The Artist's Heart

This Isn't Art Class

A/N: Will's POV (also, I don't know exactly where this story is going...for now it's friendly fluff, so it's not rated mature, but I will warn you, that could change in an instant.)

I glanced briefly at my subject before looking back down into my notebook. If I looked at Jem too long I wouldn't be able to look away. Not that I minded looking at Jem, I just felt stupid when he caught me looking. I sketched more angles into my drawing then paused. I had a choice to make: I could work on my proportions and design by drawing Jem's shirt...or I could work on shading and fine-detail by drawing him shirtless. I made my decision easily. I was so intent on my drawing I didn't notice my Demonology teacher, Mr. Lightwood, calling my name. I only looked up when I heard Jem clear his throat. I found his gaze intently traind on me, as was the rest of the class.

"Mr. Herondale," my teacher snapped sharply, "would you care to show us what you've drawn?" he sneered. I looked down at my drawing and blushed, we were supposed to be drawing runes, which is what I had done. But I had drawn them all over the bare torso of James Carstairs.

"Wouldn't the class much rather listen to you drone on about demons?" I retorted.

The students all groaned, but one piercing glare from Mr. Lightwood silenced them.

"Right then," I continued, "Perhaps the class would be more interested to hear of you nightly...escapades with demons, Mr. Lightworm."  I jeered.

The class broke out into laughter and shouts, and that was the last straw. My furious teacher snatched my paper off my desk. I stood, wildly trying to reclaim it.

"Give my assignment back!"  I snarled, trying to pull off a desperate bluff. Mr. Lightwood glanced at me.

"Sit down." he responded curtly.

 I did as he asked hoping he'd hand it back. Instead , I saw his eyes widen fractionally as he looked down at the page and when he smirked wickedly at me, I knew I was doomed.

"Will, would you care to explain your drawing to us?"

I sat frozen in horrified silence.

"Very well," he leered, lips curling back, as he walked slowly down the rows of desks showing each student my picture individually. Instantly, laughter and jeering broke out across the room.

"Notice, that while Mr. Herondale's runes are excellent, his use of shading and definition could use a little work."

More laughter.

"Tell us Will, what...or who inspired this artful drawing?"

I blushed but said nothing.

"Oh, but there's more- an accompanying poem."

 My head fell into my hand. Why wasn't the ground opening up and swallowing me right now?

"Mr. Carstairs, would you care to come up and read this for us?"

Jem cocked his head, raised a silvery eyebrow, and shot me a curious glance as he walked up to the front of the room. HE hadn't seen it yet.

"What have you drawn Will?" he asked mildly, voice tinged with curiosity as he took the drawing from Mr. Lightwood's hands. More giggles burst through the class as his silver eyes widened in shock and a scarlet red coloured his cheeks. My heart sank to my stomach. Jem took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, running his gaze over the drawing before reading the poem.

"All dark, silver, and fair, pale moonbeams for his hair/ slim, tall, delicate beauty; the light of the Angel, glows faintly/ Ethereral, fallen, shimmering star, pearl and diamond shinning polished/ I've found rarity to be sure, a wonderful treasure I claim/ My Jem."

His voice trembled slightly as he began, then strengthened. He paused a moment, then finished reading the poem. I was surprised at how his voice...broke...on the last line. Face still flaming, Jem handed the drawing back to our teacher and gracefully strode back to his seat, slumping in his chair. Embarrassment painted his cheeks still as he fiddled with the buttons on his dress coat, starlight strands of his silky hair hiding most of his face from view.

"Assignment indeed," Lightwood chortled, handing me my paper, "I hope William Herondale tht in the future you will not be so foolish. This isn't art class!"