Chapter 8 #2
Spike swooshed a large arch, filling in some space.
“Not true. Fate and free will are different. I was meant to find Izzy, but the choices I made, the things I did—” Spike let out a heavy sigh. “Before I got there, that was my choice. I would’ve always found her, but... maybe it wouldn’t have been the right time otherwise.”
Theo watched as Calliope stopped, smiling at a student. She illustrated something with her hands, pointing.
The light in her eyes was beautiful, but then again, so was she.
What had they called her, a... muse?
“I don’t know. I like to think we can choose our own fate, you know?”
Spike smirked. “Or maybe your fate is to discover it.”
Calliope moved steadily along the desks, and Theo tried his best to focus on the model, on getting out some shapes. His doodles had not prepared him for this.
Though, soon, Theo discovered that there was a sort of rhythm to the lines and shapes as he repeated them. He took his time, trying his best to capture what he was looking at, but there seemed to be a disconnect between what he saw with his eyes and what he felt with his heart.
He felt her before he saw her. Felt that undeniable buzzing of electrified energy that always seemed to exist when she was near.
Was it fate? Magic? Theo didn’t know. But whatever it was, it was real.
Very real.
“I did not think you an artist, Theo,” she said carefully. Platonically. Professionally.
Theo knew on some level, Calliope was being professional as not to draw attention or show favoritism, and it was the logical thing for her to do.
They were both adults. Consenting adults.
But Theo garnered perhaps some distance was not a bad idea.
Until he could truly figure out where he stood with Miss Perfect.
“I mean... you don’t have to be an artist to appreciate art, right?” he asked with a half smile, hoping it would detract from the mess of lines and shapes on his paper. For Theo had the strangest need for validation, wanting Calliope’s praise.
He remembered how good it felt the last time he had heard it, how he had felt like the world was at his feet from just those two words. Good Boy.
Spike chuckled beside him.
“This is true,” Calliope said. “But if appreciation is your goal, I am not sure a lifestyle drawing class will make you appreciate the craft. Drawing is rather... whimsical. It is meant to be felt, not seen.”
Theo shifted in his seat, the motion putting him next to her a fraction. Their arms barely touched.
“But you have to see it, too. You have to look, study, record what you see. To understand it, to know what it feels like.”
Calliope’s amber eyes glistened as she looked at his paper. “This is true. But what you see may differ from what Spike does. Or what I see. So how do you convey your message if your audience varies? You have to appeal to their sense of heart. Their emotion.”
She ran her hand down one of his lines. “You can tell a lot about a person by the fluidity in which they draw. Precision is what most strive for. They think lines need to be straight—” She carefully traced Lorelai’s arm. “—that precision and accuracy are the makers of true art.”
She pressed her fingers into his charcoal, wiping it, smudging it. Breaking his beautiful line. “But true art comes from the unexpected. The mistakes that create new paths of exploration.”
Theo’s gaze drifted as she plucked her fingers off the page.
“Do not limit yourself, Theo. Try to see the lines and shapes as choices, not art itself. Look for the imperfections and you will appreciate perfection.”
He caught her gaze for a moment. A minuscule moment. But however small it was, that moment for Theo was infinite. It was perfectly imperfect.
She smiled as she moved to Spike, and Theo looked back at his canvas with a renewed sense of confidence and dare he say... inspiration.
He flipped his paper, instead of focusing on Lorelai, he noted the perfect shape of Calliope’s side profile.
How her dark hair fell over her shoulders.
How her lips parted as she spoke. And so, Theo looked closely, recalling his own memories, of what he deemed perfect.
And that was what he drew. Her slender neck, her silky hair.
Her long eyelashes. There were no flaws in Calliope’s design.
Not a one.
When it was time to pack up, he realized he’d gotten lost in her details.
“Not bad,” Lorelai said with a smirk.
“Thanks,” Theo said, his cheeks heating as he flipped the paper. “Guess I was just feeling a little inspired.”
Spike chuckled as the class thinned out and Calliope called them over.
After a brief recant of the situation, Mars agreed to discuss his apparent own divine experience with Calliope, while Isabelle and Lorelai took off for their next class.
“You ready for your first day, Picasso?” Spike joked.
He shrugged. “No time like the present.”
He caught Calliope’s stare, and the moment he did, she blushed, turning away.
“I’ll be by later to close,” she said, but she looked at him when she said the words.
Theo couldn’t help but grin. “Sounds good.”
And with that, he followed Spike to the gallery, feeling inspired by more than just his artistic accomplishments.