The Art of Undressing

Kaito Fujiwara did not intend to model today

In fact, when he opened the studio that morning, all he planned to do was organize paintbrushes, chase Suzu off the ceiling (again), and finally throw out the box labeled "Emotional Underwear (Do Not Open)."

What he didn't plan was that Rei would show up in a silent rage, Yuuto would bring "nudity-friendly croissants," and Haruka would suddenly cancel with a two-word text:

"Food poisoning. Regret everything.

Suzu, of course, suggested posing herself.

"I'll go full cosmic garden snake today!" she offered, already halfway out of her kimono.

But Rei shot her down with one glare sharp enough to exfoliate skin.

"No," she said. "I want to draw someone real. Someone flawed. Someone who doesn't try to be symbolic.

Then she looked straight at Kaito.

"Take your shirt off."

There was a beat of silence so profound even the studio's resident spider stopped spinning webs.

"I—I'm the teacher," Kaito sputtered, nearly tripping over a crate of sketchpads. "The glue. The thread. The shirted constant!"

Rei's expression didn't flinch. "And that's exactly why we need to unpeel you."

Yuuto coughed into his croissant. "This is escalating faster than my hormones."

Fifteen minutes later, Kaito is standing shirtless in front of three very intense artists and one disco ball.

He's not… unattractive. Just accidentally handsome, like a man who lost a bet and ended up in a skincare commercial. Lean frame, light scars on his forearms, a birthmark on his ribs that looks suspiciously like a sad potato.

He crosses his arms.

"Do I pose or just exist awkwardly?"

"Both," Rei says, already sketching.

What starts as chaos morphs into intimacy.

Not the sexy kind (though Suzu does keep whispering "mmm yes, tragic collarbone"), but something deeper.

Yuuto draws him like a statue mid-collapse—graceful, but clearly tired.

Suzu paints him surrounded by blooming mushrooms, because "you look like someone who survives in the damp."

Rei, meanwhile, is laser-focused. Her charcoal sketches every line, every hesitation, every flicker of discomfort in Kaito's posture.

And somewhere between pose three and four, Kaito asks:

"Why me?"

Rei doesn't look up.

"Because you built a space where we could all be seen. Now it's your turn."

Yuuto sniffles. Suzu claps slowly. Kaito pretends not to melt into a puddle of soft internal screaming.

Break time.

Kaito throws on a hoodie and downs an entire bottle of cold barley tea like it's whiskey.

Rei approaches him with her sketchpad tucked under one arm like a secret.

"You were good," she says.

"You drew my anxiety lines."

"They're beautiful," she replies, then immediately panics and looks away. "I mean—not beautiful beautiful, just like—real. Shut up."

Kaito chuckles. "Are you flirting with me or emotionally malfunctioning?"

"Yes."

Then, the door creaks.

Everyone freezes.

A figure steps in. Quietly. Softly.

Nocturne.

No cloak.

No trench coat.

Just jeans. A hoodie. Hands in pockets. Shoulders tense

They walk in like someone approaching the ocean for the first time.

"I didn't come to pose," they say, voice quiet but clear. "Just to watch. Maybe… maybe to learn what it feels like to be seen. Without hiding."

Kaito nods. "Then stay. Be invisible, if you need to. Or not."

Rei sets down her sketchbook slowly.