Canvas of Silent Colors

It was kind of dumb to ask this question.

I already knew the answer, after all. I'd watched their story unfold from a glowing screen and books in my old world – every bittersweet, frustrating, heartwarming moment. But it wasn't about the answer itself.

I wanted to see their dynamic with my own eyes. The way Mashiro responded, the way Sorata felt about it… especially Mashiro, who I was starting to realise didn't feel love the way people assumed. Not yet. What I saw in her gaze was mimicry… curiosity, dependency… but love?

Love was something deeper. Something real.

"…Ah… that question…" Sorata-senpai scratched his cheek, eyes averting shyly as a faint blush spread across them. "How we met, huh…?"

Mashiro-senpai just stared at him with her usual blank expression, as if waiting for him to narrate her own life back to her.

Sorata-senpai let out a small chuckle, tinged with nostalgia, fondness, and just a hint of exasperation. "It was… in England, actually. I went there with Chihiro-sensei to help bring Mashiro back to Japan."

His eyes softened, distant as if he was replaying the memory in his head.

"When I first saw her, she was… well, she was standing there barefoot in the middle of the street near her art school dorms. Just… staring blankly at a canvas she left on the ground. People were whispering around her, pointing, but she didn't even notice."

Mashiro-senpai blinked slowly, tilting her head as if trying to recall it herself.

"I thought… she looked like a lost kitten," Sorata-senpai continued with a helpless smile. "She didn't say anything at first. Just… kept staring at me with those empty eyes. And then, without warning, she grabbed my sleeve and said, 'You're coming with me.'"

He let out an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Back then, I didn't even know what was happening. Before I realized it, I was helping carry her paintings, following her to her studio like I was some assistant. She didn't care about me being a stranger at all… she just kept working, silent and focused."

The spring breeze carried a faint floral scent through the window, tousling Mashiro-senpai's pale hair as she listened with that still, unreadable face.

"…And that's how it started," Sorata-senpai finished softly, glancing at her with an affectionate yet weary expression. "From the very beginning… Mashiro was always like this."

I watched the two of them in silence, letting the truth settle into my chest. Their relationship was real, in its own way… but was it complete?

Sorata-senpai's eyes softened as he looked at Mashiro-senpai. His pupils dilated just a bit, eyelids relaxed, and a small, almost shy smile tugged at the corners of his lips. That expression… yeah. Genuine adoration.

The kind of look people get when they're thinking about something precious to them – someone they love. It showed in the warmth blooming around his eyes, the way his mouth curved upward without him even realising it.

Mashiro-senpai, though… she just sat there, still as ever. Her gaze rested on Sorata-senpai with that same calm, blank look she always had. When he mentioned feeling jittery back then, she blinked slowly, tilting her head a little – like a doll mimicking curiosity.

But that was it.

There was no small twitch at the corner of her lips, no faint raise of her brows, no softening in her eyes. Nothing that showed nostalgia or affection… nothing that showed she felt anything at all.

She simply looked at him because he was speaking. Not because the memory meant anything.

For a moment, silence stretched between us, filled only by the distant rustle of spring breeze through the open window and sound of eating.

Then Mashiro-senpai tilted her head towards me, her voice as flat and soft as always."…Why did you ask, Ren?"

I blinked. Her question felt like a small stone dropping into still water. "Ah… I was just curious, senpai. Seeing the two of you, it's… unique."

She turned her gaze to Sorata-senpai without replying. Sorata-senpai let out a small embarrassed laugh, scratching his cheek.

"Yeah… I guess it does sound like something out of a manga."

I smiled faintly. "It does."

A brief silence fell again, before I inhaled slowly, choosing my words carefully.

"…Sorry if this is private, Sorata-senpai. But… what makes you like and love Mashiro-senpai?"

I quickly added, "It's okay if you don't want to answer."

Sorata-senpai's face flushed deep red. "Wha… ah… no, it's just… embarrassing to say out loud."

He scratched his cheek again, eyes darting to Mashiro-senpai before dropping to the wooden floor. For a moment, silence reigned. Then, with a quiet exhale, he spoke.

"…Because… Mashiro is… amazing. She's always so focused… so straightforward. She never hides what she thinks, even if it's blunt. But she works so hard for what she wants… even if she doesn't really understand the world, she… tries so hard to learn it."

His voice grew softer, tinged with something close to reverence. "When I see her painting, it's like… I'm seeing someone truly alive. Someone shining with everything they have. I… I wanted to be able to support her. To stay by her side and… watch her continue creating beautiful things."

Mashiro-senpai blinked at him, silent for a moment. Then, in her flat, doll-like voice, she replied:

"…You're noisy, Sorata."

Sorata-senpai let out a strangled squeak, flailing slightly. "Wha– Hey! I'm being serious here, Mashiro!"

Mashiro-senpai just tilted her head, as if confused by his reaction, before leaning her shoulder lightly against him.

I observed quietly, my chest tightening with conflicting thoughts.

Yeah. Sorata-senpai's expressions were genuine. His pupils dilated a little, his brows softened, and the tension in his shoulders just melted away. That was adoration, attachment, and love. He really did love her.

But… there was something else too. A faint tightness in his lower eyelids, the way his lips pressed together whenever he talked about her art.

Pride… and something close to obsession.

It wasn't just that he loved Mashiro as a person. He loved that brilliance. The genius that could shake the world, the talent that people would talk about for centuries – it was right here beside him, depending on him.

Did he love Mashiro… or did he love the artist whose light he could stand next to?

I shifted my gaze to Mashiro.

She leaned against him quietly, her eyelids lowered in that soft, doll-like way. Anyone would see that as affection. But there was no small raise in her brows, no tiny crinkle near her eyes that showed warmth. Her body just… leaned, like it was natural, like she knew it was what Sorata wanted from her. What he needed.

Her face stayed calm, neutral, only her jaw slightly relaxed – the look of someone who felt warmth… but wasn't giving any back.

It was like… mimicry. An imitation of affection without really feeling it. She accepted his comfort… but love? I wasn't sure she even understood what that meant.

"…So it's true, huh?" I thought, blinking slowly. "I thought I was just exaggerating… just imagining it."

Back in my old world, reading the light novel and watching the anime, it was easy to dismiss as romcom drama. I didn't like the ending, sure, but I never thought deeply about it.

But seeing it now – in person, in real life – it felt different. Scarier. Heavier. The impact was real. It wasn't just youthful romance. It was a dependency… and a bond that might never be equal.

I swallowed down the tightness in my throat and forced a small smile. "…Thank you for telling me, Sorata-senpai. And… congratulations to both of you."

Mashiro-senpai tilted her head slightly at my words, blank red eyes blinking up at me. I chuckled softly, then stood to help gather the bento boxes with her, making sure Chihiro-sensei's lemon ice bag didn't tip over.

"Let's clean up before sensei comes back to scold us for sitting too long."

As I reached for the empty wrappers, Sorata-senpai suddenly spoke up.

"Hey, Ren," he said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "It's not fair if you're always the one asking questions."

I paused, glancing at him. "Eh?"

Sorata-senpai let out an awkward laugh, his eyes narrowing with casual curiosity. "I mean… I kinda want to know more about you too. You always talk about other people's dreams and strengths, but what about yours?"

He looked at me directly then, sincerity and a hint of protectiveness in his gaze. "Why don't you specialize in one skill? What did you mean back then… about your dream to make people feel a bit less alone?"

His question lingered in the air, gentle and honest.

And for a moment, I felt the corner of my chest twitch with something bittersweet.

I scratched my cheek lightly, feeling Sorata-senpai's eyes on me.

"For specializing in one skill… well, it's just backup, I guess," I said quietly. "In the future, jobs will get harder to find. People who have multiple skills – especially in art, where income isn't stable – are hired more often. Trusted more, too."

Sorata-senpai blinked, then let out a small laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "Man… you're really pessimistic. Or… maybe realistic is the right word."

He gave me a lopsided smile, nostalgic and impressed at once. "When I was your age, in first year, I was just a normal teenager, worrying about grades and games. But you… you're already thinking about job markets and skills."

I smiled wryly at his words, unable to deny them. "It's not that impressive. Just… necessary."

Sorata-senpai hummed softly before leaning forward a bit, curiosity flickering again. "And… what about your dream?

I looked down at my hands, fingers curling into my palms. The spring breeze brushed past my hair, cool and gentle.

I looked down at my hands, curling my fingers into my palms. The spring breeze brushed past my hair, cool and gentle against my skin.

'…Back then… in my previous life…'

A flicker of cold loneliness slid through my chest. Empty dorm rooms, silent nights, the dim glow of a secondhand laptop. No family. No warmth. Just me, alone, listening to the hum of an old ceiling fan. An orphan with nowhere to come home to.

But… there was that small game I found in 2015. Just 8-bit graphics, simple sprites, quirky RPG mechanics.

Undertale.

I remembered playing it for the first time – reading every line of dialogue with trembling fingers, listening to the music on repeat until tears just… fell. Getting attached to every character like they were real.

It wasn't just a game. It was a doorway. A quiet voice whispering that even if no one saw me, even if no one cared… I wasn't completely alone.

I let out a slow breath, pushing the memory away, and looked up to meet Sorata-senpai's eyes.

"In this life… I guess I just want to do the same," I said softly, a small smile tugging at my lips. "To create something that makes people feel… like they're not alone. That they're seen. That there's warmth waiting for them… somewhere. Like how I feel with my family here. Maybe… with other people too."

Sorata-senpai stared at me for a long moment, his lips parting slightly, eyes clouded with something heavy.

"....Ren... in this life…?" he echoed softly, then let out a short, awkward laugh. "You're… kinda weird, you know that?"

I forced a playful grin, scratching my cheek lightly. "Haha… yeah. It's just a metaphor anyway. Don't think too deeply about it."

I shrugged, looking away toward the window where the breeze fluttered the curtains. "Anyway, that's all. Nothing special."

Mashiro-senpai stared at me for a moment, her red eyes reflecting something unreadable. The silence lingered until she finally spoke, her voice soft, almost fragile.

"…You want to make… people not alone," she murmured, turning her gaze slightly toward Sorata-senpai beside her.

Sorata-senpai blinked, caught off guard. "Mashiro?"

She tilted her head, blank and doll-like as always, but there was a flicker of confusion in her eyes. "…Sorata… are you… alone?"

"Eh?!" Sorata-senpai jerked back, cheeks flushing. "W-What are you even saying, Mashiro?!"

She didn't answer. Instead, she turned her eyes back to me, silent, as if memorizing every detail of my face before looking away. Without another word, she stood up and began walking toward the first floor.

"…Geez…" Sorata-senpai sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "She says weird things sometimes."

Silence fell between us as we headed down the stairs. The air felt warmer now, carrying in the scent of sunlit wood and distant blooming flowers. Halfway down, I noticed Mashiro-senpai walking quietly into her room.

Sorata-senpai watched her disappear behind the door before glancing at me with a small, wry smile. "You know… your dream's pretty special," he said, his voice low. "Don't brush it off like it's nothing. I can tell you really mean it."

He let out a small huff of laughter, shaking his head slightly. "Honestly… it's kind of amazing. Makes me a bit jealous, you know."

I blinked at him, then shook my head with a soft chuckle. ""Thanks, Sorata-senpai… but you really shouldn't be jealous," I said. "You already have your own dream. And you're working hard on it… that's something I admire."

He blinked, then laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "Haha… yeah. I guess so."

We reached the common room, bright midday light streaming through the wide windows and pooling across the wooden floor. The air felt fresh and cool, carrying in the faint scent of spring blossoms from outside.

"Sorata-senpai," I said quietly, glancing at him.

"Hmm?" He looked tired but curious.

"About… Mashiro-senpai. I know this is sudden, but…" I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. "You and Nanami-senpai… you're both third-years now, right? You'll be busy with internship, exams… your future."

Sorata-senpai's expression tensed slightly at the mention of his future.

I continued softly. "You're basically the dorm caretaker already. Cooking, cleaning, helping Mashiro-senpai… everything. But… if it's okay… starting tomorrow, maybe I can help too. At least… with dinner preparations, or… if Mashiro-senpai needs something simple."

His brows furrowed, eyes narrowing slightly. "Why…? I mean… I appreciate the help, but… you know how Mashiro is. Bathing, changing, waking up… it's complicated. And you're a first-year, you should focus on your own studies."

I nodded quickly. "Of course. I don't mean… things like bathing or changing clothes. That's… between you two. I just mean small daily things. Dinner, cleaning the art supplies room, helping her carry canvases or books if you're busy."

Sorata-senpai looked away, jaw tightening in thought. "…Mashiro… is difficult, you know. She… depends on people."

"I know," I replied softly. "But… if everyone's busy… wouldn't it be better if there's someone else who can help, even a little? Besides… I like cooking."

He let out a short, defeated laugh, rubbing his eyes. "…You really are mature for your age."

I smiled faintly. "Maybe just… realistic."

Sorata-senpai stayed silent for a long moment, before sighing heavily.

"…Fine. But only dinner prep, cleaning, and carrying stuff for her art. Nothing else, you hear me?"

I nodded quickly. "Of course."

He glanced at Mashiro-senpai, who was standing near the shoe rack, staring out the glass door at the cherry blossom trees swaying under the early spring sky. Something gentle flickered in Sorata-senpai's expression as he watched her.

"…She's… special," he muttered under his breath, almost to himself.

"I know," I replied softly.

Yeah… she's special, Sorata. More than you know. More than you think. Her pain… her silence… that blank, distant gaze that no one truly sees. Even Mashiro herself doesn't understand it.

But I see it.

And somehow, that truth felt heavier than before.

Wanting to lighten the mood, I tilted my head. "By the way… what about Ryuunosuke-senpai? Does he ever help with the dorm chores?"

Sorata-senpai blinked, then let out a loud, sudden laugh that echoed down the empty hallway. "Pfft—Ryuunosuke? Helping out around here? That's the funniest thing I've heard all week!"

He wiped at his eyes, still chuckling. "That guy would rather code himself to death in his room than take out the trash. No way he's helping with anything offline."

"…I see," I said, lips twitching up slightly.

A gentle silence fell between us, broken only by the distant rustle of spring breeze brushing against the glass windows. Both of us turned at the soft sound of footsteps on the stairs.

Mashiro-senpai was descending, barefoot as always, clutching her sketchbook and a small tin of watercolors to her chest. Her hair fell like pale gold silk over her shoulders as she walked past us without a word, her blank eyes focused on something far away.

She slid open the glass door to the backyard that connected to the common room, stepping outside into the gentle sunlight. Sitting down on the worn wooden porch, she flipped open her sketchbook and began to paint, completely absorbed in her silent world.

Sorata-senpai watched her, a quiet, tired smile on his lips. "Thank you," he said, his voice low and sincere. "For… offering to help. I trust you."

"…Yeah," I replied softly, my gaze lingering on Mashiro-senpai's small frame under the sunlight.

I exhaled, feeling something tighten in my chest.

Sorry, senpai.

It's not that I want to steal her away. It's not like that at all. I despise that kind of thing. But… I just want to help Mashiro become human. To wake up and choose her own clothes. To decide when to bathe, when to eat, when to sleep… without needing you to guide her every step.

And maybe… just maybe…

Without you, Sorata-senpai, without everyone…

She can make choices. Real choices by herself. She can look inside and know—

Know if what she feels is love… or just warmth.