Work Text:
Art had always been a part of your life some way or another. Whether it was just doodling something absentmindedly on a napkin or sitting outside to paint the ethereal colors of the sunset. You loved the way a pencil or brush felt in your hand as if it was made specifically for you.
It wasn’t a surprise to anyone when you decided to become an art teacher. The idea of spreading your love of the craft with kids that had the same passion as you was a dream come true. A match made in heaven.
When your friend Charles offered you a position at his private school, you practically jumped at the opportunity. You weren’t a mutant yourself, but no child should be deprived of the beauty of creativity, no matter their biology.
You developed a quick friendship with the other occupants of the mansion, the ones that would go on to be Xavier’s X-Men. It didn’t take long for the students to fall in love with you either.
Hank was the first to befriend you, the two of you bonding over your shared adoration of the arts. Ororo and Jean followed soon after, happy to have another woman to team up with against the men, much to Scott’s dismay.
Everything was going so well. That was, at least, until you started feeling the premonitions of a burn out coming.
The assignments that you made for the students started becoming unoriginal. You would stare at your blank canvas, paintbrush in hand, and just sit there. All inspiration started oozing out of you piece by piece, and it was starting to affect you mentally. Art was how you could express yourself. Without it, the world seemed void of color.
Even Charles could see the difference in you, without having to look in your mind. He tried inviting you to go visit the new art exhibit in the city with him, but you didn’t want to look at other artist’s artworks right now; it’d only infuriate you more.
What was going on with you? Had you finally run out of motivation? How could you be an art teacher when you couldn’t create anything yourself? Maybe Charles should look into getting someone else, for the children’s sakes.
No. You refused to give up. You just needed some inspiration. All you had to do was find it.
So, that was what you were doing now, sitting in the garden with your sketchbook in your lap. Your pencil traced lazy circles on the page, willing something to come to you. A doodle of the flowers sat abandoned at the corner of the page, along with various other forgotten sketches of the students out in the yard. Why was this so hard?!
You were about to finally give up and go inside when you noticed movement in the corner of your eye. Turning slightly, you saw Logan leaning against one of the pillars with a cigar between his lips, his eyes focused on the children that just started a game of flag football.
Logan had been a new addition to your little found family a handful of months ago. You met him when he accidentally ran into you in the hall the day he was brought here with Rogue. Other than that, you’ve only said a few words to each other in passing. He didn’t seem like a big art guy anyway, which was too bad. He was handsome after all.
Staring at him, your eyes traced over his features; his eyes, nose, facial hair, mouth. Even his side profile was good looking. No fair.
However, you found yourself turning to a new page, your pencil sketching with a newfound purpose. You continued to steal glances at him, making sure you got every detail right, from the tips of his hair tufts to the cigar that sat loosely between his plump lips. You even drew the same scene from different angles, exploring every line of his face that you could see from your spot on the bench.
When you were done, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment at finally breaking through your burn out. You compared your sketches to Logan, pride swelling in your chest. You were back.
Little did you know, your rediscovered motivation was a one-way street. The only thing you seemed to want to draw now was... Logan . It wasn’t exactly what you had in mind when you wanted to find inspiration, but at least you didn’t have art block anymore, right? A muse was a muse. He was nothing more than that.
If he just so happened to be in the kitchen at the same time as you in the mornings, your pencil was tracing out the shape of his bedhead. If he was training in the Danger Room while you were visiting Ororo, your pen was outlining his claws that popped out between his knuckles. If he was outside smoking a cigar when you were having a lunch break, your brush was painting his gentle eyes.
His eyes were your favorite thing to capture, you found. They held so many different emotions in them. Sadness, anger, love, longing . Oh, you could spend hours painting his eyes, dissecting the meaning behind them.
Maybe he was starting to be more than a muse.
Days later, you were once again sat at the kitchen counter, attempting to draw Logan from memory. He had gone out on some mission a few days ago, so you made do with what you had.
His claws are not that long. Did he always have that crease between his brows? That’s why he always looks grumpy. His hair is not that kitty-ear like... or is it? There’re his eyes... his smile’s cute. He should smile more—
“Whatcha drawin’?”
You jumped at the voice, instinctively slamming your sketchbook shut. Turning around, you saw Logan staring at you with a quirked brow, confusion written across his features. You took a mental picture so you could draw that expression later.
“I, uh... it’s nothing, really,” you spat out, mentally cursing yourself. That was the most suspicious thing you could’ve said. “I didn’t know you were back.”
Logan continued to stare at you for a moment, picking up on your obvious changing of the subject. “Uh huh. Got back last night.” He walked around you, heading to the fridge, your sketchbook momentarily forgotten. Phew .
You nodded, sliding out of your seat. “Good. That’s good. Hope everything went well.” What were you? Twelve? You had to get out of here before you made it any worse.
“You okay, darlin’?” Logan questioned before taking a sip from one of the bottles of soda he must’ve found in the fridge. At least, you hoped it was a soda this early in the day.
The pet name caught you off guard, making you momentarily forget that he was even speaking to you. Okay, now you’re just being ridiculous . To be fair, the concerned look in his eyes wasn’t helping either.
“Oh, yeah. I’m just... tired,” you fibbed, snatching up your sketchbook. “Better go get ready for class. See you around.” You practically sped out of there, leaving Logan completely confused.
What just happened?
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Logan was on his way out to the garden to have a cigar break—since Chuck forbade him from doing it inside—when he caught a glimpse of a book laid forgotten on one of the benches. Assuming it was one of the kid’s, he picked it up, flipping it open to see if there was a name.
Imagine his surprise when he saw your name scrawled at the top on the inside of the cover. It was your sketchbook, the one he rarely saw you without. His eyes scanned the garden, but you were nowhere to be seen.
That was when his curiosity started to creep in. Every time saw you, your entire focus was stuck in the book, your pencil working a mile a minute at whatever you were sketching. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t steal glances your way when you were stuck in your little world.
Anyone with eyes could see that you were beautiful. He’s tried to make a move on you in the past, but every time he caught your eye or started your way, you’d disappear. He knew you were a little shy, but he’s seen you act the opposite with the others. Maybe it was just with him.
Which brought him back to his current predicament. You never let anyone look in your sketchbook, not even your students. Logan’s seen some of your other work that Charles put up through the mansion; it was damn good. So, what was wrong with taking a little peak?
He started flipping through the pages, seeing various drawings of landscapes, plants, and animals. There were even some sketches of Xavier, Hank, Ororo, and the others, along with some of the students. They were all good, like he expected. Why were you so secretive with it?
When he flipped the page, he froze. His eyes locked on the sketches that littered the page. They were of him. You drew him from different angles, getting every detail. You made him look better on paper.
Logan tried not to look into it too much. You drew everyone. There was nothing special about you also drawing him.
Then he went to the next page, where more sketches of him stared back at him. He found himself flipping through more pages, finding even more of him in various poses and wearing different expressions. You even drew his hands, his claws drawn in a way that made it look like they were glinting in the sun.
The last drawing was a close up of his face, particularly his eyes. The way you drew his eyes... you made him look... human .
Something in his chest tightened as he stared at his own eyes looking up at him. Was this how you saw him? It was just some pencil marks on a paper, so why did it make him feel like this? He really needed to stop sticking his nose where it didn’t belong.
His legs started moving before he even realized it, but he was certain of where they were taking him. With your sketchbook clutched tightly in his hand, Logan soon found himself standing outside your art studio. You didn’t have a class today since Summers and ‘Ro took them out on a field trip to the museum in the city.
Slowly, Logan eased open the door, stepping inside. He immediately found you in the corner of the studio, your view of him blocked by the canvas in front of you. You had a paintbrush tucked behind your ear as you mixed some paint, a smear of it across your cheek. He probably shouldn’t have found that as endearing as he did.
As he moved closer, Logan cleared his throat, not wanting to scare you again. Your eyes shot up from your pallet, widening once you registered it was him. “Oh, hi! Did you need something?” You slid off your stool, setting your pallet down on it.
Logan shook his head, suddenly feeling the urge to flee. Was he nervous? He doesn’t get nervous. Scared, maybe. But he wasn’t scared of you. If anything, it was the opposite. What were you doing to him?
“Found this,” he held up your sketchbook. “Thought you’d want it back.”
Your heartbeat picked up at that, drowning out Logan’s. “Oh... thanks.” You slowly reached for it as if you were taking it from a wild animal. Once it was safe in your own hands, you glanced back at him. “Did you...?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.”
The two of you stayed silent as you stood there awkwardly. What was Logan supposed to say? Maybe he should’ve just lied. He’d rather go back to stolen glances than to think that you’d never draw him again.
He was just about to turn tail and run when you finally spoke up. “Did you like them?”
The corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “I don’t know. You think I look that good in real life?” Logan smirked, his confidence finding its way back at the sound of your soft laughter.
A small smile graced your lips, your eyes glancing over at the painting you were working on. “Do you want to see it?” You took a step back, inviting him to come closer.
Nodding, Logan stepped forwards, turning to see your painting. He was met with a bigger and colorful version of the last drawing he saw. His eyes.
“I’m not finished. I’ve been basing them after other sketches I did, so they may look a little different right now,” you informed him, though he didn’t fully register what you were saying.
It felt like he was looking into a mirror into his soul. You somehow captured something that he wasn’t even aware of in himself. He could see his own longing. Logan didn’t know you could paint an emotion. You really saw him.
You must’ve mistaken his silence for disapproval because you moved further away from him. “I’m sorry if you don’t like it. I should’ve asked for your permission first. I can stop—”
“No.”
Your brows furrowed in confusion. “No?”
Logan scratched the back of his neck, tearing his eyes away from the painting to look at you. “It’s good. Don’t stop,” he reassured you.
The tension fell from your shoulders then, a sigh of relief escaping past your lips. “Well, if you’re not busy, I could use my muse right now.” You offered him a small smile, nodding to the empty stool beside the canvas.
Sitting on the stool, Logan offered a small smile in return. “Darlin’, I’ll be your muse any day.”