Chapter Text
The dull thump isn’t what wakes him up. It’s the resulting beam of light that filters through his window, now uncaged and free to intrude on his personal space and, of course, interrupt his sleep.
He groans, eyes still screwed shut in an attempt to hold on to any sleep possible as he flips his entire body to face the wall opposite his window instead. While this helps as far as keeping the sun out of his eyes, the deed has already been done, and he knows without checking his phone that he should have been up a bit ago anyway.
Accepting defeat, he barely opens one eye, runs his hand across his sheets until he finds his laptop and the phone resting on top of it. Just as he thought, it’s already a few minutes past noon, and he must have slept through his alarm set for eleven. Annoying, but unsurprising.
Finally sitting upright, though still avoiding the harsh rays of light coming through his window, he stretches and runs his hands through his hair. He can already feel how messy it is. Typically he’ll try to get a shower before bed at night, but last night he’d been cramming for a school project and, oh yeah, he’d found a new anime to watch and was binging it until almost three in the morning. Maybe that wasn’t the smartest idea, considering he doesn’t even remember half of what happened after episode six.
Oh well.
Eyes finally adjusted to the light, he looks at his window. The black sheet he usually has covering the glass has fallen into a messy pile, allowing sunlight to come inside even though he’s never once in his life welcomed or invited it at any time before noon. Rude.
Course, it’s likely this is his fault, considering he’s always been too lazy to properly drape an actual curtain across his window and has instead opted for scotch tape and a cheap, thin sheet. It wouldn’t be the first time this has happened, and it certainly wouldn't be the last either.
But there’s no time to stare at the window and think about how obnoxious sunlight in the morning is. Class is in less than thirty minutes and factoring in a ten-minute walk, he has about fifteen minutes to get ready and leave.
Crossing his room and stepping into the bathroom, he looks into the mirror and cringes at his own reflection. Now he’s really regretting not finding time for a shower, and he certainly doesn’t have time for one now. He runs his fingers through his messy red mop, still feeling the hair gel leftover from yesterday. At least it’s still doing the job, even though it’s much messier than usual. That’s fine; he doubts anybody in his classes will think anything of it.
He zips through his usual morning routine: brushing his teeth, washing his face, trying his best to tame his hair, and slipping into an outfit consisting of a colorblocked turtleneck sweater and a pair of plain black tight-fitting jeans. He rolls the jeans up, just enough to show his bright pink and yellow striped socks.
Knowing that it’s nearing time to leave for class, he steps back into his room and begins gathering his things. He runs through the list in his head, tossing everything into his old and tattered gray backpack. Drawing pencils, eraser, charcoal, bottle of ink, sumi-e brushes, newsprint paper --
Where did he put his paper? Oh! He’d left it in his portfolio. He crosses his room and finds the object in question leaning against his desk, clearly labeled with his name on the front: Tendou Satori.
Carefully opening the portfolio, Tendou pulls out the pad of newsprint and runs through the list in his head again. He should have everything now. He’d hate to make the mistake again of getting to class and realizing he’s forgotten something at home. Sure, walking back to get it would be easy enough, but it would also take twenty minutes away from class time and well… he likes to avoid walking as much as possible.
After all, he’s an art student, not an athlete.
Well, technically he’d been an athlete before, but not for several years now. Sure, he dabbled in volleyball at a younger age and his parents had said that he’d make a professional team one day, but things didn’t turn out that way, obviously. Volleyball was fun, for a while, but it started to lose its charm after a few years. But art? Art was the best. He’d been doodling on his homework ever since he could remember, and as soon as he’d hit high school, Tendou became a very serious artist.
Lucky for him his parents didn’t mind either way, they just wanted him to be happy. And art was definitely what made Tendou happy. Despite the stress and other issues that college tended to bring along, Tendou was more than happy in his major and was enjoying himself in every single class. As a pretty quirky and unique guy, having a creative outlet was always something he’d required, and getting to have that as part of his schooling was the dream.
Course, that didn’t mean that there weren’t challenges. There were still bits and pieces of certain classes that Tendou found himself struggling with, and that was certainly true for things like sculpture and ceramics. But not for figure drawing.
Figure drawing was easily panning out to be one of Tendou’s favorite classes, something that he looked forward to every other day. In fact, he can feel an obvious skip in his step as he heads towards campus, one arm swinging at his side while the other clutches tightly at his newsprint paper. Today is yet another session with a nude model, who he assumes will be one of their three typical models that rotate every so often.
The class was a decent size, about fifteen people, and the professor, Washijou Tanji, was an interesting old man with a slight attitude but a real talent for gesture drawing. Some of Tendou’s classmates were a bit scared of Washijou, but Tendou got along great with him! Well, at least, as far as he knows. Either way, he’d been calling Washijou by his given name since around the second or third week of classes. His professor answers to it, and he hasn’t been told to stop yet.
He’s nearing his university’s campus now, which would be obvious even if he hadn’t taken this walk every single day for the past couple years. Students fill the sidewalks, signs of stress and anxiety filling some of their faces as they haul backpacks full of textbooks. Tendou’s thankful he’s never had to mess too much with those, though he figures the weight of art supplies could be comparable.
But hey, art supplies are waaaay more fun than textbooks.
A few more steps and Tendou arrives at the art building, a modest landmark in contrast to the ones surrounding it. Funnily enough, many of the non-art students on campus don’t even know this building exists, making it feel like a super cool secret that only an elite few know about. Tendou always did like that feeling.
He steps through the double doors with ease, greeting the few students he walks by as he heads down the hallway. He knows some of them, has had classes with many of them, but some are newer faces, probably freshman that he hasn’t yet had the opportunity to meet.
The art building has always felt like a sort of paradise for Tendou, a place where he knows he’s free to say and do things that most establishments would raise an eyebrow at. But strolling through hallways with walls full of messy charcoal drawings, watercolor paintings, and various other projects makes him feel at ease.
Tendou finally arrives at his figure drawing classroom, marked by a door reading ‘NUDE MODEL - PLEASE KNOCK’. He’s early enough that the door is swung open anyway, allowing him entry without a knock. It’s sort of a bummer, since knocking and being allowed in always makes him feel even more like a member of an elite society. Shrugging this off, he skips inside anyway.
This room is one of the more cramped ones in the art building. It sort of reminds Tendou of his elementary school music classroom, in a way. Half of the room is taken up by a fairly short wooden stage, with a short flight of stairs on either side. Scattered across the room, on both the lower level and the stage, are easels, some with pads of newsprint already resting on them. There is, of course, one free area at the very center of the stage, where the models typically stand. Leading off one corner of the stage is a bathroom; this is where the models usually take their breaks or change back into their clothes. Currently, the door is hanging open and unoccupied, which is a bit strange since the models are usually already in their robes way before Tendou gets here.
Slipping through rows of easels on the lower level of the room, Tendou locates his usual spot. The easel is marked up by dried splatters of ink, a few pieces of scotch tape left over from past students holding their projects in place, and pencil shavings dusted across its shelf. Regardless of the mess, Tendou plops his newsprint on the easel’s shelf, flipping through pages of already used paper until he arrives at a clean sheet.
Now left only to wait, Tendou takes a seat on a nearby stool and glances at the clock. Class starts in five minutes and the model isn’t here yet? Washijou isn’t even here? Strange. He’d assume class was cancelled last minute if he didn’t see his peers also sitting around the classroom, staring down at their phones.
Fiddling with a piece of charcoal, Tendou’s confusion is quickly elevated when he hears someone walk through the door again.
He’s tall, a bit taller than Tendou, and his choppy olive brown hair hangs down in his face slightly. He’s wearing a sweatshirt with the school’s logo on it, and a pair of black athletic pants. Interesting. Tendou doesn’t recognize this guy at all, doesn’t remember ever seeing him in the hallways. Maybe he’s a freshman? But that can’t be right, freshman don’t take the figure drawing class. Is he a new addition to the class? A transfer student?
Washijou follows behind the stranger, whispering something to him and gesturing towards the stage. Tendou, wishing he had super hearing and was able to listen in on this exchange, watches the stranger nod and climb the stairs up to the stage. It’s only when the guy crosses the wooden platform and enters the bathroom that Tendou understands who he’s supposed to be.
Washijou, now standing in the center of the stage, clears his throat, “We have a new model today. He’ll be added in to the rotation from now on,” without explaining anything more, he delves into his typical spiel, “Today I want you all to work with charcoal. We’re going to start with two minute gesture drawings, move into fives, and then end with tens. Pay attention to -- “
As his professor continues going on about gesture drawing requirements, a talk the class has heard countless times before, the bathroom door gently opens and the olive-haired stranger walks out, dressed in a brown robe. Tendou finds himself unable to focus on what Washijou is saying. Why he’s so interested in this random person he’s never seen or met before today is a bit confusing.
Regardless, he doesn’t have time to think about it. As a class, figure drawing goes fast, he never has time to think about anything too much. The goal is just to get gestures on the paper, imply movement with a few marks and add things like tension and weight when he has enough time left over. And so, he slips off his stool and stands tall behind his easel, readying his charcoal between steady fingers.
And then the stranger removes his robe.
Tendou’s previously very steady fingers suddenly betray him, dropping his charcoal. It falls to the floor and breaks in half, drawing a whispered curse from between Tendou’s lips. What was that about? Sure, at the start of the semester it felt a bit awkward to stare at a naked person that he doesn’t know, but he’s never had a reaction like this before.
Between dropping his charcoal and questioning himself, he’s already lost thirty seconds off his two minute gesture drawing, and he has nothing on his paper yet. Soon enough Washijou will be walking around and he’s not going to be happy if Tendou has nothing to show him.
Get your shit together, Tendou screws his eyes shut for a second, it’s just a naked person and you’ve drawn them several times before.
Tendou opens his eyes again, readies his charcoal, and stares right at the model. What the rational part of Tendou’s brain seems to be ignoring is that this is not just a typical naked person. No, definitely not.
The person standing in front of him absolutely has to be some sort of greek god, Tendou is convinced.
He hasn’t seen musculature like this since… well, since his volleyball days, probably. Even still, it’s more impressive than what he’s seen in the past. It’s very possible that the lighting in this room and the pose he’s standing in, with exaggerated contrapposto, is making his body look more impressive than it actually is, but still. That chest was carved by god himself, there’s no other possible explanation.
“Next pose.”
Washijou’s voice startles Tendou, but he doesn’t drop his charcoal this time. Thankfully, he’d gotten a very basic form on the paper, but two things are painfully obvious: it looks more like a 30 second gesture, and it could never do justice to the sight Tendou is currently staring at.
The model changes position, extends one arm forward and the opposite leg backwards; another classic that the class has drawn countless times before.
Even so, Tendou is still struggling.
With every new pose comes the opportunity to focus on a new, equally impressive, area of this stranger’s body. Tendou suddenly feels incredibly odd; surely focusing so intensely on a stranger’s body would be considered wrong, right? He has to be breaking about ten thousand basic rules of morality --
“Tendou,” Washijou startles him again, except now he’s standing right next to him and staring at a mostly blank piece of paper, “Do you need to change locations?”
Oh no. Tendou’s hand starts to shake as he presses the charcoal into the paper and makes a quick gestural line, “N-Nah!” he sputters, “Just getting back into the groove, y’know? Long weekend!”
“Two minute gestures are meant to get you ‘in the groove’. Work faster,” he steps away, shouting again, “Next pose!”
The first half of class goes a lot like this; the model switches poses every few minutes, and Tendou struggles to fill his paper with anything besides messy lines that he’s painfully aware can’t possibly replicate this impossibly handsome man standing in front of him. Suddenly it seems his strong knowledge of anatomy is betraying him, and Washijou still isn’t impressed.
Before they shift into ten minute drawings, the class takes their typical ten minute break. Tendou quickly takes the opportunity to dart out of the classroom, wanting to avoid any sort of interaction with either his professor or, even worse, the model. Crossing the hallway and stepping into the bathroom, he immediately sighs with relief when he realizes he’s the only one in here.
He leans over one of the sinks, staring at himself in the mirror with confusion. What is with you today? he thinks, narrowing his eyes. Tendou turns on the water and quickly washes the charcoal debris off his hands. He vaguely wonders how easily he’d be able to pack his things up and just skip class for the day, how sneaky he could be without anyone noticing.
Not that it would matter. Washijou had said this model was going to be added into the rotation for the rest of the semester.
Tendou gives a shaky sigh, splashes a tiny bit of water on his face, and then straightens up in front of the mirror. Extremely attractive model or not, he’s going to go back in that classroom and he’s going to enjoy drawing like he would on any other normal day.
With newfound confidence, he exits the bathroom and returns to his class. There’s still a couple minutes of break left, and thankfully the model is covered by his robe again, talking quietly with Washijou. Tendou distracts himself with his phone, mindlessly scrolling through social media and checking up on his games.
Soon after, the break is over. In a lucky turn of events, Washijou has decided to bring in draped fabric for their ten minute drawings, effectively covering parts of the model’s body. Tendou does a silent cheer in his head. He’ll miss looking at those gorgeous muscles, but not having them as a distraction? Now he can really focus and impress Washijou.
When class ends and the model has retreated back into the bathroom, Tendou takes the opportunity to hastily pack his things and leave. Generally, the class is supposed to hang up their newest work in the hallway, but he doesn’t even stick around for that. Would the model stay after to look at things? Or try to have a conversation with some of the students? Some of their models do. It’s way too risky.
So, as he heads home with charcoal still covering his hands, Tendou makes a silent promise to himself.
This will not turn into anything. This will not get bigger. This will not occupy his thoughts late at night while he’s trying to sleep. This will not turn into a crush on a beautiful stranger.