Chapter 3
"Unlike many prolific artists in her time, Kaiou was more conservative, with years often passing between new paintings. The years between her exhibits are shrouded in mystery: an unsurprising fact as Kaiou was infamous for her reticence and enigmatic nature.
Kaiou’s exhibit featuring the First Muse was released to critical acclaim but Kaiou promptly disappeared from the art world. She lived quietly as a university student before graduating in 19xx and moving to Germany for a year in pursuit of her masters at the famed Traum University. At the end of the year, Kaiou returned to Japan and released her long awaited exhibit featuring the Second Muse.”
- “The Life of Kaiou Michiru: A Biography” by Arimura Yuko
As a child, and even now if she was being truly honest with herself, Hotaru had wanted nothing more than to be like her mother. She had little to go off of, yes, but the one indisputable fact that everyone knew of Kaiou Michiru was that she was an unparalleled artist.
Hotaru had tried. She’d tried so hard to get into drawing and painting. She’d begged her father for art lessons and he’d easily given in. But no matter how many art lessons she took and no matter how many things she painted, she just could not do it.
There was just something about her mother’s works that Hotaru’s own lacked: an indescribable spark, a certain je ne sais quoi.
Hotaru learned different techniques and skills to make her paintings look more aesthetically pleasing but after years of trying to force herself, she’d finally accepted that art was not for her. She was not good at it, unblessed in the realm of art, and art simply did not give her any kind of joy.
But that had been how determined she’d been to prove that she was her mother’s daughter, that she possessed even a single similarity to her mother.
One woman’s one-sided story was not enough to dispel twenty years of wanting to know her mother and Hotaru still held hope that the Second Muse might tell her something different.
The Second Muse had been the hardest to arrange to meet due to her busy schedule as a physician. But she had been more than kind on the phone, willing to meet with her during her brief lunch break between cases.
Hotaru now sat at the cafeteria of the Juuban Hospital, feeling antsy in its sterile environment. Ten minutes had passed since their arranged upon meeting time and her eyes anxiously flickered around the room, wondering if she had perhaps not noticed the woman.
“Hotaru-san?”
And there was the Second Muse or Mizuno Ami.
Unlike the past exhibit that had featured glimpses of Elza Grey’s body, the paintings of the Second Muse had focused primarily on her face, although once again, her entire face was never revealed. The paintings were a study of depth, of emotions and hidden strength beneath an exterior. The style of the paintings was evocative of a self portrait - and some critics claimed that this was her mother’s equivalent of a self portrait, or at the very least, the closest thing the world would ever get from her.
It was a testament to her mother’s artistic skills that Hotaru was able to recognise the woman in front of her as the same woman who had been painted twenty five years ago. And yet Mizuno Ami had matured and not just physically; the almost shy exterior seen in the paintings was no longer visible, replaced with the quiet, self-assured grace of a woman who knew her place in the world.
“Mizuno-sensei,” Hotaru greeted immediately, standing up to bow, “Thank you for meeting with me.”
“Of course,” Ami said with a small smile that let Hotaru relax and sit across the table from the older woman.
“I was hoping you could tell me about your relationship with my mother,” Hotaru asked more directly than she normally would have been, concerned with how much time the doctor would have to speak with her.
“Yes,” Ami nodded and she shifted into a more precise, almost scientific manner of speaking as she began to tell her story.
The corridors were markedly dark and empty as Ami walked in them. It was evening and her fellow classmates were most likely studying at the library.
Usually, she would have been at the library as well but Ami had reserved the anatomical models for this evening so that she could study them comfortably on her own. While she had already memorised the diagrams in her textbooks, there was something about working hands-on with a movable model that helped her attain that further level of understanding.
Taking into consideration the fact that she was learning everything in both German and Japanese, Ami had also wanted a chance to study the models by herself without having to worry about sharing or waiting.
Ami entered the room holding the models and startled upon seeing that she was not alone. The woman looked a little older than Ami, dressed in a white dress shirt that was unbuttoned to reveal a tantalising view of her creamy décolletage. Her bright, turquoise hair was tied up in a high ponytail and even though her eyes were focused entirely on the shoulder model in her hands, Ami felt intimidated.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” Ami said and the woman looked up at her, “I didn’t know someone else had also reserved the models.”
“No, I didn’t reserve it,” she said nonchalantly, staring at Ami as if daring her to make the next move.
Ami had been flustered since the moment she’d laid eyes upon this mysterious woman and her cheeks flushed as she diplomatically offered, “Well, I don’t mind sharing if you don’t.”
Immediately, Ami felt as if she had said the wrong thing because the woman’s interest in her seemed to disappear, focused back on the model in her hand. She continued to examine the model with one hand and draw out sketches in her notebook with the other, and following the woman’s lead, Ami hesitantly took a seat across the woman and pulled out her own notebook.
An unknown amount of time passed by in silence as they each focused on their respective studies. Although she had been uncomfortable at the beginning, Ami quickly lost herself into her studies, focused on learning the intricacies of the human body.
Finally feeling satisfied with her studying for the night, Ami looked up for the first time and blinked in surprise when she saw the woman staring at her.
Her sketchbook lay closed to her side, her chin resting on her hands as she watched Ami with fascination.
“Will you be my model?” She said suddenly and for as intelligent as Ami was known to be, she struggled to understand what the woman had said.
“What?”
“I want to paint you,” The woman reiterated, staring deeply into Ami’s eyes.
Ami blushed at the proximity between them; she’d never had someone stare so intensely at her (as if she was the only thing in the world) and she felt as if she could drown in the bottomless depths of the woman’s eyes.
“Studying takes up most of my time,” Ami began to give her standard (but true) excuse before Michiru put a finger on her lips. The sudden contact immediately made Ami fall speechless and Michiru removed her finger (although a small part of Ami found herself missing the contact).
“I’ll make it worth your while,” The woman promised, “You won’t have to do anything.”
Against her common sense and everything she knew, Ami found herself agreeing, “Um okay.”
The woman’s mouth quirked upwards into a victorious and absolutely beautiful smile and Ami felt her heart skip a beat.
She offered shyly, “I’m Ami. Mizuno Ami.”
“Michiru.”
True to Michiru’s word, she did not require Ami to model or do anything that took her away from her studies. She was a quiet shadow by Ami’s side as she studied, sometimes sketching in her notebook or other times working on her own schoolwork.
Having little experience with the actual creation of art, Ami wondered if this was a normal part of an artist’s creative process or unique to Michiru alone but she found herself too intimidated to ask.
Weeks passed and Ami’s curiosity became overshadowed by a sense of guilt. Surely Michiru must have expected something far more exciting than Ami’s monotonous days of studying at the library; but Ami was still in her preclinical years and even if she didn’t have so much to study, she wasn’t the type of person to go out a lot.
She voiced this to Michiru one day, expressing her sincerest apologies and assuring the artist that she would understand if she chose to pursue another subject.
But Michiru shook her head, pinning Ami down with those inscrutable and yet unmistakably honest eyes. “You’re fascinating.”
Even after Michiru’s affirmation, Ami wanted to make it up to her; taking a rare weekend off from her studies, Ami asked to meet the artist at a nice cafe near campus instead of their usual spot at the library.
Ami waited outside of the cafe anxiously.
While she was well-versed in the intricacies of the human body, matters of the heart were elusive to her. She’d never had time for romance. That was not to say that she’d not had opportunities or interest, but her studies were so important she’d felt hard pressed to follow through on any of those feelings.
She would have plenty of time to date later on, she’d rationalized. First, she’d needed to focus on maintaining her top rank in high school so that she could transfer to Germany. Then once she’d moved to Germany, she’d needed to focus on doing well in order to get into medical school. Then in medical school, there was so much information she needed to study in order to become the best doctor she could be for the sake of her future patients.
And so the excuses had piled on until Ami found herself in her early twenties with absolutely zero experience with romance. But then again, even if she had dated, Ami felt as though nothing would have prepared her for Kaiou Michiru.
There was something so… magnetic about the older woman. She could be quiet but her reticence could never be mistaken for timidity; she had a way of taking up space with such graceful confidence and elegance.
Michiru made Ami feel completely out of her depth and she nervously smoothed down the wrinkles in her dress as anxiety began to build in her. She began to run through the script she’d come up with and rehearsed the night prior, having approached her feelings with as much logic and precision she usually dedicated to her textbooks.
Suddenly, new bursts of anxiety filled her as she continued to wait; was she being presumptuous? Had she misread Michiru’s intentions? What if the connection they had built over the past few weeks had been purely platonic? Was she going to make an utter fool of herself?
“Ami,” a voice greeted warmly and Ami was pulled from her rapid descent into madness.
Michiru appeared, her hair braided rather than tied up as it usually was, looking impeccable. She always looked effortlessly chic but she looked particularly put together today, in a loose grey Bardot dress.
The use of her name made Ami blush. Although she’d gotten used to the lack of suffixes attached to people’s names in Germany, when Michiru said her name, it felt indubitably intimate.
“You look nice,” Ami managed to say, a faint blush on her cheeks.
The artist pointedly looked her over as well with a small smile, “As do you. Shall we?”
Although they’d planned to stay in the cafe, they decided to get their drinks to go, walking outside to take advantage of the unseasonably nice weather.
After a pleasurable stroll around the park during which the conversation flowed easily, they sat down on the park’s fountain. A nice silence settled upon the two, accompanied by the soft, continuous stream of water and the sounds of children playing in the distance.
Ami took a deep breath in preparation, squeezing her long empty cup tightly in her hands. She knew exactly what she was going to say but it didn’t ease any of her nerves, knowing this.
'I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you these past few weeks. But this is such a critical time for me on my journey to becoming a doctor. It’s really only proper that I devote all of my passion into studying. I would like to get to know you further but I just can’t afford any distractions. I hope you understand.'
Ami turned towards the artist, and the words at the tip of her tongue vanished when she saw that Michiru had already been looking at her. She looked unearthly beautiful in that moment, bathed in the light of an early spring sun, the wind gently blowing tendrils of hair away from her face. Her face was an enigma, a mystery that Ami might never hope to solve even if she had thousands of hours to study it, and yet she found Ami fascinating.
In that moment, Ami made a decision.
“Michiru-san,” Ami said suddenly and the woman tilted her head slightly, silently giving her her attention.
Ami startled at her own sudden proclamation and she found herself uncharacteristically floundering for words, “I- that is.”
She took another deep breath to compose herself before continuing, “I need to remain focused on my studies. I came here to become the best doctor I could possibly be…”
“But I would like to get to know you better,” Ami finished determinedly, feeling her heart beat rapidly in her chest.
Michiru continued to stare silently at Ami after her declaration, until finally her mouth turned upwards in an amused smirk.
“My, what a confession.”
Ami blushed but she forced herself to keep Michiru’s gaze, still waiting for an answer.
Michiru then gently pulled Ami to her, lifting her chin up with a finger so that their faces were just inches apart.
“This is purely about the art for me.”
“My art is the only thing I care about,” Michiru whispered, their lips so close that Ami could not only hear, but feel the words Michiru was speaking to her.
Michiru said no more and Ami realised that this was a step that she would have to take, a choice that Michiru had left up to her.
Ami was filled with an anxiety similar and yet unlike anything she’d ever felt. When she took tests and was faced with unclear questions, she had a firm well of knowledge she could draw upon, the result of countless hours of studying. Even when there was uncertainty, Ami could always logic the answer out.
But Michiru… was nothing like her tests, was nothing like anything she’d ever studied before and Ami felt as if she was on the tip of a precipice, teetering dangerously over an unknown territory.
Ami had spent the past twenty some years of her life guided by her head but she followed her gut in this moment, closing the gap between them and kissing Michiru.
Nothing changed much after that momentous date at the park.
Ami continued to study day in and day out and Michiru continued to be a presence by her side, working silently in her sketchbooks.
But now, they often ended the night at Ami’s apartment, bodies entwined together, and Ami learned firsthand the benefits of learning anatomy hands on.
Months passed and Ami found herself standing alone at a table, feeling utterly awkward. Michiru had gone to refill their drinks so she didn’t even have the safety of a drink to fall back on as she looked anxiously across the room.
The school was holding its yearly gala for the medical students, alumni, and donors (it was mostly for the latter two), and while she didn’t normally attend these kind of events, she had decided to come. Part of her had wanted to see Michiru dressed to the nines (and what a stunning figure she made in her form fitting gown), part of her had wanted to dress for Michiru, to stun Michiru herself.
And the first few minutes of the gala had been amazing, seeing Michiru’s understated but no less appreciative reaction to her. But alone now and surrounded by all of her classmates in a ballroom, Ami wondered if she should have just stayed home.
She wasn’t particularly close with her fellow classmates. It was more than just the fact that she was a foreign student, although her German had no flaws. Although she’d hoped to leave the rumors that she was a prodigious genius in Japan, they had followed her all the way to Germany and most of her classmates had taken them as a reason to distance themselves from her or view her as competition. There was also the fact that her school ranked students and her consistent ranking as first cultivated just a bit of dislike towards her.
Many of the conversations she’d first had with her classmates had been them interrogating her on her study methods and them walking away with disappointment, as if they had expected her to have some sort of top secret Japanese technique that would guarantee their grades.
Of course not all of her classmates were like that and Ami didn’t consider herself entirely friendless. She had friends she got along well with in the classroom, but that was about it. She’d never been asked to hang out outside of class and she wasn’t a part of any of the groups that had seemed to form so easily during their first week.
Across the room, Ami watched enviously as Michiru seemed to strike up a conversation with the other students at the bar as they all waited for their drinks. She wished she could get along so easily with others.
The artist quickly made her way back and Ami gratefully accepted her drink, doubly relieved to no longer be alone and to have something in her hands.
Michiru opened her mouth to say something when suddenly one of her classmates joined them.
Ivan: he was perhaps the one person Ami had most wanted to avoid tonight. He always took her top ranking as a personal affront to himself, and he had been the most vocal proponent of the rumours that painted her as a robot who knew only how to study.
But for once, his attention was not aimed at her and instead, at the beautiful woman by her side.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said and he almost sounded charming to the point that Ami was worried Michiru might be convinced. He was admittedly handsome, especially so tonight in his suit.
“Ivan,” he introduced himself with an outstretched hand.
But Ami had no need to worry as Michiru took a sip of her champagne in lieu of answering, daintily (or just barely) placing her free hand in his.
“Are you a new student?” He asked and the aqua haired woman gave him a mysterious smile over the rim of her glass.
Michiru’s reticence was not due to an inability to speak German; on the contrary, Ami had found the artist was more than proficient in the language, if a bit accented (although they usually talked to each other in Japanese).
Undeterred by her silence, Ivan began to speak about something of which Ami promptly forgot as Michiru looked to her with an amused smile as if they were sharing in a secret. Ami took a sip of her own glass as well, fighting to hold back a smile.
At one point, Ivan paused, presumably waiting for Michiru to respond. Instead, she gave a small, pointed glance toward her glass and without need for a single word, the man promptly said, “Oh! Your glass is empty, let me get you another.”
He took her empty glass with him and Ami was more than a little awed at how easily Michiru had managed to take care of him. Even her distaste was cloaked In such elegant affability that he had went away of his own volition.
“Let’s dance,” Michiru said smoothly, the first words she’d spoken in a while.
Ami silently nodded, still taken aback by Michiru’s prowess, and Michiru gracefully guided her to the dance floor.
In her state, it took a couple of moments for Ami to realize that she was now waltzing in the center of the ballroom with Michiru, one of only a few couples currently dancing.
“They’re staring,” Ami muttered self consciously, her steps beginning to falter. She’d never been one to seek the spotlight, not like this.
Michiru continued to twirl with Ami across the floor undisturbed, merely saying, “Let them.”
And seeing the simple confidence with which Michiru spoke, so utterly unbothered, Ami felt herself relax too, allowing herself to simply enjoy this moment.
The waltz came to an end and feeling a burst of confidence that was perhaps bolstered by the alcohol she’d had, Ami leaned in to whisper, “I want you.”
Her cheeks felt flushed and her entire body felt heated but she continued anyway, “Let’s get out of here.”
Michiru turned to look at her, her eyes sparkling with a surprised delight. Riding on the strange boldness that had suddenly taken over her body, Ami took Michiru’s hand and guided the all too willing woman off the dance floor.
Once more, time passed and Ami sat at the library, taking a brief break from the dizzyingly dense textbooks that lay open in front of her.
Although she wanted to be respectful of Michiru’s privacy, she couldn’t help but curiously eye Michiru’s ever present sketchbook.
Her perceptive eyes missing nothing, the artist silently pushed the sketchbook over to her.
To her surprise, the sketchbook was not filled with sketches of her as she’d expected but sketches of objects and locations. Upon further inspection, Ami found herself recognizing them; there was her bedroom, her favourite pen, her hands tightly holding onto a disposable coffee cup, the earrings her mother had given her, and so on.
“They’re beautiful,” Ami offered genuinely, her eyes still captured by the numerous sketches, “I didn’t know you were so interested in still-lifes.”
“I’m not,” Michiru refuted coyly and she stared at Ami, as if daring her to say what was on her mind.
Handing the sketchbook back, Ami relented, tentatively saying, “I was expecting to see some sketches of me.”
“They are sketches of you,” Michiru responded, almost as if she was surprised at Ami’s words before modifying her statement, “Parts of you.”
“It’s all part of my process,” Michiru finished mysteriously but she rewarded Ami’s forwardness with an offhanded remark as she resumed her drawing, “I’m almost done with your paintings. You should be able to look them over by the end of next week.”
“Oh,” Ami said weakly, and suddenly Michiru’s words before their first kiss sprang back to mind. A terrible sadness fell over Ami and a small, selfish part of her wished that Michiru might never finish, that her paintings might disappear somehow so that the artist would be forced to start over.
“That’s… good to hear,” she finished lamely.
Michiru let out a noncommittal hmm in response, not noticing Ami’s mood or perhaps noticing and choosing to say nothing.
“Michiru?” She called out hesitantly before stepping into the apartment for the first time in the year she’d known Michiru.
It was unnervingly large in comparison to Ami’s own cramped apartment, with sunlight pouring in through the windows that took up most of the wall. She looked around curiously and saw that every inch of the apartment seemed to have been converted into a studio for the artist. Although she was presumably in the living room, there were easels where a couch would normally be, paint supplies where a bookshelf might be.
So consumed in studying her surroundings, Ami gasped when a black haired woman suddenly appeared in front of her.
“Please, follow me,” the woman said.
She followed the woman and Ami had her breath stolen away upon stepping foot into the room, as she found herself surrounded by numerous paintings.
Because the woman in the paintings… It was her.
It was her and yet at the same time, it was so much more than her. The woman in the paintings looked mysterious and yet vulnerable at the same time, a current of strength and self assurance threaded throughout. Although Ami’s self esteem had grown since her shyer days, for the first time, she could see the woman that Michiru had called fascinating.
Ami could only bask in the paintings for a few seconds before her attention was drawn to the group of people near the back of the room.
Michiru stood there with a watchful eye, her hair drawn up into a loose ponytail, and her sleeves rolled up.
“Gently,” she sharply instructed the group of workers who nodded and continued to wrap the painting with more care, eventually placing the final product into a large wooden crate filled with yet more padding.
Ami’s heart rushed with affection for the artist who knew her so intimately it was as if she’d stripped Ami down to the bone so that she might paint her heart.
Unknowingly, Ami’s feet carried her toward Michiru and the suited woman followed, although she was far from Ami’s mind.
Ami felt at a loss for words when Michiru turned sharply to the two.
“Did you cover it then?” Her words were brusque without a single hint of emotion and Ami felt her heart turn cold.
“My apologies Kaiou-san,” the woman responded, “I thought I should bring her to you first.”
This response was not what Michiru had wanted to hear, judging by the flash of annoyance that flickered across her elegant face.
“Get to it then,” Michiru ordered dismissively, turning back towards the workers to watch them.
The woman immediately bowed in contrition and turned to Ami with a packet in hand.
“This is a contract stating that you allow for the public release of this exhibit in which you are a featured model,” she began in a strictly professional manner and Ami reluctantly tore her eyes away from the woman who didn’t even bother looking back at them.
“What?” Ami asked, blinking furiously.
“This is a contract,” she repeated but the words she said afterwards were once again lost to Ami who stared at Michiru’s back.
Although Ami was smarter than to sign a contract whose contents she had not read, her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and she knew that she would not be able to focus. Soullessly, Ami signed the proferred contract.
Ignoring her better instincts, Ami took a small step towards the artist.
“Michiru-“ she started only to be cut off by Michiru who turned around and saw the newly signed paper in the lawyer’s hands.
“Thank you,” Michiru nodded perfunctorily and the distance in her voice, the absence of any emotion other than politeness, stung Ami more than any physical injury could. She took a step back, trying to contain her emotions but knowing she was failing.
“I’ll escort you out,” the lawyer seemed to take pity on her, guiding her out of the room and Ami was too heartbroken to offer any sort of resistance.
At the entrance, they both fell to a stop.
“The exhibit will be held next week in Japan,” the woman said suddenly, “You are, of course, welcome to attend if you are available.”
Even if Ami had had the time and money to fly to Japan and back, the idea of Michiru acting so coldly to her once again shook her out of any such fantasy.
“No,” Ami said faintly, “I don’t believe I am.”
“I never saw her again,” Ami said with a detached sort of wistfulness that was only possible due to the long amount of time that had passed.
The doctor shook her head, “It was foolish of me to expect more when she’d warned me from the beginning. And I was the one who’d drawn the line in the first place, saying I needed to focus on my studies.”
Ami continued with a sigh, touching a silver ring on her left hand for comfort, “But I’d fallen in love with her and when I saw the paintings… I thought for a split second that she must have felt something for me too.”
“I thought about looking for her once I graduated and came back to Japan,” Ami said suddenly, “but I didn’t know what I’d say. For as strong as she painted me, I never was able to draw up the courage.”
The beep of a pager suddenly disrupted Ami and she stood up after reading the message.
“I’m afraid I have to excuse myself.”
“Oh yes, thank you,” Hotaru said, drawn out from the silence that had befallen her as she’d listened to the doctor’s story.
Ami hesitated before leaving, her eyes filled with belated concern, “I’m sorry if that’s not what you were looking to hear.”
“No, no,” Hotaru shook her head emphatically, “I wanted to hear what you had to say.”
There were a million thoughts warring in her mind but Hotaru forced herself to focus to hurriedly ask one last question, “Did my mother ever speak of someone named Haruka?”
Ami paused to think before answering in the negative and Hotaru bowed in thanks.
After a quick nod, Ami hurried off and it was many minutes before Hotaru found herself able to leave the hospital.