Chapter Text
There was a thin, almost indiscernible line between dread and regret when Anna thought about her art class.
It was supposed to be a fun class! A class for beginners. And yet it had taken her all of two minutes to feel completely out of her depth. All of the other students were very clearly not beginners, and obviously did not treat art like it was something to be enjoyed, as she did. They were all there for rules, and techniques and facts… Anna had just signed up because she liked sketching little figures sometimes.
She sighed in frustration as glared at her sketch pad once again.
It didn’t help that she felt the professor had tricked her. They had been asked to fill out a brief little ‘about me’ page, one of the questions being “What do you struggle with most in your art?”, and like a dummy, Anna had quickly written ‘Hands’.
And then her professor had assigned them their first project on the thing they wrote they struggled most with.
“Stupid.” Anna hissed.
She should just drop this class.
“What was that?” The person on the other side of the table from her asked.
She looked up to see brown eyes looking at her carefully.
She’d picked this seat because it was towards the back, it was quiet, and everywhere else was fairly full. Here at this table there was only one person, and he hadn’t even looked up when she sat down.
So, she was surprised at how gorgeous his eyes were.
She would be lying if she hadn’t also picked this spot because said boy (man, actually) two seats over and across the table (she was fairly certain she’d seen him on the hockey team, now that she thought about it) was a bit of eye-candy.
Okay, ‘eye-candy’ wasn’t the right word. He was handsome. Rugged, in the best sense. But also, very grumpy looking. He’d had a bit of a continual scowl since the moment she’d walked into the library. The crease between his brows had only relaxed ever so slightly as he looked at her.
“Oh! Nothing. Sorry.” She said, startled by the eye contact and she ducked her head back down.
When she finally had the courage to look back up, he’d returned to his book.
And wow. He had massive hands.
She wondered…
She returned her attention to her sketchbook, and her pencil began to flurry around the page, almost of its own accord.
He kept putting his hand up to rest his chin in his palm, his fingers curling against his cheek as he did so (there was a noticeable amount of light brown scruff there), then putting it back to the edge of his page. His fingers would always rub the corner of the paper gently before he turned it.
She wondered why his hands were so work-hardened. Did he do stuff outdoors? For some reason an image of him hiking through the wilderness with an ax, chopping down trees flashed up in her mind.
‘Chill out there, Anna.’
And there was a massive scar on the back of his left hand. She wondered where he got it.
“Whenever you’re finished, let me know.” His voice surprised her. “I’d love to see what you’re drawing.”
She had no idea how long he had been watching her, but that crease between his eyebrows was gone, and there was a hint of a smile playing on the edges of his lips.
Anna flushed and wished with all her might the earth could just swallow her whole.
“Uh…” She stammered. “Sorry, I’m not drawing you… exactly… I would have asked your permission first. Or maybe I wouldn’t have… I do sketch unsuspecting people a lot. I’m sorry.”
“What are you drawing then?” He asked, looking interested, closing his book. “If you’re not drawing me, what are you drawing.”
“Your… hands.” She admitted pushing the sketchbook over to him.
“Huh.” He looked over the drawings carefully. “Well I would classify my hands as being a part of myself.”
“I should have asked, I’m sorry. I’ve just got this stupid project in my art class. I’m supposed to work on an area that I struggle with, and I’m always so bad at drawing hands, and I just noticed yours, because they’re just so big, and I started sketching. I’m really, really, sorry.”
“No, it’s okay.” He shrugged, and that hint of a smile became a bit stronger. “These are really good though… you even got my scar.”
“How did you get that by the way?”
“Hockey skate dropped on my hand when I was younger and just sliced it open.”
Anna gasped and cringed.
“It wasn’t that serious.” He chuckled at her response. “I’m lucky, really. It could’ve been much worse.”
“So… you are one of the hockey players here, then?” Anna asked.
“Mhmm. Kristoff Bjorgman.” He offered one of his huge hands to shake.
It was really warm, and completely dwarfed her own.
“Anna Arendelle.” She smiled.
He kept shaking her hand for a moment. Then they both seemed to realize they should let go, because their physical contact was going beyond the realms of what was acceptable for a hand-shake.
“You’re really talented,” he held up her sketchbook as if he were proving a point, then handed it back to her, “I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about with your class.”
“Oh… well thanks.” She felt herself blush faintly. “Thanks for having such big hands. Wait. That came out weird. I mean… thanks for having hands for me to draw… because they’re interesting. Um… that’s weirder-“
Kristoff broke off her rambling with a laugh.
“Well believe me, I’ve never been happier to have big hands… um… I’ve been trying to work up the courage since you came in here… Can I get your number?”
“Yeah, sure.” Anna couldn’t help but grin.