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Under other circumstances, Neal might find it funny. There's a slow-motion train wreck developing right there in front of him. One on side of the bar, the slightly-too-intense kid from Neal's life drawing class - the one who has scared off at least six models so far. On the other side, the stoic-looking must-be-an-MBA guy who sat for them this evening. The one who had been perfectly, amazingly still the whole time, without blushing or adjusting himself or any of the other sins that can spoil a perfectly good life drawing. Except he's blushing now – slow colour creeping up his face – because he can see the crash about to happen. Ben is about to walk over to this guy, standing in the middle of a group of his MBA friends, and say, "Didn't I see you naked this evening?"
Something in Neal twinges with sympathy or guilt, or maybe that burning desire to actually pass life drawing and finish college some time in the next decade. He grabs Ben's arm before he reaches their model and whispers, "If you shame another model into leaving, I'll set Kate on you."
He keeps a light, conversational tone, but Ben blanches. Neal carefully steers him back across the bar to their classmates. Neal looks over his shoulder and does not resist the impulse to wink at the model. To Neal's surprise, the guy smiles back at him.
*
What they don't understand is, Neal takes art seriously. He doesn't take many other things seriously perhaps, but art is different. People joke about life drawing, and it's certainly not Neal's favourite class, but he respects the fact that it is a part of his course and part of art history. He is a serious artist. He is absolutely not going to flirt with the model.
It's just that the model is gorgeous. Neal knows this, because he's spent the last hour drawing the line of his broad shoulders and the way the muscles of his stomach are held taut. Not like he's one of those gym nuts but like he works hard at something he cares about. He's solid – handsome, not pretty - and Neal is falling in love with his blunt fingers and the creep of hair down his chest.
Neal wishes he had taken a better seat that first evening. He wants more than a profile of the guy's face. Wants to see if he's as unmoved as he looks from the slope of his neck and the steady almost-smile that bends his lips.
There are guys that don't care who sees them naked – Neal is one of them. There are guys who think so much of themselves that they'll sit on the stool and preen the whole time. Neal hates that. This guy, to watch him in the bar, hadn't looked like either of those. He had been wearing slacks and a blue shirt: not looking for a date or trying to catch attention. He makes Neal wonder and that is something rare. Neal is fascinated.
*
Moz doesn't even look up from his cryptography text. "No business students in this apartment."
"Moz."
"Was he wearing a suit? A tie? I bet he owns a briefcase. We don't want his kind here."
"He was naked, Moz, he didn't have a tie."
"In the bar, I mean. This is the same guy, right? The subject of your sad obsession? Look, I made this very clear when I agreed to live with a college junior – I will not compromise my principles to help you get laid."
"You're Professor Murrow's TA. Didn't he consult for the FBI?"
Moz stares at Neal and says, "I'm gathering information about how they think."
"Of course."
Neal goes back to musing about the model, and his own increasing urge to mouth "I'm Neal, what's your name?" the next time the guy turns his head. He really doesn't want to be that person, but their studies are nearly finished and then he'll lose his chance. It just feels so tacky to approach someone after you've already seen them naked. Neal isn't prudish at all and he still can't think of a way to broach that conversation without freaking the guy out.
Moz must take pity on him. He interrupts Neal's sigh with: "Anyway, have you tried just talking to the man? Preferably when he has clothes on, but I know you're not picky about that kind of thing."
"That was one time! And I can't exactly walk up to him in the bar and say…"
*
"Hey, don't I know you from somewhere?"
Neal spins around on his barstool. It's his muse, larger than life and grinning at him in a way that knocks every sensible thought out of Neal's head. "Hi?" Neal says.
"Hello. I think I owe you a drink. For the rescue?"
"You really don't need to…" Neal demurs. "Ben is just a little bit… he wouldn't have meant anything by it. He probably just wanted to compliment your…" Neal sees the raised eyebrow and stops. There are plenty of things Ben could have been complimenting but Neal gets the impression he should stop talking now.
"Anyway," the guy says. "Peter Burke. What am I buying you, Neal?"
Neal blinks. "Do I want to know how you…?"
Another smile. "I've spent six hours just sitting there naked while a room of people stare at me. Maybe I've been staring back."
Neal tries to think of something charming to say in response. This isn't normally a problem for him. He ends up with, "You sit very still."
Peter laughs. "Is that a compliment?"
"What? Yes, it is. Most people shift about, or change expression or… and you just sit there. It's nice. You make it easy. Artists appreciate that. I appreciated it, anyway."
Peter is flushing again and Neal doesn't know what he did. Peter coughs. "So, do artists drink regular beer or are you going to embarrass me by making me order something bizarre?"
"I don't know, do business students drink something other than domestic swill?"
Peter leans back with a smile. "Maybe I'll surprise you." He rests his hands easily on the bar and, without any other signal, he has the attention of the barman. That's why he's such a good subject: he commands attention without screaming for it. Neal finds himself watching Peter again and wanting his pencils. He tilts his head so he can finally get a good look at Peter's face without being interrupted. Neal ends up staring into Peter's quizzical frown. Peter has caught what he is doing and is looking back. "What?" Peter asks.
"Nothing. So, you are an MBA, yes?"
"With electives in Public Policy and Economics. Aiming for government work, really make a difference, you know?"
Neal groans. He definitely can't bring Peter back to the apartment. Mozzie will kill him. Neal himself is clearly lost – he almost believes that Peter means what he says.
Peter doesn't ask. He says, "And I assume you are an Art major? Or are you just taking life classes to meet people?" Somewhere along the line they've progressed to teasing. Neal had hoped it was humour there he saw, the way Peter's lips curve when he sits still for them to capture. It's nice not to be disappointed.
Neal says, "Come on, Peter, I need more of a challenge than that. Just look how easy it was to get you to buy me a drink. But yes, Art major with a minor in History." It's an easy shift to Italy, and the Renaissance, and Peter is surprisingly well-informed for a guy pretending that he needs Neal to tell him what a fresco is. It's all going well until Neal remembers what brought them here and asks, "So, how'd you end up as a life model?"
"Ah, my girlfriend. She really wants to go travelling this summer and we're saving money. One of her friends takes classes in your department and she told me you guys were paying for models. Not exactly my scene but the money's pretty good." Neal is busy trying to process just how badly wrong he's read this situation when Peter knocks against his arm. "Oh, there's El now."
Neal tries to shift away, but Peter's hand is on his wrist. All Neal can do is stand up to greet her. "Hi."
She hugs him once around the shoulders. "You must be Neal. I'm Elizabeth. Peter told me you were in the art class he's sitting for. Is he being good?"
"He's… very good. A natural, actually. Look, I should probably…"
"Don't go," Peter says.
Elizabeth nods. "Stay a while, Neal. We'd love the company."
*
He figures out, eventually, that this hadn't been as well planned as it looked. Peter was winging it a little; he sent El a message when Neal looked away; they don't do this all the time. Neal wonders if he's slipping, missing the signs like that, and decides he probably doesn't care. Serendipity has long been one of his favourite words.
The next sitting, Peter turns his head and mouths, "Hey, Neal," before settling into his perfect unmovable stance.
Neal grins, and amends his sketch with the darkening hickey he'd planted right above Peter's hip. This will turn out to be the best life drawing he ever manages to produce. He aces the class and accepts the professor's praise without telling her that he cheated, just a little. Tactile knowledge is a real advantage.