Castiel was in art class the next day, covered in charcoal. It was all over his hands and arms and his fingers were black, and it smeared on his chin and his neck and both his cheeks - and especially his forehead and his nose. He was covered. His eyes glowed with it; somehow, he had gone wild. Usually he did the same thing every day; sat, silently listened to the teacher teach and critique, take out his paper, practice studying the subject, then jump on the good paper and polish off a finished piece. Today, he felt… different. Better. Like he'd been sick for a while, and he'd woken up refreshed for the first time in weeks. His hands were itching to draw and his heart was full of energy and ambition.

The teacher was a wiry man in his early thirties, with thin, long curling brown hair in a neat ponytail at the nape of his neck. He had big glasses and kind blue eyes and a faintly blonde mustache and very, very expressive, agile hands. There wasn't a moment where he wasn't moving - showing someone how to do something they were unsure of, or acting out a motion they could use in order to draw. He walked around in dark jeans and old turtlenecks under flannel shirts, and always smelled like aftershave and pastels. But he loved Castiel's work and appreciated his quiet brilliance, allowing him to expand his horizons when he had hit and passed normal standards.

Castiel had gotten his permission to move on, and was drawing the people in his class on big newsprint paper pinned up on the soft carpeted wall. Turning his head to study their curved forms as they scowled over badly depicted pinecones and plastic fruit, he swept his hand over the paper. The still life set up around the room had bunches of desks around each, and served to annoy each and every one of them… except Cas. After finishing his own still life he had been given whole-hearted permission from his busy art instructor to move on. And moved on he had. His whole class sat in shelled lines, waiting to be filled in. Three already had been. He was working on three more at once, their positions pointed, the jut of every jaw and elbow and knee perfection.

Detailed stray hairs from a girl in the class hung in mid-air around her straightened red hair, the curve of her nose unattractive but full of character. She had small hands and long eyelashes. Then there was a boy in a hoodie, slouched over, lacking much inspiration. The curves in his calves and the push of his palm into his cheek as he leaned on it was picturesque.

Of course, a few had noticed him, but the unaware ones were much more elegantly apathetic. They made the best portraits. The ones aware fidgeted and squirmed and pretended to smile and look amused. When, in fact, that was like lying. They were bored to tears. Alerting them to his work created the lie. He was glad to ignore them for the better targets. When they realized this and forgot about him, he'd return, and snap a still of who they really were at that moment, outside the lie.

Castiel pushed the darkness of the shadows around a boy's nose into the freckles splayed under his glasses. There was a delicacy in his touch but the picture itself was dark. He had a hard hand. He put in the bent bridge of the boy's nose in definition under the curl of his thick dirty blonde hair. The part to his lips was scornful. He had beautiful arms, though, climbing down from his pushed-up sleeves. They curved into thin wrists and full hands, slender and broken up, as if he worked labor jobs. At his thin size it was a surprise but not unheard of. He wasn't very tall. Probably did some precise work, with the weariness around his fingernails and the bent knuckles. They couldn't draw well passed first grade tries, but they could build, and that was damn fine with him. Cas's fingers burned with a need to capture his snarl and the gaping shadows in his eyes.

Shading the curl of his shining hair, Cas heard the stifle of a protesting noise and turned to see his subject becoming aware of his work. His innocent blue eyes turned to cast over the flustered blonde. Unsure of how to apologize for wanting to capture his anger, and frustration, Castiel simply swallowed and lowered his hands from the picture. Maybe if he stopped those emotions would not turn towards him.

No such luck. The kid, Jensen, got up and threw down his pencil. "What the hell is that?" He snapped.

"You," Castiel blurted, and at once knew that was a bad idea.

The bubbling anger rose to a boil. "You're drawing dudes? We are right here, man. That's weird as hell." Jensen yelled.

Dumbfounded, Castiel just stared at him. Someone who didn't want to be an art piece? Or maybe, he just didn't want anyone else to see the fury behind his eyes captured forever in a still frame of him. Either way his deflection of the truth using homophobia was unattractive and disappointing. Cas glanced him over sadly. "I can cease drawing you, if it's bothering you so much."

Jensen's eyes kept glancing to the piece, his shame mounting. Every curve of his charcoaled, angry lip was a word in a short narrative of his short temper. "Damn right you're gonna stop. I don't want you drawing me, you fucking faggot; I don't even want you looking at me," he seethed. The personal infliction in the boy's voice was shocking. Kids who hadn't already turned to watch were staring at him, taken aback.

Castiel started at Jensen's roaring flames and drew back from their roaring heat, obviously hurt. A great sadness welled up in his ribcage. It crashed against his heart and drowned his lungs and made him feel like he needed to gasp for air. But instead waves filled his throat and his belly. He opened his mouth and it poured out. "What the hell is wrong with you?" He demanded defensively. "Your gender is irrelevant to my orientation – my life choices are none of your concern!"

"It is my 'concern' if you're putting me all over your art," Jensen protested angrily, "I don't want you drawing me. All day you sit around here like you own everything 'cause you can draw, and then you go back and fuck your boyfriend at night. You're disgusting. So keep me out of it, fucking weirdo."

Castiel felt the lick of rage against his heart. "It is one thing to not like me drawing you," Cas shouted, "One, you could just ask me not to, politely, instead of pouring your pretentious bullshit all over me!" Jaws dropped. Eyes widened. "Two, do NOT tell me I'm being selfish about being able to draw. I've been doing it all my life! Condemning me for this is like saying hard work is arrogant." Castiel pointed wildly at his piece. "Three, I am drawing the girls in this class just as well as I'm drawing you! You have no right to think I'm paying special attention to anybody, let alone you. What do you think I'm doing, picturing you naked?!"

The scorn in Jensen's eyes answered Castiel.

"Don't be an arrogant fuck, Jensen," Cas said coldly, shaking with anger. "Just because I'm gay, doesn't mean I like all guys. As a matter of fact, you are the least attractive male I know." He said with harsh finality, and did not mean it. Jensen was cute in his own way – everybody was. Just because he was a jerk didn't mean he wasn't a human being. He didn't deserve to be treated like he was treating him. Castiel swallowed his remorse, blinking guiltily as he saw Jensen shaking with emotion just like he was, his eyes a swarm of anger and hurt.

The teacher had come running from down the hall, where he'd heard the echoing commotion. His footsteps were rapidly approaching. "What the hell is going on?" Jeff, the art instructor, demanded as he stepped in. He stood in the doorway looking distraught and glanced back and forth between them, his thin frame tense with anticipation.

The others had all gotten up or shrunk down into their seats. A few guys were hovering by Jensen, hands stretched out to hold him back, as if he might lunge. Between the two instigators their glaring match remained one-sided. Cas was just guilty and hurt now, his anger having come and gone in a flash. It didn't take much to grab Jensen's elbow and ease him away from Cas. The glare broke. Cas looked at his shoes. Jensen shrugged off the helping hands and grabbed his things and stormed out. Turning away, Castiel took down his art and folded it as neatly as possible with violently trembling hands, a storm of emotion building up behind his eyes.

Jeff watched Jensen leave and put a hand on Cas's shoulder, making him jump. "What happened?" He asked, but Cas just shook his head and fumbled with his coat. "Cas? Cas." He let the boy go, watching as he took a different door and shuffled out, leaving silence in his wake.