gallavich artist/model AU one shot that i'm thinking of turning into something longer...thoughts??
It was nearly 8:30am, and Mickey had to stifle a yawn as he walked to his first class of the day, Life Drawing 101. He’d stayed up late the night before to put some final touches on an essay for his art history class. He wasn’t completely satisfied with it, but lucky for him, it wasn’t due for another few days.
Mickey took another gulp from his coffee cup. If it was up to him, he would have never even signed up for the morning slot of Life Drawing. But he’d had some issues at the registrar’s office, and by the time he got them sorted, the 8:30 class was the only one open.
It didn’t turn out to be that bad, Mickey found. After all, the class was only twice a week, and he’d ended up really liking his professor. She was a no-nonsense bullshit detector art historian who’d be teaching there the past 5 years. And he had one or two people in the class who he was friendly with. Mickey didn’t have tons of friends in college, but he didn’t need to. He was perfectly happy with a roommate he only saw a few times a week, some acquaintances in his classes, the occasional casual hookup, and a weekly phone call with his sister Mandy.
She was the one who inspired Mickey to even apply for this college in the first place. He always knew he’d liked art and drawing, but going to school for it never really seemed like an option for a South Side piece of trash like him. And if Terry was still alive today, he would’ve beat the shit out of Mickey and done everything in his power to sabotage it for him. He would’ve thought it was the most ridiculous and faggy thing Mickey could’ve chosen for his future. Milkoviches weren’t meant for college or higher ambitions, they were meant for drug rings, underground cartel operations, and being the menace of South Side Chicago.
But Mandy escaped that—in fleeing an abusive boyfriend, she eventually ended up in New York City making a living as a waitress while taking night classes for business. And she seemed to be doing pretty okay, too, judging from their usual calls. Mickey had been so happy for her. So when the opportunity to apply came, she pushed him to go for it. Without her, Mickey probably wouldn’t even be here right now. And he would always be grateful to his sister for that.
The door to the classroom opened then, jolting Mickey out of his thoughts. He filed in slowly with some of the other students who had been waiting alongside him, and claimed one of the spots with an easel stand and chair. The room was laid out with many more of these, spread out in a circle around the room, with a chair in the center. Mickey actually found himself enjoying drawing the variety of models in this class. He was learning a lot about anatomy, techniques, and how to know when to sketch fast and quick and when to slow down and take his time on details. He wondered if they would get the same model today as their last few classes; it was an elderly overweight woman with silvery hair and a mouth that would make a sailor cower. So far, she’d been his favorite. As he got settled at his easel stand, Mickey spotted one of the guys from his other class, Jared, and nodded at him.
“Hey, Jared.” Mickey accepted Jared’s fist bump. He was a weird dude, but alright. Super fucking talented, too.
Jared sat at the spot next to Mickey and started to take his materials out of his backpack. “Dude, that essay for Art History is killing me. Did you finish it?”
Mickey smirked, setting up his pencils and charcoal as well. “Almost. ‘m glad it’s not due till Friday.”
A few more minutes of them chit-chatting and Mickey watching the other students fill up the room passed, until Professor Marks, at the front of the room by her desk, lifted up her head and addressed the class.
“Good morning, everyone. Today we’ll be trying some new techniques with a new model. Remember what we went over in our last class. We’ll be doing a variety of poses again. So, please welcome Ian.” She looked off to the side and gestured for someone to come in.
Mickey was focused on his materials, wondering if he should use pencil first or charcoal. He was very particular about how he set up his art materials; they had to be arranged in a certain order, depending on when and how often Mickey would use them. Jared thought it was amusing, but for Mickey, it helped him do his best work. He twirled a pencil in his hand, thinking. So he was only half-listening when Professor Marks introduced the new model, and he glanced up a few moments after the dude greeted everyone and started walking to his chair in the middle of the room.
Holy shit, this was maybe the hottest guy Mickey had ever seen. He was tall, chiseled, and had eyes so green they stood out against his pale skin and flaming red hair. He was in nothing but a robe and slippers. Mickey knew he was staring, but he couldn’t stop himself. Faintly, he heard Professor Marks talking, but he could barely register her words.
“Mickey,” he heard Jared hiss at him under his breath. Mickey barely looked over.
Mickey tore his eyes away from the literal god who’d just walked in and made his palms start sweating. “Huh?”
“I’m fine.” He brushed Jared off, embarrassed. This was fine. He was an artist. He’d drawn attractive people before. This was no different. But all thoughts spilled out of his head as soon as Mickey glanced up to see the model (Ian, was it?) disrobe and stand next to the chair, holding a pose.
Shit, this guy was ripped. And had the biggest dick Mickey had ever seen. He knew he had to look at the dude—that was the whole point of the class—but all of a sudden, Mickey felt incredibly shy, like he wasn’t supposed to be.
He swallowed and reached out for one of his charcoals blindly, but he was so flustered that he knocked all his materials over and bumped into his easel stand. A few people glanced his way, Ian included, to Mickey’s horror.
Shit. Fuck, fucking shit.
Mickey cleared his throat and straightened, noticing Ian still looking at him. He was only able to meet his gaze for a second before he had to look away, his face burning and his pulse racing. But he could see that the guy had a smirk on his face, so knowing, as if this sort of thing happened to him every time.
This was going to be the longest class ever.
