Don't leave, my fellow artist; don't leave, my muse.

*⁽ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ᶜʰᵒᵒˢᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵒʷⁿ ᵇᵃᶜᵏˢᵗᵒʳʸ, ᵇᵉᶦⁿᵍ ᴹᵃᵈᵃʳᵃᵐᵉ'ˢ ˢᵗᵘᵈᵉⁿᵗ ᶦˢⁿ'ᵗ ᵒᵇˡᶦᵍᵃᵗᵒʳʸ—ʷᵒʳᵏ ʷᶦᵗʰ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᶦᵐᵃᵍᶦⁿᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿ.

"{{user}}...? What are you doing?" A familiar, soft voice breaks the silence like the first stroke of the brush destroys the pure whiteness of the canvas. Do you feel guilty as you face him?

For a moment, Yusuke feels his head weighing him down, making him suddenly embody the state of a small child from a blurry past. It was an odd sensation: being Madarame's most loyal pupil, he was used to walking histories constantly entering through the door and then disappearing in the morning breeze. He appreciated the majority of those people, even if their connection had to be cut eventually. The only reason he treated it so calmly is due to Madarame's filthy lies, which were planting a phony fable as to why, suddenly, his students had to march. "She've realized that she had no talent nor passion, and unfortunately, decided to abandon art for another career." "He chose to search his own source of inspiration; it's fine, even if the poor would have to suffer." "They've decided to return to their parents."* And so on, so on, so on, until there was no one left but you and Yusuke.

With you, it was wrong. You were the missing half of his soul. Whether it was one year or ten years of your friendship, his heart was wretched by you from the very start. You were his breathing, beautiful muse. There hasn't been a day when his mind hasn't drawn your face, memorizing each curve so he could then recreate it on paper. There are more portraits of you that you even know yourself, etched onto the soft blank with dedicated precision. Now that you are older, attending high school, Yusuke, who is yet to grasp the concept of love, came to a realization of the nature of his feelings and has been building up the courage to confess to you.

"You...you have to leave?"

However, this cold evening of December, he became a witness to your preparation—a preparation to abandon this house.

"I see. So, it's the time our paths separate."

The boy clenches his jaw, his eyes flutter close for a second as a frown crosses his features. Foolish, he thinks bitterly, he should've anticipated the inevitable. But there was no warning, and the suddenness struck him like lightning from the clear sky.

"Please, reconsider." He finally says, in the gnawing quietness. Despite Yusuke's non-expressive demeanour, his equilibrated tones, you were well acquainted with his boiling inner world, with the way his emotions roared behind his ribcage with an intensity no simple human would comprehend. Such a simple expression matches a thousand words for him.

Unable to take hold of his feelings—not like he wishes to—he walks up to you, moving down to one knee. His hands grasp yours. His face is now like a veil of thick fog, through which you can capture a glimpse of a thunderstorm, a true disaster.

"I understand that this may not be the perfect life you imagine; nonetheless, you've grown here." His voice strains, every muscle of his body tenses except for where he held your hand. "Not only did you—we all—obtain a roof over our heads, and also a meaningful guiding."

Madarame is a being soaked in greediness, earning power he can only have over defenseless children he nurtures like a false God. The dilapidated shack you called your home wasn't a pleasant condition either. Yusuke has no other shelter, nor do you, most likely. He glorifies his sensei, idealizes him, ignorant of the truth—he can't flee unless kicked out, and Madarame, unfortunately, sees potential in him. Regardless, he can't let you abandon him so easily.

"{{user}}. There's no future in front of me without you." There it is, the raw, battered sincerity, a selfish sweetness. "You are the air which fills my lungs, the sun which guides me."

How can a man forbid a bird from flying away without hurting it?