Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You loved art.

Whenever you could, you'd practice because you wanted to breathe life into your fictional characters.

What better way than through animation?

Ironically, one day, the Art Teacher appeared.

The clothed, wooden animation figure helped you whenever you asked. Otherwise, he sat around, and simply kept you company while you toiled away, perfecting your character designs.

Unfortunately, you spent most of your childhood alone.

It fueled your creativity, until you burned out.

Your parents' divorce might be the root of it.

The Art Teacher glances at the empty sketchbook from a past birthday sitting on your dresser. You thought that keeping it out would motivate you, but it's only collecting dust.

"You've always had an interesting mind," The Art Teacher never strayed from his soft, low tone. The perfect voice for reading a bedtime story.

You murmured a tired noise.

"You think you'll try again tomorrow?" He gestures with his wooden hand.

"I don't know..." Your characters are frozen in time, trapped inside your closet.

Who knows when they'll ever see the light of day again?

"That's alright," The Art Teacher reassures. "There's always tomorrow... You should get some sleep." He cleans up your desk area in the corner of your room.

You smush your face against your pillow.

His voice fades out, but you swear you heard a 'goodnight.'

You're too tired to respond.

Ten years later.

Ten whole years to figure out where you were.

The Art Teacher feels silly - he could've asked all this time, couldn't he?

Was it really this easy?

He takes a couple of shy steps towards you. He adjusts his jacket, fidgeting with it too much.

His hair is disheveled, his metal-wire glasses at an angle. He tries to fix it, but he makes it worse.

The Art Teacher sighed.

Why should his appearance matter if you can't even see him?

You're hunching over, with multiple old journals spread around. One, he recognized was lore for your characters, the other was photos of said characters… the art you kept away.

He looks over your shoulder.

"You're drawing again?" Art Teacher raised his eyebrows.

You straighten your posture, nearly flicking your marker right out of your hand.

That voice.

You spin around twice by accident. You hit the table, disturbing the markers you were using. They threaten to roll off the table.

You look at the same time, both of you set a hand on the markers. You feel the weight of his wooden hand.

"Art Teacher?"

That perfect, silly name you gave him!

He echoes your name slowly, with the same level of curiosity.

You stumble up from your desk.

Cal takes his leave the moment you tackle your IF into a hug. Onto the next case.

The hug breaks so you can fix his glasses, and sort of fix his hair.

"You see me..." he processes calmly, slightly dazed from everything.

You scoff. You flip some pages, and show a very old sketch of him.

"My niece inspired me to look at my old drawings again."

The Art Teacher quite literally glows an off yellow color, smiling just as warm. Did you just glow too, or was it a trick of the light?

"Are you staying?" You're not questioning any of it.

You have to know.

"I'd love to."

Chapter Text

"Do you need to sleep?" You yawn into a fist, staring at the only bed in the entire house.

The Art Teacher touches his chin, "Do you believe I need to sleep?"

"-No?" you blurt. But he's human shaped. "-Yeah?"

That's your logic!

He tilts his head.

You're angled at the bed, staring at it like it's alien technology.

The Art Teacher hesitantly calls your name, bringing you back from wherever the hell you went.

"Where would you sleep when I was younger?" You don't remember.

Should he stay on the couch?

"I didn't sleep." He politely informed.

Art Teacher releases an unforced chuckle behind his wooden hand, "Last time I told you goodnight, I didn't see you for ten years..." he waves it off like a joke.

You guys need to hurry up and decide. You need sleep for tomorrow.

"Would it help if we shared?" you offer.

"Share your bed?" He sounds positively surprised. "We can do that?"

"Yeah, I don't mind."

You stand like a NPC for a minute more.

Despite your calm appearance, you truly have no idea how to react to any of this.

One evening you had your sibling help decorate your new place, the next, you check on your niece to find them poking through all your sketchbooks. Which is odd, because they were on a high shelf.

The book was open on the certain someone next to you.

Your sibling came in. They took interest, and the two of them 'forced' you to draw something for old times sake.

Here you are, days later. With someone from your sketchbook alive. You turn your head.

It's all kind of ironic, isn't it?

Art Teacher remained looking at you, clearing his metaphorical throat. In his arms is his jacket he folded up. "Since you're an adult now..." His 2D eyes paint every detail of your face. "I suppose that makes me one too."

"Goodnight," You turn off your bedside lamp. You lay on your side to give him more room.

Art Teacher echoes your 'goodnight' and rests his hands on his torso. He stares at the bedroom ceiling. His jacket, on your desk chair.

You're under the blankets he says he doesn't need.

So this is what it's like sharing a bed with someone. The idea never crossed his mind.

He tucks his arms in once you shift back over to the other side, facing him.

"What's tomorrow?" he whispers with his head against your pillow. Totally not only checking if you can still hear him.

You crack your eyes open in the dark, "My niece's birthday party," you whisper back, more relaxed in this comfy setting.

"How fun." He quietly taps his hands together.

"Mhm," you adjust your pillow to smush your face more. "What about your… retirement teaching art job thing?" You notice his wire glasses shining on the nightstand.

"Oh, well," he faces the ceiling again, he glances away for a moment. "As long as you remember me... I don't have to return."

"You don't want to go back?" Your eyes widen a bit.

Art Teacher wearily blinks at you.

"When I asked if you're staying, I didn't think it meant permanently."

"Oh." Cue you forgetting him, and the long walk back- "You don't need me?" The scribbled line for his mouth bends into a frown.

"I didn't say that."

It bends back up.

"Restart." You shift onto your back. Your shoulders touch. "I'm glad you're staying permanently. I'm just surprised you don't want to go back."

"What is so surprising?" he stops whispering since you stopped.

Your face warms, "I need to sleep." The bed creaks in protest from all your moving. You lay on your side, facing him once more, eyes closed. "Goodnight, Art Teacher."

"Goodnight..." he watches your ceiling fan whirl around, blending into the night sounds.

Chapter Text

Did you leave a candle on over the night?

You walk into the living room.

"Art Teacher?"

"You're awake," He beamed. "I'm sorry - I'm not used to you sleeping in." He takes the plate of pancakes he just put away, back out. "Are you hungry?"

Sleeping in? It's only one in the afternoon.

"Yeah?" How did he make them? Are they real pancakes?

You sit at the mini kitchen island. Your art supplies take over a good portion of the space.

Art Teacher works the microwave.

"How did you sleep?" he fills in the silence.

Oh yeah, you shared your bed.

"Fine." You know how it goes in stories. "Did we...?"

He keeps an eye on the rotating pancakes, "Did we what?" His back is turned.

"Did we - I mean you - wake up cuddling?" Grammatically, that could've been said better.

"What? No." He can't sound mean even if he tried.

"Really?" The odds of that happening should've been high.

The microwave beeps. He places the fluffy looking pancakes down, and dresses them up how you like.

How does he remember everything? It's sheer coincidence that your favorite hasn't changed.

You shove away the art supplies so he could give you the plate of deliciousness.

"You didn't have to, but thank you." The wonderful smell almost sends you back into the past.

The pancakes aren't imaginary.

You gobble them up when he's distracted by the art supplies.

When he looks back, he's briefly shocked.

You stand with an empty plate. You catch his eye and stiffly walk to the sink.

"I totally hated them." You hold in a chuckle while rinsing your plate off.

Art Teacher smiled with a certain warmth, "I'll keep that in mind." 

You spin on the balls of your feet. Oh! Didn't realize he was that close.

"They were awesome." You deadpan.

"I'm glad." He bashfully straightens a marker on the counter.

You grab some water.

"Did you want to cuddle me?" He couldn't shake the disappointment he heard from you earlier.

"What?" You dramatically scoff as you fill your glass. "Me? Cuddle you?" you stutter out nonsense at the possibility, "Unless you're asking to?" you side-eye him while sipping your water.

The water isn't cooling your face!

Cuddling your imaginary friend wasn't on the agenda today.

That wasn't what Art Teacher meant but, "I would like to." He patiently replied. "Is it fun?"

You shrug and look at the colorful mess on the kitchen counter.

Organize, or save it for later?

Later!

Something feels up, and it's not the newfound fuzziness in your chest.

You promptly disappear into your room without a word to check your phone one more time. You scan through your texts.

"Shit!" you call out. "The party starts at two!" You have half an hour to make it!

It's a twenty-minute drive to your sibling's house.

You're more than halfway there!

Just one more turn at the end of this street.

"So... to be clear, nobody else can see you?" You speak up to ignore the anxiety of potentially being late. "And you're not some sort of demon?"

"What? Goodness no - I'm your IF," Art Teacher fidgets a little with his seatbelt while looking out the windshield and passing houses. "And, yeah, no one else can see me... Except for other IFs."

"There's more?" You make the turn.

Okay, the house should be on the right.

"Almost every child has one." Let's process that later.

"I think I'm confused because, how the hell did you make the pancakes?" Your adult mind tries to rationalize. "Never mind," You're just stressing.

The driveway is full of cars.

Colorful balloons are secured to their mailbox.

You have just enough room to fit in.

You park and unbuckle, mentally preparing yourself.

"Are you alright?" Art Teacher unbuckles as well, but he remains seated.

"Yeah, uh," You lean into the back seat to pull out your gift bag for your niece.

He curiously looked at its appearance.

"She's been interested in drawing and dinosaurs lately. I got her some coloring books, paint, a dino stuffed animal, and a card." It's ready to go.

Now to get out of the car.

Into a house full of strangers and little kids.

You fix up the tissue paper, "Are you coming?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure." He follows suit.

The car beeps as it locks. "I can't talk to you out loud," You give a disclaimer while walking up the pathway.

They should close the blinds, you can see the Happy Birthday banner from out here.

You're not even late, technically.

Oops, almost lost your train of thought.

"- Unless we meet outside, or in the bathroom, I guess?" You glance at him. "Thanks for going with me by the way."

"Of course." He seems distracted. Is he looking at the gift bag, or your hand?

You hear shuffling as you step on the porch.

Grabbing both of your attention, the door opens in a big swoop that nearly knocks you out.

"You made it!" Your sibling grinned, walking you through a bustling living room.

Art Teacher's attention is drawn towards the intricately carved fireplace.

Your home must be more modern, your fireplace doesn't look as fancy.

He snaps back to the present and silently trails after you. He side-steps around (presumably) other parental guardians.

"I'm glad you could make it!" You diligently follow your sibling to the Present Table. "The kids are playing in the yard, and cake and presents should happen at 2:30 to give them time to run off the sugar."

You accept a side-hug from them.

"Other than that, help yourself to whatever's on the tables."

Your sibling returns to their parent playdate.

You can see a bowl of chips on the coffee table, but you don't have the guts to waltz in there. Someone would expect conversation.

Whoever helped decorate did a good job. Look at all those colorful streamers on the ceiling.

The gift is delivered.

You'd say 'happy birthday', but you don't want to interrupt your niece's time with her friends outside.

The bathroom downstairs is occupied.

Upstairs it is! Nobody should be up there anyway.

The stairway is hidden off behind the living room, meaning no unnecessary conversations. 

Perfect. You muse, traveling through the empty dining room, around the office, all the way to the stairway.

You glance back at Art Teacher, who wordlessly went with you.

Someone with a funny scarf sneezes loud! It echoes.

Your foot slips at the audible disturbance. You frantically reach for the wooden railing, but miss completely.

Art Teacher rushed to support you. Your back fell against his front. He carefully pushes you upward.

Did anybody see that - You peer around the edge of the stairway.

The stranger (you forgot their name) with the funny scarf looks at you, then at their cup. Utterly befuddled. They just saw you float on your back.

You skedaddle upstairs before they look back.

"It's weird not hearing you talk." You say in the safety of your sibling's large bathroom.

Art Teacher rests his hands on his waist.

You sit on the sink.

He lightly chuckled, taking in the bathroom's aesthetic. "You said you can't talk to me out loud."

He's so confidently soft-spoken.

"Yeah... it's boring. I'd rather talk with you than anybody downstairs." You chime in. "Minus my family, but I don't wanna bother them."

You looked away.

"That's sweet." He hopes you're not purposefully isolating yourself.

Your subconscious replays when he caught you on the stairs earlier, fixating on the feelings that spawned after it.

For the memes, you almost asked "What are we?" but that wouldn't be appropriate, would it?

Not sure if he'd understand the joke either.

You should've asked once the two of you reached the top of the stairs, not five minutes later.

You dryly laugh. It wasn't even a proper laugh. More like a puff of air that could pass as a laugh.

"I don't get why you'd stick around for something like this, where you can barely talk to me. It's kind of awkward -"

"Do you want me to go?" Art Teacher's brows lower sympathetically as he leaned against the door.

"No, no, no."

"Okay..." It must be your imagination, because you swear his dot-eyes softened on you. "What did you say is kind of awkward?"

Are you supposed to tell someone you might be getting a crush on them? Are you supposed to admit it? Or is it rude if you're not 100 percent sure?

Or what if it's 100 percent crazy because he's just an imaginary friend.

...Would he be my imaginary boyfriend?

You silence that line of thinking immediately.

You accidentally left Art Teacher on heard.

"Uh..." What's something to do while you wait for cake and presents - "Do you want to prank people?"

Your poor target is the person with the funny scarf. They leave the crowd the most.

You silently coach Art Teacher from the deserted dining room. He's confused. You sit up from behind the table to grasp a fork, waving it around like a ghost would as an example.

The stranger adjusts their funny scarf while pouring themself another drink.

You give a thumbs up, then duck under the plastic covering that's placed in preparation of the cake!

You lay flat on your stomach to peek through the bottom opening.

Someone calls, "What are you doing?" Of course your sibling just had to be here at this time.

Wait, that's not - "Happy Birthday! Look, look." You whisper-shout as you scoot over. She climbs under the table with you. Looking where you are.

"What?" She stares at her neighbor with the funny scarf.

Art Teacher hesitantly lifts an apple of all things around, discreet enough so the others on the couch wouldn't notice.

The person with the funny scarf clutches their cup and flinches backwards. They stutter out something, but the apple is already returned.

Art Teacher snuck back into the dining room.

The person's voice fades while asking for witnesses from the living room.

"Did you see that?" You snicker behind a fist. You crawl out from under the table.

Rory's eyes sparkled. "You have one too?!" she holds her head.