Artistic Lover

Ethan stared at his ceiling, the glow-in-the-dark stars he'd stuck up there as a kid still faintly visible in the dark. Sleep refused to come, his mind too restless. Claire's words lingered, an unshakable echo that reminded him of everything he wanted to avoid.

We'd love to see your work out there.

He sighed heavily and turned on his side. Luna sat cross-legged on the floor near his bed, humming softly to herself as she toyed with the edge of one of his sketches.

"You should be asleep," Ethan mumbled.

Luna looked up, her face bright even in the dim light. "You're not sleeping, so why should I?"

Ethan groaned, burying his face in his pillow. After a moment, he heard her scoot closer, the faint rustle of her dress barely audible.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked gently.

"There's nothing to talk about," Ethan muttered, his voice muffled by the pillow.

Luna didn't respond immediately. She stayed quiet, her presence steady and patient. Finally, Ethan lifted his head and glanced at her.

"I just hate feeling like I'm... wrong somehow," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Like no matter what I do, people are always going to think I'm weird or... not enough."

Luna tilted her head, her expression softening. "Who made you feel like that?"

Ethan hesitated. He didn't like thinking about it, let alone talking about it. But something about Luna—her calm, her unwavering attention—made it easier to let the words spill out.

"In middle school," he began, his fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on his blanket, "I tried to fit in. I thought if I acted like everyone else, maybe they'd stop picking on me. So, I started drawing things I thought they'd like—superheroes, cars, stuff like that."

"And?" Luna prompted gently.

"And it didn't matter," Ethan said bitterly. "They still laughed at me. Called me names. Said I was wasting my time. It got worse when they found out I liked drawing other stuff—like fantasy things. They thought it was stupid."

He paused, his throat tightening as memories surfaced. The taunts, the crumpled papers, the way they'd yanked his sketchbook out of his hands and torn out the pages.

"I stopped trying after that," he said quietly. "It was easier to just... disappear."

Luna's eyes shimmered with an emotion Ethan couldn't quite place—sadness, maybe, or compassion. She reached out and placed a hand on his, her touch warm and grounding.

"I'm sorry that happened to you," she said, her voice soft. "But those people? They didn't see what I see."

Ethan scoffed. "What do you see?"

"I see someone who's incredibly creative, who makes worlds with nothing but a pencil and some paper," Luna said, her tone firm. "Someone who has so much to offer, even if he doesn't believe it yet."

Her words hit something deep inside him, a part of him that had been locked away for so long he'd almost forgotten it existed.

"You don't get it," he said, shaking his head. "It's not just about what they said. It's... the way they made me feel. Like no matter what I do, it's never going to be enough."

Luna leaned closer, her gaze steady. "Ethan, their words don't define you. You're more than what they thought of you. And I think, deep down, you know that."

Ethan looked at her, his chest tight with a mix of emotions—frustration, doubt, and something else. Hope, maybe.

"How do you always know what to say?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Luna smiled softly. "Because I'm part of you, remember? I know what you need to hear, even if you don't want to admit it."

He let her words sink in, a strange sense of comfort wrapping around him like a blanket. For a moment, the silence between them felt heavy, but not unpleasant.

Finally, Luna stood and stretched, her movements as fluid as ever. "Come on," she said, holding out her hand.

Ethan blinked at her. "What?"

"It's too stuffy in here," Luna said, her grin playful. "Let's go outside for a bit. Just to the backyard."

"It's the middle of the night," Ethan protested.

"So? No one's going to see us. It's just you and me."

He hesitated, but the look in her eyes—hopeful and encouraging—made it hard to say no. With a resigned sigh, he got up and followed her to the back door.

The night air was cool against his skin, the stars overhead brighter than he'd noticed in years. Luna twirled in the moonlight, her dress catching the silvery glow. She looked almost ethereal, like she belonged more to the stars than to the earth.

Ethan sat on the grass, the dampness soaking through his jeans, and watched her. For the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself breathe deeply, the crisp air filling his lungs.

"You know," Luna said, sitting down beside him, "you don't have to do everything at once. Healing doesn't happen overnight. But every little step you take—it matters."

Ethan looked at her, the sincerity in her expression making something inside him shift. Maybe she was right. Maybe the small steps did matter, even if they felt insignificant in the moment.

"Thanks," he said quietly.

Luna smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. "Anytime."

As they sat together under the stars, Ethan felt a flicker of something he hadn't felt in a long time—a tiny, fragile spark of hope.

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To Be Continued..