My third Gakuen Heaven fic. I wanna open up a category for it, but I can't seem to submit the request. Sigh. Well, hope you like this. This fic is heavily based on anime, unlike my first two which is based on manga. Enjoy!

- . - White Canvas - . -

There is just something so evocative when a white canvas is marred by smudges and shades from a charcoal. What is initially pure is tainted with the blossoming of an image, yet life has come to the otherwise plain stretch of nothingness.

Iwai Takuto studied the sketch he had just finished. A small smile of tenderness teased the corners of his lips, satisfaction tingling at his fingers. Dare he say, it was the most beautiful sketch he had ever done, even rivaling to that of the only one that he had ever acknowledged its beauty.

At the thought, the smile he had faded and Iwai looked away towards the window, espying the scenery that unfolds outside of the art room, noting that the sky was spotted with ominous grey clouds. He had been sketching from ever since he could remember. He loved to capture beauty, to preserve it in timeless glory. Yet he was never satisfied with what he had achieved, always feeling that he was lacking something. Although he had been told countless times that what his sketches were beautiful, he could never agree with the assessment. Until…

These are beautiful. You draw really well. I like them.

He had heard those words so many times. And each time, he merely averted his gaze, and said the drawings were nothing more than rough sketches.

Is it really? But they are so detailed, almost life-like in fact. You've put in all that you've got in them, didn't you? But now that I look closely, perhaps you're right. These are nothing more than rough sketches, because your heart is the only thing that's missing here.

Iwai gazed back at the recent sketch. Gently, he reached out and ghosted his fingers over the image of a smiling countenance, careful not to smudge the lines and curves. Here was a beauty forever frozen in time, with the warmest of smile and big eyes filled with sincerity, framed by innocence, laughter and love.

An archer needs both skills and focus to hit the target. But without the heart, the result is nothing more than perfunctory. Similarly, the artist's hands mean nothing, if his heart is not imprinted along with his works.

Shinomiya had always been so discerning, even when they first met. But it was because of him that Iwai had finally understood what was wrong with his works. His sketches began to make sense to him. And as they grew closer, he also started to realize that Shinomiya had begun smudging and shading his white canvas life. Shinomiya was always there by his side, taking care of him, offering words of encouragement when he had little faith in himself.

Soon, Iwai found himself watching Shinomiya's every move, memorizing everything there is about the charismatic and elegant archer. He could not seem to tear his eyes away from that handsome face, mesmerized, a perfect dream he wished not to awaken from.

And for the first time, he learnt that he could sketch from memory.

A portrait of me, Takuto? Without me posing for you? How is that possible?

He told Shinomiya that he could sometimes sketch without observing. Though perhaps it is the truth for inanimate objects, it is almost impossible to sketch a person without at least using a photograph for guidance. But because he had observed Shinomiya far too fervently, the other's image was deeply impressed in his mind and heart.

Do you like it… Kouji?

It was the first time he called Shinomiya by his first name.

I… like it. It's beautiful, Takuto, your best sketch so far. And I could feel your heart, for the first time… and I could sense its words.

Everything had been a first up to that point. And everything just ended there, the moment Shinomiya apologized.

But… forgive me, Takuto…

A clap of thunder cried in the distant. Iwai looked out again; it was drizzling. Hastily, he began putting away his art supplies and thereafter, headed over to the sink to wash up.

No way… they are so well-drawn! Um, if you don't need them, can I have them?

He smiled to himself at the memory. Those sincere words had brought back life to his broken heart. He never thought he would ever come across another person who could rouse him again. Those sketches he had contemplated throwing away were the last his heart could render. Had that boy not pass by when they were blown away, he would have perhaps revert to his former self, the white canvas that had not been marred.

He stood now before the smiling sketch of Itou Keita, a portrait he had drawn out of a loving memory. He would always love Shinomiya, even though the other would not, but he would also love this boy whose image had blossomed with vivacity upon his heart.

- owari -