The backpack slung carelessly over his shoulder grew heavier as he became closer to the art building. It dug into his delicate, fatless shoulder and burned his neck in a straining fashion, going ignored as he adjusted the large sketchpad under his same arm.

It was sophomore year of college and Lovino had finally gotten into a second-level art class. He was secretly thrilled to make it to a figure drawing class, feeling more like an artist now that he would be working from nude models; such a classic way to create fine art.

It felt good to be at such a big university to study his passion. That damn Feliciano was always better at art and work in general, and it was pleasing to be going to a separate school for once. No one here knew his perfect little brother and his perfect hand at drawing—this was all Lovino's turf!

So he trudged up the too-steep stairs and made it through the front doors and the halls until he reached his classroom: a strangely cold room filled with a semi-circle of metal easels and worn stools. He took his usual seat, next to the kind Canadian he chatted with every once in a while. To his left was a strange young man, someone who rubbed him the wrong way. He wore that weird scarf to class every day they had it, and it was usually eighty degrees out. It was very unsettling.

"Lovino," the Canadian had smiled. "I got this earlier, do you want some?"

He smiled as he tore off a piece of a giant cookie that the blonde had brought for a snack. Today was turning out good! He got to his easel in time to set up before the teacher got there (looking prepared was something he was ready to try out), he got a bit of warm cookie to snack on, and that creepy Ivan wasn't here! The perfect beginning to the perfect—

"I see you come early, da?"

Lovino shivered internally, glancing to see the creepy Russian smiling at him and setting up his own sketchpad. At least he had one today! Last time he asked Lovi for some paper and it took all his might not to tell him to fuck off and get his own.

But today is different! Ivan has his own paper and Matthew was talking to him—maybe he would make a friend? He always had trouble given his fuck off and die attitude. He was trying harder this year to make a change and be more open and, dare he admit it, nice?

More faceless students filtered into the room, including said Canadian's brother, who was the loudest person in a room of artists. He had a cocky air to him, which was strangely endearing. As the class set up their sketchpads and gathered their drawing supplies (vine charcoal, as per the professor suggested), Lovino barely caught the image of their nude model strolling in the door, holding coffee and a small cloth bag. He disappeared behind the silk curtains of the small dressing room before Lovino could properly make out if he was going to be cringing or enjoying the next three hours.

Their professor entered, explaining what media to use and how to properly do gesture drawings, to make spaghetti-like images and ignore making shapes until it's time to define their work. Lovino sighed, leaning against his stool, balancing his pencils on his lap and wanting to get to drawing already. He was more than ready to start and become better than his damned brother.

But Feliciano wasn't the point.

His ears perked up when he heard the rustle of the curtain and saw the man who they would be drawing nude all semester. He confidently walked out, taking a seat on a small couch against the wall while their teacher continued rambling on about quick sketches.

This model wore a robe, looking like a stolen hotel one. He had simple sandals dangling from his feet and was accompanied by a small space-heater (a necessity, given even Lovino's cold blood was chilled in this large room). The man had a strong jaw line and no unneeded fluff at his neck, suggesting he was fit rather than fat (despite looking like a more aged man). Lovino watched him through the corner of his eye, careful to avoid looking at Ivan, who stood as a barrier.

This man had a defined face with high cheekbones, scruff to his jaw, and noticeable (but not sickly) collar bones peaking from his robe. He was olive-skinned, much like Lovino, and looked strong despite the fluffy bathrobe. His face was so clear and smooth and his eyes matched his chocolate, curled hair—

Oh god.

Dio no.

It struck Lovino like a sack of kittens thrown into a river: this model, this man they would be drawing nude for the next few months, was an absolute and incredible dead-ringer for his grandfather.

"Romulus," the professor called. "Get ready." He skirted off to play upbeat music from an iPod stand while the model—Romulus—stepped onto the platform in the center of the semi-circle, taking his robe off without even the slightest hint of shame. He carelessly set it aside with his sandals and stretched for an eye-searing moment before he stood in his first pose—

In which he faced Lovino's side and stood with his legs spread apart, a hand resting on his hip. His balls were all Lovino could see and he would soon find that when he blinked they were burnt into his mind.

The sketches began, everyone trying to draw this perfect man's perfect body in a thirty second time constraint. Lovino tried the method of not even looking at him from the waist down, but his eyes were always drawn to that dark, muddled bush around his genitals.

It was haunting.

They spent the next hour and a half just doing this—studying Romulus's body, sketching in his general form and then going into his abs if they had the time. He posed in so many positions Lovino thought he'd need to Oedipus Rex away his problems and blind himself.

This man was bending and twisting and showing off every angle of his body—particularly his toned ass and shrinkage-free junk. Either this man was always warm or he was incredibly gifted, given how cold the room was.

Lovino bit back a gag was Romulus faced away, bearing his ass to him once more, bending forward with his legs parted. It was the perfect position to see this man's nuts sticking to his thigh and ever so slowly peel off with the sound of silly-putty being ripped off of vinyl. It was so slow and gentle.

They got a brief reprieve to sit down and relax after their time working. Lovino sighed, slipping his phone from his pocket and sending a quick text to his brother, "You'll never fucking believe who our model looks like."

He knew he wouldn't get a reply before their break was up, but he didn't care. Matthew had scampered off with his brother somewhere and he was stuck with the sounds of Ivan speaking on the phone at the side of the class, speaking in hushed Russian. He could swear he heard his name said.

The break ended before he could unwind at all, still scarred from the lookalike. He prayed to whatever gods there were for them to work from anything else, but no such luck found him. Romulus was back on the small stage and posing dramatically.

He kicked his leg up on a chair and held a plastic baseball bat on his shoulder, exposing his fur-clad genitals again. Matthew giggled, catching Lovino's attention. He looked to where Matthew was staring and he saw the flushed face of Alfred, who was right in front of Romulus and staring the man straight in the dick. The familiar sound of putty and vinyl made Lovi cringe and laugh when he saw Alfred hide behind his sketchpad with a barely audible, "Jesus!"

The class finished up, Lovino happy to get away from his grandfather—NO WAIT—Romulus! He cut his hand on a binder clip and ignored the beading blood in favor of leaving as soon as he could. He threw all his shit together in his bag and sped away from the building, walking to his dorm building until his shoulder was feeling the same ache as three hours previously.

He panted once he was back in his room, worn from taking three flights of stairs and carrying his heavy load of supplies for nearly twenty minutes of walking time. His roommate, a friend from school, was lounging in bed and eating a tomato. He grinned when he saw his favorite little Italian come back.

"Tired, Lovi? Big day at the office?"

"Fuck right off, Antonio!"

The Spaniard giggled, jumping off his bed and quickly going through their mini-fridge to pass the irate Italian a tomato. "What happened?"

"That jerk bastard teacher had us drawing all class."

"It's a figure drawing class, Lovi. What did you expect?"

"S-shut up!"

Lovino angrily threw his stuff onto his beanbag chair and flopped onto his bed, mindful of the tomato he was gifted. He was the only person Antonio knew who could look pissed eating a fruit.

"Tell me what happened." The calm and understanding tone of Antonio always made Lovino oddly angry and relaxed. It was… it was weird.

Taking a bite of his tomato, he mumbled, "The Russian bastard was being extra creepy today… and the model was…" he gulped, looking at the floor.

"The model what, Lovi?"

"He was… nude."

"As expected. What's the problem? You were excited yesterday about finally getting to work from a model."

"He…" he hid his face in his folded arms. "Looked exactly like my grandfather."

There was silence. A long silence. It was broken by small chuckles and Lovino glared up from his arms to see the idiot face of Antonio trying his best to suppress his laughter.

"Is there something funny about this, you jerk bastard?!" he popped the tomato in his hand, spilling its blood onto his sleeve.

Antonio gasped for air and wiped a tear from his eye. "Lovi, this is hilarious! You had to stare at a naked man with your grandpa's face! You were sketching your grandpa naked!"

"I was not! I was sketching our stupid damn model, Romulus!"

"And I'll take a wild guess here that you were thinking of your grandpa the whole time."

Lovino's face got red when he realized oh dio no he was thinking of his grandpa due to the likeliness.

"Face it, Lovi. They had the same face but you were imagining your grandfather. You accidentally drew him naked! Oh my god, I can't breathe! I need to call Gilbert!"

"LIKE HELL YOU WILL." Before Antonio could react, Lovino had thrown his ruined tomato at him and had tackled him to the ground. The Spaniard continued giggling while the enraged Italian assaulted him. "STOP LAUGHING, YOU PERVERTED BASTARD!"

A well-aimed knee hit him in the junk, causing his laughs to falter as he wheezed in response. When Lovino had decided he was done, he got back up and went to his desk to begin working. He glanced up at the framed photo he kept from when he was little—a picture of him and Feliciano as small children on their grandpa's lap. He shuddered and placed it face-down on the desk before going back to work.

He was zoned out, headphones in and face in a book. Antonio smiled at his back, sneaking his phone over to a sketchbook and stealthily taking a picture of the last model sketch.

He slipped back to his bed and wrote up a text to send to Francis and Gilbert, sending the picture with the caption, "Guess what Lovi drew today in class!"

Lovino never thought he'd regret being good at drawing until now. Another jerk bastard day thanks to jerk bastard Antonio.

A/N: Based on a true story in which I had a figure drawing class and our model looked a little too familiar. ಠ_ಠ

Clarification for anyone curious: I based Lovino's class off my own, which means it was three hours long with one break of fifteen minutes and they didn't get to work with a model until a couple classes in. Classes could be pretty cold; I was freezing in my own class in a sweatshirt, I felt bad our model only had one heater.

Any errors are welcome to be pointed out and I encourage it. Thanks for reading ;)