[ NPC #66666 looks mildly distressed that Komaeda is speaking with him but settles down a little when Komaeda says something not weird. Yeah, somebody's heart can really be that dedicated, he says, but he thinks for Chiaki it's a little different, because artists always have an eye for people and little things grab their attention. Izumi is, bluntly put, objectively beautiful. So sometimes you content yourself in watching and never getting involved, and it was never something Chiaki had wanted to let slip and brought attention to. Watching is nice sometimes. Somebody watching you while you watch them? oof.
Still... she gets to talk to Izumi... not that they've never talked before with all her asking him to the art club, and not that he's really seeing her anyways, even now, asking about senpai first and foremost.
It's a start, she tells herself. Things all got to start somewhere.
So she leaves her stool and goes to one of the cupboards to find where Aiko's paintings have been set aside, collecting them and bringing them back for Izumi one by one: a painting of the black cat snoozing in a sunbeam with the tips of its fur lit up like fire in the direct sunlight, a painting of the clock tower at dawn with its clock face a perfect mirror of the sky in soft pastel pinks and purples, an in-progress painting of the wisteria tree in the dark blues of night with its branches sagging heavily as if in the middle of a rainfall. ]
...I get it. Even if we didn't talk that much, whenever somebody moves away or- or just doesn't come to school anymore, they leave so much emptiness and regret behind.
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Still... she gets to talk to Izumi... not that they've never talked before with all her asking him to the art club, and not that he's really seeing her anyways, even now, asking about senpai first and foremost.
It's a start, she tells herself. Things all got to start somewhere.
So she leaves her stool and goes to one of the cupboards to find where Aiko's paintings have been set aside, collecting them and bringing them back for Izumi one by one: a painting of the black cat snoozing in a sunbeam with the tips of its fur lit up like fire in the direct sunlight, a painting of the clock tower at dawn with its clock face a perfect mirror of the sky in soft pastel pinks and purples, an in-progress painting of the wisteria tree in the dark blues of night with its branches sagging heavily as if in the middle of a rainfall. ]
...I get it. Even if we didn't talk that much, whenever somebody moves away or- or just doesn't come to school anymore, they leave so much emptiness and regret behind.