The painting Chiaki entered in the Hokkaido Prefectural Competition didn’t win him a ticket to the national round. But as soon as the competition ended, the third-years retired from the art club, and Chiaki was elected the new club president. He’d already acted the part so long that he had no problem advising underclassmen on their projects. When he wasn’t taking part in club activities, he worked on his new painting.
Rintaro managed the art room key strictly now, and if any student needed to enter the room afterhours, he was present. That was one of the compromises he’d made to ease the head teacher’s many complaints and ensure no similar incidents would ever occur in the art room again. Still, Chiaki, Rintaro, and I continued to use that room as our secret hiding place.
“Just join the art club officially already, Iguchi. Having an extracurricular on your report card makes a difference during college entrance exams, you know,” Chiaki said.
“No, thanks. I suck at drawing pictures.”
“The art club isn’t about just drawing, though.”
Despite everything that had happened, the three of us still spent time together. The only difference was that I couldn’t get into Rintaro’s apartment anymore. He probably hid the spare key somewhere else.
The days shortened as fall progressed, and the moon came out earlier. I used that as a reason to spend time with Chiaki by modeling for his new painting. I was the only one who knew what he’d actually drawn in his rough draft. The figure currently adorning the canvas had long hair that fluttered in the breeze. I sometimes worried about whether the painting’s current iteration satisfied Chiaki, but he kept working on it with no hesitation whatsoever.
We turned off the classroom lights, and Rintaro ended up dozing off. I spoke in a hushed voice so I wouldn’t wake him. “You two stayed in the same hotel room, right? Are you sure nothing happened?”
“Stop asking me that, Iguchi. We may have shared a room, but we still had our own beds. Rintaro just drank a beer and fell asleep right away.”
Sounds like he sticks to his routine even on business trips, I thought.
“Well, I did consider giving him a kiss or two if the opportunity presented itself,” Chiaki added. “But that urge passed when I saw his sleeping face.”
Faint moonlight currently bathed that same peaceful countenance. It looked almost like a baby’s.
“Starting next year, after school, I’ll attend art prep classes,” Chiaki went on. “So I can relax and draw something I like for the next competition.”
“If you ever need me to strip for you, just say the word.”
“I’ve seen enough of that to last a lifetime, thanks.”
He expertly applied some hues he’d blended on his palette to his canvas. He was working on the moongazing figure’s hair. It picked up the silver moonlight and brightened toward the tips of the strands where it almost twinkled.
“Who’s the model for your painting?” I asked.
“You, obviously. Why are you even asking?”
“Well, I know that you know I’m bustier than that.”
The figure in the painting was completely nude, but it didn’t have breasts or male genitalia. Maybe Chiaki planned to paint garments eventually. He seemed to be mulling over how to proceed as he went along.
“It’s fine as it is right now. Like I said, I decided to draw things the way I want to,” he replied. He was gazing directly at the painting with such intensity that I found myself envying the moongazing figure, despite being its model.
“Oh,” Chiaki added. “I did decide on this piece’s title, though.”
“You did?”
“I’ve had it in mind since the moment inspiration struck. I’m sure even Rintaro won’t be confused about what’s going on in this painting.” Unlike the trees, which changed with each season, the moon remained stationary in the sky year-round. It was always in the same place, whether it was night or midday.
“So? What’s it called?” I asked.
Chiaki sighed and smiled softly. “The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?”
I wondered whether that was literally the title, or if Chiaki meant something else. Either way, although part of me still wanted to believe Chiaki might just have aimed those words at me, he hadn’t. They were a confession of love to the painting’s real model. I looked up at the sky, swallowing the tears that threatened to spill from my eyes. The moon floating above me was so round, it looked like someone had poked a hole in the night sky.
“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” I repeated.
“It’s beautiful because it’s unattainable,” Chiaki murmured softly.
I kept gazing at the far-off moon, savoring the tenderness of those words.