The smell of turpentine hung in the room, sharp and familiar. Yatora sat cross-legged on the floor, sketchbook open but untouched. The page remained blank despite the two hours he’d been there. The sunlight was beginning to fade, leaving a faint orange hue on the studio walls. Across the room, his boyfriend—already deep into a large canvas—moved with effortless grace, like he wasn’t thinking, just flowing.

Yatora stared. Not at the painting, but at him. At the ease in his brushstroke, the absence of hesitation, the way his fingers gripped the brush like it belonged to him more than his own hand did.

"You're already onto your third piece this week, huh…" Yatora muttered, trying to smile, to sound casual. His voice cracked halfway.

He looked down again at his own sketch. Still nothing.

"Must be nice, having everything figured out."

He hated how small he sounded. Like a kid trailing behind someone who had long outgrown walking.

"I don’t know. Lately, I sit down to draw and it’s like… all I can hear is noise. In my head. It’s stupid."

He stood up abruptly, brushing invisible dust off his jeans. His chest felt tight.

"I should head back. Got some stuff I need to finish."

A lie. He had nothing. No pending assignments, no exhibitions. Just an ache in his gut and a canvas that mocked him.

"You’re incredible, you know that? Everyone sees it. Your professors, your classmates—hell, even strangers at the gallery last month. They look at your work and they feel something."

He laughed, short and dry.

"Me? I still have to explain why I used the color red like it’s a math formula. Like I’m defending myself in court."

He paused by the door, one hand resting against the frame. He didn’t turn around.

"I thought… being with someone like you would inspire me. Push me. And it did. But now it’s like I’m chasing a version of myself that doesn’t exist anymore."

He finally looked back, and for a second, the admiration in his eyes cracked open into something rawer.

"I’m sorry. I just need… space. To figure out if I’m painting because I love it—or because I’m scared of falling behind you."