Chapter Text
Scribble scribble skitch rub scribble Skitch.
Oh, this is going to be a good one. You smile at the paper of your sketchbook. It’s always exhilarating when an idea graspes you like this. An electric pulse that surges through you with the urge to create!
You are between classes right now. So you decide to take advantage of the air conditioning by drawing in one of the empty classrooms. Fortunately, you did this a lot so you knew which rooms were empty and when.
Unfortunately, you often get so caught up in your drawing that you drown out the entire world…along with your sense of time.
That’s what is happening to you now.
You barely even hear the bell echoing in the hall. Shit, is that the second or third bell? It doesn’t matter, you are on a roll. No stopping now! You’ll loose your flow! You sketch fervently away. You just have to get this done and then you’ll leave…
…
It’s the tell-tale tapping next to you that finally gives you the message you're taking too long. But! Just a few more crosshatches and you would get up-
Is someone touching your stuff?
“Excuse me?”
You jerk your attention back to reality as you lock eyes with the owner of the offending hand touching your bag.
“Um, no. Put that down.” -is what you want to say. Instead you blink owlishly at the person sneering at you.
“Do you have anything better to be doing? Get out of my seat!” They practically snarl at you.
It’s hard not to retort that the seat didn’t belong to anyone except for the college. That you are almost done and they can sit anywhere they want. Instead you collect your things and walk into the hallway without a word. Ignoring the snide comments that you ‘do this every day’ because you ‘had nothing better to do’. ‘No one to talk to’. Etcetera, etcetera.
You hold your sketchbook tightly with your thumb on the edge, to keep the page taught and flat as you walk.
It’s a lot harder to draw while walking. But if you are carful you can get the rough idea down before you forget. It’s the worst when you forget!
Without looking you instinctively know when to lift your hand up to open a door and all the spots to stop and glance around for incoming human traffic. Each time bringing your eyes back to the page after only milliseconds. You know where you are going next after all.
There is one spot you knew of that no one went (during the day or sober that is) that was great for drawing. You would have gone there earlier to avoid confrontation, but it was just so hot out today. You wanted to enjoy that sweet air conditioning while you could. Especially since you couldn’t afford it at home…
Another left corner and you would be there. The foliage covered path just outside the south campus buildings. It was barely trodden on from lack of use. Just a short walk and soon a small area by the river opens up. The various trees and other plant life provide shade. The dirt can be seen in one patch just before the largest oak. At the base sits a metal memorial bench dedicated to some rich philanthropist that donated money to the college.
Natural light, shade, and privacy.
The perfect spot to draw.
You glance up from your book. Making just a quick preliminary check for any trash or ugh needles or puddles of mysterious spilled liquids before you sit down and you can-
Who the hell is that…
Someone is on the bench. No. No. NO! That. That is your drawing spot! No one comes back here!
You blink and rub your eyes with your free hand. Trying to erase the slumped figure lounging in your signature spot.
But no. There is indeed someone here. Slouched over with a hood covering their face, hands tucked into the large front pocket of a dirty blue hoodie.
You gingerly step forward meaning to ask if they are alright. They’re sitting in a rather uncomfortable slouched position. Must be killing their neck.
Then you noticed how slow they are breathing.
They are either dying veeeeerry slowly or…
Yeah no…they just snored.
Fucker is asleep.
Well. Ok then.
You look around, your book catches your eye. Right your drawing! You have to get back to it before the idea goes away! But the person…
Well, the bench is fairly big. And they are sleeping! You won’t bother them! Yeah, it will be fine. You take a deep breath and gingerly inch onto the bench to avoid waking the stranger.
Pencil back on paper you try to focus on drawing, but find yourself continuing to look up at the sleeper.
“I shouldn’t.” You think.
…
“It’s so embarrassing when I get caught.” You halfheartedly reminded yourself with a mumble.
But then you look at them again. The sun is hitting the branches of the trees above in just the right angle. It’s light creating rippling shadows across the face of the slumbering figure.
You bite your lip.
“…it *is* great for practice.” You mumble and tap your pencil against your knee.
Biting your lip harder you begin slowly opening up to a new page. A mischievous glint in your eyes as you put your pencil back on the paper and start drawing the basic shapes that make up their general form.
This isn’t the first time you’ve sketched someone who’s fallen asleep. You’ve done it a handful of times before in coffee shops or during history classes when overtired peers collapse beside you. They made great models because of how little they moved and the complex positions their bodies naturally slumped into. It was just…it’s extremely awkward when you get caught doing it. You know it’s creepy as shit but…old habits die hard.
You’ve just started shading your sketch when you hear a soft grumbling. Eyes shooting up you watch as the figure begins sliding down the bench, gravity having caught up with their odd angle.
You try not to smile but can’t help it. The sight reminds you of those animal videos where a kitten or something tries to stay sitting up while falling asleep.
It’s hard not to smirk. They are halfway off the bench now. You should probably do something about this before they fall on the ground and hurt themselves.
“Um, sir?” Your voice is crackly from not speaking most of the day.
They continued sliding down.
You gently place your notebook on the dusty ground as you clear your throat.
They are almost off the bench now. Uh oh. You really didn’t want them waking from the fall and assuming you pushed them off. That would be an awkward encounter.
So, you tap their shoulder as lightly as possible.
“Sir?” You try to speak softly.
This was not your best move based on their reaction.
At your prodding their whole body jerks violently. Their head clunks against the rusty metal back board behind them resulting in a metallic *twang* that rings through the air.
“Gah!” You squeal in an inelegant manner. Birds begin flying away from the sudden sound.
The stranger jumps awake and fumbles to brace themselves…before slipping and falling back again. Your hand jumps up to your face as you suppressed your giggles as best you can. You can’t help it, you are kinda clumsy yourself and the sight of someone else falling fills you with guilty schadenfreude.
Damn. The bench is still vibrating slightly underneath you from the leftover force. They must have whacked their noggin pretty hard.
“That looked like it hurt.” The verbal diarrhea cimes out before you can stop yourself.
The stranger quickly recovers from the fall and whips around to look in your direction. Impossibly dark eyes glare up at you. It is... a startling sight to say the least. But it has to be the angle they are looking up. There is just no way they have pitch black eyes. Either way, that glare screams danger.
You both visibly stiffen.
“I’m sorry! Are you alright?” You try to smile and offer them a hand up.
“I’m….fine…” the stranger speaks warily.
You still can’t see their face all the way but as they talk you swear something starts…glowing? A white light seems to be almost leaking faintly behind that hood.
He (you are beginning to assume they are a he based off that baritone unless you are told otherwise) eyes your face warily before shifting his gaze to your outstretched hand.
“Sorry for laughing! I. um. I didn’t want to wake you up but you started slipping and it just heh-I think I made it worse huh.” You babbled.
“…no worries.” He says with an air of caution.
The air practically shakes when he talks. You can feel the deep rumble of his voice vibrate out of him. He sounds solemn and nervous. It reminds you of a large wild animal growling more than a human voice. Like a bear or a panther or something similarly apex.
Why isn’t he taking your hand? Are you making a face? Was your tone of voice wrong? You do that sometimes. Is he afraid? Why? You aren’t exactly a threatening looking person. Regardless you don’t want to scare the poor guy. Shoulders forcibly relaxing, you lower your voice to be softer and more welcoming.
“Is it more comfortable down there or do you need a hand?” You quirk a brow in his direction.
You open and close your palm while smirking. Doing your best to sound jokey but unsure if he is reading it that way.
His hood tilts down more and for a second you think he’s angry. Then his arm sharply lifts to meet yours.
When your hands connect you noticed that he isn’t just wearing a hoodie, but also thick leather gloves? In this heat? Actually now that you think about it, his *entire* body is covered. Long baggy pants, thick sneakers, long sleeves, they even have a black handkerchief covering the lower half of their face and nose. You can’t help but wonder, why?
It is unbearably hot out in the direct sunlight. You are sweating as it is in your thin shirt, the lower part of your back sticking uncomfortably to the material.
How is he wearing so many layers?
Once you feel you have a good grip you pull your linked hand in to tug him upright into a standing position. Holy crap he is heavier than you thought he’d be. Either that or he was an ass and went completely deadweight without you noticing. The entire time he keeps his head turned so you can only see the side of his hood. Is that on purpose? Seems too meticulous to not be purposeful. He must be wicked shy or just embarrassed he fell. You try even harder to warm your smile. You understand that feeling.
“Nice spot for a nap though. I Come here during breaks cause it’s so peaceful.” You comment.
He nods without looking at you, so you keep talking.
“Normally there isn’t anyone here and not a lot of people venture out to this close to the woods.”
His shoulders twitch and he breaths out a huff- a laugh maybe?-
“…yeah” His voice trails off.
He’s…staring at the ground behind you?
“It’s nice bumping into someone else though! Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t expecting anyone to like, be here? Never mind someone sleeping on my bench. Not that it’s my bench! Anyone can come here. it’s not like a bad thing?! Ha ha.”
Ugh, you had JUST gotten mad when someone claimed a seat belonged to them. Hello? Pot meet kettle? Why had you said that? And he clearly wants to be left alone! Why else would he be here! Why are you still talking?!?!!
He continues staring at something on the ground.
“Sorry I’m rambling. How did you find this spot anyway? You staying on campus?”
He is silent; still looking at the ground. Crap, you are making him uncomfortable aren’t you.
“Ehhehe. Sorry if that’s too personal. I uh totally understand. Some weirdo interrupts your nap and starts interrogating you? Uh no thanks right?” You feel awkward.
…Still not moving.
Must be uncomfortable with eye contact? Maybe?
He bends down to pick up whatever he was staring at. What is he looking at anyway- oh shit oh fuck oh god dammit.
“That’s ahhhh-” you attempt feebly to explain.
Your brain short circuits as you try to find an excuse for what he is looking at. He’s holding your, now open, sketchbook. OPEN to the page of the sketches you made of him SLEEPING just now. You had completely forgotten you were doing that!
“what the h-?” He nervously chuckles. Crap.
“I-I’m so so so sorry! I’m uh. I jus. You see I’m an illustrator? Or well learning to be an art therapist but um and you were in a funny pose and the lighting was really cool! and I can get rid of it it’s just a sketch. I’m sorry I know it’s not ok but I don’t like ah show these to people? they’re just for practice! and please don’t-“
“nice.” He interrupts you.
“What?” You blink.
“the drawings.” He opens another page. “they’re pretty good.”
“Oh. Thank you? You-You aren’t freaked out?”
“you said you aren’t showing anyone, right?” He questions.
“N-no! I wouldn’t without asking!”
“then. whatever. i’m not the drawing police. maybe i could *pencil some more* modeling into my schedule.”
“What?” You pause then realize that was a joke and laugh. “Nice one.”
You blush as he traces the outlines of one of your older sketches with his index finger. Some flowers you had seen on the way to school. A seagull. Your neighbor’s dog. Different trees. Random people. Another dog.
“you did all of these?” He asks.
He leans back to sit on the bench again as he starts flipping through more pages.
You kinda want to tell him it’s rude to go through someone’s sketchbook without asking. But you HAD drawn him without asking so you suppose it is a fair trade.
“Yeah. Just different things I’ve seen that caught my eye. They’re just doodles really.” You admit.
“huh.” He chuckles “they seem like a bit more than doodles to me.”
“Thanks.” You began fiddling with your fingers when you see where he is in your book. Shoot he needs to stop. “Um, you probably won’t like the next couple pages so maybe You could give-“
“think i can handle a few doodles.” He leans away and keeps flipping languidly.
“Well sure, but the next part is…? You know like… nudes? “ you reach out trying to take your book back.
You hold your breath in anticipation of his reaction.
At least now he would understand you are serious and he’d give back the book. He had gotten to the one thing you can’t quite explain to someone who isn’t an art major. Figure. Well, you had tried to warm him… wait what.
He hasn’t so much as flinched as he continues flipping through your sketches of bare ass naked models that had posed for your figure drawing class.
“nice work, but it’s kinda obvious you avoid drawing hands.” He comments.
He wasn’t bothered by your practice anatomy? Most people don’t feel comfortable with those if they aren’t familiar with it. Or they make gross jokes that made YOU uncomfortable. …Whatever! You have to stop him! He was almost to that section. You didn’t show those to ANYONE. You start sweating for reasons other than the heat.
“Haha okay. I think I’d like that back now? Don’t want to make you uncomfortable with my weird naked people pictures?” You try to sound nonchalant and fail.
He chuckles darkly holding the book out of your reach now. Fuck. Fuck. Crap fuck.
Shit. It’s the next page-
“don’t worry about me i have a strong stoma- what. the. actual. fuck.”
His entire body stills. His gloved fingers tighten on the book. You visibly cringe.
You love those drawing but…you knew how weird they looked.
Skeletons. Lots and lots of broken skeletons. You have a fascination with bones. In particular, you tend to draw broken ones. There are pages upon pages of cracked femurs, shattered ribs and caved in skulls. Yeah that looks so weird and you know it. Sort of serial killer-esk.
“I- w-well.”
He turns to you and you’re almost positive that something is in fact glowing under that hood. Except now it looks…blue? Or is that yellow?
“explain.” He growls.
“Excuse me?” You blank.
“you. are going to tell me. what this. is.” He shakes the notebook violently.
Wtf. Um? Usually people are grossed out or scared. But he is furious. Why? What is he even accusing you of?
“That’s. Private.” You speak definitely.
You feel your body lock up. You chock that up to your anxiety. A familiar yet different feeling of tightening grows in your chest. You can’t seem to look away from the guy holding your notebook hostage. You try to walk toward him, but find you can’t. Your legs just aren’t moving. A faint buzzing sound comes from behind you. Which you think is odd but ignore. One thing at a time here.
“kid. you have 30 seconds to explain.”
…kid???? Did he just call you a kid?! You know what? Fine. What the fuck ever. He fucking asked!
“Not that it’s any of your god damn business, but they’re nightmares, asshole.”
A beat of silence rings through the now eerily quiet woods. The only sounds are your breathing and that faint buzzing from behind you that you can’t place still.
“nightmares” he states flatly.
“Part of what my therapist prescribed for me is to draw my nightmares.”
Strangely the funny tight feeling in your chest seems to slowly be dissipating.
“oh.” Is all he says.
He sounds guilty. His head is angled down toward your chest? You hope to all hell he isn’t trying to checking you out after fucking yelling at you and learning you had night terrors. You cross your arm across your chest to shield yourself.
He puts the sketchbook down gently on the bench.
Even stranger than the chest feeling; the buzzing also, rather suddenly, goes away… but you don’t dwell on that. Instead, you pick up your book and snap it closed.
Pointedly he turns to faced away from you. Stuffing his hands in his hoodie pockets.
“What was that?” You scoff. “Why were you so mad at me? Out of nowhere?!”
You are pretty pissed and confused. But at least your anxiety has calmed down and your legs appear to be working again. Why hadn’t you been able to move before? We’re you that afraid? You don’t think you were, but maybe it was subconscious.
“looked like my nightmares too.” He mumbles.
“…oh.” is all you say.
Huh.
You understood why he was freaked out then. A warmth of sympathy rose from you both as you sit in silence. The birds begin chirping again. It was awkward, but also tranquil. You are about to try and think of something else to say. But just then your phone goes off.
He flinches at the electronic tone and turns to you again. Still concealing his face.
“Sorry that’s my alarm. Gotta go to my next class.” You fumble with your stuff putting your sketchbook and pencils in your bag. “Um, sorry for freaking you out and making you hit your head.” His shoulders slump.
“no i’m… i’m sorry for getting mad. honestly didn’t mean to *alarm* you by the way.”
You still as you process that. It wasn’t the first pun he had made in this conversation was it? You hope you can see him again. Maybe even pun with him. For some reason you really want to, despite only just forgiving his outburst.
“Heh. Alright. You seem to be *puns* of fun?” You smile warmly “Maybe I’ll see you around?
“heh. heh. yeah. *sketch* ya later, art girl.”
You laugh out loud as you walked away. Part way down the trail you turn around to wave at him before running off. There was a smile on your face you didn’t have when you entered the woods that day.
…Maybe you would try and "sketch" him again later.
***
That night a pair of dark eye sockets squinted at an old computer terminal. Bright lights shining as they observed the words on the screen. Words he would never remember typing; but had left for himself:
WELCOME USER:54N5
CURRENT FILE: untitled
INPUT COMMAND
>open data log
…
……
DATA LOG Day1_PacifistEnd OPENED
….
….
INPUT COMMAND
…..
>show previous save file
….
……..
PREVIOUS SAVEFILE(S) FOUND:
Summit1
Summit2
Summit3
Stay_In
Summit4
Summit5
Watch_Pap
93)?.$@3 -corrupted file detected-
IGNOREPREV
GO_BASE
MT_Base
Naptime
Meet_Her
Trust_us
…..
…..
INPUT COMMAND…..