#drunk dramatic art student Tyson has suddenly become very important to me

[fanforthefics]

17, tyson/gabe

meeting at a party whilst drunk au

Tyson doesn’t believe in regret. Regret is for people with too much time on their hands, whose lives are filled with the plebeian and the mundane. Tyson is an artist, he carpes the diem, he lives his life to the fullest, he doesn’t take the time to look back and regret. He should basically be in Moulin Rouge. 

That being said, he is maybe going to regret that last tequila shot. 

“No, see, you don’t get it,” Tyson tells Nate, his solo cup waving in the air. “It’s just a boring class, it’s not even hard.” 

“You want to trade?” Nate asks. He’s slumped on the couch, a beer in his hands that he looks too dispirited to even drink. His latest midterm really took it out of him. “You can be the mech e major, and I’ll go to your classes and draw shit.” 

“But then who will support me when I’m a starving artist?” Tyson asks. He gives Nate his biggest, most pleading eyes. “I need someone to save me from my tuberculosis.” 

Colin, from his other side, snorts and grabs Tyson’s solo cup before it tips over. “I think your dad’s money will do that,” he points out, which is maybe true but like, a low blow. 

“Whatever. You guys are just lame,” Tyson informs them. “I don’t know why I’m friends with you.”

“Neither do I,” Colin replies easily. Tyson sticks out his tongue. 

“Just for that, I’m going to go find someone else who will understand my woes,” he announces. 

Nate sighs, like the world has crashed down upon his shoulders. “No, it’s good, I need to hear about someone else’s problems so me failing out of school won’t sound as bad.” 

“You didn’t fail,” Tyson tells him, kicking at his leg. “Come on, get up, we need you moving.” He tugs. Nate sighs again, but at least now he’s upright. He just needs another drink and maybe some karaoke. Tyson’s going to go look into that, as soon as he’s done bitching. “But seriously. How am I supposed to get better as an artist if they don’t give me good models?” 

“I thought you said that Roman was the model,” Colin asks. He seems to get on board with Tyson’s herding them through the party towards where the rest of the drinks are, which is good because Tyson needs one hand for pulling Nate along and one for his solo cup. 

“Yeah, exactly, have you seen him? He’s way too pretty to be a model.” Tyson yells over the noise of the party. A dude they’re passing by turns to him, like he thinks they’re talking about him; Tyson nods to him because hey, no harm in letting him think that.  

“I don’t think that makes sense,” Nate says, listless. “Or maybe I’m not smart enough for it to make sense.” 

“Nah, you’re too sober for Tyson logic,” Colin tells him, patting him on the back. 

“No, it’s real,” Tyson insists. “I mean, yeah, you are too sober, come on finish that and I’ll make you something. But also, it’s real. Beautiful people are boring to sketch, they’re just–beautiful. There’s nothing new about it. You draw one perfect face, you’ve drawn all of them. Like, look at him.” Tyson gestures across the kitchen, to where the most beautiful blonde man he’s ever seen is standing, talking to another large blonde man who seems to be missing some teeth. “He’d be boring to draw. I could draw him in my sleep, probably. There’s nothing interesting there.” 

Maybe he says it too loudly. Maybe it’s one of those lulls in conversations that happen at parties. Maybe it’s just Tyson and his luck. Maybe this is that last tequila shot talking. 

Whatever it is, the beautiful man turns around, and gives Tyson a look that has him half quaking and a lot turned on. “Excuse me?” he demands. Even his voice is hot, what the fuck. 

Tyson, because he can’t not, doubles down. “You’d be boring to draw,” he tells him. “It’s not your fault, it’s just like, the one down side of being hot. I could draw you or I could draw Prince Charming, it’d be the same.” 

“I am not boring,” the guy protests, his face drawing together thunderously. It’s actually a pretty interesting expression. His friend, however, is looking delighted. “I am interesting.” 

“Fine, but your face isn’t. I mean, it’s gorgeous, and I’m an art student I should know, but it’s not interesting. See, this–” Tyson gestures to his face– “This is interesting. Your friend, without the teeth–that’s interesting.” The guy gives his friend a look like he’s betrayed his entire family. The friend is really grinning now. “You’re not.” 

“I’m not?” the guy echoes. “Prove it.” 

“What?” 

“Prove it,” he says, like he’s won. “Prove I’m so easy to draw.” It’s a dare, and he sounds like he doesn’t think Tyson’s going to do it, which just shows how little he knows Tyson. Which maybe makes sense, as he doesn’t know Tyson.

“Fine,” Tyson announces, and gets an incredulous look from the guy, a cackle from his friend, a resigned chuckle from Colin, and another sigh from Nate, who really isn’t as invested in this as Tyson thinks he should be. “Someone get me some paper and a pencil, we’re doing this.” 

“Tyson, you do abstract sculpture,” Colin mutters. Tyson ignores him. 

“Fine,” the guy snaps back. “EJ–” 

“Oh I am finding supplies,” the friend says. “Nemo must have them around here somewhere, don’t move.” 

“Should we move?” the guy asks Tyson, all false solicitousness. “I wouldn’t want you to be disad–disadvantaged–” he sluts the word a little– “By bad lighting.” 

“Fuck you, like you have bad lighting,” Tyson throws back. “We’re doing this right here. You, stand–” he pushes the guy back against the counter, where he’s got a decent contraposto going on. The guy goes, lets Tyson pose him, which means Tyson really gets some hands on knowledge of how muscled his arms are. 

“Okay, I’m–wow, you move fast,” EJ says, coming back in holding a notepad and a mechanical pencil aloft like trophies. 

“I’m posing him,” Tyson explains. He looks up–the guy is annoyingly, perfectly tall, of course–to find bright blue eyes looking down at him, still determined and a little hazy with alcohol but with a glint of good humor in them. It’s all very attractive. Tyson doesn’t regret this, exactly, but maybe he should have thought about this for a second. “You good? Not going to cramp up and mess me up?” 

“This is fine,” the guys replies. “If you can handle it.” 

“If I can handle it,” Tyson mutters, and grabs the paper and pencil from EJ. Neither of them are great quality, but whatever, he doesn’t need great quality. “I can handle you.” 

“Sure,” the guy retorts, and grins. It’s a frankly devastating smile. 

“Okay, clear the area,” EJ announces, pushing people away. “Come on, you get over there,” he tells Nate and Colin. Colin rolls his eyes and doesn’t move. Nate lets out a long breath but looks a little more interested in the proceedings as he moves people away, so, at least that’s a win. 

Then Tyson sits down to draw. 

It’s–look, he meant it. Beautiful people are easier to draw, in a lot of ways; they’re beautiful because they’re symmetric and simpler, basically. It’s like, basic aesthetic theory. But also, that’s only true if you don’t put effort into it, because the longer Tyson draws the more he sees, like, the little crinkles at the corners of the guy’s eyes like he smiles a lot, and the cocky set to his shoulders, and the smudge on his hand probably from pen, which means he probably is old school and likes handwritten notes. Tyson likes art because he likes to find that in people, in things; find the inside and make it the outside, and even drunk that’s true. 

So all in all, the drawing’s not bad, even for a rough sketch, is what he’s saying, but he feels oddly shy when he puts down the pencil. Colin and Nate have wandered away a little chatting to EJ about who knows what; they aren’t paying attention anymore. 

“There,” he says. “Done.” 

“Well let me see,” the guy demands. “Come on, I have to judge if I really am that easy to draw.” 

“Whatever, it was about interesting, not boring,” Tyson tells him, but he hands over the notepad, then waits as the guy stares down at it, his mouth gaping a little open. 

Tyson is not capable of waiting for more than thirty seconds, though, so, “So?” he prompts. 

The guy looks up. He doesn’t look so snappish anymore. “You should sign it,” he tells Tyson. “That’s what artists do, right?” 

“What, you aren’t keeping–” 

“Yes I am,” the guy says. “But first, you’re signing it.” He holds out the notepad. Tyson takes it back, looking at little skeptical. It’s not that good. 

“And,” the guy goes on. “You should probably add your number. In case I have any follow up questions.” 

Tyson freezes. Looks up halfway through his signature. 

The guy is still looking at him, but there’s a smile twinkling in his eyes and the corners of his lips. 

“That was really smooth,” Tyson tells him, and adds his phone number. 

The guy laughs, and takes the notepad back, then switches hands so he can hold his right out for Tyson to shake. “Gabe,” he tells Tyson. His hand is warm, and lingers a little. “Maybe I can prove that I really am interesting–” he glances down at the sketch– “Tyson.”  

Tyson grins back. Yeah, he regrets nothing.