A/N: yet another long AU. Happy Valentine's Day! :)
Scenario: Artist/Photographer AU
This is his magnum opus. This is his masterpiece. This is—
"—a little off," says Hiro.
Tadashi sucks in a breath and sets down his paintbrush, turning to look at his brother, whose head is tilted slightly as he squints at the easel. "What did I say about the ongoing commentary, knucklehead?"
"'Not helpful,'" replies Hiro, making air quotes with his fingers. He settles back into the blue beanbag, fiddling with his little robot. "Thought you could use some constructive criticism, though."
"It's—look," sighs Tadashi, rubbing his eyes wearily, "I've been staring at this thing for hours. I already know something's off."
"Want a snack?"
"Not really."
"Suit yourself," shrugs Hiro. "I'm going to the vending machine."
Tadashi watches his younger brother scamper off, the door thudding shut behind him. Afterwards, Tadashi takes a few steps back, squinting and rubbing the side of his chin as he contemplates whether the blue on his canvas is the exact shade he's after.
The door behind him squeaks open. "No, Hiro, I am not giving you more money so you can buy gummy bears," Tadashi says reflexively.
The rapid-fire sound of a shutter clicking makes Tadashi pause, however. Frowning, he turns and finds a large black lens staring back at him.
"Um…can I help you?"
"Pretend I'm not here," says the person wielding the camera, circling around him.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," says Tadashi, crossing his arms. "Not so fast."
Sighing, a girl emerges from behind the lens. She stares at him unflinchingly, one hip jutting out, her camera resting in her right hand even though its strap is looped around her neck.
"Look," she says, blowing one large, pink bubble, "I have a photography project due pretty soon, and you seemed like a good subject, but if it's going to be too much trouble I can just go down to the sculpture kids—"
"No!" blurts Tadashi—and, okay, so maybe he's slightly intimidated by this girl's aura—but he'd like to be helpful regardless of that. "I don't have a problem, I just wanted to know. So, uh, yeah, we're cool."
"Cool," the girl repeats, arching one sleek black eyebrow.
Tadashi shifts uncomfortably, uncrossing and crossing his arms. Finally, he decides to let them hang loose at his sides, in a show of ease or…something.
"What's your name?"
"GoGo," replies the girl, fiddling with some settings on her camera. "And, not to be rude, but my project kind of hinges on capturing you working."
Tadashi shoots her a rueful grin. "You might have to come back later. I'm having a bit of a mental block right now."
GoGo shrugs. "Part of the process. Look thoughtful or something, then."
"Right," says Tadashi, swiveling slowly back toward his work. He tries to become immersed in the painting once more, but GoGo's figure is a dim blob at the corner of his eye.
Click.
Tadashi picks up a paintbrush.
Click.
"What's the name of your project?"
"In media res," answers GoGo, crouching, now.
"Clever," muses Tadashi, staring at his unfinished work. In the middle of things. "Am I—are there others?"
GoGo straightens, her purple-streaked hair falling in her face as she flips through her photos. Tadashi tries to glean from her expression whether the images she's taken are satisfactory or not. As if sensing his gaze, GoGo looks up, locking eyes with him. "Don't worry," she teases, lips quirking, "you won't be the sole focus of my fifteen photos."
"I expect to be in at least five, though," jokes Tadashi. He immediately regrets it when GoGo shoots him a skeptical look, as if she isn't quite sure where he's coming from.
Honestly, he has no idea, either.
"So anyways," coughs Tadashi, attempting to salvage the situation, "I'm Tadashi. If that information is even relevant to you."
"It is, actually," smirks GoGo, pulling a folded piece of paper out of her pocket. She walks over to him. "I need to make sure I have your permission to use photos of you in my exhibit."
"Whoa, back up," says Tadashi, patting his pockets for a pen, "I know you said project, but now it's an exhibit?"
GoGo rolls her eyes. "Just the school's museum. They're blocking off a section to put our work up." She frowns. "Won't your stuff be going up there, too?"
"Well, yeah," says Tadashi, "in May."
GoGo nods, watching as Tadashi grabs the nearest flat surface (some broken down cardboard box—Tadashi can't remember what he was doing with it) and uses it as a makeshift clipboard to sign the permission form against.
"Thanks," she says, folding it into a neat square and shoving it in her back pocket. Tadashi can't help blinking in surprise as she heads to the door, because she's only been around for what, twenty minutes? That can't be it.
"You aren't going to stick around longer? Capture some of my better angles?" he voices, and internally face-palms immediately afterwards. He doesn't want to give her the wrong impression—they've only just met, after all. On the heels of that comes another realization: Hiro should be back by now.
That knucklehead.
GoGo doesn't comment on his contorted expression, but she does pause in the doorway. "Good luck with your painting," she wishes, finally, and Tadashi gives a halfhearted wave.
o.O.o
GoGo comes back. It turns out her last few photos were too static. Tadashi doesn't question it, mostly because GoGo keeps to herself during these encounters. He learns not to pay too much attention to her, which makes his movements less stiff and awkward. Honestly, Hiro could take a page or two from GoGo's book on what it means to be a respectful observer, but every time Tadashi brings it up, Hiro gives him this look.
The look is Hiro's silent way of communicating "you're stupid," but Tadashi has never put much stock in it. Fourteen-year-olds, he scoffs. Thinking they know everything.
On this particular day, GoGo sprawls on the beanbag, toggling with the settings on her camera while Tadashi paints. He's made progress since her last visit, having started on the skyline, and the thought makes him cheerier than usual. So cheerful, in fact, that he stops mid-whistle and decides to strike up some conversation.
"Get anything good?"
From behind him, GoGo grunts, pushing herself up on one elbow. It's kind of comical, actually, how far into the seat she sinks. "Maybe."
"Sounds promising." Tadashi drops his paintbrush into the rusty tin of water by his foot and reaches for a tube of paint, squeezing a dollop onto his palette. "So what's your deal with photography, anyways?"
"What's my deal?" GoGo repeats, staring at him.
"Yeah. For example, I paint because it's relaxing and it helps me stop and breathe. What's photography do for you?"
"Captures a moment," GoGo answers simply, resting her arms on the back of the beanbag. "I like that you have to be fast enough to realize when something good's about to happen, and then you have to be fast enough to get it on camera."
Tadashi adds this to the list of things he knows about GoGo, right below the entries on her dyed hair and leather jacket. Stroke by stroke. Maybe one day, he'll get the whole picture.
"Ever considered painting?" he asks, pushing one of his sleeves further up his arm.
"Too messy," says GoGo, eyes focused on the yellow splotch of paint on the side of his hand, and Tadashi senses that they're talking about something else.
o.O.o
He stops by the photography lab once (or twice). Not to spy, because Tadashi Hamada isn't creepy, he's just…curious. Through the door's glass panel, he can see GoGo working in a corner of the room. She has photos plastered all over the wall, and Tadashi watches as she reaches up with a black marker to draw a small "x" on the corner of one. It strikes Tadashi, her fastidiousness.
Tadashi doesn't consider himself an art snob, but he's never thought much about photography. He's used to Aunt Cass's rapid succession of flashes, the pages and pages of photo albums capturing his candid moments and then some: chasing Hiro, fighting over the cereal box, awkward smiles and half-asleep grimaces, mid-blink, mid-sneeze. GoGo's process seems more meticulous, less hobby and more art. In that moment, despite the thick door separating them, Tadashi feels close to her—an irresistible pull, like the first time he picked up a brush.
The moment breaks. The door swings open, a broad-shouldered, bearded boy with short dreadlocks filling the frame. "Need some help? You look a little lost."
"No. I—I'm fine, thanks," Tadashi says quickly, sneaking away.
o.O.o
"The presentation's next week," GoGo declares around a fistful of peanut M&M's, the candy crunching loudly in the cozy studio. Dust drifts lazily through the windows, and Tadashi sticks his tongue out of his mouth in concentration, dabbing some grey onto his canvas to mimic the hazy, rain-soaked streets he's attempting to convey.
"Yeah?" he knows, without turning, exactly what she looks like: lounging like a cat, sharp-eyed and unapologetic, with just a sliver of a smile.
"Eight o'clock, west wing," discloses GoGo. Something rustles—she's getting up, probably headed to class.
"I'll be there," Tadashi promises.
o.O.o
On opening night, Tadashi shows up in a collared shirt and some slacks because he isn't sure about the dress code for these things. He finds GoGo chatting with a shaggy-haired boy in a beanie by a plaque bearing her name and a brief explanation of her collection; her work hangs in sleek black frames along the white walls. She's wearing a black, one-shouldered number, a cropped blazer thrown over it, and Tadashi realizes that he's never seen her in a skirt or dress during the times she visited his studio.
Not wanting to interrupt her conversation, he starts at the far end of the pictures, working his way down the row. Each image captures someone in the middle of an unfinished work of their own—editing a rough draft, building a birdhouse, assembling a bookshelf, cooking dinner. And then there's him.
He seems lost in his own world, brow furrowed in concentration. Paint buckets and cans of varying heights surround him in a circle, something Tadashi's never noticed before. He has a paintbrush sticking out of his back pocket, a charcoal pencil behind one ear, and a messy streak of paint across his left cheek, but despite the colorful mess around him, the photo still centers on him, and Tadashi's heart beats a little faster. Maybe he's reading too much into things, but he's seen GoGo work—her diligence, her planning. He's the last photo in this collection, which could be plain dumb luck but also a carefully engineered design to get him to—
—he turns, bumping into GoGo, who tilts her head and greets, "Hi."
"Hi," he swallows thickly, mouth suddenly dry. "Your project—it's great."
"Thanks," GoGo says, eyes crinkling as she smiles and shakes her head slightly.
"What?"
"You have paint on your cheek."
Tadashi's hand shoots to his face quickly, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
GoGo laughs, brown eyes bright and warm, and it's like everything snaps into focus, click, as quick and easy as pushing a button, as flash going off, a shutter opening and closing.
o.O.o
They don't see each other again after GoGo's showcase. Tadashi can't help feeling used—just some subject picked up and discarded, a face in the crowd. He knows he probably shouldn't feel that way. He'd known what he was signing up for when GoGo handed him that paper, so why does he feel like he still needs answers for a question he never asked?
Whatever the case, he ends up at the photography lab after two and a half weeks of silence. The room is empty except for the bearded boy from before, who introduces himself as Wasabi.
"You're Tadashi, right?"
"Um, yeah. How do you know that?"
Wasabi points to GoGo's corner of the room. It feels intensely private, barging into her space like this, but Tadashi crosses the room anyways. There, he finds a series of shots, and, in one column, several photos of himself. Almost all of them have black "x's" in the corner, save the final print that ended up making it into the exhibit, and Tadashi turns to go because this isn't anything he hasn't already seen.
He stops, though, when a different photo catches his eye: one where he's smiling over his shoulder at the camera. The corner is dog-eared.
"A picture is worth a thousand words," intones Wasabi, standing behind him.
Tadashi doesn't say anything, letting his eyes scan the walls, soaking everything in, wishing he could see more inside the head of this girl who is just as much of an enigma as she was on the first day they met.
"She isn't good at verbalizing these things, you know," Wasabi continues. "So you should help her out."
"Where—" Tadashi gulps, starts again. "Where would I find her?"
"At the park, probably. She likes to go down the bike trails, take photos of the scenery."
Tadashi thinks of the words in media res and you have to be fast enough to realize when something good's about to happen, wonders about photographers being camera-shy and if GoGo would ever let him paint her, if maybe she's scared about someone else seeing her the way she sees the world—straight to the truth of things, their beating heart.
He practically runs out the door.
o.O.o
"All right, let's see this masterpiece," says GoGo, following him closely. Under her breath, she mutters, "I still don't get why you tracked me down to see it, out of all people."
"A little respect, please," teases Tadashi, pushing the door open with his hip. He races ahead of her to stand by the easel, which is covered by a black cloth.
GoGo crosses her arms, hip cocked. "Okay. I'm ready."
"Voila." Tadashi pulls the covering off. Holds his breath.
GoGo stares, stunned, mouth opening and closing wordlessly. Her eyes dart to him, questioning. "Are you—"
"Yes."
She narrows her eyes. "You don't even know what I was going to ask."
"Educated guess," shrugs Tadashi. "Look, GoGo, I know that we don't know each other super well. But I'd like to, if you give me the chance."
Her face softens, and Tadashi thinks that he wouldn't mind spending the rest of his life smoothing over the crease between her eyebrows, wouldn't mind sketching her like this, with her back ramrod-straight and the light slanting over the bridge of her nose.
"All right," she agrees. "One date, and we'll see where it goes from there."
A grin splits his face. He reaches out—to pat her shoulder, to thank her, he doesn't know—but she steps forward willingly and somehow he ends up cupping her face, thumb running across her cheek. She leans into his touch before grimacing and glaring up at him.
"You just got paint on me."
Tadashi inwardly curses as he realizes that yes, there is now a spot of blue where there wasn't before, and hurriedly tries to rub it off, but GoGo places a hand over his, stilling him.
"I'll live," she says, rolling her eyes.
They stand like that, soaking in the silence and their surroundings, until GoGo asks, "So when do I get to see your real painting?"
"Later."
She raises an eyebrow. "It isn't actually finished, is it?"
Tadashi tilts his head, considering. "It's a work in progress," he answers.
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