
This was a craft workshop where you could experience painting paper lanterns.
“…Painting lanterns?”
“Yep. I was just thinking I’d like to decorate my house with one.”
“Are you planning to hold a festival at home or something?”
Hatano dodged the obvious true intention with a feigned, clueless excuse. Shinomiya gave her a sidelong glance, cutting through the pretense, while feeling a sharp pang in her chest. Gratitude and guilt towards Hatano for acting on her behalf, anxiety about what would happen if she still couldn’t paint even after all this. A faint impatience and tension. Shinomiya unconsciously pressed a hand to her chest, but Hatano gently took her free hand, enveloping it warmly.
Opening her eyes wide at the warm, gentle touch, Shinomiya saw Hatano smiling brightly.
“It’s okay. Even Picasso probably couldn’t paint a lantern.”
That was true, but the thought that such a genius would probably master it in minutes was a scary one.
Shinomiya couldn’t help but laugh at Hatano’s words, and she felt the pain in her chest subside just a little. Just then, a young woman who had been teaching the children how to paint came over.
“Welcome! Do you have a reservation?”
“I’m Hatano, I made a reservation earlier. Thank you for having us today.”
The woman wiped her paint-stained hands on her paint-stained apron and welcomed Hatano and Shinomiya with those hands. After Hatano paid the prepaid fee for both of them, they were guided to a table with a pure white lantern and painting materials, where they received a brief greeting and explanation from the staff. While Hatano felt exhilarated, having hardly painted anything since middle school art classes, Shinomiya’s expression was somewhat dark.
Hatano did feel guilty for dragging her here without giving her a choice. But if Shinomiya couldn’t pick up a brush, then Hatano would simply paint two lanterns herself. Moreover, Hatano’s aim was that an environment where she could face painting without even a little bit of stiffness or pressure might help ease Shinomiya’s tension and aversion towards it.
So, what Hatano needed to do today was enjoy painting.
Seeing off the staff member who finished the explanation and was called away to help the children, the two faced the lanterns placed before them. Then, Hatano smiled faintly and made a suggestion to Shinomiya.
“Hey, painting one for yourself seems a bit lacking in fun. How about we make them gifts for each other?”
When Hatano said that, Shinomiya, who had been picking up and examining the painting materials, opened her eyes slightly. Then, narrowing her eyes, she looked at Hatano as if accusing her.
“…Are you serious?”
“You don’t have to be fixated on a painting. Words are fine too.”
As Hatano squeezed black and pink paint tubes onto a palette and swished a brush in a bucket of water with a kako-kako sound, Shinomiya looked at her with eyes that seemed to say she couldn’t believe Hatano was going for a one-shot masterpiece without even a sketch. Then, muttering “gift,” she stared at the lantern.
It was different from a canvas or simple paper. The surface was heavily textured and curved. Painting the intended design would be hard enough, but making the painted picture look as intended would also be difficult. How do you paint a beautiful picture on something like this? Shinomiya crossed her arms and pondered.
But if it was a gift, a present for Hatano—then, regardless of how Hatano felt about it, at the very least, compromising wasn’t an option for Shinomiya. She had no intention of turning away from feelings of affection or friendship, but beyond that, she felt indebted.
This person had stayed by her side, even someone like her.
A faint resolve colored Shinomiya’s previously dark expression. Pressing a hand against her anxiously fluttering heart, she gripped a pencil. Savoring the sensation of a single bead of sweat tracing down her temple, Shinomiya searched within her mind for a motif she could draw without looking, a scene from her memories with her that had captured her heart and wouldn’t let go.
And without even needing to think it over, the scene of a dimly lit world and a glowing blue aquarium surfaced first. A memory etched into her brain, a memory shared with her. Recalling the event of that day that made her think, “So there are people like this too,” Shinomiya’s thoughts solidified.
With slightly trembling fingers, she began placing lines and dots as mere guides. Lightly, lightly, with lines thin enough not to kill the potential of watercolors. Using a kneaded eraser several times when lines didn’t go where she intended, she desperately tried to give shape to the scene floating in her mind.
She had no intention of compromising, but if she didn’t finish by closing time, she’d have to present an incomplete work. To avoid the worst-case scenario, she had to be mindful of time allocation. Shinomiya discarded strange fixations, spending time only to complete something better.
In a sensation as if she were seeing a waking dream where the outside scenery and noise were all blocked out, Shinomiya painted. Painting lanterns was outside her expertise; she probably couldn’t even muster a fraction of her true ability. Her heart kept beating in an unpleasant way, and anxiety threatened to crush her. But something always pushed her on, enough to swallow those feelings. As if driven by something, she moved the pencil, drawing the scene she wanted to convey.
Suddenly, she felt as if her heart had leaped onto the tip of the pencil.
“—”
Unconsciously stopping the pencil, Shinomiya, as if remembering, took in information from the outside world. After her sight, hearing, and smell kicked in, reminding her of the flow of time, Shinomiya looked down at the single drawing she was creating. A pencil sketch that evoked a scene that seemed to reflect her own inner self.
Really, is this picture okay? Her childhood self posed a simple question.
Her heart was noisy, ringing an alarm. Feeling slightly dizzy, Shinomiya felt ashamed of her own inner self, built upon a grimy life and accumulated experiences, and wanted to crumple this lantern into a ball right now. Feeling her blood flow accelerate and a slight headache, she cursed foully, wondering who would be happy to receive such garbage. Fighting back tears, she clenched the pencil tighter, repeating her self-loathing. Who would be happy with a picture reflecting the heart of a person who had shown their body to anyone, regardless of gender, just for short-term pleasure, and lived tasting people’s ill will? Wouldn’t a realistic picture, proof of her own worthlessness, be far more beautiful and attractive? Who—would want this picture? Who would acknowledge it?
Shinomiya picked up the kneaded eraser with a trembling hand, about to erase the grimy picture.
Just then, she noticed Hatano struggling beside her. Holding a brush with a difficult expression, moving it clumsily. This overly kind person, who had only ever written novels and was even more out of her depth than Shinomiya, had paid five thousand yen for this painting experience for this hopeless person, was spending her time, painting something she wasn’t good at.
Shinomiya glanced at her own sketch again.
Would Hatano be happy if she gave her this picture? Clenching her teeth and thinking it over, she strangely couldn’t imagine this overly kind Hatano badmouthing this picture. On the contrary, the only thing that came to mind was Hatano’s beloved, slightly gentle and calm smiling face, saying, “That’s good,” and praising her.
It was a convenient fantasy, but this person probably wouldn’t reject any picture. Despite appearances, she was a kind-hearted sentimentalist who would never laugh at someone’s effort. For artists, maybe the result is everything, but precisely because of that, those involved don’t deny the process.
Shinomiya realized the tension had left her shoulders. Placing the pencil down with a hand that had stopped trembling, she stared at Hatano’s profile with an expression as if a spell had been broken. Noticing Shinomiya’s gaze, Hatano looked up and met her eyes, so Shinomiya smiled slightly and asked.
“If I try hard and paint it, will you praise me?”
Perhaps that expression and question, her attitude towards painting, was unexpected. Hatano’s eyes widened in surprise, and she was at a loss for words. Then, after glancing at the sketch Shinomiya had drawn on the lantern, she smiled from the bottom of her heart, looking into Shinomiya’s eyes, which were beginning to hold a core of determination.
“Of course.”
That affirmation, unadorned with unnecessary words, shook her heart more than anything.
Savoring those words, Shinomiya took the necessary paints from the materials on the table. That hand no longer trembled.
Taking out the necessary paints, Shinomiya gripped a brush. The function of perceiving the outside world through her five senses faded, and the world became just her and the canvas—the lantern. She couldn’t feel anything unnecessary; she simply poured her heart, body, and everything into a single surface. Only by pouring all one’s heart and soul into it can one be proud of that creation. Driven by surging emotions, she moved the brush, overlapping it with the scenery in her mind.
A deep ultramarine settled onto the washi paper mixed with bamboo fibers.
How many years had it been? Five years? Since she last put color onto something. And when was the last time she painted without feeling pressured—probably back when she painted that pufferfish picture.
Back then, it was fun. Until now, it hadn’t been fun.
Now, it was a little fun.
Moving the brush as driven by sensibility and reason, she planted colors onto the lantern. The faint aqua light shining from the mercury lamp and aquarium illuminating the interior, the customers in shadow against the backlight. The vivid silver of the school of fish swimming leisurely under everyone’s gaze, and the captivating, undulating blue.
The color delivered oxygen to her, the painter, like blood. The faint, very faint sound of the brush rubbing against the paper was like the sound of breathing. She continued layering and painting colors to make the contrast of light and shadow stand out vividly. Surely, as a picture for a lantern, it was third-rate at best. But she couldn’t have painted this picture on any other surface.
It wasn’t as a painter facing a canvas; it was as Hatano’s friend, to attach a picture dedicated to her as a gift, that this brush probably moved. She would willingly accept any criticism that it was impractical as a lantern. So right now, she didn’t want anyone to stop this hand.
And so, Shinomiya continued, immersed to the point where she no longer knew how much time she had spent, expressing the blurry light with a pale blue, and completed the painting.
She lifted her face as if escaping from water, taking in oxygen with slightly rough breaths.
As if remembering, the noise of the craft workshop reached her ears, and the smell of oil paints brought her back to herself.
Then, Shinomiya, staring at the lantern she had just finished, smiled faintly.
Compared to Rokai, it was terribly immature, a clumsy work lacking the powerful force to move people’s hearts. But Shinomiya felt proud of this, just like the pufferfish picture her sister had praised long ago. It might be immature, with countless shortcomings, but she liked this picture.
Feeling a little proud, Shinomiya turned to show this picture to Hatano.
And she finally realized that Hatano had been watching over her all this time. Hatano, who had been staring at Shinomiya with her chin propped on her hand, smiled. Seeing the beloved smile of the person she loved, Shinomiya felt as if the work she had painted, the existence of this child she had birthed, had been acknowledged by the world. She felt inexplicably, unbearably happy, and in that instant, she wanted to give this lantern to her right away.
“Whoa!? Huh, wow…! Did you paint this, miss!?”
A loud voice that echoed through the craft workshop came from a high school girl who had also been painting and had, at some point, come nearby. She was staring at Shinomiya’s work with eyes wide with surprise, and the blonde high school girl next to her also covered her mouth with an expression that seemed to say she’d seen something amazing. Excitedly, she took out her smartphone.
“That’s… amazing—! Can I take a photo!? Is it okay for SNS and stuff!?”
Asked this in a state of great excitement, Shinomiya, taken aback by the unexpected reaction from this direction, looked at Hatano with a deeply troubled expression. However, Shinomiya had painted this, and Hatano, who hadn’t received it yet, had no right to decide its fate. Thinking that, Hatano closed her eyes without hiding her relaxed smile.
Shinomiya remained a little bewildered for a moment, but seeing the high school girls showing unadorned praise in their expressions and words, she eventually revealed a smile tinged with joy.
“It’s a little embarrassing, but please, go ahead.”
The high school girls started taking photos with their smartphones, saying “Wah!”. Shinomiya, blushing slightly with embarrassment, couldn’t hide her happiness and let her cheeks relax. As they made a commotion, it seemed to have piqued interest, as several parent-child pairs also approached.
As the families started exclaiming “Amazing,” “Beautiful,” Shinomiya felt embarrassed and looked down. A picture like Rokai’s was still far off, and compared to those who had seriously continued to face painting, it was surely clumsy and inadequate. But she felt that the effort she had accumulated until that day she broke her brush, had, for the first time, been rewarded today, five years later.
She quietly savored the overflowing feelings, careful not to let them spill out as words.
As she watched the people taking photos together with Hatano, the staff woman approached timidly, carrying a pure white lantern. When Shinomiya and Hatano looked at her wondering what was wrong, she made a deeply apologetic face, holding the lantern in the crook of her arm and clasping her hands together.
“Um… if it’s not too much trouble… I’ll refund the workshop fee, and I’ll pay you as well, so would it be possible… for you to paint a picture for promotional purposes…?”
A promotional picture. Presented with this utterly unexpected proposal, Shinomiya’s eyes widened, and for a moment, she almost asked back, unable to understand the meaning of the words. But understanding caught up a moment later, and she fell silent. She looked at Hatano, wondering what to do, but Hatano was smiling as if to say, “Do as you like.”
She hesitated a little. She wasn’t such a grand painter; on the contrary, it was presumptuous for a coward like her to even call herself a painter. She wasn’t the kind of person who could pick up a brush because someone asked her for something.
But it made her very happy that someone who valued this crystallization of her heart and soul so highly would say to her, “Your picture is good.”
Shinomiya glanced at the brush she had set down and the paints she had mixed through trial and error.
Time—she probably didn’t need to worry about it. Confirming just that, Shinomiya finally met Hatano’s eyes one last time, confirmed the smile returned to her, and opened her mouth.
By the time they left the craft workshop after painting the promotional item, it was already completely dark outside.
“Maybe I wish you’d taken it a little more seriously.”
On the way back, Shinomiya muttered with a slight pout as she held up the lantern Hatano had painted. Holding Shinomiya’s own painstakingly crafted work in one hand, Hatano laughed and said, “I was completely serious.” On the lantern Hatano had painted, now held aloft in Shinomiya’s hand, the four hiragana characters for ‘Shinomiya’ were written in elegant calligraphy. Despite all the effort Shinomiya had put into colors, composition, and creative touches, Hatano’s contribution was just four black hiragana characters. The rest was filled with haphazard doodles in miscellaneous colors, scattered here and there like an afterthought.
When Shinomiya puffed out her cheeks to show her displeasure, Hatano responded with a gentle smile.
“…Well, to be honest. I thought I should make it a piece you wouldn’t feel guilty about, even if you couldn’t pick up a brush again. If I’d tried too hard, I thought you might feel bad.”
As Hatano spoke, Shinomiya’s eyes widened in surprise, and she made an apologetic face, as if ashamed she hadn’t considered that perspective. In an instant, her expression softened, and she clutched the lantern affectionately.
“O-oh… I see. You’re right. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were being considerate—”
“—That’s just what I’m saying, though.”
With a knowing chuckle, Hatano retracted her previous statement, causing Shinomiya’s face to turn bright red as she began flailing, shoving and kicking Hatano. “What was that all about?!” Hatano, who had disguised her true feelings with that excuse, laughed cheerfully, her shoulders shaking as she accepted Shinomiya’s complaints. Even while glaring at the unfazed Hatano, Shinomiya continued to hold the gift from her carefully, as if it were precious.
—Had she managed to move forward, even just a little?
Exhaling a white breath that swayed in the air, Hatano wondered about that.
She considered Shinomiya a friend. She wouldn’t turn away from that, nor did she intend to lie to herself. So, if Shinomiya was struggling, she wanted to help. This time too, she had started moving, wondering if there was anything she could do.
What Shinomiya carried wasn’t light enough to be wiped away by a single craft class. But if she had managed to shed even a little of her past and move forward, then this action might have had meaning. Hatano gazed affectionately at Shinomiya, who was puffing out her cheeks and looking away in a sulk.
“Shinomiya.”
There was just one thing she wanted to ask, just once.
“Did you have fun today?”
At the question, Shinomiya turned to look at her, closing her eyes slightly as if thinking. Seeming to grasp the intent behind the question, she looked in turn at the lantern hanging from her own arm and then at the lantern Hatano held, the one she had painted. She probably still wasn’t ready to return to the path of painting. If she faced a canvas, she might freeze up, brush in hand. The day she could lay transparent watercolors on fabric still seemed far off.
It might still be a long way before she could say she loved painting, but even so, as Shinomiya looked back on today’s events, a full, beaming smile spread across her face. It was the first genuine, unadorned, carefree, and radiant smile Hatano had seen from her since they’d met.
“—Very much.”
“I see,” Hatano murmured, able to smile just as honestly in return.