The Artist
The gallery wasn't one of the fancy ones.
It sat tucked between a shuttered bakery and a dry cleaner that hadn't been open since spring. A sandwich board out front read NEW ARTIST SHOWCASE – ONE NIGHT ONLY, scrawled in messy chalk, the kind that smudged under a careless sleeve.
Meg would've walked right past it if she hadn't been killing time before meeting Esme.
She hadn't planned on feeling anything that night. Just filling the space between now and later.
But the lights inside were warm, and music floated low beneath the quiet buzz of conversation.
It was one of those in-between places - trying hard, but not too hard. That made her pause.
She didn't expect much. Just hopeful canvases and bad wine. Something to glance at, not get caught in. She wasn't in the mood to feel anything she couldn't shrug off.
But it smelled like paint and ambition, and something in her chest shifted - small and quiet. Like something loosening that had been held too tight.
The art was raw.
Messy.
Unapologetic in a way she didn't know she'd missed.
Sculptures welded from street scrap. Portraits that didn't care about likeness. Abstracts like arguments on canvas. She moved through it slowly, hands in her pockets, the buzz of conversation thinning behind her.
She shoved her fingers deeper into her jacket, thumb brushing the edge of the sketchbook she had started carrying again, as easy as a muscle memory.
And then - she saw him.
He was magnetic. Surrounded by people, all of them leaning in just a little too far to hear him better. Tall. Lean. Dark curls half-tamed by a last-minute hand-through-the-hair effort. Someone said his name - Theon - and it landed like something practiced, like the room already knew it.
He was tapping an unlit cigarette against his palm, laughing at something a girl said.
Not big and theatrical. Just… easy. Like someone who hadn't had to try hard in a long time.
And then he looked at Meg.
Really looked.
And just like that, he peeled away from the group. Slipped out of orbit like it was nothing. No showy exit. No explanation. Just motion - straight toward her.
Of course he was that kind of confident.
"You look like you've got opinions," he said when he reached her, smiling. "About the piece. You were staring."
She arched a brow. "I was deciding whether it's brilliant or completely insufferable."
That got a real laugh out of him. "What's the verdict?"
"Still out," she said coolly. "Leaning slightly brilliant. With strong insufferable undertones."
He followed her gaze to the canvas behind him - mixed media, charcoal and acrylic, sharp edges and bleeding colour. It was jagged and raw and urgent. The kind of work that didn't care if you liked it.
"You think it's pretentious," he guessed.
She tilted her head. "I think it's trying not to be. Which is almost worse."
"Ouch."
"But," she added, "it's honest. And that counts for something."
That surprised him.
"I'll take that," he said. "Honest is what I was going for."
He offered his hand. Charcoal still clung to the creases of his fingers. "I'm Theon."
Meg took it, her grip light, noncommittal. "Meg."
"Theon," she repeated, deadpan. "Of course you are."
He laughed again, warm and unbothered. "That obvious?"
"You've got a whole tortured-artist-who-smells-like-turpentine-and-knows-it vibe going. Would've been weird if your name was Steve."
"Steve," he said, mock-offended. "Harsh."
"Sorry. Greg, then."
He was grinning now, relaxed in that way some people are when they know they've already caught your attention. "You from around here?"
Meg didn't answer right away. He wasn't the first charming boy in a gallery. But something about him felt less polished. More... unfinished. Like he didn't mind being seen before the paint dried.
"Brooklyn," she said eventually. "Not originally."
He nodded, eyes dropping briefly to the sketchbook just visible beneath her jacket.
"You draw."
It wasn't a question.
"Sometimes."
"You should show me."
Meg gave him a look - dry, a little amused. "Is that your line?"
"Nah," he said, leaning in slightly. "Just for the ones who use words like 'insufferable undertones' and still hang around."
She looked at the painting again. "It felt like you were trying to claw something out."
His smile faltered slightly. Something in his expression shifted. "That's exactly what it felt like."
A beat passed.
Then: "So, Meg," he said, that easy charm sliding back into place, "can I convince you to come to the real show?"
She narrowed her eyes. "This isn't it?"
He jerked his head toward the side door. "This is the appetiser. I meant the roof."
He was already walking.
Meg hesitated.
Of course he was the kind of person who had a rooftop.
And of course she followed anyway.
The stairwell smelled like rain and old wood, like it had absorbed a hundred storms and never dried out properly.
Meg followed, her trainers scuffing faintly behind Theon's longer stride. He took the stairs two at a time. She kept her pace slower - deliberate. She wasn't chasing him. Just… observing the situation she'd apparently decided to walk into.
At the top, he pushed open a rusted door and held it for her with a crooked half-bow.
"After you, Meg from not-originally-Brooklyn."
She gave him a look as she passed. "You're not going to make me smoke clove cigarettes and talk about Ovid's Metamorphoses, are you?"
"Only if you brought a bottle of red and a tragic backstory."
"Sorry," she said. "Fresh out of both."
"Shame."
The rooftop was strung with fairy lights, most of them flickering or half-dead. A collection of rusted folding chairs, upturned milk crates, and a sagging loveseat surrounded a dented fire pit filled with long-cold ash. Someone had graffitied the side of the HVAC unit with something abstract and vaguely obscene.
Theon dropped into a chair like he'd lived there his whole life.
Meg stayed standing.
Arms crossed. The skyline stretched behind her - wide and sharp and indifferent. The wind picked at her hair, cool and insistent.
"This where you bring all the girls?" she asked.
He tilted his head. "Only the ones who look like they might tell me my work's derivative."
"Oh, I will," she said, deadpan. "Eventually."
"Good," he said, grinning. "Keep me humble."
She shifted her weight, her eyes scanning the rooftops beyond. It was quiet up here. Not peaceful, exactly, but removed. Like the city had taken a step back and left them floating above it.
"You don't have to tell me anything," Theon said, more gently now. "But… you seem like someone who's trying not to want something."
Meg blinked at him.
"That supposed to be poetic?" she asked, brushing hair from her face.
"Not really," he said. "Just true."
She didn't respond. Not right away.
He waited.
Meg peered over the edge, down towards the alley, where the streetlight glow cast long shadows against the bricks. Not a fan of heights, she shuddered and stepped back.
"Why does everyone come to this city thinking it'll fix them?" she asked.
He smiled faintly. "Because they want to believe in the myth. Concrete and miracles."
"And you?"
Theon leaned back, gaze fixed on the skyline. "I just want to make it mean something."
Something caught in her chest. Stupid. Sudden.
She shook her head, half a smile curling her mouth. "You're very committed to the tragic-artist bit."
"Only when it works."
She rolled her eyes. But she sat down.
Not because he'd earned it. Not because she trusted him.
Just because she wanted to.
And that, more than anything, scared her.
She didn't look at him when she spoke again, quieter this time.
"I haven't shown anyone my sketches in months."
Theon didn't nod. Didn't make it a moment.
He just looked at her. Steady. Serious.
"Maybe it's time."
Author's Notes:
This chapter was so fun to write, as it was such a great opportunity to write Meg in the way I know and love her - sceptical, quick with tender (not insufferable) undertones.
There's an early version of this story where it was set in London not NY. But it always felt a bit too close to home for me to really write. However, Theon still has a soul of a Hackney boy, for sure.
It's the Easter four day weekend here, so I'm taking a little time away from the laptop. Thanks always for reading and I'll be back next week with the next chapter.
CB