Cyclist No.9

Writings are subject to be moved to their own section.

IIDX fanfiction, Mirrored on Ao3

He was invited to visit by Siren. To an art gallery.

Eiri knew he liked to visit museums from time to time. Upon getting invited to come along, he was at first taken off-guard. But something inside him wanted to go.

Most of their visit at that point was spent looking at historical works, a particular interest of Siren's. As they turned the corner into another gallery space, they found themselves staring at a large painting at the end of a room. It was assembly of geometric shapes and lines, and color blocks with subtle gradients to them. All of them pointed to a series of dashed, orange, circles on the bottom left. It was the largest painting in the space, having a wall to itself. The plaque on the side read;

"E"
Cyclist No.9
Acrylic on Canvas

Siren looked up from reading the plaque and over to Eiri, who was gazing at the work with a sad stare.

"E" was an anonymized name of an artist who was once a rising star from one of the most prestigious art colleges in the country. His works are primarily within private collections, although a few pieces make their way into more public-facing exhibitions like the one the two men stood.

That was as much as the public knew about "E" and Cyclist No.9. But what was lesser-known was this piece was created as part of a senior exhibition. A thesis hearkening back to the artist's passion for biking. The feeling of cutting through the wind, rendered as shattered shapes across a white backdrop.

The artist had put aside this love in pursuit of the arts, toiling away for hours on end and scarfing down cheap noodles and coffee to power through late night sessions. As his fatigue could no longer be staved off, a brush slips into the wrong mug. He stands up and rushes to the sink to wash it off. His coffee was gone, but his favorite mug was safe from his blunder. He re-enters the studio and joins several of his classmates in laying on the floor, tired, yet still able to laugh about how fast their deadlines were approaching. After a few minutes they stand up again and resume their work.

Many nights like this one were spent on each painting in the series. Eventually, a jar was used for paint water after several lost cups of coffee. Sometimes a professor would walk by and leave feedback. And sometimes the students in the studio pitched in to share a pizza together while rambling about what they planned on doing after graduation. Aim for a residency abroad, publish an art book, rent a studio space and keep creating. The artist, unsure of what to say, comments he wishes to get back on his bike.

Time passes, and the pieces went up on exhibition. The reception night was large with his pieces garnering a lot of attention and friendly chatter. But even with all the praise he's received and a smile upon his face, he felt a sadness inside. He was happy now, but what after?

The week following, he'd empty the studio space he used that school year. He'd sell off more of his paintings to make packing for home lighter. He'd accept his diploma with a blank expression. He'd return to a small bedroom, unable to cram all his supplies into his closet. So unused paper pads and canvases line the edges of his room. He tries to re-setup, but finds stepping over everything clumsy, and the drawing space that served him well in high school was too small and limited for what he did just a few months back. And yet, his time in the studio space already beginning to fade into a distant memory.

Is this what is all amounted to? He finds himself staring at blank sketchbook pages more often, and feeling suffocated by the walls of his room. After weeks of frustration, he heads to the garage and uncovers his bike.

He could've continued painting despite everything, he still wonders where he would've been if he stuck it through. But he moved on-wards. Because outside on his bike, he could feel the breeze he spent months painting as he traveled across the country.

Somehow, his travels lead to challenging strangers he'd met along the way at games. And one of those strangers perplexed him enough to stay in the area until he could emerge victorious. He found himself sharing Siren's house with his opponent, and eventually found himself at the gallery staring at his own work, Reflecting on the time between the first pen-stroke of the initial sketch and now.

He looked away and hastened out of the gallery. Siren, confused, followed. Eiri was looking at the floor in frustration, and Siren asked "You doing alright there?"

What could he say? His times as the artist "E" had passed, and he figured it best to not look back. so with a deep sigh, he says to Siren, "It's been a long time since I've been to an art gallery,"

The two of them continued heading away from the painting and into the next display of works.