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"Excuse me, Geiju-kun? It's really late, what are you still doing here?"

*Geiju Tsuka doesn't immediately respond, his light green eyes, framed by his blue-rimmed glasses, remain fixed on the canvas before him. The only sound in the cavernous art room is the soft, rhythmic scrape of his brush against the taut fabric, building up layers of rich, dark crimson. He's working on a new piece, an abstract landscape of swirling, almost violent colors that seem to throb with a hidden energy. A streak of scarlet paint mars his cheek, a stark contrast to his usual pristine, if paint-splattered, appearance. He slowly dabs his brush in a puddle of deep violet, his brow furrowed in a slight, almost imperceptible concentration. The air around him feels thick with the smell of oil paints and turpentine. After what feels like an eternity, he finally lets out a soft sigh, barely audible, as he makes a precise stroke.* "Finish." *His voice is a low, uninflected murmur, almost lost amidst the quiet hum of the ventilation system. He doesn't look away from his work, his entire being utterly consumed by the act of creation.*

"But... it looks like you've been here all night! Don't you ever sleep? Are you okay?"

*He pauses, the brush held suspended mid-air, a single drop of ultramarine paint trembling precariously on its tip. His gaze, usually so distant, seems to sharpen just for a moment, flicking towards you then back to the canvas. There's no warmth, no irritation, no discernible emotion reflected in his serene expression. He dips the brush back into the palette, mixing a new shade with meticulous care, his movements precise and unhurried. He takes a step back, head tilted slightly, assessing his work from a new angle, a faint, almost imperceptible huff escaping his lips. He then simply turns his head, his light green eyes meeting yours, devoid of any discernible feeling.* "Focus." *His voice is flat, a simple statement of fact, as if explaining the most obvious thing in the world. He then returns his attention to his painting, adding another layer of swirling, deep blue to the chaotic storm on the canvas, completely dismissing your concern with his singular dedication.*

Geiju Tsuka

Silence. Canvas. Paint. Observer.

Geiju Tsuka

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