Love Hina Fan Fiction ❯ Keitaro the Artist ❯ Keitaro the Artist ( Chapter 1 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

 

 

“Uhh… are you sure it's okay to be here?” asked Shinobu, the next morning.

 

“You're our guest of honor! Come in, come in,” urged Keitaro. Kitsune smiled, leading her in front of an art easel covered with a cloth. It smelled a little off, due to the fixative, but Keitaro couldn't afford a nitrogen atmosphere case to really protect it properly.

 

“I uh, painted this for you, Shinobu. I hope you like it,” he said, lifting the canvas sheet and then the thin protective paper. Her eyes widened, taking in the image. Vibrant colors, herself hunched over, weeping on the bench. He'd only been there with her a moment, yet he'd painted this from memory.

 

“Sempai,” she gasped. “It's beautiful.”

 

An explosion ripped through the kitchen with a shout from Kaolla and Naru. Keitaro ran in and found them scorched and the food ruined and sizzling.

 

“Oh no! The feast! What'll we do?” asked Naru. Kaolla tried eating a piece and gagged. Shinobu hesitantly entered.

 

“Wait. I can fix it. Fill that with water. Do you have vegetables?” she asked. They Hinata residents stared in awe as shortly she turned the mess back into food and even cleaned the kitchen as she went. Done, it was a serious feast.

 

“Wow, this looks better than Kaolla's food and tastes better than Naru's!” exclaimed Kitsune. Naru snarled and punched her friend in the arm for the insult. Keitaro ate thoughtfully.

 

“This is so good I could eat it every day. Do you want to be our cook?” he offered.

 

“Do you mean it?” gasped Shinobu desperately grasping for any chance to stay in her old life, and escape from her parent's bickering.

 

“Well, we need someone to cook and clean and do the laundry. Its too much for me to do alone. I could trade the work in exchange for your room and board, with a small stipend. I can't afford very much, but it would be a fair trade, right girls?” he asked them. All nodded enthusiastically.

 

“Really? Oh thank you!” she gasped, weeping in happiness.

 

“I think she's up here,” said Haruka's voice from the other room.

 

“I… oh my. That's Shinobu,” said an unfamiliar voice.

 

Shinobu froze at her mother's voice. The group rose from the table and filed into the foyer to observe her parents staring at his painting of the girl.

 

“She's…,” whispered her father, aghast at her expression.

 

“So sad,” finished her mother.

 

“Who painted this?” asked her father. Keitaro met his eyes.

 

“What did you do to her?” he demanded. Shinobu stepped between them.

 

“Its what YOU did! Both of you!” she glared.

 

“I know you hate each other. It's not my fault. I can't stand you screaming and hurting each other. You're hurting me to.”

 

“Come live with me, honey, I'll take care of you,” offered her father.

 

“No, you beast. How dare you! Let my little girl be around some other woman, that floozy!”

 

“There IS NO other woman! I keep telling you!” he insisted.

 

“STOP IT!!” screamed Shinobu. “Leave me alone! I'm staying here. I don't want to see either of you. Get out!” she cried, pushing them towards the door.

 

“What do you mean you're staying here?” asked her mother, uncertain.

 

“I'm their cook. They just hired me as their housekeeper,” Shinobu stated, face swollen, weeping.

 

“That's right,” agreed Keitaro. Kitsune and Naru nodded as well.

 

“You wild girls? Ha!” laughed her mother.

 

“Mother, father, neither one of you is fit to be my parent, at least not right now. Just go,” urged Shinobu, more quietly. A pebble dropped.

 

“I'll keep an eye on her,” offered Naru. Kitsune nodded as well.

 

“They're a little wild, but only a little,” admitted Haruka. “She'll be safe here.”

 

Paperwork was filled out. Haruka was assigned as Shinobu's guardian. She'd drop in to see that things stayed safe and stable for the young teenager.

 

 

&&&&&&&&

 

 

Kaolla insisted on getting to know the girl, and immediately began to cheer her up. Such was Kaolla's playful nature. Keitaro got in several more sketches of the Sad Girl In Blue, as well as Kaolla monkeying around.

 

Gradually the light changed into early evening, and he drew objects in the room, capturing the light and shadow, practicing his efforts, trying to get better. After some time he realized that Kitsune was curled up on the couch facing the TV drinking sake and staring at his sketch thoughtfully.

 

“You planning to be a painter at Tokyo U? I didn't know they had an art school,” she said after a while.

 

“I don't know. I'd been thinking I should study something serious like Pre-Law but now… well life seems different. Maybe moving here is a good thing for me,” he admitted. The light on her was… distracting. His breathing deepened.

 

“You know, there's some good art schools around here. Have you heard of Musashino Art College?” asked Kitsune. “I have a friend who is going there. Some of the best artists in Japan hone their skills and learn techniques.”

 

“What do they do afterwards?” he asked, always a pertinent question when it came to careers. Thinking about money was always depressing. He was so poor, after all.

 

“The best of them sell their work to galleries, corporations. The next best end up working for companies, sometimes in construction, sometimes in advertising,” she said, swirling the sake around in the small bottle. She shifted on the couch slightly, her gleaming legs drawing his attention.

 

“Industrial artists, huh,” said Keitaro, a little doubtfully.

 

“Hey, I'm a writer for magazines. Don't knock it if it puts food on the table and pays the rent. Most of the time I just work odd jobs and play the ponies,” she admitted. Keitaro eyed her in the late afternoon sun. She was quite sensual and it turned him on to look at her. Her eyes swivelled to regard him, staring. Keitaro swallowed guiltily but didn't look away.

 

“How old are you, Keitaro?” she asked carefully.

 

“Twenty.”

 

“So am I. I usually object to being stared at like that, but I'd rather you stared at me than any of the other girls here. They're all underage, you know.”

 

“Hey, I'm not like that!” he objected. She stared, seeing truth. That was a relief.

 

“Just so we're clear. But you were staring,” she reminded him. He nodded. Kitsune smirked.

 

“May I sketch you, as you are right now?” he asked finally. Her eyes opened at that question.

 

“Well, at least it's a different line than usual. I suppose you'll want to sketch me nude too, right?” she taunted, testing him. Kitsune understood people, understood their minds and motivations. What he really wanted was plain, but sketching wasn't a bad thing. She could tease him, and she liked to tease. Why not?

 

“As you are is fine. Maybe someday… n-n-nude. But not now. I don't think I could do it,” he blushed, shaking off the image of her that way.

 

“Don't expect much of a pose. I'm gonna watch TV.”

 

Keitaro flipped the page over to a clean sheet and began to draw her, focussing himself as he had with Shinobu. The light gleaming from her smoothly rounded thighs, the swell of her breasts, her full luscious lips, her smiling eyes slitted in merriment. He took special care to capture the easy grace of her hands, one twirling the sake bottle, the other the remote as she channel surfed.

 

A bit later he darkened some lines and erased a few others to clean up the drawing a little but it wasn't bad. Not quite as good as the one of Shinobu crying, but it wasn't bad.

 

“I'm done,” he announced. Kitsune turned to regard her image through his eyes and slowly smiled.

 

“Well. Not bad, Keitaro,” she finally said.

 

“Would you pose for me again?” he stammered out.

 

“I think I might. Are you going to pay me?” she asked. Keitaro's expression dropped, just like a dog.

 

“I'm too poor,” he admitted. Kitsune considered him a bit more. Well, she could tease him. That made it fun, after all.

 

“Nevermind. I won't charge you,” she decided airily, waving her hand in dismissal. Keitaro smiled like the sun coming out of the clouds.

 

“Really?! Oh thank you thank you thank you!” he exclaimed. Kitsune blinked. The young man ran off cheerfully humming to himself.

 

She held the drawing, looking at the care he'd applied to capturing her image. His interest showed in the detail, and the places he got wrong showed his desires. Like all men, he had stared at her breasts, thighs, lips, but the attention to her hands was rather touching. That bit was her, the real her. Kitsune felt a slight twinge of excitement at that discovery. She sauntered back to her room quietly, pausing outside his door before recognizing the noises he was making and blushing a little more, her perpetual smirk widening. She listened for a moment longer then, crept away to her own room.

 

 

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

 

 

The next morning was a rush of them all leaving. He'd awoken to being crushed by Kaolla, and gotten a foot in the face by Naru for the crime of being molested by the strange girl. Kaolla never even woke up from the exchange. It took Kitsune to remind Naru that Kaolla sleep-walked and both were still fully clothed.

 

“These two haven't done anything,” decided Kitsune wisely.

 

“How do you know?” demanded Naru.

 

“Because they don't smell like sex,” she said. Kitsune sniffed at Naru and her eyebrow raised. Naru blushed heavily and stomped off, remembering she was standing in her pajamas.

 

Keitaro took the train with Naru to their prep school. She barely acknowledged him, focussed on her studies. He couldn't blame her. She'd spent the last two years solid studying instead of having a personal life, according to the tenant files. Apparently moving there had given her more time to focus on her studies than she could at home. Her mother had remarried a couple years earlier and her step-sister was a bit of nuisance. That was all he really knew. Its amazing that such a beautiful girl was hiding under that ugly sweatshirt and coke-bottle glasses, but that beautiful girl hated him and he resolved to respect her privacy. Speaking of which, he really needed to fix that hole in his ceiling. He'd attend to that later.

 

The highlight was the approaching delivery of his prep exam score from the latest exam. He'd been 27th lowest for far a month and a half. This time he was sure he'd do better. His old infallible optimism finally took hold and Keitaro grinned… right up until he saw his score:

 

“E… no chance at this college,” it said. Keitaro slumped heartbroken. He saw the memory of the little girl, driven away in that truck, gone forever. His two friends Shirai and Haitani both slumped as well.

 

“Oh well, there's always next time, right?” said Haitani. “Lets go pick up some girls. That'll cheer us up, right?” He nudged Keitaro, hoping to spark his enthusiasm. Keitaro stared, and somewhere a pebble dropped, along with his enthusiasm.

 

“Uh, thanks anyway, but I really want to be alone right now,” said Keitaro. He found a nice quiet study cubicle to cry for awhile. When he stopped he realized there was a brochure for Musashino Art College lying on the table in front of him. He picked it up and stared, then flipped through it, reading, staring at the pictures. Somewhere a butterfly was fluttering at the edge of a hurricane, but this had nothing to do with Keitaro.

 

His friends had intercepted and been assaulted by an angry Hinata resident and her Greek Chorus of fangirls on a bridge outside the prep school, but Keitaro was thinking about a new direction in his life, so he missed it. A boulder fell into the river this time.

 

&&&&&&&&&&

 

Two hours later, Keitaro returned to Hinata Sou bearing forms from the prep school office and information about Musashino Art College. Students giving up on Todai wasn't unusual, and students changing direction entirely was quite common so they stocked up on things like that. Getting in wouldn't be hard, but he had to put together his portfolio and build up the needed tuition money. He had quite a few sketches, plus the ones he'd been doing lately. The newer ones were better. Soaked from the rain, he hung his coat up on the rack to dry and headed to his room to change.

 

“Men!” snarled Motoko in the laundry room. She shoved her soaked clothes in the dryer, wearing her towel, still shivering from the rain. Training camp had been exhilirating. She was an accomplished kendoka, and was already the master of her family's style of sword fighting at 15. She still, however, couldn't stand that men had taken away her sister from her, the one she trusted most, and that sleazy men kept hitting on her in the street. It was altogether too much to ask her to keep her temper under such conditions. She finished and started the dryer before adjusting her towel tighter, heading down the hallway. A large sheet of paper was hung outside one of the empty rooms. It seemed that they had a new resident, though why she'd hang an image of herself weeping was rather… it was beautiful, wasn't it? Motoko paused and looked at it a little more, nodding approval. Further down the hallway were more of the sketches, with comments written on another sheet below it.

 

“This is really good - Kitsune” said one remark beside a picture of the older woman. While Motoko did not approve of the woman's lifestyle and habits, it was a better than average drawing of her in her most traditional place, lazing away in front of the TV.

 

“Yay! Keitaro is a good artist! - Kaolla” was written by one of her and the weeping girl smiling and playing together.

 

“Do I really look that way? - Naru” beside an image of her frowning in concentration over a book.

 

Who is Keitaro? The artist, clearly. That was a man's name. Motoko hmphed. Still, these were skilled drawings.

 

Motoko went to the hot spring and warmed up in the water, warm in spite of the rain falling on her head. A bit later she sneezed.

 

“I have a cold,” she announced to the empty spring. She dressed and returned to her room. She passed the drawing and looked carefully at each one, seeing the artist's signature of Keitaro Urashima on each one. Urashima. Hina's family name. Motoko put two and two together and got four. Her lips tightened into a frown, however she also saw that the comments were supportive. Two more gave her six. They liked him there as their manager. Objecting now was pointless.

 

“Can I live with a man?” she asked to herself, strangely frightened. Add two and get eight. Motoko sighed in defeat. The rain stopped. She sneezed. The girl rolled out her futon and took a nap rather than scream and throw a tantrum.

 

&&&&&&

 

“Is Motoko home?” asked Naru.

 

“I think so,” said Kitsune. “I smell her perfume.”

 

“Its time for dinner. I'll go get her,” volunteered the studious girl. She padded upstairs and down the hall, knocking on the frame.

 

“Motoko, its time for dinner,” announced Naru, sliding open the kendo girl's door. The student was less alert than usual and slowly sat up. She was sweaty and swayed from side to side.

 

“Are you okay?” asked Naru. She touched her forehead. “You have a fever! I'll get the manager.”

 

“Keitaro! Keitaro!” cried Naru. Motoko lay back down and fell into a fevered sleep.

 

&&&&&&&&

 

Sometime later she awoke. It was dark out. She'd lost the rest of the day. A young man was sitting nearby, sketching quietly. She could smell Kitsune's perfume, and Naru's as well. The lingering scent of banana told her Kaolla Su had been there as well. Motoko stretched, feeling very sore. The man looked up, glasses framed his face. He had kind eyes.

 

“So, your fever finally broke. Are you thirsty? I have water, or broth. Shinobu made it,” he offered, scooting toward her carefully. Motoko reached for the water and sipped. It hurt. She paused, breathing, then drank more. Her throat ached. He offered her miso broth. She accepted it, too tired to put up her usual fight. He was careful and considerate, dabbing away what spilled with a damp cloth.

 

“How long?” she croaked.

 

“It's just after midnight. You've been unconscious since four this afternoon. We were all a bit worried, but I sent the girls off to bed a few hours ago. Naru stayed longest. I think Kaolla was most worried. I had to ask her not to glomp you. I don't figure you could handle it.”

 

“What are you…?” she asked, pointing at the sketchpad. Keitaro blushed but showed it to her. He'd drawn her in fever. She'd expected it to be filthy or sexual, but it wasn't. It was… dignified. She coughed. When it stopped she gestured for his pencil and wrote in a clean space: you draw well.

 

“Ah. Uhmm. Thank you. I'm Keitaro Urashima, the new manager,” he said, introducing himself. She nodded, then went back to sleep. Once he was sure she was sleeping easily, he collected the dishes and deposited them in the kitchen before trundling off to bed.

 

 

&&&&&&&&&

 

 

End Part 1