To Paint a (Still) Life
Can also be read on AO3!
Rating: T
Fandom: Psycho-Pass
Pairing: Gen
Characters: Tomomi Masaoka, Nobuchika Ginoza, Akane Tsunemori
Word Count: 2.2k
Summary: In a world that grows bleaker with every passing year, Masaoka does what he can to immortalize the little joys.
A/N: This was written for In Time: A Psycho-Pass 10th Anniversary Tribute zine. It was such an honor to be included amongst so many incredible creators in this tribute to an incredible series! Thank you to the mods @/temporarilyunstable and @/shikkokans for organizing everything! The zine site went live on November 12, 2022, and this fic was originally published on AO3 on June 26th, 2023. Further author's notes can be found on AO3.
———
Every good still life must first have a subject.
The flowers on the bedside table were starting to wilt, the edges of their petals turning brown and brittle despite the still-vibrant colors clinging to the rest of the satiny surface. Masaoka let his fingers brush the dry edges, a wry smile curving his lips.
“I’ll have to remember to bring you new ones next time, hm?” he asked.
He received no response, nor did he expect one. These visits usually found him speaking into the air, his words falling on unhearing ears.
But still, he came. There was no fixing their family now, he knew that, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t do…something to ease the damage. And he wasn’t the only one.
“I wonder where Nobuchika found these tulips,” he mused, his fingers wandering back to the red petals. “They’re awfully pretty. I’m glad he still appreciates beauty in the little things.”
A soft sigh came from the wheelchair parked at the large window. The sound drew Masaoka to its side, where he took a look at his wife’s—former wife’s, he corrected himself sullenly—blank features. To his surprise, there was an almost-imperceptible upward curve to the very edges of her lips. The small difference was enough to bring some light to her face, and for a single bittersweet moment, she looked like the vibrant woman he had fallen in love with all those years ago.
“You always did love red flowers,” he murmured, unable to resist the urge to brush a wayward strand of hair back behind her ear. “I never would’ve expected him to remember. Our son is more thoughtful than he likes to let on.”
Another soft sigh, and the feeling of her leaning just the slightest bit into his gentle fingers. “He got that from you, Sae.” There was a hitch to his voice, almost imperceptible to his own ears, but the sight of her thumb tracing a small curve along the back of her clasped hands told him she’d heard.
His eyes wandered from her gentle features back to the flowers, the source of her quiet joy. Perhaps he should immortalize them somehow.
———
Draw your chosen objects onto a canvas, taking care to get their shapes accurate.
“Ah, Ginoza.” Masaoka tried and failed to keep his surprise out of his voice. He had more success in biting back the smile that nearly rose to his lips at the sight of Ginoza’s mouth twisting. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“No honor, just news.” Ginoza’s green eyes flickered over his shoulder before snapping back to him. “Well? Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
That was more like it. Masaoka never knew what to do with the brief glimpses he caught of his son’s deep-buried insecurity, and the quiet manners it brought out. This, though, this show of superiority and power that he’d put on ever since he entered the PSB as an Inspector, was something Masaoka was much more familiar with. “Of course. Come in.”
He didn’t wait for Ginoza to step in, simply left the door open behind him as he made his way back to the windows, where he’d set up a new canvas and his sketching pencils in front of a chair. He sat just as he heard the door clicking shut and Ginoza following him. “Well then,” he said as he took his pencil back up, “what is this important news?”
Silence fell where he’d expected a curt answer. He looked over his shoulder, and found Ginoza staring at the photo of Sae’s flowers that Masaoka had taken and was now projecting from his communicator. “…Ginoza?”
“Ah.” Ginoza blinked as though he’d been dragged out of a dream. Masaoka could easily read the way he shoved his glasses back up his nose, knew that it was a way to stall, but he didn’t say anything. He simply turned back to his canvas, and sketched.
“…Our division has been issued a new Inspector,” Ginoza finally announced. “She will be starting in a month, after she has completed her pre-work training.”
“I see.” Masaoka finished sketching out the petals of the second tulip. “And have the other enforcers received this news?”
“That’s none of your concern.” Ginoza’s voice sounded tight, and Masaoka almost felt bad about his gentle teasing. “What matters is that you will all know when she gets here, and you will all treat her with the respect that a superior deserves. I’ll have enough on my hands showing her the ropes as the only other Inspector. I don’t need to worry about your basic manners.”
With his face safely turned to his canvas, Masaoka finally let a small grin pull at his lips. “Understood, Inspector.”
“…Good.” Another beat of silence, then the sound of business shoes clicking back to the door.
“I’m sure she’ll be an excellent Inspector,” Masaoka suddenly spoke up, just before Ginoza reached the door, “especially under your instruction. You don’t have anything to worry about, Nobuchika.”
“I don’t need an Enforcer to tell me how to feel about this,” Ginoza bit out, “I know I’m capable of doing my job.”
That was about the response Masaoka expected to get. What he didn’t expect was the soft, “…I’ll see you Tuesday,” that came right before his door opened and closed.
His small grin broadened into a smile as he sketched out the smaller branches of leaves. “You’re welcome, kiddo.”
———
Paint in the base colors, working from the darkest colors to the palest.
Akane Tsunemori proved to be a little bundle of contradictions. Where Masaoka had expected a no-nonsense Inspector, he saw the walking embodiment of nerves and an eagerness to please. Where he anticipated her to crumble under the pressure of having such a gruesome first case, she instead stuck to her morals and shot down their most intimidating Enforcer. And where he expected her to flee the PSB after a hellish first day, she instead dug her heels in and worked to adapt. And she did so remarkably well. He just wished that didn’t include her stubborn attempts to understand one Shinya Kogami.
It was unnerving how much she reminded him of both Kogami and Ginoza when they first began working as Inspectors. She was determined to make a difference, wanted her work to be for the greater good, and not just the preservation of Sibyl. And just like before, Masaoka could already see the signs of their work hardening Akane’s skin like armor.
But there was something else. She wasn’t becoming tough to the core. Somehow, she still held on to her sense of justice, still wanted to believe in the inherent good of both the people and the system she worked to protect. Her determined optimism was achingly familiar to Masaoka—he remembered seeing it light up his son’s eyes when he was first assigned to the PSB, remembered seeing it flicker behind Kogami’s smile back when he was still an Inspector…remembered feeling it burn hot in his own chest when he was still a detective with a happy wife and a newborn son.
It never lasted long, not in this line of work, and especially not with Sibyl breathing down their necks. He knew it was only a matter of time before it faded from Akane as well. And yet…he still found himself wanting to protect it—protect her—for as long as he possibly could. If that meant discouraging her from lingering too long on her fascination with Kogami, then so be it. He’d seen first-hand the way Kogami’s dangerous mix of charisma, intelligence, and focus could tempt those around him into the same destructive habits.
“If you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you,” he told her, only to earn furrowed brows and a small frown in response. Ah, he realized, she really is cut from the same cloth. It didn’t matter what he said to her—she’d already made up her mind. Her wide eyes and gentle voice couldn’t hide her fierce curiosity and immoveable stubbornness.
Well…if he couldn’t convince her to protect herself, maybe he could find some way to keep her safe himself.
———
Add details to the foreground and background, deepen the shadows to add more depth. This will help your subject stand out.
The door shut behind him with a soft click. Just like that, he was alone, isolated in his own home—or, cell…he really couldn’t tell the difference anymore—and left with no distractions from the mess he’d just made.
He’d thought he was so much older and wiser, thought that he had left behind the wide-eyed idyllicism that had drawn him to this god-forsaken career. But here he was, down one pistol and one set of keys to his safe house. He had just sent Kogami on what was essentially a suicide mission, and now he would have to face Tsunemori and Nobuchika and all the others, and watch them figure out what he’d done.
He knew giving Kogami a gun and refuge was a mistake. He knew it. And yet…he couldn’t find it in himself to feel any regret. The fool was always going to pursue Makishima, no matter the personal cost. At least Masaoka could tell himself he’d done what he could to lessen that cost, just a bit.
His eyes burned with exhaustion and his stomach burned with bourbon, but he didn’t move towards his bedroom. He instead found himself wandering into the moonlit living room, flicking on a lamp on his journey to the easel that was still set up by the windows. There was no way he was going to sleep. He might as well get some other work done while he could.
———
At last, you can add the final details to your piece, such as brighter highlights. But be careful—less is more.
“Thank you for helping me with this.”
“Of course, Ginoza-san.” Akane was growing used to the grief that had settled in her chest like a rock. It felt like her days were a never-ending parade of sorting through the things her loved ones had left behind—Kagari’s vintage tech collection, Kogami’s books, and now, whatever secret interest Masaoka had stashed away.
And yet, for all that she was getting “used to” the process, she still felt her eyes sting when she stepped into Masaoka’s old living quarters and breathed in the familiar scent of bourbon and paints. She could see the effects of being surrounded by his father’s presence weighing on Ginoza, and no amount of wry grins could keep her from noticing his curved-in shoulders.
“No need to use ‘-san’ with me,” he chuckled as he led her further into the salon. “You’re the superior, now.”
“I still learned everything about this job from you.”
“Not just me.”
The quiet words pulled her eyes from wandering around the room back to Ginoza. He was standing by a covered easel near the window, holding up one edge of the fabric to peer at the painting underneath with a small, sad smile. “He never finished.”
“Finished what?”
“This.” It was surprising, seeing how carefully Ginoza unveiled the painting, but not as surprising as what awaited underneath. Akane’s breath caught in her throat—she...she knew that painting. She could distantly remember watching Masaoka lay down the base colors so many months ago.
And the strangest thing was, it looked finished to her. The vase looked almost real from how detailed the reflections were, and the flowers looked like they could bloom straight from the canvas. “It looks done to me.”
“It’s not. The flowers, they…they look too alive. They were starting to go brown at the edges when he started painting them.”
“How do you—?”
“I gave these flowers to my mother. He must have taken a photo of them and painted them to let her enjoy them forever.” Something around his eyes hardened, and his fingers tightened in the fabric he was still holding. “He…he had plans and projects and now—”
His voice broke. The next thing Akane knew, the fabric was fluttering to the ground as Ginoza pressed his hands to his eyes, shoulders drawn up tight around his ears.
Akane had never seen anyone in the PSB cry. In fact, the last person she’d seen cry was Kaori at Yuki’s funeral. So she did what she’d done for Kaori: she stepped up to Ginoza, gently wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and didn’t let go, not even when she felt him stiffen. “Don’t,” she murmured firmly, “don’t apologize. We have to grieve for him. We have to remember him. We’re the only ones who can, Ginoza-san.”
He was frozen for a moment, his only movements coming from his shaking sobs. Then, like a drifting boat in search of a mooring, his hands fell from his eyes and clutched at the back of her shirt as his forehead came to a rest on her shoulder. “...Thank you, Tsunemori,” he whispered, his voice rough from his tears.
“Of course.”
Ginoza gave himself a few more breaths before he pulled away, granting Akane a look at his reddened eyes. “Um,” he murmured, rubbing at the lingering tear tracks on his cheeks, “would you…be willing to help me take this to my mother? I don’t know how well she remembers him, but…I think he was painting this for her in the first place. She should be the one to have it.”
“Give me the time and place,” Akane agreed with a smile. “I’ll be there.”
