Chapter Text
- Chiaroscuro
The first time Orym had seen one of the nude models, he had blushed like a lovesick teenager. In reality, the blatant display had shocked him for one long minute, before he could tell himself that it was a necessary part of his curriculum.
It helped immensely that the first model was so audaciously nonplussed by nudity in front of a crowd. She was a lithe human, slight in build but toned. She had sharp lines that formed her poses- bony elbows earned a quick thin scratch, wild eyes that demanded more intensity and precision, lips that he could replicate with a subtle curve in a loose grip at the edge of his charcoal. And when she wasn’t concentrating on staying still she joked and rambled in an endearingly grating way. She wasn’t scared to walk around without her robe, hoping to catch a peek at how the students drew her. She introduced herself to him as Opal, and promptly asked if her ass truly was that big from where he was sitting. He did not alter the linework and did not offer a response.
The second model was equally uncaring about being seen nude. After two weeks of drawing Opal, Orym all but fumbled his shit on the floor when he came in late to see Dariax on the riser. The dwarf was barrel chested and muscled. He could rip Orym in half if he wanted to. The halfling had clutched his sketchpad like it held all the answers to life as he took his usual spot in the back and focused on seeing things only as an artist. Dariax was a much tougher challenge. Keeping the pose flowing on the paper proved difficult with how low to the ground he was; he had to struggle to keep the tangle of limbs and his torso from becoming too scrunched together. And Dariax was funny as well. He mingled among the students during breaks the same way Opal had, but had good things to say about everyone’s work.
Two weeks out from midterms when the teacher was able to find another model for the class to work with, Orym realized how well and truly fucked he was this semester.
Orym made it to his area, setting up an easel and his newsprint pad. It was raining outside and he had managed to keep most of his materials dry. He dug through his pencils, looking for a softer charcoal to start the day. They typically did ten second gesture sketches to open class. They were his favorite- he didn’t have time to get caught in details. Just find the form with simple lines. And when he glanced back up, he saw the newest model.
A cream colored robe was discarded haphazardly over several instrument cases and a backpack.
Silken sky blue skin, dark hair tied up in a bun, and clear cerulean eyes. He was tall, and that always did things for Orym, as embarrassed as he might’ve been by it when he was younger. He looked deceptively thin; Orym could tell as he moved, the way the muscles of his back flowed and shifted under velvet skin, that he was stronger than one might expect. He was nude with the exception of jewelry. He had a silver arm cuff that was pushed far up on his forearm, and a tiny silver ear cuff with a chain dangling down. Both were a bright compliment to his deep complexion.
By that time, Orym knew his face was cherry red.
He took three measured breaths.
Orym stared intently at his unmarked page, listening silently as the teacher went through his usual spiel. He introduced the man, presumably. Orym didn’t hear it. He would pick up eventually, hearing other students say an otherwise unfamiliar name. Dorian Storm.
Every pose this new model shifted to turned Orym a different shade of pink and he was horrifyingly aware of it. The air genasi lived up to his heritage in the most striking ways. He moved like a dancer. As if the air around him held his weight with just the slightest input from the genasi. A dazzling ornament set atop a pedestal to be rightfully appreciated. Unabashed scratching at his paper took all of Orym’s energy. Charcoaled limbs arched over in a mockery of what he saw, and each ten seconds felt like a lifetime. And he had to deal with this for four more hours .
Will hadn’t been much of an artist, yet he would’ve been the first one to point out this handsome stranger. And Gods’ forbid he look below the waist. He felt faint from a horrifying amalgamation of secondhand embarrassment and guilt.
He kept his touch light on the paper. Occasionally the man would be facing Orym’s direction and their eyes would meet,only for a moment. He would blame it on needing to get the angle of his jawline right even if these were supposed to be ten seconds pieces.
During their quick break, Orym let his pencils clatter to the desktop (he’d pay for that later when he sharpened them to endlessly breaking nubs) and strode out of the room. He needed water. And he needed to stop thinking about Will. This betrayal of his. He didn’t want to feel attracted to anyone. He could find people pretty- it couldn’t lead to conversation. That led to other things and he had come very far to tackle his thoughts safely. He couldn’t talk to this man, get to know him, get attached. He hadn’t finished sweeping the broken glass off the floor, much less decided to find a new window to gaze through with wide eyes and hope.
Waiting for the water bottle to clunk out of the vending machine gave him time to rationalize. He hadn’t said two words to the man- didn’t even know his name. A friendly conversation couldn’t lead to an affair in one go. He was getting stuck in his head.
He walked back without feeling the desire to hustle. The hallway was one long straight line back to the main studio and he could see the open door from what felt like a mile away. It took every bit of his strength to keep going forward.
The genasi had thrown a robe on and was wandering among the students. He was very close to Orym’s little corner. He was peering with careful eyes, listening as the teacher gave tips.
Orym panicked and took the next right to take a detour. He wasn’t feeling much like talking about his art. He shook his hands out and then immediately scrunched them into fists so he could crack his knuckles. Had he taken his medication this morning? He hadn’t forgotten for the past year, but he batted the worry around in his mind anyhow.
Finally, he had no more excuses or corridors to duck into, and he went back to his easel.
Dorian was at the front of the studio now, laughing brightly. His voice rang like bells in the wind, lilting and delicate.
The first ten minute pose gave him time to actually look at the man without his eyes frantically trying to take in everything at once. His skin was flawless. He wore makeup, a simple cat’s eye with a dash of highlighter across his nose and cheekbones. Muscled, ropey arms and shapely thighs. He had a splash of freckles here and there. Taking in small details made it easier to see the man the way he should have been this whole time- as a model graciously allowing artists to learn how to draw figures. And more importantly as a person that should be respected and not gawked at like some kind of special show.
Orym hummed lowly to himself, allowing guilt to rightfully take over. His heart still ached in his chest.
After he had thoroughly scolded his thoughts it got a bit easier to actually do what he was here to do. His concentration was rather all over the place. He could manage that, though, if he really tried. And when Dorian met his gaze at the end of class and gave him an easy going smile, he got to smile back.
***
Fearne fumbled with her keys outside the apartment. They dropped to the ground and she sighed, kicking them to a better spot with her hoove so she could lean to retrieve them. There was barely enough light left in the day for her to see, but she snatched them up easily. Her triumph was short-lived. It appeared to be a wasted effort as the door creaked open in front of her.
She made a chirping happy noise. “Orym!”
Orym let her in and locked the door behind her, then cleared his throat.
“Fearne,” he responded. He was blinking away sleep.“You’re home early.”
The total of 10 shopping bags she had strewn up both her arms were dumped like garbage on a landfill at the edge of the room. She flopped onto the couch next to him, patting his head with a yawn. He must have been exhausted; he was smushed against her hip now, using his hands to chase away a severe expression that she couldn’t identify. He smudged charcoal all over his face with the half-hearted attempt.
She partially scooped him into her lap, ignoring his grunt of displeasure. “I have a class at 8 tomorrow, and I figured maybe I should meet the teacher.”
Orym blinked. “We’re almost halfway through the semester, Fearne. You might as well drop it so you don’t take a hit to your GPA.”
“Okay!” Fearne agreed enthusiastically. It didn’t take much to convince her, and that was a good idea. She could wake up at 8AM next semester for sure. He rolled his eyes dramatically and huffed. “I wasn’t planning on going anyway, so that works out. You have stuff on your face.”
Orym batted her hands away when she went to lick her thumb and dab at dark blotches. “Fearne!” he protested with half a grin. “It’s fine, I’ll wash my face.”
Fearne merely hummed in return, redirecting her hands to card through his hair. “Did you have a difficult day?” she inferred. He melted in her grasp and got those far away emerald eyes he always had when he was remembering.
“We got a new model in Figure. I think he’ll be in your class, too.” He fiddled his thumbs together awkwardly and went to sit on the couch in their broom closet of a living room.“His name is Dorian.”
Fearne bit her lip. It was hard to tell if she guessed correctly when Orym didn’t clarify with yes or no. She tried to pick apart why that might be upsetting him and simultaneously tried to figure out if she was wrong altogether. “Was he hot?”
Orym instantly hid his face in hands and groaned.
She was correct.
“Did you talk to him?” She purred, unable to contain her smirk. “You know, I think he hangs out with the other two models- he’s a genasi, right?” She felt him nodding pressed into her furry thigh. “I’ve seen them hang around together in the dining hall.”
“He seemed very charming,” Orym concluded after a stretch of time dedicated to finding the right words. Her friend looked so nervous, so sad. She didn’t like it. “He had a nice laugh.”
She wanted to make him laugh. “Did he have a nice ass though? I miss drawing Dariax. His ass took up most of my paper.”
Orym flicked her leg, begging for a reprieve from the embarrassment. “He had many nice physical qualities, Fearne, yes.” He was a brilliant carnelian color.
Fearne had learned about Will a few months prior. Orym had a rough week near the anniversary of his passing. It hurt her heart to think she might not have heard about his late husband otherwise. She had hated coming home those days, finding him in bed, weak with hunger and drowning in tears. It made her want to break things. Or people. Whoever she could to make them sorry for making Orym feel this way. But it didn’t work like that. Suddenly the 8 out of ten bags worth of things she had stolen didn’t feel like enough.
“So are you going to get his number?” She was never one to hold her tongue. Asking felt like the thing to do.
The halfling sat upset with a sigh and ran his hands back through his hair once more, trying to tidy it. He seemed reluctant to answer, though if Fearne really studied his face, she could see a glint of something soft in his gaze.
“Maybe.”