Ben

Strawberry skin. Dark bronze hair cut low.

Long fingers, pretty face, even longer tongue.

He's on me.

He's been on me since he got here—big eyes and brushing up on my side. I don't wanna make it weird cause it's not.

But it feels weird being touched like this, on my waist, on my side.

I try not to feel weird. I know that I'd tell other people not to feel a way about it.

Wren was touching me any chance he got, it was obvious what he wanted. I knew that.

And he's nice, his eyes are bright, framed by whisky-colored lashes. He lives in California. It's not anything big, I came in here and I knew what I was gettin' into after crashing into him in the bathroom. He gave me eyes.

I'm attractive. I get looks, I knew what that look meant.

He looked over me like women do. Like all of Jules' friends do.

Wren's different from my type. Even with women, I don't go for ones that look like him... I like black, I like big girls. I like pretty and soft skin with big lips and long nails, and hips and curls,  get money, black -like me.

I love a woman. Crave her.

The way a woman just enhances my life, having a partner has always been high on my list. I'm not blessed with a mental and emotional connection yet, not really.

I've never had that but I know that I want a wife, I've seen her in my dreams. Life is a long journey with bunch of pit stops, and Wren's looking at me like lunch. Then I realize that he's not actually looking at me like that.

He's looking through me like he can see it on me.

I don't wanna disappoint him. I wanna be open to it.

Its like I'm locked in.

I'm thinking about how okay a girl is for me and I'm suddenly overthinking it. Jules says it feel the same. I'm really content without knowing how he feel but he's already kissed on me.

He's already touching on my legs, and my thighs and up my shorts.

He's already on his knees.

Big, big blue eyes. Long lashes, bright, paralyzing. Feminine.

It's just sex, I don't have to think of it in any other way. I'm nodding, I know to nod even if I don't really know yet. Shit, we already here.

They're looking at me doe-eyed and delicate. I try not to move too fast.

There are places I could be right now.

There are pretty thighs spread on my floor, tattooed and Wren's still looking at me. I keep forgetting him, forgetting where I am. The door's closed, and I made it this far into his room, I knew what I was doing. He's pressing fingers against my stomach, into muscle. It does something for him, he's open for me. I can see it in his eyes.

He's begging, even without words. He's kissing at my thighs, up across my bulge, underneath. He's looking at me like that and he's pressing into me and all I can think is that I'm still hard.

"Can I?" His hands are on my waistband.

I try to refocus. I guess so I nod.

He's gotten my shorts down a little and in seconds I'm pressed to the back of a forgiving throat, it doesn't flinch, doesn't cry, he's good for me.

It's a lot, chokes him up for just a second, he refuses to wait.

He's kissing at the tip, trying to gripe with himself, I watch him adjust in his pants. All of a sudden he's licking me, sucking me in, fucking his throat, it's obscene. He moans through it.

And it feels... Soft, warm, everything that I know it to be.

His chin is in my hand, dropped, and pretty little mouth wrapped around half of me. Wren relaxes into my touch, I'm checking to see if he's okay and he's trying to fit it all back in, I'm in awe. Watching the way he pushes himself to please me, how he's so in control even beneath me like this and I wonder if he's actually a professional at it.

He's slow and present, entranced and it's so fucking wet.

Warm. His throat gives in, he's perfect for it. He's responsive, leaning back into the bed dainty fingers pushing at my hips. He moves me when it feels too good and I can't think of how nervous I am.

I try to let him do that, cause I'll forget it all.

I forget where I am.

He whimpers, streaks down pink cheeks and even bigger pink lips, he's nosing my pelvic bone and he's tugging at my boxer shorts more, trying to pull them down all the way.

I look and Wren's watching me.

I didn't notice when I wasn't meeting his eyes but he did. He's pulling away for a just second, rubbing over my thighs, pressing into thick skin, his hands are under my shorts, pushing up against the waistband, my balls are still tucked, he's so ready for it.

He's soft with it.

He holds me for a second, pushes all of me over my shorts and he looks good.

There's no debating that, I'm confused and I'm tryna get out of my head and Wren sees that. He's scratching gently at my skin, kissing my hip.

"You want me too?" He asks.

Was that to or too?

I want him to.

I nod.

"I'm actually kinda proud of myself." He giggles to himself and I can feel it in me. He looks up and I'm shocked. "Uh- D-does it feel good? Are you feeling good?"

Confused but dazed. "Yeah."

"I can talk to you." He tries, I agree before I can think and he's touching me again. He's looking into my eyes like he's nervous and I try to relax. It's just sex. "Is that good?" I nod.

It's good.

"You don't talk much," he smiles. "I mean you talk a lot I think, but you're quiet."

I'm high. I'm lucky too cause I'd probably be in him if I wasn't so blissed out.

Aside from the blunt I faced, I took half the prescription for my back pain. I was floating.

I'm hot everywhere. Really the high is clouding everything but I'm stuck and I don't really move too much without him. It's cool, I'm letting him guide me. He stands for a second, to have a conversation and I wanna push him back on his knees.

He's beautiful.

He barely meets my eyes, he's at eye level with my lips and looks up in a bit of shock. I wanna push him back on this bed, I think of how easy he is to throw but I stand still, this time it's because I want to. I like the way our chests press together. He's looking at me now and doesn't let me look away.

I didn't expect it, not for him to try and meet me where I was.

I like the way he speaks to me. "I want you."

He's nervous, even if he's so confident with his words.

"... I'm trying to get better at like, not doing that ... My thing, I get it... but I'm starting to think that you've ... never done this before?" I nod. "Okay, that's okay for me if that's okay for you. I can- I'm good at that."

He's nervous, I wanna fix that.

I try nodding.

"I- uh- I've been with a lot of virgins an-and some straight guys and sometimes it's just that we're horny ykno and it's nothing to have a... ykno conniption over. Jules said you were straight and um- it'sa okay if you're confused or... Julian said you were nice but you don't have to fuck me if you don't want to." He reminded. "I understand if it's something for you."

I couldn't decide if I wanted to, I didn't see that happening ever not before - now I can see it happening. I see what he looks like. I see that I want it.

I'm fucking hard, and he sees it too, he's looking down at me. I'm pressed to his belly, he's hard too, he's biting his lip and rocks back.

We press together, slightly. I groan, it's dangerous. I know it is.

He's kissing my chest now, through my shirt, sinks.

Wren's looking at it now, mouth agape... is it watering?

He's on his knees again.

He's looking at me, he's holding himself. I haven't a feeling about that, slightly weird still. He's begging with those eyes, shifting around on his knees still fucking clothed and he's pressing nimble fingers to my skin.

I wonder if he's used to this.

"I can just, I can finish for you?"

He's needy.

"You can just stand here and pull my hair." He looks up at me, he closes my hand around the crown of his scalp. It's curly, tight, and easy to pull. I yank just to see. I'm still high. That sounds fair.

I'm just getting back from the military really, it's only been a few months. I'm still trying to open my mind to a lot, my mind's telling me that it's not embarrassing to be discharged in that way. I'm trying not to be embarrassed about things.

I'm trying not to be embarrassed at the way he's looking at me.

My heart's not beating too hard. I don't know how to take that.

I could feel everything he was doing, my stomach was hot. He just looks so fucked.

And he's almost begging. I wonder how he's not embarrassed being so needy. His voice is small. "Use me -please. You're so fucking sexy, Ben." His voice cracks. "You're so-" It's in his eyes. "Like, God."

"—Please?" It unlocks something in me, hits me like a truck.

He's sexy, I'll give him that.

Begging, wet mouth sloppy and open, skin soaked. It drips down his skin, he's full again.

He's staring into my soul, sucking it out my skin. It's energy.

It's all energy and transfer and giving and taking and- he's...

"Fucking amazing."

That's enough for him.

Wren's kissing at my skin now holds me over his face, presses my length, it edges over his forehead. He sticks his tongue out, noses his way over my balls and licks at that spot there. And I'm shivering, I'm sucking in that breath.

I bend down, it overcomes me and I'm pulling open a mouth that snapped shut, spitting, kissing him after, sucking his bottom lip into my mouth and he's grabbing at my chest when I toss him on the bed. He's yanking my clothes off, he moans.

His eyes cross. I'm fucking into his throat in seconds, it's pushing at my knees, gravity is pulling me towards him.

He's stroking me still, it's desperate, his whimpers have gotten so too and I'm painting stripes into a wanting mouth.

-

Jules is my best friend.

I think that's why the minute Wren popped dainty fingers into his mouth, and sucked them dry, I couldn't stop thinking of him. I felt like I did wrong by him.

I felt comfortable talking to him, even if it left me a little embarrassed. I didn't know how to ask, I never really thought before I did things anyways. What if I'm steppin in where I shouldn't?

I been doing a lot of things I ain't got no business doing and not I'm asking him this dumb question like it matters?

"You fucked Wren, right?"

He looks alarmed, always does. Like he's caught in headlights almost, he's turning his head to look at me, incredulously. And laughs.

So loud.

"Why?"

He's barely kissed me and said thank you and I can't stop thinking over it. I can't stop thinking of those eyes. He knew it.

Whimpering, weak in my knees and locked. That's crazy.

He was really good at it, maybe it wasn't all that gay, maybe he was just hot.

I can admit it when someone's attractive.

I shrug. I try not to let Jules in on it. Just wonder how much that changes it all. Wren asked me to talk to him alone, he asked if he needed to know anything before the show tonight.

Then we just got to know each other.

He was feminine, the way he looked at me. Big pretty eyes and a soft smile. He was pushing his face into my bulge, nosing up on it, obsessed with me -that was attractive. Panties, big eyes, dimpled smile.

Tiny.

I hate that I'm thinking about it now, how it rushes over me so quickly.

Will wouldn't shut up if I didn't admit that the submissiveness in it was what attracted me mostly. And that, in a way, was fueled by misogyny.

I saw him as girly, it gave me comfort. I knew that, I hated it because that wasn't what he wanted probably. He tried to give me a way out and I did what he asked of me- I used him.

I didn't like that term, tried to make it right, and kissed him after. Let him kiss me for a few minutes, cuddled, did all that necessary shit. But I cuddled Jules before, we were friends, and it wasn't a different feeling.

But I never thought of Jules like that. We've been friends for years. I've never wanted to see him naked. I never did what I did with Wren before, not as confidently. With girls you almost gotta be gentle, no one's taken me like that before. No one's laid down and let me fuck their throat off the edge of the bed and wanted me so intensely.

I've never felt so wanted.

And Jules is looking at me, in that way he does, almost like he can read my mind and I feel exposed.

"Just asking."

He bites his lip, nods after a second, "Yeah."

"Not like, I'm concerned or anything," it's genuine, Jules laughs. I don't feel like I gotta step over my words and choose them carefully cause he always gives it to me straight, "but, how gay does it make me if I let him give me top?"

He was gone shortly after, he went out with some friends quickly after tugging himself out my arms and cleaning himself up.

Jules and I were alone and I had this weird urge to want to experiment more.

I didn't know what to ask and there wasn't a problem with it or with me or if I liked it. I just wanted to know if I liked it because it was head or if I liked it because it was him. And I remembered having this conversation with Andy. I told him to kiss Jules.

It was a quick conversation, something I didn't think would matter much.

You won't know for real until you kiss him. I was trying to give advice and sometimes I just said shit but figured I'd take my own this time and kissing Wren just felt like kissing everyone else.

"...Huh?" It's confused and pointed and loud. Jules is always so fucking loud.

He's laughing, his knees are pressed to mine and we're turned towards each other on the couch. The older I get the younger I feel, the more I learn about myself.

If I was thirteen, I'd think this was gay. I'd probably have a thing about it.

But this is my best friend. I had been in way gayer situations, I mean, I tried not to remember twenty minutes ago when Jules is rolling up and I thought about how often he had Paul's dick in his mouth and how many blunts we've shared.

I try not to gag.

"No, like, what did you just say?" Jules is sitting up on his knees now, excited, he'd feel impossibly close if we weren't already so close.

He's laughing, I wonder if we're always so close to each other or maybe it's his eyes that make this feel too intimate.

Jules has always been touchy, so is Andy, they don't shy from it. Andy would let me kick my feet up in his lap, he might've had a thing with feet cause he did rub mine one time... he would've laid his head on my shoulder, and hugged me and it's normal but I've never kissed another man.

I mean, they always make that joke about the military and all my friends are gay. I should've done it by now, I just never wanted to before. And he's looking at me. There's something alluring about Wren, maybe I need a bit more open to fluidity or whatever Will would say.

I can admit that something is different.

Embarrassed ain't the word. "You heard me."

He bites his lip, the way he does and wrinkles his nose. I wonder if Andy wanted to kiss him this bad, just to know. "I mean, it doesn't mean more than you want it to mean." Thoughtful.

It makes sense.

"... if you don't wanna label it, it's fine."

"So it's gay." I don't think I'm gay.

"It's sex." He laughs. "With a man."

Nowhere near sex. "I-it's not sex, we were dressed."

"Said every athlete ever." He laughed louder, and didn't seem to care that I didn't feel that comfortable with it. I reminded myself that we were in our house. I watched that cross dangling from his neck. "It's a sexual act, Benji." He reminded. I knew that.

"Did you fuck him?" He looked confused. And nodded, and answered his own question. "He sucked you off."

He's turning to the front nodding and going 'yup' he sits up, hands on his knees, and turns back to look at me comically. "He said he was gonna do that, he did it and you liked it."

I nodded. Didn't see a point in lying since we were always so truthful. I could tell him anything, that's family.

"He's a man." I know that, J. "Like through and through he's a guy, he has a dick. It's kinda big too."

Jules pinched at that nerve a bit, I knew he was trying to. I didn't get irritated, just a little more uncomfortable. Why was I uncomfortable?

I felt exposed. I didn't feel alone though, that brought me comfort.

"He's good at it." Jules says, offhandedly. "It feels good." He nods. "I like getting my dick sucked too, sometimes by girls. You don't have to be gay to know it feels good." I'm nervous.

He notices.

"I'm not gonna tell anybody." He reminds me when I'm quiet for too long and I'm turning to face the tv just as he is. It feels normal like it's not too serious, Jules makes sure to make it feel like that. "It's a vault." He tapped his temple.

I had no worries about that, I knew him.

"It's your life, okay, you should explore, how else do you know what you like? And if you don't like it, it's okay to say that. Wren's like the perfect person for that. He won't get offended."

Julian is always good at reading the room. He's so observant, it's scary, he shrugs.

"He's a good person." He nods. "I trust him if you're worried. Like I think he's worth it."

That sounds like, "You like him?" I remember to ask.

"I liked him." He shrugged. Left it at that.

"I love Paul." He smiles, it's a sad smile.

"But-"

He squeezes his eyes shut. "I've been texting Isaiah."

"Isaiah?"

It's weird, the way he looks at me then and I wonder if I've said it some other way. I didn't mean anything by it. We all did questionable things sometimes, he wasn't tied down.

"Yeah." Julian's blushing. "It's like... normal."

"Normal?"

Jules scoffs. "You're just gonna repeat everything I say?"

"And what about it?"

He frowns. Something's on his chest, it's causing him to worry, whatever it is.

He tries to bury himself in the couch, maybe so I wouldn't hear.

"He texted me a few times after I saw him at Paul's place and he asked to meet for coffee. And we did, and we have been and I feel awful."

"You're single." I remind.

"I'm not single. Like, we all know I'm not single. It's complicated."

Here we go again.

I tried not to sound annoyed. I really did. "Stop letting him fuck with you like that."

"Benji-"

"I'm sick of watching you wade through the bullshit."

"And I'm sick of everyone acting like I don't have any thoughts of my own." He laughs, "I know what I'm doing. It's not your place to tell me how to operate in my relationship, Benji."

"Julian, that's not what I said."

"It's my choice." He nods. "I choose Paul..."

"Talk to him."

If he recovers.

I don't wanna say it, it lingers in the air. It's the elephant in the room. Paul's unpredictable and Jules is overcompensating and as his friend I want him to be free from that. He feels awful, I can tell. I'm trying to change the subject and release some of that tension stuck inside him.

Instead of anything productive... I say, "I think I wanna fuck Wren."

Silence.

Then Jules is laughing, giggling over his hands, full-on turning to me and letting out a guffaw that takes up the whole room. It's contagious.

"Did you decide that before or after he sucked you off?"

"Shut up."

"Ok." He doesn't. He nods. "Ok, you wanna fuck Wren."

"I shouldn't have said that..."

"Why?"

"Because now it's gonna be a thing, Jules."

"Why?" I try not to laugh.

He laughs again, it breaks my dam.

It lingers for a few minutes, light chuckles masking his confession. Still, he offers something as if to make me feel better. "I slept with Calum." He pushed out - like pushed, he hit me in the chest with it.

Jules laughs again like it's funny. "Now we both have a secret."

I didn't care to judge him, I've done worse. Either way, I care that he'd be intimate with someone who hurt him so bad. I wondered if he'd been so sad he felt he deserved that.

And it made me angry. I hadn't felt rage like that in a while. I bit it back.

"I kinda wanna beat his ass now."

"Huh?"

I stood on it, even though he looks so confused. He's cute like that, confused and... stupid. No, cause who the fuck thought he deserved that?

"He don't deserve to feel joy." Not when he left him bleeding like that on the pavement.

"See this that dumb shit you be doin'."

"Ben."

"Pissin' me off."

"Whatever, Benji."

Not when he embarrassed him in front of the entire school, in front of a fucking football team he probably hasn't seen since graduation. He wanted to see Jules in pain, he left him bleeding from the forehead and unconscious behind the school.

A broken arm, a broken nose, a broken rib, atwo bruised, bleeding. Jules hit his head so hard, he blacked out. The hospital said the bone on his nose could've hit higher, that he was lucky it didn't. Calum's a fucking villain. Our enemy. We don't forgive people for that. "He's not a person you should be associating with."

"Ok, Dad."

"No, true shit."

Jules sighs, "If we weren't allowed space to grow, we'd all be stuck in the same place."

"Some things are too far, Jules. It's not fair to yourself that you'd let him see you like that, not after hurting you. I don't know why you're playing with your own well-being, you keep doin stuff to hurt yourself and I don't like that. You don't need that." I remind him, "Calum isn't-"

"You're coming to the show tonight?" He cuts me off, he's biting back anger. I realize he's probably already gotten this lecture from his therapist, from Paul. I remember that he does that, that he cuts me off when he's trying not to argue and I nod.

I know that I like to debate. I check the time.

Then it hits me.

"You mean, the show in ten minutes cause-"

"We gotta load his art!" Jules is bolting out of his seat, running upstairs to throw on something, I decide I can change when we get back, I can get away with all black for now.

I shift.

Maybe I'll change.

paul

I felt okay.

This morning was rough, waking up and forcing myself out of bed at six only to puke twice.

My legs shook. I tried to ignore it in favor of the excitement that nestled itself in my stomach. I was finally able to just look over the work, the pieces that were finished were nearly all the way dry but two would need extra care transporting.

And then I hated the shadows on 'God Fears Men,' and had to reblend and add a bit more yellow chartreuse into some thinner... tiny brush finishing the gradient of how the sun shines over a field.

I found myself doing that, making little changes, painting over my signature on one resigning... looking over and over and over until the smell made me nauseous.

My head hurt, I deserved that at least. I'm still trying to find ways to redeem myself in Jules' eye and maybe that's why I didn't ask him for a ride to the exhibit. Carlos offered one, he was pretty good at moving heavy work and fast.

I tried to seem normal, thumbed the seat of his pickup, eyes on a tumbler sat in the middle console, and knowing Carlos, it was definitely a vodka sprite. At two pm.

I avoided temptation, both ways. Those jeans fit him nice, dark blue and farmer-washed, he always had a little farmer thing to him and part of it felt like my pieces. It felt like I'd manifested him and I hated, that I could want him just because it was easy.

He was cute, I tried to avoid looking him up and down, pretending like I didn't see him do the same.

Heavy boots jumped out onto the pavement when he parked, and unloaded my work after a comfortable twenty-five minutes of open windows, Chicago wind and Reggaeton.

Jules was pulling in a half hour later, bumbling apologies when he found me alone. I was hanging pieces, he pulled me close and kissed my head.

Carlos had abandoned me quickly after stacking my pieces, a lot more than he needed to do. He was assisting Benny and apologized just the same even if he did have to. Jules was such a breath of fresh air in a stuffy room.

All quiet, until he'd arrived, and everything felt so much brighter.

"Hi, I'm so sorry - I'm so sorry."

"It's okay." I smiled, tried not to make it such a big deal that he'd shown me such little affection and I was already overwhelmed.

He turns to the piece I'm holding, takes it from my hands with ease, I shove them into my pockets to keep from shaking.

I don't want him to see me like that.

He hangs it, steps back, makes sure it's secure with the tips of his fingers on the sides just like I taught. And he's stunned.

"Wow."

[ distant glow, 2019, saatchiart ]

"What is it?" That's Wren.

"Boats." Ben's eyes are squinted and he's staring intently into the foreground.

"God Fears Men." Wren reads the tag under, no blurb, just my name and a date.

It didn't fit the collection, it's so- so different from everything else. I wonder how I'm even gonna sell it.

"Drowning." Jules fills in. "Ambition, drive, sometimes it's so ferocious that man can lose sight of the godliness that is present in him. It's debilitating, drowning. Sometimes it drives us to solitude, to madness, to selfishness, sometimes it drives us to..." he turns to another piece, holds it up, it's my grandparents, "love."

When he finishes, it's silent.

Not more than three seconds later, Wren turns to me and says, "It's fucking amazing."

He lets it linger in the silence and then we're all moving about again.

Ben coughs. He disappears, and Jules follows in seconds, I'm left alone with Wren and he's moving over to a table I've had set. His fingers are brushing over things that I'd rather he left untouched and he's tap dancing on my nerves before I can think to put my headphones in.

"Jules said you needed a pep talk, I'm kinda good at those." Wren's voice was chipper. I was sanding down some spiked-up acrylic on a final piece before hanging it.

What the fuck does that even mean?

Trying to avoid some wet spots I had to rework.

It's almost six.

The paint smell is nauseating, my stomach hurts, and maybe I feel sick.

I try to ignore it, knowing it's a hindrance. The pieces aren't gonna hang themselves, I try not to shake.

And for some reason, Julian thinks Wren is a good addition to the final set-up. He's also a hindrance. He wasn't doing much to help, Jules excused himself to the bathroom around two minutes before Wren spoke.

He was supposed to be helping me mount this, more than that, he was supposed to keep his mouth shut. I try not to be too rude before Jules says it's cause I blame him for our problems. I try not to be annoyed at the idea of Wren mattering so much more than me.

The rest of the crew -the interns- are still in fixing the led lighting strips under each piece, I try not to be rude when a student steps between us. Wren smiles.

I had a headache. The look he gave Jules when I groaned at their arrival was more than what needed to be said and he was treading lighter than I thought he would. Ben's lingering around, nowhere near us and Wren keeps cutting his eyes across the gallery.

He was wearing this mauve-y blush that curled around his eyes and brushed up against his forehead, very softly.

Almost as if he weren't wearing it at all. A white frock hung over shorts and bare legs, I wondered how confident you had to be to dress like a slutty pope.

Wren didn't seem to care for my silence, and didn't take it as an answer.

He popped his gum and tried again.

"Maybe you need quiet?"

It's annoying me now, the confidence, the empty fucking head.

I roll my eyes and lift the canvas, underestimating my balance. Wren lurches forward when it nearly slides out my hands, he grabs the other side. He's small, it's obvious because he tilts a bit, he makes it so obvious that he's never lifted anything in his life.

He's looking up now, holding wet canvas at the edge, the edge presses into his frock, and sticks on. He's so fucking stupid.

He's stuck to my painting and I angrily go to hang it with two hands, trying to be light when I shove him out of the way.

He's frowning. Not at me, at the shirt.

And in seconds he's tugging it off, Jules rounding the corner and Wren's bony shoulders peek out a cropped white wife-beater.

"I think you're great," Wren offers and I'm trying to ignore how wildly inappropriate the way he is dressed is to this entire exhibit.

I didn't really look at him before but his baggy jean shorts are frayed like four inches above the knees, all his little stick and pokes are out, a fucking belly ring. I'm wondering if he's doing this shit on purpose and he's offering a soft smile.

I can't believe that Jules would let him come like that.

He smiles at me as if to accept an apology I didn't give or some gratitude for kind words after adding a ton of stress, I'm turning back to my piece.

Jules rounds the room and finds Ben in the chaos of moving parts. It's quiet again, he stands three feet away and raises another painting onto a hook.

Wren's staring at the ceiling when I look back.

And my lover steps back, he stands about six feet away from the wall, Wren sways at his side. The smaller boy tilts his head, nods.

My attention is on Jules, I'm gravitating towards him, yearning for his validation, he hasn't looked at me all day really not since arriving, but green eyes blow wide.

He's smiling, he's looking at the six pieces on the wall, scanning his eyes over all of them. He's prideful, it shows in his eyes. He seems happy with me. "Babe, this one's so beautiful."

Babe.

It feels casual almost, like friendly.

"Thanks." I try not to feel it too much.

I'm exhausted. My bones ache, I miss him. He's looking at me now, slightly confused and all the air leaves my lungs. My heart swells, he looks proud.

And I wanna kiss him. I try to speak.

I wanna apologize for stressing him out so much.

Cleo enters, like a warm front, she smells like lavender and she's bounding over with purpose, pencil holding up black hair, tendrils curling and framing a diamond-shaped face. Her head's buried in the big black book she's been carrying. Peering over her shoulder when she gets to me, I see pictures of Benny Marin's exhibit.

I haven't had time to look at any other rooms but his work is presented on pillars, in a circle, with another large piece centered in the middle.

I step back when Cleo's face comes up and Jules is looking at me with the widest eyes.

I take a breath, it's like we all share a sigh and Cleo's looking at my piece with surprise. It's the last one.

She hasn't seen this one.

My chest caves in when she steps closer to the wall.

High cheekbones, a pointed expression, she's turning to look at the edges of the canvas, smiles, and nods in approval, as they're painted over, my tag on the bottom right edge. She steps back and observes. Her heels click slowly against the glass top floor.

She pauses, steps back in front of another canvas.

This one is a photo-realistic portrait of my grandparents, I tried to make it look like the picture was taped onto a canvas and wondered if I'm good enough at oils. It's not perfect, it's somewhat streaky. It's grainy, that picture of them on the beach in '09, titled growing old. Under it is another picture of my grandma, alone. Another of them as teens.

Every painting is similar in that way, they teeter the realm of realism with a collage aspect and it's different than every single thing I've ever done.

I wonder if the universe will let me breathe for just a moment, Cleo's been here all of ten minutes and went through all the exhibits so quickly, I wonder why she pauses on mine. She's scanning, she's stepping slowly, looking across the walls.

I see a critique behind her eyes. I watch her scan over them, just like Jules.

He's watching her too. She steps forward, gets a bit closer, and runs her index over that edge.

I try not to scowl.

She steps back.

"In six weeks." She nods, she looks, impressed. "No more. We need photos for the site, they must stay exactly as they are."

"Great job." Cleo turns to me, "Space them out about two feet further, there's only eleven." She doesn't seem to mind that I didn't meet all the parameters. I needed twelve. Cleo nods. She leaves as I'm thanking her and Ben trails her Loubitons with his eyes.

He smiles, and turns to me, "We have a show, boys."

He's stepping forward to hug me to his side, Jules on his other.

He's joyous, it flows through Jules, thus flows through me.

Ben smiles, steps back, turns to Wren and Jules is looking at me now.

He smiles, and tugs me close.

Hugs me for the first time in what feels like forever.

WHEN IT'S ALL FOR SHOW

Julian's lips pressed into a tight line, worry spiking as he watched the way the painter shrank into himself. He looked good. Black hair jet-colored and slicked back, styled waved with his curls. Paisley shirt, buttoned halfway, a white-gold necklace his mother had given him.

Mustache trimmed at the edges, brows clean cut.

He was smiling, eyes alight, skin prickling in under warm lights. Big brown eyes peered through a sea of buyers. Mike Truscott stands on the edge with a frazzled assistant -Lia- she's flipping through what looks like a pager, so millennial of her. Something carefully kitschy and nostalgic.

Fit arms crossed over a broad chest and he was nodding at whatever the man that was speaking to him was saying. He didn't look like a buyer, Jules weighed the cons of going over.

He wanted to swoop in, but they were still so engaged, still communicating but Julian could tell the energy had shifted from buying to just talk and Paul doesn't seem so interested anymore.

Jules' favorite pieces had to be those westerns that Paul had spent his entire senior year on. It was a collection of mostly hyper-realistic paintings, people in standoffs, people hauling ass in muscle cars and cowboy hats. The one that was being discussed was the best one by far.

A vibrant gas station, a medley of oranges and blues and greens. It felt as if it was pulled right out of a movie and smeared. A kaleidoscope of color, an explosion of reds and oranges spread onto the ceiling, and some Impressionist paintings spread out.

They ended sharply with a fineline, the walls were stark crisp white, neutral gallery style at least on Paul's piece in the main exhibit. It's another throwaway piece, something he was working on that summer that he ended up hating anyways but last minute Cleo asked for something for the main hall.

I thought it was brilliant, some abstract painting about 11x11, an explosion of color, titled "Fourth of July."

And then his separate room.

His paintings brought out the colors in the ceilings, which made his room stand out.

Even Carlos was lingering on the edges of the room, so entranced. Jules tried to keep it still, he knew there was no need for worry but it still wedged itself inside, taking up space where joy would part.

Jules was proud, he saw others watching in awe. He knew eyes were everywhere, and it scared him, the fact that his lover had such a tough morning and now he's shaken hands with too many face cards to know the difference.

Life moves entirely too fast and Jules is trying to keep himself busy to keep from over-directing.

It's going smoothly.

the place where you can hear silence, mark magorri (2015,)/ karin jurick