When the brochure had exclaimed 'Modern Art' in eye-popping colours and font, the art student thought as she tapped the heels of her boots together, she had been expecting a bit more… obvious. 'An exploration of sensuality, the body, and form' it had continued, listing examples of well-known (but not to Ahiru) artists and the works that would be displayed in the gallery. Well, here she was staring at the canvas with a small frown. It looked kind of like Picasso, only with less facial features. Or features of any kind. In her educated opinion it sort of resembled something that had been left in the microwave too long and came out as mush and smelt a bit funny to boot, she reminisced to noon yesterday with equal fondness and embarrassment.

She hummed, tapping a pencil to her lips before deciding to move on to the next portrait - it was some sort of egg shape… perhaps - and the next. She found herself strolling into the next room, void of people and with fewer portraits, and ended up simply standing vacantly in the centre.

A voice called out, sounding bored and irritated - but not specifically at her, it sounded like it belonged to someone who was just kind of cross in general - and she snapped out of her trance.

"Hm?" She looked round, nudging her thick-framed glasses up the bridge of her nose.

"I said, are you going to stand there all day, or may I help you with something?"

"Oh, um, no thank you. I'm fine. I mean, I'm busy. But fine!" She assigned the voice to its owner, located to her right at the wall. A man with dark hair that was tied into a loose ponytail and a dark suit stood there, and Ahiru could pick out a tag clipped to his breast pocket to indicate he was a member of staff at the gallery. His arms sat crossed across his chest, and his posture was slack, bored, leaning against the wall with an air of indifference. He looked a little tired.

She quickly toddled to a painting on that plain, white wall, and stared at it with intense concentration, clutching her sketchpad to her chest.

"Who's this one by?" She couldn't see a plaque nearby, or even a title for the piece.

The man shrugged. "How should I know?"

"But you're a curator or guide or something right?" She indicated the badge and he raised his brows. The man's name was Fakir.

"I don't usually tour this part of the gallery. Autor is ill today so I got stuck with standing here. Modern art is… not particularly interesting." He spoke cautiously, knowing that there were those who would vehemently dispute his opinion, and judging from the paper she was holding she was either an enthusiast or a student of some kind. Or maybe a tourist. She didn't seem to fit in. Her knitted jumper hung down to her thighs and she held the sleeves under her fingers, though it fit her well and hugged her body to give it some kind of shape - albeit it a rather flat one. Her hair hung down to her knees in a large braid, yet it did not clash with the cotton or the sheer navy tights. It stood up in places as if untameable - it didn't look gelled - and a bright orange. Vivacious.

She turned and smiled at him sweetly, freckles dotting the bridge of her nose. Her glasses seemed comically big for her, but somehow they suited her rounded face.

"Oh really? What do you like then?"

"Classical art. Things more straightforward than this." He didn't know why he didn't over closer to her to speak, since she seemed inquisitive and eager to have a conversation, even if her knees were crossed and her arms pulled tightly towards her as if she were shy. Green eyes surveyed the girl critically.

"Oh! That's nice. I'm a student. Well, an art student doing foundation. I just had to come here for homework you know? So I'm just looking at different things. I do natural forms and the body so I figured - oh I'm babbling aren't I? You must think I'm very strange! I guess I am a little weird aren't I? Eheheh…" She scratched the back of her head and her sketchpad fell from her hands onto the floor. She wailed - a vaguely endearing sound - and scrambled to pick it up. Fakir stepped over and reached it first, lifting it up off the ground with a sigh. The smudges of charcoal and tissue paper on the edge of a page caught his eye.

"May I?"

"Oh. Um. Okay…" She blushed and looked down to her shoes, fiddling with her fingers as he flipped the book open.

Inside were a series of drawings - mainly done using graphite pencils, though there were the occasional marks of deep charcoal for shadows and some in paste colours. Most were simple skeletal figures, with curves to show the lines of flesh, arched backs and sweeping arms, but some were clearly life drawings. Many featured a slim male, often posing with grace and delicacy. The softness of his eyes were apparent, and how effortlessly he held his form, arms raised or legs bent one over the other.

"That's Mytho. He's a model for my class. He's a dancer, so sometimes we get him to pose like that rather than just sitting down. My friends do ballet. I wish I was better at dancing…" She sighed, looking at her own work with a frown at how messy some were.

"These are very good." He closed the book with a snap, thinking of his own far-fetched ambitions to be a successful author. "Ahiru?" He noted the hand-written name on the front as he handed it back to her.

"Mhmm. It's a weird name, isn't it?"

He shrugged. "It's kind of stupid."

She pouted. How rude! You can't just say something mean like that! Well, I guess he was being honest, since I did say it myself but…

"You're babbling."

"Eh?! I said that out loud?" She squeaked and hid her face behind her book.

"Say what you like. I don't care." He turned and leant back against the wall beside the painting she had been looking at. She returned to studying it with an unintelligible murmur. She cocked her to one side, humming in thought.

"It looks kind of like a duck."

He cocked a brow, and shook his head, sadly, with a small smile.

"Don't you think so? Look at it!" She walked up to him, grabbed his hand and dragged him to stand in front of it. She turned her head again. "See?"

He stood rigid, flustered at the contact, thinking that she was very bold to simply hold a stranger's hand like this, and that her own were so war and soft and petite, they didn't seem to fit an artist, yet clearly she was.

She widened her eyes and tore her hand away with a gasp, stuffing it in her pocket as she swung her body round.

"I'm sorry! That was really weird. I didn't mean to do that! I mean, I don't just randomly grab people on a daily basis, or on any kind of basis, I just kind of wanted to show you and you were there and couldn't see just by looking round like that so I sort of… I'm sorry…"

"Well.. just don't grab people like that." He huffed, taken aback at how fast the words were streaming from her mouth. He was shocked to find the heat rising to his face - undoubtedly that would mean he was blushing - and turned to look at the painting in order to hide it.

"I don't see any duck."

"Hmmm. There's one here!" She pointed to the small yellow pattern knitted into the centre of her jumper with a giggle and he remained unimpressed.

"Um. Anyway do you know where I could find the exhibition on the body and sensu-whatever? I've sort of been wandering around but I can't see it."

He paused for a moment and put a hand on his chin. "That's next week. In this hall."

"Eh?" She groaned, eyes widening in surprise.

"It's on the cover of the brochure, and they're on the front desk. You could have simply checked."

And sure enough the dates were listed on the copy she had within her tote bag. She sighed in embarrassment.

"Then what exhibition is this? I paid money for it!"

"Birth, apparently. Also modern."

"Then what was the weird face thing back there?"

"A foetus."

"…Oh." She pouted. "I guess that also explains the egg…"

"Hm." He fought the temptation to snicker at her. What a scatterbrain. It was an idiotic mistake, but he also but couldn't help but feel it added to her endearment and charm.

She tapped her foot, face glum and body hunched. How stupid! Why can't I just do things without messing up?

He was still peering over at her, and he coughed, feeling sympathetic. "If you need materials to study, we have things online if you want. Or I could show you some of the other work. We have some at the moment that feature men hunched over. If men hunched over is useful to you."

"I guess that could count… I'm meant to be studying different postures, so that's why I thought this exhibit would be good… That would be nice. Thank you, Fakir." She clasped a hand to her mouth, red in the face. "S-sorry. I just sort of saw it on your tag I don't know why I called you that. Oh man I'm really not with it today…"

"Hrm, Fakir is fine… just stop whimpering." He frowned and bit his lip. Why did she have to be so sweet on top of everything else?

"I should probably call you mister or something…" She looked back up to him, calmer now.

"That would be ridiculous. I'm not much older than you anyway, I'm guessing you're eighteen if it's foundation."

"Nineteen," she corrected him. "You look old."

"I'm not. And you look short for your age."

"Well you're just tall!" She pouted again with a dramatic twist of the head, though she laughed a moment later. "Well, if you could show me those pictures that would be great!"

He nodded and started walking out the way she entered, and she fell into steps behind him, her shoots pattering against the ground as she walked to keep up with his longer strides.

"So…" He blushed glad that she was behind him. "Will you be coming next week?"

"Yup!" Ahiru smiled. Meeting the man who now had bright red ears had been worth the mistake.

It can also fit for Day Two 'Mistake'! I like this AU :3. No doubt Ahiru will get Fakir to do some modelling for her wouldn't you agree? ;D