Chapter Text
It only started as a project.
You could sit and call Castiel a creep – you could call him whatever you wanted, really. But name-calling would never change the fact that Castiel was an artist. Or, at least, that's what every school faculty member and every classmate had been telling him his entire life. That must make it true. Right?
Either way, whether Castiel could rightfully be called an artist or not, he was merely partaking in a study. A study of the human form, if you will. The Novak had been required to take a Figure Drawing course in order to earn his degree, and – so far – it had been the most depressing art course he had taken in his life. Castiel had always been a talented artist, but he was only experienced with drawing scenery and nature.
Castiel was what you would call “outdoorsy”; he was fairly acquainted with and most at ease in the midst of a leaf-covered ground, or a blooming tulip. Some of Castiel's best work had been of flowers – he had actually won a scholarship because of one of his paintings (a ladybug atop a yellow tulip – the stark contrast between the red and the yellow had made for a very aesthetically-pleasing composition, and luckily the judges had recognized his knack for composition).
Anyhow, the point is that the Novak was completely and utterly out of his element in that class. Each composition so far was utter trash in his eyes – he couldn't even draw a simple body. He was steadily working on facial features, but he needed a more 3D model.
That was when he found Dean.
Dean Winchester was probably the most valuable specimen when it came to modeling. Castiel had never actually come into contact with the wrestler, but he certainly knew his name. Everyone at Whitewater University did. He also knew that Dean was a rarity that belonged in the modeling industry. Maybe even a museum.
But, whether or not Dean would ever actually consider modeling, for now... he was Castiel's model.
Okay, this is probably a vital point to mention that Dean did not know that he was modeling for Castiel's art.
And it was definitely not a wrong thing to do on Castiel's part. He never asked the flowers and trees for their permission to draw them in their natural state...
...Okay. So, this was different. And entirely able to be perceived as creepy as all hell. But, artists did things all the time that were perceived as weird or creepy, yet essential to artistic progression. This fell into that category. It definitely was not stalking.
And it wasn't as though Castiel had been wanting to draw Dean before he stumbled upon him. I suppose it would help to tell the story from the top.
Basically, here is the shortened version of the story: Castiel was frustrated beyond belief. The student's confidence in his own art had been steadily declining since the start of the new semester and (therefore) the start of his new courses. This new Figure Drawing course made him feel like he couldn't draw worth shit.
He was sitting outside, by the track, sitting on the bleachers and sketching nature, just to boost his confidence.
“You're doing fine, Castiel,” he murmured to himself, taking a breath in an attempt to will away the impending anxiety attack. “All you need is a little practice. It's just like everything else.”
The Novak had glanced over at the track as the wrestlers came out in their gym shorts and t-shirts, stretching their muscles as they prepared for their cardio workout. Castiel wasn't particularly interested in sports – he drew nature, not bodies – and so he disregarded them, glancing back down at his sketchbook and continuing his work.
Wait.
Castiel looked back up, suddenly eager, desperation in his eyes. Bodies. Bodies! He almost laughed like a madman at the opportunity. Sure, they wouldn't exactly be as still as a model usually would, but it would be a great start. As the wrestlers began their run, Castiel found himself focusing intently on them, trying to decide which one he wanted to draw.
There was Chuck, who looked as though he belonged in the Journalism club rather than the wrestling team. He didn't seem like the best start. There was Benny, tall and bearded and muscular. Castiel shrugged to himself, not sure if he wanted to jump right into bigger musculature. He sort of wanted to start somewhere around average. This was about the time Dean Winchester breached his field of vision. Castiel's eyes widened. Of course! It was too fucking obvious.
Now, Dean was like the Adonis of Whitewater – perfectly symmetrical facial features, perfect body (as far as Castiel could tell... not that he looked a lot). He was the physical embodiment of art; he was the epitome of symmetry, every artist's dream model. And, for now, he was an unwilling participant in Castiel's latest project.
It was after this that Castiel suddenly became obsessed with drawing the human figure. Well, Dean's figure. Okay, he knew that it would be more healthy to add some variety to his models, but there was something about drawing Dean that was so... Well. Whatever it was, Castiel would say that he felt his skills improving each time he drew Dean.
He'd been drawing Dean for weeks now. His art teacher was even noticing his improvement, and her impressed gaze at each new drawing was enough to motivate him to continue. Each practice day, Castiel found himself out on the bleachers, eyes fixed on Dean, pencil ready. But there were only so many sketches he could draw of Dean running, stretching, and the like.
So, he had to get more inventive.
Right now, he was following Dean at a safe and respectable distance, staring down at a book in his hand (though not actually reading it), glancing up every so often to make sure he hadn't lost the guy. This may be the point where one would consider it stalking, but this was nothing like stalking. It wasn't like Castiel was doing this for some... sick, perverted reason. It was all in the name of art, and Castiel would do pretty much anything for the sake of his art.
That was why he was now following Dean through campus, watching him carefully, even as the Winchester neared the fountain in the center of the campus, standing there for a moment, staring at the fountain in what seemed like pretty deep thought. Whatever the guy was thinking, Castiel had no time to ponder as he quickly seated himself on a nearby bench, flipping open his sketchbook to a fresh page and beginning to sketch. He'd barely gotten down the guidelines of Dean's figure when he looked up to see Dean reach into his pocket and pull out a coin, flicking it into the water.
Luckily for Castiel, Dean remained there for a bit, standing in front of the fountain, and Cas could get down most of the important details; then, Dean was turning, dropping his bags onto the ground and sitting on the edge of the fountain. It was then that Castiel could see his face, read the worry written there, the way he clasped his hands and pressed them to his lips, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. The scene was enough to distract Castiel for only a few moments, his expression softening and his posture straightening. Then he was shaking his head and redirecting his attention to his sketchbook. This was no time to be concerned for random wrestling stars.