Chapter 13 Teddy
Teddy
The moment I stepped into the Burrow Gallery, I knew I’d overdressed for the occasion. By a fucking mile.
Going to exhibitions with my parents was a suit and tie affair.
There was always champagne, hors d’oeuvre, schmoozing, and no small amount of money flying out of people’s checkbooks.
But when I stepped into the student gallery, I realized I was wearing a tie while surrounded by nothing but jeans and hoodies.
I immediately stepped right back out of the room and took off my tie and blazer, stuffing both of them onto a hanger in the unused coat closet.
Then I unbuttoned three buttons, ruffled my hair a bit, and hoped nobody noticed that I looked like I worked at an insurance agency before heading back inside.
The gallery was already filling with students, faculty, and a few alumni donors who’d come to see the latest batch of artistic talent.
I scanned the room, trying not to seem too obvious about searching for a specific redhead.
My palms were sweating, and I could feel my heart hammering against my ribs.
This was a terrible idea. I wasn’t ready to face him.
To face what had happened between us. But I couldn’t force myself to leave either.
Not when I could be so close to figuring out who he was.
I grabbed a plastic cup of cheap wine from a table near the entrance and took a large gulp, grimacing at the acidic taste. It was nothing like the vintages my father served at his gallery events. It was gas station wine at best.
“First time at a student exhibition?” asked a voice beside me.
I turned to find a woman with silver-streaked hair and intelligent eyes studying me. Her name tag identified her as Professor Aurelia.
“That obvious?” I replied, trying to sound casual.
“You have that deer-in-headlights look,” she said with a gentle smile. “Are you here to support a friend or just curious?”
“Kinda both, I guess,” I mumbled, taking another sip of terrible wine. “I’m just browsing, really.”
She nodded knowingly. “Well, don’t miss the seascapes in the north corner. We have a particularly talented painter this year who captures the ocean like no one I’ve seen in decades.”
My interest piqued instantly. “Seascapes?”
“Indeed. Follow the wall to your right and you can’t miss them.”
I thanked her and began making my way through the crowd, my heart beating faster with each step. Seascapes. It had to be him. Neptune, or whatever his real name was. The mysterious redhead who’d taken my virginity and disappeared by morning.
I moved slowly through the gallery, pausing occasionally to examine a piece so as not to seem too eager.
There was impressive work all around. There was magical photography that shifted perspectives as you walked past, sculptures that hummed with contained energy, and even a tapestry woven from enchanted thread that changed colors with the viewer’s mood.
But I barely registered any of it as I made my way toward the north corner.
When I finally reached the collection of ocean paintings, I stopped dead in my tracks.
There were five of them, arranged in a semicircle, each more breathtaking than the last. Storms and waves captured with such precision I could almost feel the spray on my face.
The artist had a way of making water seem alive and dangerous, yet beautiful.
And then I saw it, the centerpiece of the collection. A ship battling a ferocious storm, but with sunlight breaking through on the horizon. And standing at the bow of the ship, facing the light, was…
Was that me?!
I moved closer, unable to believe my eyes.
The figure was unmistakable. He had my build, my stance, and even the golden hair that seemed to glow in the painted sunlight.
But maybe I was making it up, projecting myself onto a painting in the hopes that it was the work of my mysterious lover.
However, the more I stared, the more I couldn’t help believing that I was right.
It really was me standing on the bow of that ship.
“Do you like it?”
The voice behind me sent a jolt down my spine. I knew that voice. I’d heard it whisper filthy encouragements in my ear as its owner fucked me senseless. I’d heard it praise me as I took his cock in my mouth for the first time.
I turned slowly, and there he was. Neptune.
My mysterious redhead. He was wearing dark jeans and a blue sweater that made his eyes seem impossibly brighter.
Without the mask, I could finally see his full face.
The high cheekbones, full lips, and those strange, luminous blue eyes that seemed to shift like the sea itself.
Suddenly the world tilted, and I felt like I was going to pass out. I’d almost resigned myself to never seeing him again, but now that he was here, it suddenly struck me how terribly I’d missed him. And how much I needed him in my bed again.
“It’s you,” I said stupidly, my voice barely above a whisper.
“And it’s you,” he replied, gesturing to the painting. He recognized me immediately, even without the mask. “Theo, right? Or should I call you something else now?”
I swallowed hard, suddenly terrified. This was the moment of truth. The moment when Neptune discovered that his one-night stand wasn’t some mysterious, confident stranger but boring, uptight Theodore Voss.
“Theodore,” I admitted, bracing myself for his disappointment. “My name is Theodore Voss.”
I watched his face carefully, waiting for the recognition, the inevitable letdown when he realized who I really was. But instead, his eyes widened slightly, and a slow smile spread across his face.
“Theodore Voss,” he repeated, as if testing the name on his tongue. “The swimming champion?”
I winced. “Second place, actually. Always second.”
“Not in everything,” he said, his voice dropping lower as his eyes traveled over me in a way that made my cheeks burn. “If I recall correctly, you came first.”
I bit my lower lip, unable to help the whimper that escaped. My slacks were already so tight and we were in the middle of a busy gallery.
“Oh my gods,” he grinned, still staring at me. “Your face is so red right now.”
“I know,” I grumbled, turning back toward the painting so he couldn’t look at me anymore. “I can feel it.”
Neptune laughed, a sound that sent shivers down my spine. He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only I could hear.
“I’ll stop teasing you. For now.” He turned his attention back to the painting. “So what do you think of it? Honestly.”
I studied the artwork again, taking in the details I’d missed in my shock.
The brushstrokes were confident yet delicate, creating texture in the waves that seemed almost three-dimensional.
The storm clouds were ominous, but that ray of sunlight breaking through gave the whole piece a sense of hope I couldn’t quite explain.
“It’s beautiful,” I said softly. “I’ve never seen water painted like this before. It’s like you understand it on some fundamental level.”
“I do,” he replied simply, a hint of something deeper in his tone. “The ocean is part of me.”
I turned to face him fully. “And the figure? Is that really supposed to be me?”
His eyes met mine, steady and unashamed. “Yes. After our night together, I couldn’t get you out of my head. I needed to put you somewhere.”
“So you put me on a ship heading toward the light?” I asked, unable to keep the wonder from my voice.
“It felt right,” he shrugged. “You seemed like someone searching for something. Moving toward it despite the storm.”
My throat tightened unexpectedly. How had he seen that in me during our brief encounter? How had he captured exactly how I felt, like I was fighting against overwhelming pressure, desperately seeking some kind of breakthrough? Was I that transparent?
“I never caught your real name,” I managed to say.
“Nerion,” he replied. “Nerion Thalassos.”
“Nerion,” I repeated, liking how it felt on my tongue. “It suits you better than Neptune.”
“Theodore doesn’t suit you,” he said with a small smile. “You seem more like a Teddy to me. Though I liked Theo too. He was brave.”
I swallowed hard. “He was drunk on punch.”
Nerion laughed again. “Maybe a little. But I think he was in there all along.” He gestured toward another painting, this one of a calm sea at night, moonlight creating a silvery path across the water. “Would you like to see the rest? I can give you a personal tour.”
“I’d like that,” I said, my heart racing. “Very much.”
As we moved to the next painting, Nerion stood close enough that our arms occasionally brushed. Each contact sent electricity through me, reminding my body of everything we’d done together. Everything I wanted to do again, right here, on the gallery room floor.
“This series is about transformation. Or at least that’s what I told the professor,” he explained. His voice held passion and no small amount of sarcasm. “How the sea changes, how it changes us.”
“Is that why you painted me?” I asked. “Did I change something for you?”
Nerion hesitated, his eyes searching mine. “You might have,” he admitted quietly. “I just don’t know what yet.”
Before I could ask what he meant, Professor Aurelia approached, beaming at Nerion.
“There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she exclaimed. “The Dean is looking for you.”
Nerion’s smile faded instantly, replaced by a look of guilt. “He’s here?”
“Of course! He and Coach Flannery always come to the art exhibitions.” She turned back and waved two men over. One I recognized at the Dean, and the other was a man I’d seen around the athletic building, but never actually met. “Here they are now.”
“Mr. Thalassos,” Dean Thornfield said as he stepped up to our little group. “So this is what you’ve been doing instead of making it to our mandatory meetings, is it?”
“Dean Thornfield, Coach Flannery,” Nerion nodded, his voice suddenly formal. “I apologize for missing our meeting. I’ve been preparing for the exhibition.”
“So I see,” the Dean replied, his eyes drifting to the paintings. “Your work is quite remarkable, Mr. Thalassos. Though I still would have appreciated you keeping our appointment.”
I stood awkwardly to the side, unsure if I should excuse myself. The werewolf, Coach Flannery, caught my eye and gave me a curious look.
“Are you Theodore Voss by chance?” he asked, seeming to recognize me.
“Yes, sir,” I replied, straightening up instinctively as I’d been taught to do around authority figures. “That’s me.”
Coach Flannery moved closer, his nostrils flaring slightly as he studied me. I tried not to fidget under his scrutiny.
“Coach Mathers has mentioned you. Says you’re one of her most promising swimmers, though you’ve been pushing yourself too hard lately.” His blue eyes seemed to look right through me. “Didn’t she order you to take some time off?”
I felt my face heating up again. “Yes, sir. I’ve been... resting.”
The werewolf coach’s eyebrows rose slightly, and I could’ve sworn he sniffed the air between Nerion and me. A knowing look crossed his face that made my stomach drop.
“I see,” he said, his tone neutral but his eyes twinkling with something that looked suspiciously like amusement. “Well, sometimes rest takes unexpected forms.”
Dean Thornfield cleared his throat. “Mr. Thalassos, we still need to discuss the incident from last week. My office, tomorrow morning at nine. Do not miss it this time.” His stern expression softened as he looked at the paintings. “Though I must say, your work is truly exceptional.”
“Thank you, sir,” Nerion replied, tension evident in his shoulders. “I’ll be there.”
As the Dean and Coach moved away to view other exhibits, Professor Aurelia lingered, her eyes darting between Nerion and me with obvious interest.
“Mr. Voss, I don’t believe you’re in any of my classes,” she said, studying me intently. “Do you have an interest in art?”
“I’m just beginning to discover it,” I admitted, unable to stop myself from glancing at Nerion. “I’ve never seen paintings that made me feel so much before.”
She smiled knowingly. “Art has a way of reaching parts of ourselves we didn’t know existed. Don’t you agree, Nerion?”
“Or it can be a lot of bullshit,” Nerion replied, relaxing a bit now that the Dean was out of sight.
“Nerion, while one of my most talent students,” Aurelia sighed. “Is a non-believer when it comes to the therapeutic effects of art. Or that fact that it can sometimes reveal things about us that maybe we weren’t ready to share.”
“That’s because it doesn’t do either of those things,” he grumbled. “It’s just paint.”
“Of course,” Aurelia nodded. “And I’m sure the first painting you’ve ever done with a person looks just like Mr. Voss here.” She reached out, patting my shoulder with a big smile on her face. “Enjoy the show, gentlemen.”
I watched her go, my heart pounding in my chest. Did she know? Did Coach Flannery know? Did everyone fucking know?!
“Ignore her,” Nerion muttered beside me. “She’s a little woo-woo, if you know what I mean.”
“Uh… yeah. Sure.”
Silence.
“Well, Teddy,” Nerion said at last, breaking the silence. “Want more shitty wine?”
I nodded, already heading toward the table. “Yes. Yes, I do.”