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The Academy of Fine Arts was a place for everyone who loved to express themselves in a more sensual way than the rest of society. It gathers a lot of people who, through their interests and talents, raised the level ofthe university to such an extent that it was not only one of the best in the country,
but also in the world. University had a large group of potential students thanks to qualified staff and big number of artistic fields so everyone could develop their interests in every direction. We also couldn't forget about the students themselves, whose hard work and commitment made the place very lively.
As every year, close to the summer break were held finals. Some of them require writing simple tests, but other required more work and lot of time. Also in that time took place open days. For more ambitious students it was a possibility to pass the exams faster under the condition that they prepare several works that would worthily represent the university to new students. You may think that it didn't require anything very demanding, but the deadline for submitting the work was limited and caused difficulties
Among the students who took up this challenge was Shanks Gold, probably one of the most recognizable artists at the university. He specialized in sculpture, and some of his works were appreciated by famous artcritics. He always attended open days because he loved showing off his work. It was also a good opportunity to impress bigger celebrities and maybe get noticed. This year, there was also the fact that he was at risk for two subjects because instead of going to them, he visited art galleries and various openingsin search of inspiration.
Unfortunately, he hasn't found anything for several weeks. It was as if someone had built a huge wall between him and the piece of clay, which was impossible to get around or jump over. This worried him very much, he didn't know how to get rid of this artist's block. All the time he had in his mind that he had to prepare an exhibition and he had nothing to do with it. No mistakes, no inspiration, in short, complete emptiness. He had to get rid of it as soon as possible, otherwise hewould have to write the tests on the re-sit date, and he didn't like the idea of devoting his holidays to studying.
So, whether he wanted it or not, he asked everyone he knew if they wanted to pose for him. If he cannot find inspiration in art, he will look for it among people who inspire him in some way. He started with his roommates, who unanimously refused him. Later, at the earliest opportunity, he asked his brother about it, who started shouting at him and ran away. People from the direction were also not willing because they had to create their ownsculptures. In the end, even though it was the worst idea he could have come up with, he asked for help from none other than Hancock. The girl was as popular as he was, and even though he asked her several times to go out with him outside the university, she refused every time.
So he was surprised when she accepted his proposal without hesitation. This seemed more than suspicious to him,and he was not wrong in this case. In the evening, when he returned to the apartment, during dinner, he received a message from the girl. He thought that they would be able to agree on a date when they could start working together, but instead he received a photo from her vacation. It depicted two people, of course one of the people was Hancock herself, the other he couldn't identify. This was probably because the photo was cropped so that the face could not be seen. He didn't know what she meant even more.
After a while, he found out from the her message that he had been deceived and the girl would not act as a model for him, but her brother could. He was confused. At first he didn't like this idea because he didn't know this person, but on the other hand he doubted that he would find someone in such a short time when he should have started a long time ago. He agreed because he had no other choice, if life throws some unknown guy at him, he will simply take him and make him the best sculpture that no lecturer has ever seen.
He didn't expect that their cooperation would have another condition. Namely, Shanks couldn't look at his model. He wouldn't be himself if he didn't take up this challenge, but a lot of questions arose in his head. The one that was repeated most often was how the girl imagined carving blindly. But it wasn't her problem anymore, it was now his problem. He looked at the boy from the photo with resignation and a visible grimace. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't intimidated by the sight of another person. He looked at the boy's belly and then rolled up the bottom of his blouse and looked at his own belly. His momentary shyness turned into jealousy, which was witnessed by his roommates.
"Why are you zooming in so aggressively on this photo?"Benn asked without looking at the redhead from book.
Quite unexpectedly, he placed the phone on the sheets of paper, gently bending them.
"Look at him, how can he work in such conditions when he himself already looks like a sculpture” He swore he saw the photo itself almost make Shanks cry. For him it was nothing special, just someone taking care of themselves."I'm supposed to meet him tomorrow, but the more I think about it, the more I feel bad.” He fell dramatically into his chair.
"Oh, is anyone scared?” Yelled Yassop, who was standing at the stove making sure the food didn't burn.
"Pff, of course not, I just need to get ready... I guess…" His voice was filled with uncertainty and they weren't surprised at all, it was the first time they had seen their friend in such a state.
"You're Akagami, who else but you?” His roommates said in unison, hoping that at least this would improve his mood.
And they weren't wrong, because the red-head really didn't need much to be happy. Just like in this case,reminding him who he was was enough. He took his phone and ran out of the kitchen, completely forgetting to eat his meal. He was too excited, it was stronger than him. His friends' words strengthen him so much that he thought about nothing else but tomorrow.
Without losing much, he ordered appropriate materials for the sculptures. He was so crazy that he didn't want to stop at one and make three. He had a whole month to devote to his model. Today, before going to sleep, he wanted to remember as many details about the second one as possible. He wouldn't be able to use his most important sense in his work, so the new task required not so much memory but some technique that he wasn't sure about yet. Deep in sleep, with a phone in his hand that showed a photo of a half-naked boy, he was caught by one of his roommates.
Benn just quietly entered the room and turned off the display, then connected the phone to charging and let the boy fall asleep in peace.
At the same time, somewhere on the other side of the city, a dark-haired boy was emotionlessly staring at the ceiling, questioning his decision. Agreeing to this idiotic idea was the worst thing he could do, but revealing his secret could have ended much worse for him. His sister, of course, had to take advantage of the fact that only they knew about it. If he wanted it to remain their secret, he had to agree to its terms, but it was also a good opportunity to test this sculptor.
However, if his parents found out that he had broken their collectible wine glasses, they would probably shut him up or forbid him to come home before midnight. They would do anything to get him to spend more time with people his own age. So far, they haven't figured it out yet because he managed to fake the patterns on the glass,
That it was difficult to notice any difference. Unfortunately, his sister witnessed this whole situation and the sound of breaking glass reminded him only of her laughter.
This brought him to the moment when he was standing in front of the hall on the first floor that belonged to the sculptors. Despite the whole situation, he was extremely calm and composed, perhaps because he knew who he would be working with. He hadn't had any contact with Shanks before, but a lot of people said only positive things about him. He expected that most of them might have been far-fetched, but he had had a chance to see his sculptures once. He wasn't sure what feelings they made him feel at that moment, but it must have been something else if he somehow remembered it. He followed a simple rule: if he liked something, he wanted to know about it, but unfortunately in his case this happened very rarely. The only art he accepted was that created by himself, and maybe there was room for some exceptions somewhere.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden opening of the door and a red-haired boy falling out. He thought he would have to catch him before he fell, but that didn't happen. At the last moment he managed to regain his balance. He saw an outstretched hand in front of him. His gaze jumped from his hand to the boy's face and his wide smile. He also smiled slightly when he saw that his eyes were covered with a piece of cloth. Deep in his heart, he was glad that his request had been answered. He wanted to remain anonymous for as long as possible. Probably if Shanks knew who he was, he would never have agreed to be his model.
Without thinking, he grabbed the boy's hand and led him back into the room. He cared about time so that all their work went as smoothly as possible. He also had his duties to focus on, he was just doing him a favor by being there.
At first, their work wasn't going very well. Shanks didn't know where to start. In his words, he explained to the model what he expected from him and what he wanted to achieve at the end of their cooperation. He probably imagined it differently. They sat next to each other on the couch placed in the middle of the room. The silence was quite awkward even if the redhead was still talking. He didn't know how far he could go with his actions. It was probably the first time he was so uncertain when it came to art. He usually had no problem expressing himself, but there was something different going on in this room.
He moved to a completely unknown area. He just took his steps, being careful not to fall. How surprised he was when the model grabbed his hand and moved it to his ribs. He gently relaxed his hand as he touched the material. That's how he started wandering around the other's body, which didn't bring him any closer to his goal. Of course, he was glad that they had broken this strange barrier together on the first day, but that wasn't it. They worked like this for the next few days, which was more than tedious. Due to the material of various sweaters and other fabrics, he couldn't reach what interested him the most, notto mention the fact that he didn't want to cross certain boundaries.
Only at the end of the same week did they manage to reach the next threshold because his model allowed him to do more. This time he put on, or so he thought, a thin shirt that in practice only covered his hands. It was unbuttoned along its entire length, so that he could finally think seriously about his work without any problems.They stayed longer in the room that day because Shanks absorbed everything he could with his hands.
Then he realized that he wasn't wrong about his model. Because if the boy looked so good in the photo, in reality he had even more to offer. He slowly but sensitively moved his hands over every available piece of skin. The skin under his hands was smooth and soft. He could feel some bones and especially muscles without any problems. It was as if he was already touching the sculpture, looking at the perfectly toned stomach, the notch at the waist where his hand fit perfectly, or the dip in the collarbones that were so tempting.
Even if he was unsure in some places, a hand always guided him, showing him parts of his body he hadn't touched yet.
This way, imagining the boy in my head became easier and easier. On the weekend he was finally able to sit down next to a solid piece of clay. He still felt like he didn't know much, but he was closer than farther. He had a modest outline of his work that did not even half convey how wonderful his model was.
The second week seemed to be better than the previous one. He felt that they were slowly getting closer and his model was less stressed than at the very beginning. He was happy that he was able to open up a little, even if it seemed difficult. To calm him down even more, the redhead was always saying something, no matter what it was, he made sure that there was never silence in the room.
And even though he only received quiet grunts in response, it didn't bother him at all. This was already a great sign of commitment for him, and yet he didn't expect much from him.
He did not hesitate to boast that someone had borrowed his essay on clay painting from the academic library. He was happy because few people read it. Someone must have really been interested in this topic, which made him even more happy.
"Show me something you like best about yourself" He said about halfway through the second week.
He decided to try a new tactic, which was successful. His hand was taken somewhere he hadn't been before.First he touched the lips, smooth like the rest of the body, and then the eyelids, which were no different from the rest. The model was a work of art. He couldn't help that his hands were now exploring a new area of his face that he found just as fascinating as the rest. This was also the moment when he reached the perfectly trimmed eyebrows and soft hair that he believed had been carefully gelled and slick back. Perhaps he was blind, and perhaps he was wandering, but he was getting closer.
After each such session, he stayed for a few hours to finish his sculptures because he had to take care of everything fresh. He was afraid that because he couldn't see his model, he might forget what he looked like. He always sat in front of the already slightly carved material and closed his eyes. He tried to recreate what he felt and find the moment when he fully found that particular part of the body that he was able to recreate from memory.
The end of this week seemed to be a bit turbulent because he was late for the scheduled hour from the very beginning. This was due to one specific fact. Allocation of rooms for exhibitors. It may have seemed insignificant in the eyes of other artists, but for him it was so serious that he could write a letter to the faculty authorities and ask for immediate recourse.
He apologized to his model for being late and went to work. He almost fell over the back of the sofa, but luckily he fell onto the other one, which put them in a rather strange position. They mostly sat next to each other, sometimes standing when Shanks needed a better perspective. He was prepared for the model to get rid of him from his lap, but that wasn't the case, he was still half-lying on the couch.
He realized that he could continue what they were already doing. It's just that today he was extremely anxious because of the earlier situation. He didn't know where to put his hands to feel good. He also didn't know what to say so as not to alienate the other person. He felt just as lost as he did at the very beginning when they were just starting out.
He was brought out of his thoughts by a soothing touch on his cheek, and he placed his hand in his so that he wouldn't take it anywhere. He needed this to open up, he needed to talk to someone as soon as possible.
Although he would probably lecture his roommates about this senseless decision, he knew that he would not be judged here because no one would answer him.
“I'm sorry I'm so distracted today but..." He didn't know what he actually wanted to say."I don't believe he will honor us with his presence.” There was so much irony and contempt in his voice that he never used because it was unpleasant."Additionally, he got his own room, but I have to share it with others, it's unfair."
Maybe he had a tendency to exaggerate or make that weird grimace when he got nervous, but this was really important... Important to him.
He probably didn't have to finish it because no matter who he told it to, everyone at the university would have guessed who he was talking about by the second sentence. A student whom no one had actually seen, but literally everyone knew about his works. He was not an exception in all this, but a special case who lost himself inthis art without memory.
"Fucking. Dracula. Mihawk."
When he got to the academy, it was said that anyone had ever seen paintings by him this the student went mad and was never the same again. As he was a first year student, he didn't believe in such nonsense until his former mentor took him to an art gallery to see an exhibition this student. He didn't remember how long they stood in line, but what he saw inside was enough compensation for this and all subsequent exits.
It was impossible for someone to be so critical and true in their art at the same time. Painters who were not afraid to express their opinions were becoming increasingly rare. He was one of them. The sincerity that radiated from the combination of black, gray and gold simply killed him. He was reborn as someone completely different, someone who just like this student wanted to be free, to be able to create without any restrictions.
He read every possible article about him and knew everything that was available about his paintings and painting techniques. If he had more money, he might have participated in auctions where his works were for sale, but that didn't happen. Only in his foster home there was a painting that celebrated the life of his deceased mentor.
From the moment of the first exhibition, he set himself the goal of creating sculptures that would be eloquent and at the same time could be interpreted in many ways, just like paintings this student. It was his first and probably biggest inspiration until now. Because if he wanted to meet this student and talk to him, he had never had the opportunity to do this and it was already his second year at the academy.
"The worst thing is that they keep comparing me to him even though he works in a completely different field of art. If I ever wanted to meet him, this time I hope he won't show up."He said with dead seriousness.
The comparison in his eyes was terrible. All the lecturers said that they were at the same level and that he had achieved great success. But he wasn't the one who was praised by critics and he wasn't the first to receive a prestigious artistic scholarship. Perhaps this was the price of his popularity among students, although he preferredit to hiding in corners.
"But if he shows up, I'll tell him everything I think about him and I won't limit myself."
He was tired of waiting, no matter what he created, he did it with the intention of getting his attention. He came to every exhibition of his, hoping to meet him, but he was never there. The same applied to academic ceremonies where he received awards but never received them in person. Perhaps he was stupid that someone like that would pay attention to him, but he sincerely hoped that she would get to know him because he breathed his art and looked for inspiration in it. Therefore, it was difficult for him to come up with something for the open days
The student had a temporary break that lasted until now. He felt that he was preparing something great that would delight everyone, including himself.
It's good that his model fell out of the sky like a star and became an even greater inspiration. Before, he didn't know what he was going to create, but now he had finished the largest sculpture, was working on the second one, and left the last, smallest one for last.
"I'm sorry again, I just hate him as a person but I love his work."
He felt someone tuck a strand of hair behind his ear and pull him closer to him. He wasn't sure how much distance separated them, but it couldn't be too much. Immediately after that, his breathing quickened anda pleasant warmth rested on his lips. If this was the best way to silence Shanks, he begged the heavens for it to happen more often. The half-naked, certainly very attractive boy beneath him, who had initiated the kiss himself, couldn't have asked for more. He was going to take turns touching and licking today, but he gave up on that idea and instead focused all his attention on the other's mouth.
That same day, he received a text message that made him happy. He wrote to Hanocock every day, asking her if her brother was okay. He had no way to contact him so he got information from his sister. She usually replied that it was okay, sometimes adding how funny her brother looked with clay spots on his face or neck.This time he got a simple message to never talk about him again this student because he himself annoys him.
From that moment on, he no longer used only his hands, but also his mouth, and he didn't have to do it, but he really wanted to. Even though he didn't know who his model was, he felt an unimaginably strong bond with him. Looking at his sculptures, he wanted to take off the blindfold at some point during the session and see who was hiding behind it. But each time he held back, knowing what he had agreed to from the very beginning.
For two weeks he slept four hours a day, completely ignored lectures and only went to exercises. He devoted most of his time to sculpting and meeting the model. Luckily for him, two of the three sculptures were almost finished. The first of them, strongly inspired by Venus de Milo, depicted a man without arms from the waist up. The second one was a simple bust also showing the same man. Both sculptures had their eyes closed. All they needed were some minor tweaks and some burnout, which he would deal with over the weekend.
At the beginning of the next week, his year's guardian came to see how he was doing. She was not so much delighted as interested in Shanks' inspiration. He just gave her a shy smile and briefly explained to her what his cooperation with the model was like. She just laughed at his way and praised his works, saying that she liked them very much.
He had the ambition to make another sculpture and had a certain idea in his head. Somewhere in the pictures this student saw a repeating motif of a cross-shaped knife. He imagined his hands, folded as ifin prayer, holding this small object. They couldn't be just any hands, they had to belong to his model.
Unfortunately, his own motives ruined him. He had over a week left until the open house and in one day he lost everything they had worked on together so far. From their first kiss, he allowed himself more, his model's lap became his favorite place to sit, but the most important thing was that the other one didn't mind. He could even swear that sometimes he hears his quiet laughter when he says something stupid.
Somewhere around the middle of the third week, he went too far. The image of folded hands still stuck in his mind. He more or less imagined the model's hands, but he needed more. As usual, his hands were wandering over his body and face when suddenly his hands became his target. He grabbed his wrists tightly to stop him
He didn't pull it out. He knew something was wrong when the model started struggling, but he held him even tighter. Then he felt something strange on the inside of his wrist. At first he thought it was a figment of his head, but it wasn't. The longer he rode along the vertical lines, the more he realized the seriousness of the situation. He loosened his grip a little, but not enough to let go.
They were scars, clustered in a large group, extending to the bend of the elbow. He didn't know what to think about it. A million different thoughts ran through his head, but he had one goal in mind. He put his wrist to his mouth and started kissing each scar, even several times. Once he was done, he reached for his other hand to do the same. All he could do was provide comfort and apologize for his selfish behavior. But he felt it was still not enough. Now he understood why the model wore long shirts and was so afraid not to touch him in those areas. Every time the redhead wanted to touch him there, the model guided his hands toa different place. It made a completely different sense now.
He couldn't judge him after what he had discovered, he couldn't do anything. Everything he wanted to tell him wasn't important at that moment. He had his own battles, but none of them ended this way. Many problems sometimes overwhelmed him, such as all the failed tests, unfulfilled artistic dreams or relationships with his father, who will never be proud of the career path his son chose. Despite these difficulties, he had people with him who helped him all the time, for which he was grateful. This time he wanted to be the person who could help someone else in some way.
Suddenly the model grabbed his hand and placed it to the place where his heart was. She touched this place many times, but only today this quiet beating allowed him to calm down. He listened to the slow rhythm of his heart, which gave no indication that he was still stressed. And since his model wasn't angry, he had no reason to blame himself either. As gently as he could, he put his face to his chest and drifted off to the rhythm of the beating, because probably the amount of sleep he forced himself on was insufficient.
When he woke up, the other one was gone, he couldn't determine the moment he left. The only thing left of him is a short message written on a piece of paper in a rather unique handwriting. This was their last meeting. Shanks crossed a line he shouldn't have. He was fully aware of this, but he did not know that he would have to bear such large consequences. Despite such a huge loss, he only had a few days left to finish the last figures. He had enough images in his memory to do it, but he would rather date his model. After the incident, he stayed in the room for a few hours to recover in the only way that was right for him.
These few days passed really quickly and before you knew it, open days were already taking place. He showed groups of students around his department, of course showing off his sculptures.
His small exhibition, located in the room he shared with other students, was titled "Open my eyes". It depicted an extremely handsome man who made everyone admire him. Unfortunately, the only down side to his job was that no one could look him in the eye, not even him. The sculpture's obvious similarities to this student's work was noticed by critics who also appeared and appreciated as an interesting element of the whole. He was proud of his work because he put his whole heart and soul into it. He devoted so much time to it that he could easily call it his greatest work.
When he had a break, he decided to use it as best he could. He slipped out of his room and went a few floors up, where the painting department was located. If there was one thing he cared about, it was confronting this student. He saw his schedule, his exhibition shouldn't start in half an hour, so Shanks had a lot of time to talk to him. He didn't know why he was so nervous, but he did it. His hands were shaking at the thought of meeting him.
But he was not an average amateur, he was someone who was treated on an equal footing, someone who could be good competition in the same field and someone who, without asking or warning, opened the door to the painter's room.
He stopped at the threshold because some greater force did not allow him to enter until he took in everything with his eyes. He took his steps very slowly, being careful not to disturb the space created by the artist. He looked carefully around the room. Eleven paintings, four standing on the sides, two diagonally, slightly larger than the previous ones, and one in the middle. The greatest and greatest of all.
If he had to go from the beginning, the images could be said to have formed one coherent whole. They presented a story that was very different from previous works this student. Usually the message was complicated and there were many solutions, but now it was very simple and analogous. A transition from gray, a boy running alone in a field, to colors because he was grabbed by someone's hand. He associated this art only with black and gold, so he was surprised when he saw fiery colors. The complete break with old habits and the lack of recurring motifs were like fresh air to his mind.
He was most interested in three main paintings. Two diagonally, slightly in the distance, showed a red- haired boy running across a field and sitting under a tree. The main image showed the same boy whose eyes were covered by his hair. The sunflowers around him were turned towards him, which seemed very telling to him. He felt so good looking at it, as if he and this artist had similar thoughts about their works.It was so random it was hard to understand.
Of course, he couldn't ignore the most important element located between all these paintings, perhaps a little closed in his art. He was close enough to have a perfect view to see how he worked. Long and slender hands held a medium-sized brush, which was then passed over the canvas, leaving a trace of paint. It wasn't a big deal but he was mesmerized by those precise movements. The boy himself seemed so distant, but his white T-shirt, stained with many colors, showed how much he had to spend on his paintings.
"That's... That's really amazing..." He said again, looking around the room. It was as if he was in another reality that he found himself in by accident. He had other intentions but, as usual, they were thwarted by the art itself.
"Hmm?" It was the only answer he had, and it brought him even closer to the other.
Because it was at that moment that Shanks realized how blind he had been from the moment he entered the room. The first element he missed was a note hanging on the door, which he tore off in anger, and in large letters it said "No Entry", the writing seemed to be familiar to him from somewhere. Then the striking resemblance of the red-haired boy from the paintings to himself, which could not be a coincidence, because the pattern of freckles was identical to his and familiar to people close to him. The last and probably the most important one is the painter himself. Looking at it, he couldn't see anything, but when he heard a quiet "hmm" immediately knew what he had been listening to for the past three weeks.
It was so stupid it was impossible. His greatest inspiration, someone whose level he aspired to, actually turned out to be his model. To say he was angry at that moment would be an understatement. His red eyes burned with anger. Without warning, he grabbed the artist's hand and turned him towards him so that they were now face to face, although he was afraid to look him in the eye. He was too... Never mind, he didn't want to admit it... He just forgot how to speak for a moment, but that was the least important.
"I don't believe... I don't believe... Great Mihawk became my model. Maybe you can explain to me how it happened, oh great artist." Shanks' tone of voice was filled with irritation and anger, and there was this strange hand gesture.
"Why do you need to know that if you hate me, huh?" Mihawk muttered as if uninterested in talking to others. "If that's all you had to tell me, you can leave because you're preventing me from finishing the painting."
"Stop talking like you don't care" He shouted and the durgi blinked quickly because he didn't expect such a reaction."They say that once you look at your paintings, you will never be the same again... That's how I feel, you're doing it to me once again, only this time I'm fully aware of what's happening in them... I was there too your inspiration right?"
His feelings mixed together very quickly. He was not far from anger to remorse, because art this student once again made him feel the same as the first time. He could spend hours in this room analyzing stories with a very simple meaning. Although this detail didn't suit him so much because he immediately guessed the meaning of the whole thing. It is a story of coming out of darkness, perhaps some kind of darkness. Gray, very characteristic colors, were punctuated by warm ones. His eyes wandered to the largest painting, which showed him smiling. He felt like he was looking into a mirror because every element was so perfect except for the eyes. He also lacked this, but it was part of his exhibition, just as it was an integral part of thiscollection.
"Why? Why me? There are definitely many great sculptors who would like to work with you, Idon't understand you.” He had calmed down now and his grip on the other's wrist loosened, remembering what was there.
"Because you were the only one who responded to my works in such a bold way. Everyone was afraid to challenge my authority... Everyone except you. That's why I decided to test you in more difficult conditions than normal and see if you are a worthy rival.” Mihawk said quite honestly what he automatically considered to be the truth, why would he lie about art he liked.
For him, it was the best compliment he could receive, these words perhaps meant more than any praise coming from his former mentor's mouth. How much would he give for Roger to be with him now and watch the direction in which heis developing.
"There's one more thing I don't understand..." He didn't know if he could ask about it. Even he sometimes hadmoments of reflection where, instead of speaking first, he thought about offending anyone."If you're so great, where did this come from?" Shanks began to stroke the scars with his finger, doing it as gently as he could. He didn't really expect any answer, the silence might as well have been an answer and an unspoken request to change the subject.
Silence covered the entire room and he was ready to change the subject when the other one moved closer tohim and rested his head on his shoulder. With one hand Shanks was still stroking the other's wrist, while the other went to his back to provide him with some support.
"It was two years ago, so if you think you're hurting me, you don't have to worry about it..." He was so stoic and calm when hespoke that it was strange to him because how someone who had done something like this to himself could talk about it in such an easy way.
Mihawk knew who he wanted to be and what he was striving for at a very young age. They said that everything he painted was art and that no one could hold a brush like he did. He locked himself in his room for many hours to devotehimself to his one passion, which absorbed him so much that he was able to forget about the basic
activities. Unfortunately, this affected his relationships with others because he had no friends and when he went to college, his fame affected him in an unfavorable way. Even though critics and other painters were delighted with what hecreated, in the eyes of students he was nothing more than competition. Because whoever knocks the best artist off his throne will become the best artist himself, but so far no one has managed to do it.
People wanted to fight him but because he was this quiet kid they didn't know how to do it. That way, no one, literally no one, posed any challenge to him. He was a fool to think he would find comfort in the painthat had dragged on for months until someone responded to his insults. This wasn't just anyone, but a freshman who showed abilities that most people his year didn't have. He became very interested and feltthat perhaps he had found a rival who would keep up with him. In hindsight, he knew he hadn't made a mistake since he was now hugging the same redhead who had dared to challenge him two years ago.
"So you like my sculptures? Have you seen the ones from the open house?" The other one nodded no."Then you must see them, preferably now!" After hearing the whole story, the fear left his entire heart, he was glad that the other one had managed to fight it and that he himself was the main factor that contributed to it.
The elder pulled him closer to him, stopping Shanks from leaving too quickly. Now they were facing each other again and this was probably the first time he had the opportunity to look him in the eye. Grief gripped him fromthe inside seeing those unusual eyes, filled with gold, which further emphasized his aristocratic appearance.
"First of all, I still have half an hour before I open my exhibition, so in that time I have to finish the lastpainting... Secondly..." Mihawk didn't have time to finish because the red-haired man put his hand to his mouth, stopping him from speaking further.
"Secondly, I have to thank you for being such a wonderful model." He smiled slyly and removed hishand to kiss the other.
And this kiss was definitely unlike any other kiss before. This time he was aware of what was happening around him and knew the other's boundaries enough to know what not to do. Although nothing mattered now because after every kiss and small pause for breath, there came another kiss and another. The space between them didn't matter either because at some point, probably even unconsciously, Mihawk wrapped his legs around Shanks' waist and Shanks instinctively grabbed him so he wouldn't fall. They stayed like that for a dozen or so minutes until the redhead decided to kiss down to the neck. The albaster skin he liked so much with the red marks it left behind. As long as the other one didn't move away, he did everything he wasallowed to do.
"Since when have you been growing a beard?" Mihawk muttered between heavy breaths as he felt something rough on his body that he hadn't noticed before.
"A lot has changed since the last time we saw each other. Do you like it?" He gasped in response, this time kissing the perfectly protruding collarbones that he liked from the first moment he touched them.
"On the contrary, it's terrible"
"Then I'll shave it if you don't like it."
"No... No, it's perfect." He grabbed the redhead by the jaw and brought him close enough to kiss him on thelips.
"I wish you had a couch here because..."
Their short conversation was interrupted by a quiet clearing of the throat that did not stand out from the background of their conversation but did not belong to either of them. Shanks leaned out from behind Mihawk's head, who had his backturned to the door. Maybe even better because his current mentor and tutor of the year was not the person he expected to be here.
"Miss Shakky, how nice to see you." He smiled shyly and scratched his head with his hand, almost dropping theelder to the ground. "What brings you to the painting department, my sculptures are a few floors below"
Only now did he look at his watch and see that their half an hour had passed really quickly. Additionally, the golden look that was given to him only said that he would have a serious problem later. At the same time, it was an interesting combination considering the blush on his cheeks and that angry, charming lookin his eyes.
"I came to see my son's exhibition but I see he is busy with something else" She laughed softly, whichalso made Shanks blush."I won't disturb you guys, Mi-chan, don't forget to invite your friend for dinner" She waved them goodbye before leaving the room, taking the "No Trespassing" sign with her andhanging it back on the door.
"I really don't want to know why they needed a couch" Somewhere behind the door he heard a voice belonging to an older man, but he had no time to think about it because his hands tightened even more beautifully around his throat.
"I'll kill you someday, I'll do it while you sleep so you won't feel anything" Mihawk growled, slowly loosening his grip.
It was really nice to be able to share this space with him. Not only artistically but also emotionally. Someone whom he admired and whose creation he saw turned out to be someone else, someone much better who, after his little adventure as a model, developed even more and instead of criticizing the world - he still did it, but at the same time talked about it and inspired future generations.
At same day, Shanks learned one new thing that "Open your eyes" was not only the title of his exhibition but also of the painter who created eleven paintings, whose he soon hoped to call his partner.