“And I know it’s only been a week, but I’ve done a lot. I feel like I’ve run a marathon, but I see it now.”
Donny angled his head up to look at him, his mouth only inches away. Roland was fucking desperate to taste him again and bit the inside of his cheek to quell the urge.
“See what?” Donny breathed out. Roland could smell sugary ginger on his breath.
He allowed himself a larger smile now. “Me.”
Donny’s eyes moved, taking in what Roland assumed to be every wrinkle, every hair, and every truth he had written in his face.
“Okay,” Donny finally conceded.
“Okay?”
Donny nodded. “Show me what you want to show me.”
Roland smiled again, and turned, tugging Donny back into the gallery. Cody had left, or was at least out of sight, and for that Roland was relieved. He pulled Donny through the main part of the gallery and into a small corner in the back that had been set aside for Roland’s two newest works. They hung in a corner, only feet apart, but the distance was clear and intended.
There was no one in the space, and Roland moved Donny in front of him, so they were both facing the first canvas. He tentatively wrapped his hands around Donny’s hips and he didn’t tense or flinch, so Roland let the grip settle. That was when he felt the vibration. Donny was trembling.
Roland leaned down so his chin hovered near Donny’s shoulder and his breath ghosted across Donny’s ear.
“Does it look familiar?”
Donny nodded. “But you changed it.”
Roland breathed out a laugh, “I made it make sense.”
Donny turned and reached his fingers up to Roland’s face and laid them on his cheek. He looked over his shoulder at the painting, then back to Roland as he slowly traced the lines of his face with his shaking hands. Donny licked his lips and pulled them into his mouth, biting down. Roland observed Donny’s jaw tensing and releasing until Donny turned again and pressed his back against Roland’s chest.
“Is that really how you see yourself?” he whispered.
“It is now.”
Donny nodded and drew in a breath that caused his entire body to shudder.“ And the other?”
Roland turned them simultaneously, not willing to release his hold on Donny’s hips. He took the opportunity to ghost his fingers under the hem of Donny’s shirt and when he felt the heat radiate off Donny’s skin, he thought his knees might collapse.
“I painted this two days ago,” he whispered, pressing his cheek against the side of Donny’s face as he spoke. A tear fell from Donny’s eye and slid down Roland’s face at the point where their cheeks were touching. Then another, and another.
Donny looked down at the floor and wiped his face.
“Who is it?” he choked out, but his voice sounded watery and the words were garbled.
“You.” Roland folded his arms around Donny and held him. Donny shook his head violently, then his whole body was trembling.
“Yes,” Roland murmured in response to Donny’s silent denial. “I wish you could see yourself the way I do.”
After he’d returned home from the first appointment with his therapist, Roland felt invigorated. Everything looked bright and alive, and he wanted to touch everything, and taste everything, and experience everything because it all felt new to him. He set up his last blank canvas and let the memory of Donny dance across his eyelids. It was as if every instance of Donny had combined into one monumental version of him and Roland snapped his eyes open, immediately aware of how to get it on the canvas.
He painted Donny as all his incarnations exploding out from one figure. The body on the canvas was most assuredly Donny, with his slender form and swooping lines— his back arched in ecstasy, surrounded by an explosion of color. The figure on the canvas was strong and confident, but scared and unsure too. It was every expression Roland had ever seen on Donny’s face explained in color and shape and glorious fucking movement.
Roland didn’t know how long he painted, but it was light again when he was done so he knew he’d been up through the night. He set his paintbrush down and stepped back, nearly out of breath from the energy he’d poured into the piece. He stared at it, and it was as if the canvas could have been Donny himself for the way it wrapped its way around Roland’s heart and wouldn’t let go.
Roland had sat down on the ground in front of the canvas and held his head in his hands and cried. Because even though he’d told Donny he loved him, it was in anger and misdirected, but Roland was 100% certain when he looked at this painting of his perfect, fucking wonderful Adonis, that he was undeniably in love. The mixed feelings of elation and regret were like a sucker punch, and Roland fought to regain his composure, finally needing to step out of the room to do so.
In the present, Donny was still trembling, still crying, but he’d turned and buried his face against Roland’s chest.
“I need you to know,” Roland said into Donny’s hair, “I am in love with you, and I am so sorry for what I’ve done.”
