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"The only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. As with all matters of the heart, you'll know when you find it."

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The young girl sighed as she stared at her blank canvas for what seemed to be the 30th time that night. Everything she learned in art school was running through her brain, itching at her, trying to get her hands to twitch, to move, to pick up the paints or the pencil, charcoal or, heck, ANYTHING and just DRAW.

But she was uninspired. She leaned her cheek down onto her open palm and closed her eyes. Maybe this was just how it was supposed to be. After all, she was still relatively fresh out of art school. Despite graduating top of her class, both in grades and number of completed works, she was finding it difficult to do much of ANYTHING by the way of artistry as of late. She had picked through almost every single tome she kept in her small studio, looking at pictures and reading beautiful text to get a creative spark running through her brain but nothing happened.

There was no ignition, no new idea. Finally, after rummaging through her entire bookshelf she had given up and plopped herself down in front of the blank page, staring at it as if she could make an image appear.

"This is hopeless…." She sighed again. "It was never this hard before." Her eyes downturned and her entire body slumped.

Meet Levy McGarden: aspiring painter. At first glance, you would assume her to be full of creative energy. After all, her bright yellow shirt and wavy blue locks spoke of rich color, her sparkling brown eyes full of intelligence and the cock of hips translating her spunk. But Levy was finding it harder and harder to draw, paint, sketch, color or, well, do much of ANYTHING along the lines of an artistic flow as of late. It wasn't as if she didn't have talent, no. Levy had graduated with praise claiming she was one of the best painters the school had seen for a long time.

It was just that there was only so many beautiful images of a night sky one could paint before their hands began to have a muscle memory of where every star went. Upon realizing this, Levy became determined to do something different. And the second she did, she found that she suddenly couldn't do much at all.

She had been making a meager living off of commissions and various jobs where she painted models. Many a sculptor had hired her to paint, accurately, an image of a model or scene so they could study it at length for hours in the confines of their own studies, able to take as long as they want to perfect their own art. They would seek her out because of her sparkling recommendations, often stating that her painting lent a deeper insight on the image than a photograph. In fact, Levy was making a decent living. She could afford to live in an apartment in a safe part of town, not to mention food, toiletries and the studio itself, including all the supplies needed.

But if she was so good, why was NOTHING coming to her? Gently, she lifted her head from her hand and looked around the small studio once more. She shared the space with one of her closest friends, Lucy Heartphilia. And, at first look, you'd assume her to a model.

What a shock it must be to EVERYONE when they find that she prefers designing the clothes and watching them on a runway rather than being in them herself. Levy could find solace with that, as she was more than she appeared, just as Levy was. The woman was a buxom blonde with bright brown eyes, similar to Levy's own. Lucy stood at a beautiful 5 feet and 7 inches, her long hair straight and shining as she walked, swinging around her lower back. Lucy was the person who helped Levy reach some of the paints her taller friends placed on the high shelves and they both had plenty to talk about.

They met in art school. Levy had accidentally bumped into the beauty when she was rushing to her class, half eaten piece of toast being chewed in her mouth as she held her various supplies in her hands. Upon colliding, she noticed how the woman had heaps of fabric in her arms and was unable to see her. Levy had apologized profusely, expecting her to angry, but she only picked up her things and asked if she was alright. When she noticed the toast on the floor, she offered to help Levy to lunch as an apology and the two became inseparable since then.

So, it would make sense for Levy to look off at the corner Lucy kept her things at. After all, the beautiful creations she made were inspiring in their own right. But she had drawn countless pictures of them. Lucy's most recent project was a set of 12 dresses to match the zodiac, as the woman was a complete nerd for astronomy, and Levy had drawn the dresses as people at one point. It earned the two of them a rather large sum from a woman who was completely infatuated with the designs and the dresses were being modified to suit her figure, something Lucy was increasingly good at.

Still, the curling lace on the table, the scraps of lilac and pink, the collage of different textures sweeping over the floors and counters did nothing to spark her. Levy was about to lay her head down again when she heard the door open and a sweet voice flit in through the room.

"Lev? I brought food, you in here?" Lucy asked, stepping through the door, her back against the wood keeping it open as she carried in the bags full of take out and fabric inside. Levy quickly got up and held the door open, making certain that there was plenty of space for the other to get through and grabbed a bag of her own, easing Lucy's burden.

The bluenette gently clicked the door closed with her foot and watched as Lucy dropped down the bags onto an empty space on the table. She let out a small and happy breath of relief before looking at Levy.

"Sorry." She said, smiling. "I was planning on just getting food, but the Gallery was having a sale on silk! Can you believe it! Practically half priced. I would be crazy not to go in!"

Levy only gave her a smile in return. "I'm glad you found some things."

She grinned. "Me too! There was some gorgeous lace there too. I've just been on a roll recently." The shorter girl went to the table to help the girl unpack and Lucy was practically jumping around with her excitement. "So, what about you? How's plan "Something New" going?"

When she saw Levy's face drop, she knew that it wasn't going that well. Her hands stopped and she faced her.

"It's…just not as easy as it used to be." Levy said, looking worryingly at her blank canvas.

Lucy's eyes softed. "Well, maybe you just have to wait. It could be sparked by something…anything."

A soft sigh followed. "Maybe….I just don't know what to do. Everything I've sketched around the city looks horrid! The graffiti isn't as magical when I'm just copying it off the brick wall. I can't capture the twinkle in the eye of the kids that run around in the park. Nothing is coming to life!"

Lucy set a gentle hand on her friend's shoulder, carefully guiding her into her seat and pulling a chair next to her.

"Tell me about it?"

Levy sighed. Usually, she was a quiet and shy girl, caring more to be the listener than the complainer. She was content with leveling out her frustrations on paper, spattering paint at a wall or just jogging for an hour in the early morning. Though, recently, she felt like she was just losing grasp of her control. Her blockage of creativity was itching at her skin in a way that was incredibly irritable but more so worrying.

So she let go.

"Lucy, I just…I'm just getting concerned that…maybe I didn't make the right choice, you know? What if art school was a waste? Maybe I…maybe I'm not meant to be a painter. Nothing is coming out right. It's all clean and simple, the lines are in the right places, the images are real enough but nothing brings them to life! Everything is….everything is just a mess."

Lucy's mouth screwed up in sympathy and she pat her friend's knee. "It'll work out if it's meant to."

"That's the thing though!" Levy said, looking incredibly concerned, her hands starting to shake. "What if it's not meant to work out? What if I made the wrong choice? What else can I do, Lucy? I've wanted to be a painter since I was 7! I used to dip my pigtails in watercolor so I could have a proper paintbrush. I…I don't know what else there is for me if painting doesn't work out…I mean, you have novels if design is null! You're such a good writer! All I can do is read them…I suck at writing."

Lucy looked fierce. "Stop right there!" She said. "You are an incredibly talented, incredibly beautiful and incredibly intelligent woman! You are good at so many things! You sew, you knit, you paint and sketch. Your singing is beautiful and you know 6 different languages. SIX! You have so much you can do if painting suddenly stops interesting you."

"….But painting still interests me…it's me that art has lost interest in."

"No!" Lucy said again. "No, art has not lost interest in you! You'll find your creative flow. It's just a block, right?"

"…Right…maybe…Maybe you're right."

"Of course I am!"

"But…Lucy, what if…what if I was never meant to be a painter?"

At that, the blond looked at her, her mouth screwed up and her eyes squinting. "Does it make you happy?"

"W-what?" Levy asked, rearing back a few inches from her friend's intense stare.

"Does it make you happy? When you paint, are you happy?"

"….yes." she whispered.

All Lucy did was nod. "Then you're meant to be a painter. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. Happiness is what everyone wants. If painting gives it to you, you're meant to paint."

The words had lifted the young girl's spirits, but it had been a week and still, nothing was coming to her. Lucy had noticed that the weather channel said it was going to rain a few hours ago. It hadn't rained for months and Levy had a feeling that tonight would be a night where she might find some inspiration, even if it was just in the moist drops that fell from the sky. Lucy offered to stay with her and get her some clean sleep clothes, an umbrella, some food and a few more sheets as she lived closer to the studio than Levy did. The idea of having her close friend spend a stormy night on her own in a dark studio, camping out on the floor didn't sit well with her, so she offered to stay the night with her and the other woman had accepted her generosity.

Levy had been spending nights at the studio in case inspiration struck her in her sleep. She wanted to have all the supplies she needed at her disposal if the first spark of creativity hit her in her slumber and she wasn't going to let a little rain bother her. Levy also knew that Lucy would bring far more than she should and would have a hard time opening the door, so Levy left it unlocked so the woman could find her way in easily.

She wasn't worried. The studio was not only small but unimpressive. It was more like a shack and it was nestled in a place where most wouldn't care to look. Besides, Lucy lived only 10 minutes away. Levy expected her back at the studio in half an hour and she was sure nothing bad would happen in that time.

Still, not even 15 minutes had passed until the rain began to go down. Levy scowled and reached for her headband, carefully pulling up her hair. Her uncomfortable expression grew soft when the sweet smell of the droplets ran through the place from the open door. She felt the breeze rustle the long sleeves of her orange shirt and smiled. Yes, rain might be just what she needs to begin painting again.

She settled down in her comfortable nest of pillows and looked at the books laid out in front of her. Stories upon stories with pictures accompanying them filled her eyes. The sound of thunder rumbled and she looked up, glancing through the window to see the sharp crack of lightening. Frowning, Levy hoped that Lucy would be okay. If worse came to worse, the woman would just call her and tell her that she was sorry and that she would like to stay in her apartment.

Levy would understand. She wasn't overly concerned, but it was still a bit worrisome if she decided to go out in that pouring rain with her hands full by herself. Still, she knew that the blonde was anything but stupid, and she knew her limits and what was safe, so she wasn't very concerned. Suddenly, she felt herself get brought out of her small daze when a tiny ball of fur went running and slammed right into the side of her leg.

Surprised, she reached out for the creature. It didn't flinch away from her but was shaking, it's ears flattened against its skull, looking terrified. She gently cradled it in her arms.

It was a small black cat, with strangely round ears as opposed to pointed. It's dark fur was up and the creature seemed to have its claws out. Upon checking, she found that it was a male and gently smiled.

"Awww, are you okay?" She asked, stroking the poor thing's fur. "Is it the storm?"

The cat only continued to shake, curling up in her arms until it seemed to be an indistinguishable ball of absolute adorableness. Levy cooed at the creature, petting him carefully and rubbing him behind the ears. The cat wasn't dirty, but it was wet, she noted. There was no collar but she knew it couldn't be a stray. The creature was clean and soft, with no signs of malnourishment.

She didn't know if she had been petting him for five minutes or 20. She was so caught up in her comfort that she only jolted when she heard the heavy thumping of footsteps and how the sound seemed to crescendo, a sure sign that someone was coming.

'That…oh no, that doesn't sound like Lucy…' She thought, jumping up and running to a corner with the shaking cat. She knew that a small woman, weighting only 135 pounds would not be making those hulking and loud steps and she was incredibly thankful that the lights were dim and she could hide in a corner where the shadows were darkest. With nothing more than a squeak, she jumped down and huddled herself under the small metal table where she kept her paints. It was a tiny corner and a small desk, but it was much more inconspicuous than Lucy's large table where she kept her fabric.

The footsteps got louder and louder, the sound of thunder lending an eerie and almost terrifying aspect to the entire ordeal.

"Lily? Jesus fucking Christ! You shitty ass cat! It's a fucking storm! Come on, Lil, where the hell are you?" She heard. The second she noted how deep and rumbling the voice was, she saw a man stepping into her studio and stiffened.

He was TALL; at least 6 feet if she had to guess and broad. He looked like he measured two of her in width, like he could just completely eclipse her. One hand was on his face, pushing back dark ebony hair off of his cheeks and forehead, trying to have it join the long, spiky locks that went down his back. His skin was tanned and speckled with heavy silver piercings. They were on his nose, lips and eyebrows. Or, at least they would be if he HAD eyebrows. But that wasn't what made Levy so on edge. No it was the eyes that the studs were over. Through the dim lighting of her small studio, she saw the shining of his red orbs and felt her own body stiffen more.

'Oh god…oh god…he's…'

"Lily? Fuck, you dumbass cat, I saw you come in here!" He shouted. His chest seemed to rumble and move under his shirt and she saw the muscles on his arms quiver as he clenched his fist. "The fuck is this place anyway?" he asked, showing signs of confusion. Levy had to withhold a gasp as he stepped around the small room, inspecting Lucy's side of the area.

"Dresses? The fuck? Oh, shit, am I trespassing?" he groaned. "You fat and dumb as hell cat! You're gonna get me locked up, aren't you? Ugh! Just come out al-fucking-ready."

She saw his scowl, his lean movements. His shirt had no sleeves and showed off the tattoos on his arms perfectly. They ran down his skin fully in black and white, embellished by four studs on each arm. She felt her throat tighten as he moved into the perfect lighting, stepping right in front of the window. She had to suppress her gasp when she saw the lightening flash behind him and the shadows played on his face and body.

Her hands shook, her legs trembled.

'Oh god…he's…he's perfect…Where has he been hiding?' her eyes were wide, her daze so oblivious, focusing on nothing but him so she couldn't feel the small cat squirming, couldn't feel him trying to run to warmth and comfort of his actual owner.

She felt the creative spark in her belly and the shaking of her palms. She hadn't felt her fingers twitch and ache for a pencil that much for a long time. She wanted to immortalize him in paper, in charcoal. He'd transfer perfectly onto canvas, his posture, his expression. It was perfect, she knew she could bring life to a painting of him.

And then she heard it. It was the worst sound that she could have possibly heard and she felt her eyes widen even farther. The cat meowed again, loudly and she saw the man snap his head over to where she was hiding, his own bloody red orbs widening at the sight of her.

She felt her breath catch and her belly flop. His mouth had opened and her arms went lax, allowing the cat to escape and hide under a soaked pant leg that went undone from his heavy black boots. He blinked his eyes owlishly at her and she felt the silence choke out the most dorky thing she could have said to him.

"Oh snicker-doodle."

Why! Oh, plot bunnies, why? I don't even know if I should continue this or not. It's just that I felt this idea wiggle into my brain while I was listening to "Your Song" and I couldn't resist! I don't even know what I'm gonna have everyone do in this. So if anyone has any suggestions, please?

Also, I'm still on the fence about continuing this, so if you feel that it's a waste of time, please tell me! ANY feedback is appreciated.