"Finished!"
Celeste attempted to admire the portrait she'd drawn as she sat at the desk in her bedroom, her drawing pencil in hand and paper taking up a large portion of the top of the desk. She pouted a bit as the drawing didn't satisfy her; something was a bit off but she couldn't pinpoint what.
Ever since she'd met him, Celeste had been spending plenty of her time drawing Lysander. She found something about him alluring and the second he crossed her mind, she always yanked out a sketch pad. Whether it was his mismatched eyes, his lopsided haircut with it's intriguing color, or his seventeenth century styled Victorian attire, she wasn't sure; the only thing she was completely sure of was that she wanted to draw him. Maybe it was something about the way he wouldn't meet a person's gaze unless you really catch his attention or the way he talked or his secluded personality but either way, the thought of drawing him had her bursting with inspiration. All this and yet she'd never been able to master a single drawing of him. It wasn't normally like that; on a usual occasion, she could draw a person with ease and it could come out perfectly fine. But with Lysander, there was always something missing. It was like having a heated argument with someone and forgetting to say what you wanted to say, but realizing it too late.
Heaving a sigh, Celeste crumpled up the paper in front of her and tossed it into her garbage can with a flick of her wrist. She leaned forward, burying her face in her arms on her desk. She tried to bring up a mental image of Lysander in her brain. She could imagine him perfectly fine; she saw him frequently enough to do that, it was just she had trouble portraying his expression. She couldn't feel the aura that engulfed her whenever she was near him through the image and it was frustrating. Maybe there was something about him that she was unsuspectingly seeing in person that she was forgetting to portray in the image. She furrowed her brow. If she couldn't see it, how could it be drawn on blank paper? Was there a way to portray something unseen on paper? Well, of course there was. When it comes to an artist, there's always a way. But then again was anything nonexistent in an artist's world? That would, of course, depend on the person and how they portray the existence of something. For example, one artist could portray a dragon as a long, lizard-like creature, meanwhile another artist might portray a dragon as a cute little creature with large, round eyes. Do dragons even exist anyway? What would a dragon look like? Would it be huge and vicious or cute and pet-worthy?
Celeste forced herself to her feet, straightening out her nightgown before plopping down in her bed, burying her face into her pillow as she pulled her blanket up to the small of her back. Her thoughts tended to wander like that; she was always curious about things that didn't exactly have answers. Maybe that was why she was constantly trying to figure out Lysander. Not his personality or his history or anything; his physical appearance. Could it be that his physical appearance didn't have an answer to her and that's why she had no such luck drawing him? Nibbling on her lip, she decided she needed to figure out the question before she could come to the conclusion that there was no answer. The only thing she could decide about his physical appearance was that he was dashingly handsome. He had the kind of skin that you just wanted to touch, the kind of hair you just wanted to run your fingers through, the kind of lips you just wanted to kiss, and the kind of eyes that you could look into for days and never get tired of it. Celeste sighed with her face buried into her pillow. Letting her mind wander to Lysander would only prevent sleep but she couldn't help but think back to the morning she awoke with a killer hangover and a heartthrob of a man sleeping next to her. She was only wearing undergarment at the time, but she was sure they never did anything together; she would've felt at least a little different, right? People always expected otherwise somehow, but in reality she still very much had her innocence.
Celeste's teeth were buried into her lip as she recalled the second party she'd gotten too drunk at. She had blacked out the next morning but she could still recall certain moments with her clothes off, alone with Lysander in Castiel's room. That was one time where she had asked him to do something with her and, instead of taking advantage of her, he forced her into a long t-shirt and sent her to sleep in Maya's room. She was grateful that he hadn't taken advantage of her, however. She wanted to be sober for the first time she slept with someone. But ever since she had recalled those moments of that night, she hadn't had so much as a sip of alcohol out of fear she would embarrass herself like that in front of Lysander again. She rolled over, studying her ceiling, feeling exasperated. Why did it worry her so much to embarrass herself in front of him? Normally, she was hardly ever embarrassed. She'd even been called shameless once. Why were things different now?
She had drifted off into a peaceful slumber with that question in mind.
Celeste awoke to the sound of birds chirping outside and she took a deep sigh of relief, pushing herself to her feet, stretching, and washing up. The morning was her favorite time of day. School didn't start until eight but here she was, up at half past five in the morning. She loved taking her sweet time getting ready, since it was only morning once a day and she spent most of it in school. She put on a face mask after washing up, changing and fixing her hair while it dried. After taking it off, she did her makeup with precision until she could call it perfect. She took a step back to take in her entire appearance; little black cut-off shorts and floral lace black stockings with a tight graffiti t-shirt tucked into the shorts. She put on a necklace to complete the appearance before slipping her feet into a pair of stiletto boots. She gave her reflection one last glance before making her way to school.
Celeste approached the school confidently, gazing around for someone in particular. She wasn't exactly sure why or who for that matter, until her gaze found Lysander. He was sitting on a bench in the courtyard, gazing curiously at his notebook with his brow furrowed. Her feet deemed it necessary to approach him, and so they did without even a portion of purpose, until she found herself sitting beside him.
"Hey," she said, grinning at him.
"Hello," he answered, giving her little more than a glance.
"Is something wrong?" she asked, studying his expression.
"I… forgot my pencil," he said sheepishly.
"Oh, a pencil," she said, reaching into her bag, "I'll be glad to give you one. I mean I'm always drawing so I carry tons of them." She slipped a pencil out of her bag and passed it over to him.
With a grateful smile, he said, "Thank you."
"No problem," she said. Instead of writing in his notebook, he used the pencil as a bookmark and closed it. Having already sparked her curiosity, she continued to gaze at him but he didn't speak nor show any kind of expression. It was quiet but she liked the quiet somehow. Whenever she was near him, the quiet was okay. Although it wasn't exactly quiet, considering everybody around them was talking very loudly and obnoxiously. What was the quiet, though? Could it ever be the definition of quiet? It would always be loud somewhere, though. Was there ever a time where it was completely silent all across the globe? Is that even possible? Celeste mentally slapped herself when the bell rang for letting her mind wander instead of talking to Lysander when she had the chance.
During class, she pulled out her sketchpad and gazed at it, holding her pencil tightly. She wanted to draw him, but why did she have so much trouble doing so? Her gaze wandered to Lysander a few rows down to see that he now had his notebook open, holding the pencil she had loaned him. He was watching the window. She followed his gaze to see a little bird on the windowsill. It flapped its wings a few times but made no noise. Quite the beautiful bird it was, as well. She found herself drawing the bird instead, which, for a sketch, came out quite nicely on the paper as she was sure to include every detail she could. After she used her gray and black colored pencils to darken and shade it, it was almost an exact replica of the bird outside, except for the lack of the vibrant colors. She signed her initials along the uplifted wing of the bird, sighing. If only she could draw Lysander with so much ease.
By the time she had completed the drawing and signed it, the bell rang, echoing through the nearly silent class aside from the lecturing of the teacher. Celeste was at her feet in seconds, tucking her sketchpad under her arm, clenching all three pencils she had out in her hand and using her free hand to hoist a strap of her bag over her shoulder.
"Hey, Miss Cunningham!" Celeste greeted cheerfully as she entered the art room. Art was the last class she had before lunch, which was good because she occasionally skipped lunch to stay and work on her projects and whatnot.
"Oh, it's my kitten," Miss Cunningham said, grinning with a flip of her straight brown hair. She held out her hand, "Come on, kitten, let me see what you got today."
With a smile, Celeste passed over her sketchpad to Miss Cunningham. She flipped through the pages, a satisfied look on her face as she nodded at every photo. Then she came across a Lysander sketch that was incomplete; it was one that she didn't like and had forgotten to tear out.
"What's this?" Miss Cunningham asked, "It's not like you to leave a drawing incomplete!"
Celeste's smile faded and she shifted her weight to one side of her body. "I know," she said, "I forgot to throw that one away."
"Why?" she asked, studying it, "It looks really nice so far. Who is this guy anyways?"
"He's someone I met a couple months back," Celeste said with a sigh, "I just want to draw him but the drawings never seem to come out right. I mean if I didn't picture them as him, it would look okay but since it's supposed to be him, there's just something off that I can't figure out. It's been driving me nuts."
"Hmm," Miss Cunningham said, "Maybe you just need to get to know him better. Maybe if you figure him out, you can figure out what's wrong with the drawing. It sounds weird, but it's worked for me before."
"That's the thing," Celeste said, "He's not a talkative guy and he probably doesn't want me trying to pry him open."
Miss Cunningham folded her hands on the sketchpad, a thoughtful look on her face before saying, "Take baby steps then. Try hanging out with him more often, let him open up at his own pace."
"It's going to take me years," Celeste muttered, "but I'll never be satisfied unless it's done, so I'll try."
"That's my little kitten," Miss Cunningham said proudly before flipping through the rest of the drawings. She handed back the sketchpad, a satisfied smile on her face. "You're gonna make it big with this talent," she said.
Celeste smiled. Before taking a seat as the bell rang. The assignment was to paint; nothing in particular, just to paint. It was a good release for an artist, since with a pencil you can't scribble everywhere and call it art. Then again, art can be anything. The artist, himself, must decide how to perceive art. She stood at her easel, a paintbrush in her hand with watercolors beside her. There was only one thing she wanted to paint. Who knows, maybe painting him will be easier than drawing him. And it was; she was finished with her painting just before the bell rang and it came out looking like him. Painting him was obviously more difficult than drawing him but that was only because it was difficult to keep the colors from blending, especially with watercolors. It came out nicely, however, in contrast to her drawings of him. It eased her stress over the drawing problem a bit. She signed and turned in her painting before gathering her things. Miss Cunningham's voice stopped her at the door.
"Celeste, what if I contacted a friend of mine who owns a gallery to come take a look at your paintings? You really have the potential to become an amazing artist."
"Really? Would you do that?" Celeste said, "I'd love to hear what they think."
"That's great, kitten," she said, "By the way, did you paint him?"
"Yeah," Celeste said sheepishly, "I couldn't stop thinking about my difficulty drawing him so I thought painting him would turn out better. And it did, don't you think?"
"Yes, it's very lovely," Miss Cunningham said, admiring the painting, "Let me know how things go with the drawing, okay?"
"Okay," Celeste said, "See you later, Miss Cunningham."
"Bye, kitten!" Miss Cunningham said with a wave.
Celeste left the art room and went down the hall, approaching the cafeteria, slowing as she passed the hung up lunch menu. She grimaced as she read it before straightening up and approaching the outdoor cafeteria with quick strides. Her gaze found Lysander, and she immediately knew that was where Maya and Castiel would sit unless Maya decided to eat with Nathaniel again. She strode towards him, taking a seat across from him. He had a packed lunch, which would explain his not being in line.
"Hi," she said, smiling. He returned her greeting with a wave. Like usual, he wasn't speaking much. She glued her gaze to him, studying his features. What wasn't she putting on the paper that was on his face? Was it his eyes or maybe his nose? Maybe the shape of his lips or the size of his eyes? She could've possibly made his eyebrows too thin or too thick or too long or too short. She could've made his nose too thin or too fat or too big or too small. She could've made his lips too full or maybe not full enough, or she could've made them too wide or not wide enough. There was an endless possibility of things she could be doing wrong without realizing it. Was it really endless, though? What exactly was endless? Did the word endless have a definition? If it had no end, did it really exist? Was anything on Earth actually endless, besides numbers? Well, numbers technically had an end. People always argued that numbers were endless but whenever a person counts off, they always stop somewhere, right? So numbers did have an end. Of course, they could go further but there was no one in the world who was just constantly counting. Well didn't time do that?
Celeste hadn't realized she'd been staring at him while her thoughts wandered until she noticed his returning her gaze. She felt her cheeks heat up as she struggled to think of something to say to explain her behavior.
"Sorry, I was just—," she began, but was quickly interrupted by his wave of his hand, dismissing it. He gave her a smile that told her not to worry about it. And without words, he'd completely eased her embarrassment. So quickly and with so much ease, as if he had girls gawking at him all the time. "Hey, Lysander?" she said, "Do you want to go get something to eat with me after school on Wednesday?"
"I'd like that," he said with a kind smile.
"Great," she said, grinning. Her gaze found Castiel approaching, carrying his lunch and Maya not too far behind him, looking upset. Her motherly instincts kicked in and she waited until Maya sat down beside her before asking, "What's wrong?"
"Nathaniel is avoiding me again," she said pouting, as she gazed at her food with no intention of eating it, "He's just in the stupid student council room with all of those stupid class representatives. I swear Melody was hitting on him when I walked in."
"Aw, don't worry," Celeste said, "I'll talk to him."
Maya seemed to gain confidence from just that little proposal and straightened up, beginning to eat.
"Oh, guess what Miss Cunningham told me," Celeste said, a grin on her face in an attempt to brighten the mood.
"Who's Miss Cunningham?" Maya asked.
"The art teacher," Celeste said.
"Oh, is that the one who calls you kitten?" Maya asked.
"Yeah, that's the one," Celeste said, grinning.
"What did she say?"
"She said she's going to contact a friend of hers who owns an art gallery to look at my paintings," Celeste said, "She thinks I have real potential."
"That's awesome," Maya said, "There's your future, right there! Do you know what kind of themes you're going to do?"
Celeste thought for a moment. Hundreds of themes she could use blasted through her mind but for some reason, it kept going back to that painting of Lysander she'd completed earlier. She wanted to take him and turn him into some kind of theme. But the question was how?
"I'm not sure yet," Celeste admitted.
"Wait, hold on," Castiel interrupted, "The art teacher calls you kitten?" Celeste nodded. "Why?"
Celeste grinned and said, "Because I'm her favorite student."
"Do you have any ideas for a theme?" Maya asked.
"Well, I was thinking of taking something… something I don't know very well," she said, gazing at her hands, "and make a theme out of it." She knew she was referring to Lysander but she also knew the others had no idea.
"How do you do that?" Maya chuckled, "Wouldn't that be hard? That's like writing an essay on a topic you've never learned about, isn't it?"
With a shrug of her shoulders, Celeste lifted her gaze to the sky. "It wouldn't be fun if it was easy," she said.