He's back, again.
It's impossible to pin down the exact day he started attending. He's sifted his way in, dropping in here and there, subtle, unassuming. Always with that posh-looking black bag hanging off his shoulder, dropped so nonchalantly next to his desk as he slouches into his seat, crossing his legs, lifting his eyes to greet her. Small nod, polite smile. Hello again.
He always sits towards the back. Never raises his hand. He'll sometimes tilt his head to get a better view of the subject, but even this motion is incredibly reserved, minimal. His clumsy grasp of his pencil could do with some work, but Annie doesn't dare approach the issue. Something about his smooth cheeks, his sharp clavicles, holds her back -- a formidable, hidden barrier, so commonly found about the angel-faces of the world.
Annie pipes up: "Okay everyone, that's sadly our time for today. Let's start winding down."
She starts packing down the still-life spread: faux apples and grapes. Lazy afternoon light cutting in through the old library windows, final conclusive scratches of graphite on paper. Pencils clapped down, coats slung back on, quiet words of thanks and farewell as the cohort disperses. Annie makes a point of standing by the door and engaging in the parting conversation -- it's something she's working on.
He's the last to leave. Like something from an errant daydream, he pauses before making his exit, drifts over to Annie's desk. Sinks into one hip, sunrays catching in his dark locks. Well-balanced face breaking into a disarming smile as he uses her name: "Thanks as always, Miss Anette."
Annie blinks at the suddenness of it all. "You're welcome... I'm sorry, I really should know your name."
"Don't be. It's Marcel." He shakes her hand and she tries to ignore the softness in his grasp, the way it almost turns into a caress as they break apart. "It's my own fault. I've made no efforts to socialise here. I'm sorry, it's just how I've been lately." Money-cushioned voice, not in a bad way, though.
"Oh, that's no trouble." Annie forces herself back into teacher mode. "We're here to learn, after all -- plenty of us don't talk all that much. I tend to hang back if that's what I'm sensing from someone."
"Well, I'll take this chance to say I don't mind a chat." Dimples bunching up his marvelous cheeks.
"I'll keep that in mind, Marcel."
He hikes his bag up onto his shoulder, readying to leave. Little glint in his walnut eyes, shifting, changing colour. "Nice to finally say hi, Miss Anette."
Annie chuckles. "Please. Just call me Annie."
"Annie. Will do." Curls his fingers in a little wave, disappears.
Annie waits for his distant footsteps to vanish altogether, takes a moment to shield her face with her hands. Exhales into them: shame.
He's so young. He was just being polite. There was nothing there.
He's so
young
.
A week later, Annie tries her best to mask her sideward glances. Can't help but feel like she's failing miserably.
She adores the way he draws. Utterly attentive, wrist steady by his paper, poised to twitch into action as soon as the next line reveals itself. A transparency in his eyes: bright, focused. The way he chews his lip in hidden consternation.
It's the final Wednesday of the month, which means life drawing. The model stands with one arm slack down by his side, the other arced overhead like some ancient Greek athlete. Annie's gaze remains that of an artist as she sweeps among her students: eyes only for the purity of line, clarity of description, weight, energy. "Good ridges on the spine. Torso's a bit off balance. Lower that testicle."
It's not the mere presence of the nude human form that presses the issue. It's the fact that, mere paces away, Marcel is gazing upon the same sight, capturing it in his own sweeping, vigorous manner.
He calls over to Annie before she manages to sneak back to her desk. "Could I have some help, please?"
Annie potters over, smiling as politely as she can.
Why couldn't you have asked that when we were doing fruit bowls last week?
She leans over his work, maybe a bit too far. "What's up?"
"Chest. Trouble with the chest. It looks too empty."
Annie spots the issue instantly, gently points it out. "The motion here affects the muscles. See how the chest is more bunched up on this side? It's because the arm is being drawn across the body."
