Chapter Text
Feyre loved her job.
For most of her life, she had gone from one exhausting job to another, desperately trying to make ends meet and provide for her family.
And when she finally, finally, managed to find a job for herself, no more thinking about her dad, who never really lifted a finger in their house, no longer thinking about her sisters, who always took her for granted, she felt relieved. Even if she was only waitressing, in a less than nice diner, she was relieved. She was doing this for herself. She was earning money for herself.
But it wasn’t until she gathered the courage to quit said job, and until she started doing what she had always longed to do, that she started feeling free. Complete.
So yes, even with the never-ending cries, the desperate parents, and the mess that came with her position, she loved her job. Truly, absolutely loved her job.
Not only did she get to do the one thing she’s always loved doing, painting, but she also got to help children who, like herself, might find a solace in art.
Teaching an art class for children had been one of her best friend’s idea, Alis. Feyre had thought it was ridiculous at first—who would want to pay her to make their kids draw pictures?—but she had to admit, art had always helped her, even through her most difficult times, and she’d found it to be helpful for her daughter, too. So maybe, just maybe, it was worth a try ?
Said daughter was currently at her side, looking all the more professional despite her 5 years old, helping other kids her age with their modest piece of art. Elizabeth seemed to be in her element. And maybe she was. Another reason why she loved her job. It enabled her to spend time with her daughter, and share her passion with her.
The pay wasn’t great. Actually, if it wasn’t for the few commissions she gathered from selling her paintings on the side, she wasn’t sure she’d ever started this class. But here she was, and she was all the more happy for it.
“Feyre, can you help me?”
Feyre blinked away from her reverie and walked up to find the Senior of her current class, Addison, waiting for her. Addison was 14 years old and very promising with her art, which is why Feyre wasn’t surprised to discover a very beautiful sketch of a angel-like women before her. Addison’s mother, she guessed.
“That’s amazing Addi. Did you use the charcoals only?”
The girl hummed a response, not seeming so convinced. “I was thinking about adding some colors here and there but I’m not sure…”
Feyre smiled and looked at her for a moment. “Would you like that?”
Addison shrugged. After a moment, she tore her gaze away from her painting to meet Feyre’s eyes. “You always add color to yours”
“But that’s me, Addi. You need to find what works for you. Art isn’t something that needs to be done a certain way or another. That’s just something you do for yourself, to make you feel better, and that’s the beauty of it.”
Addi didn’t respond. She had come to understand that she rarely used words, always more comfortable with silence. Feyre sighed and added softly, “I’ll be right back.”
She made her way towards the end of the room, where rows and rows of all kind of art supplies where gathered and sketchbooks where discarded on bookshelves. Feyre retrieved one in particular, with a pinch to the heart, and made her way back to her student.
She handed her the sketchbook.
“I didn’t always add color”, she said as Addi looked at her quizzically and skipped through pages after pages of dark sketches. “There was a time where it was very difficult for me to add colors, some even more than others.” she shrugged. “So no, you don’t have to add anything you don’t want to add - just like you don’t have to use any technique you don’t feel like using, or sketch anything you don’t like sketching. You art is yours, Addi. That’s the whole point of this class. So now, let me ask you again : do you want to add color to your sketch?”
But Addi was absorbed in a specific sketch in the book Feyre had given her. A particularly dark, and particularly painful one, if Feyre was being honest. Her heart squeezed at the memory - the memory of her making it, but also, even more painfully, the memory behind it. Finally, Addi looked up to her and slightly shook her head. Feyre almost thought she saw silver lining her eyes, but a small hand on her hip caught her attention and she didn’t get the confirmation.
“Momma, people are here.”
Feyre looked at her daughter, equally grateful for the distraction and distraught by the memories that had overwhelmed her in such a small amount of time. The glimpse of her daughter’s blue-grey eyes—her eyes—looking up at her helped her regain her composure before she looked up to see that, indeed, parents were starting to gather in front of the glass wall of the studio, waiting for the class to be dismissed and their children to come out.
Clearing her throat, she straightened. “Okay, our time’s up for today, seems like I got a little carried away. You can leave everything, I’ll tidy up and clean your supplies.”
Children of all ages started looking up, gathering their belongings and thanking her while waving her goodbye. Addison, still absorbed by the sketchbook in her hands, and her own art hanging before her, seemed unaffected as they all scattered out of the room and rejoined their parents.
Feyre decided to give her a few more minutes as she started cleaning up the mess the class had left behind - her own fault for getting carried away and not giving them enough time to do so themselves. Gathering paints, brushes, crayons, charcoals and any other material left in the room with Elizabeth’s help, she meticulously cleared the stools and tables.
Addison retreated to the back of the studio with Feyre and handed her the sketchbook. “I won’t add color to this one,” she announced resolutely, as if their conversation had never been interrupted. “One day, maybe. But I like it for now.”
Feyre smiled fondly at her. “One day, I’m sure,” she confirmed. She squeezed Addison’s shoulder and, almost timidly, the brunette crushed her into a hug. Feyre hugged her back, and for a moment, she didn’t know which one of them needed the comfort most.
A soft knock had them break from the hug and turn their heads towards the entrance of the studio, to meet blue eyes so deep they almost looked violet. Feyre raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow towards the intruder, a broad man with dark skin, waiting expectantly.
“We’re closed,” Elizabeth provided matter-of-factly. Feyre couldn’t help her small laugh. Leave it to her 5 year old to supply with unfiltered, unashamed truths.
“We are,” Feyre confirmed, “but how can we help you?”
She looked at the man and couldn’t help but notice the hint of amusement in his eyes. “We’re here for the 5 o’clock class?”
Looking down, that’s when she noticed the kid holding—crushing?—the man’s hand. He looked so much like him that Feyre had to do a double take, eyes darting back and forth between the two.
“There isn’t a 5 o’clock class,” she stated after a few minutes of staring in silence.
The man was frowning now. “Sorry, but yeah, there is. We’ve registered online.”
She sighed, irritated. Leave it to a man to claim he knew her classes schedule better than herself. She wanted to say as much, but one more look towards the little boy convinced her otherwise. He didn’t seem particularly happy to be here, and she didn’t want to make him any more uncomfortable by snapping at his dad. Especially if he was to become her student soon. Instead, she made her way towards her computer. “What’s your name?”
“Rhysand Knight,” he nodded towards the boy “and that’s Nyx.”
Feyre did a quick search on her client’s database and saw Addison gathering her coat and bag in the corner of her eyes wile Eli made her way towards her. The 14 year old waved at her, “I need to get going.”
“Bye, Addi, see you Thursday?”
She nodded, before exiting and Feyre went back to her computer.
“You’re signed up for a class tomorrow, Wednesday, at 5pm. We’re closed for the day,” she announced to the duo still waiting at the door. She even managed an apologetic smile that didn’t meet the eye.
Slowly, realization seemed to lit the man’s - Rhysand - face. “It’s Tuesday.”
It wasn’t a question. Yet, she found herself answering anyway, “Yeah, it’s Tuesday.”
He sighed, and ran a hand through his face. His ridiculously handsome face, Feyre couldn’t help but notice. The kid, Nyx, seemed to look a bit more relaxed since the news that he wasn’t about to enter an art class, and the hand that was holding his dad’s slightly relaxed.
“Even I knew that,” Elizabeth interjected, frowning
Rhysand huffed a small humorless laugh. “Sorry about that. Tomorrow, then?”
Feyre nodded “Tomorrow.”
Nyx sighed heavily and made a disapproving sound that had Feyre smile apologetically again, before they made their way out of the studio.
Through the glass studio display, Feyre watched them retreat and couldn’t help but wonder what had brought the both of them to her art class. Most kids were here to express themselves through art, after a particularly traumatic event had happened to them. And from the haunted look on that kid’s face, she kept wondering his story.
The little boy’s look didn’t leave her all evening. It didn’t leave her as she gathered her things and Elizabeth and her made their way all across town, to the less welcoming neighborhood where their apartment was located. It didn’t leave her as she played with Eli. It still didn’t leave her as she prepared dinner, and certainly not when she laid in her bed that night, sleep difficult to find.
And, as her bedside clock chimed 11, she decided she’d do everything she could to help that little kid and chase that look away from his face.
So yes, she loved her job, she decided. Because if she could be helping even one kid, that was enough to bring her fulfillment. And that’s exactly what she intended to do.