They came to a stop at a busy street corner, and Laurence turned his attention to Alex in full. There was a curious hesitation on Alex’s face, like he was nervous to believe what Laurence had said was true. It made Laurence wonder how many times he’d been insulted because he’d chosen to make his living as an artist. A look like that told Laurence that he’d been hurt before. The scars from those wounds didn’t affect Alex on the surface, but Laurence got the feeling that the damage ran deep within him, like he’d been cleaved in half, and those halves had never bonded back together, leaving him divided on theinside.
Looking to apologize for what he’d said before, Laurence continued. “If everyone pursued a traditional career, the world would be poorer for it.” The walk sign lit up in white. Laurence checked for oncoming traffic, then started to cross the street. Alex followed at his side. “Some people aren’t meant for a nine-to-five, just like some people can’t handle being left to their own devices. If you can make painting work for you, that’s fantastic, and you need to continue. A career in the arts is just as valid as any othercareer.”
“Says the scientist,” Alex commented, a hint of a grin in his voice. “Is that what you really think? I’ve known other successful men who’ve followed traditional career paths, you know—CEOs, investors, brokers, engineers—and it’s always the same. They think that it’s cute I have a hobby to keep myself busy, but they’d laugh in my face if I tried to call what I did my career. You’re nicer than any of them have been, but how do youreallyfeel? Because that’s whatmatters.”
Laurence considered what Alex had said. If he’d been twenty years younger, his opinion would have been that a career in the arts was a waste of time. It was too volatile, the income potential was unstable, and only the top ten percent ever made any kind of money at it. It was an effort in futility chased by the reckless. But since having Matthew, his opinion on many things had changed. Society continued to evolve, and the workforce Laurence had joined when he was young was different than the one Alex and Matthew were facedwith.
“I think that I don’t know enough about the current economy to be able to make an informed decision.” Laurence glanced in Alex’s direction again, still as enchanted as he had been when their paths had crossed at the art gallery. A pleasant chill ran down his spine, and he found himself itching to reach out and wrap his hand around Alex’s. “I’ve been working at a stable job for too long to know what it’s like to look for an entry-levelposition.”
“Then let me tell you.” Alex raised a hand, finger extended to make a point. “It’s totalshit.The economy is shot to hell, my friends are putting themselves hundreds of thousands of dollars into debt to get degrees that will earn them thirty or forty thousand a year, and that’s if they can evenfinda job, because everywhere that’s hiring wants experience. And if you want an internship? Sure, okay, maybe. But it’s going to be unpaid, of course. So you show up for your fancy job after getting your fancy degree and grovel, hoping that maybe someday they’ll pay you, and after the day is done, you show up to your second job and work minimum wage in food services or retail and slave away, all so you can go back home to your little cardboard box under a bridge because you can’t afford rent. Then you get up the next day and do it all overagain.”
“Except foryou.”
“Especially me,” Alex countered. “At least, especially me at the start of my career. The first time I finished a painting and thought that I could maybe get away with selling it, I was eighteen. I’m twenty-one now, and I struggled at first. I was selling myself short. I’d grown up being told by society that I should suffer for my art, and that my contributions were worthless… and it took me longer than I cared to admit to shake that. But I’m on the right pathnow.”
“How do you know?” Laurenceasked.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Alex smile. “Because at that art exhibition you attended the other night? I sold a single painting to a collector for a cool fifteengrand.”
Laurence blinked in surprise. He turned his head to look at Alex, who wasgrinning.
“So, I know my career’s going in the right direction. And that collector? He has connections. He came to see me because I recently sold a painting to a colleague of his for a similar amount. The art world is slowly starting to buzz with my name. All it takes is one sale. As long as I keep it up, I’ve got this. I knowit.”
Nestled between two towering buildings was a tiny park—little more than a few benches, a path, and some greenery. Laurence left the sidewalk and followed the path, bringing Alex along with him. They settled on one of the park benches, where Alex stretched his arms over his head and his legs out before him. He craned his neck from side to side, then tucked his arms politely onto his lap and looked at Laurence with impish delight. “So, while I regret the time I spent making no money because I believed that artists deserve to suffer, I also appreciate what I learned from those dark days. First, that hard work pays off in creative industries as long as you have an open mind and are willing to adjust when the market demands it. Second, that I’ll never listen to another man who tells me that Ican’t.”
Laurence tucked the information away for consideration. He knew better than to pry into Alex’s past on the second date, especially when the topic seemed as sensitive as it did. A story was unfolding before his eyes, told in loosely interconnected snippets that were starting to take shape. Someone had hurt Alex in the past and made him feel like he wasn’t enough. Laurence wanted to take that pain and strip it from Alex’ssoul.
“What got you interested in painting?” Laurence asked. He lifted his chin and looked up at the night sky. Light pollution robbed Aurora of stars, but Laurence knew they were up there all the same. “You said you started at eighteen,right?”
“Oh.” Alex laughed. He kicked out his legs again and stretched backward, angling himself over the back of the bench with catlike grace. It was charming, and his heart skipped a beat before resuming its normal course. “No. I started painting when I was young. I want to say that I started seriously painting at twelve. My mom got me my first set of brushes, and I just… it all just fell into place. But I have an advantage, youknow.”
“Anadvantage?”
Alex hummed. “I have this… thing. It’s sort of like cheating, except I can’t really help it. It’s just part of who Iam.”
“Is it that you look so damned good inlace?”
Alex narrowed his eyes and shot Laurence an incredulous look that made Laurencesnicker.
“No,” Alex said. He hesitated. “Well, not necessarily. That hasn’t given me an advantageyet,but I’m not discounting it entirely. But the thing I was actually talking about? It’s synesthesia. It’s where your brain crosses your senses involuntarily. In my case, when I feel strong emotion, I seecolor.”
“You seecolor?”
“Mmhm.” Alex tilted his head to the side, a thoughtful look on his face. “Irritation and annoyance is magenta. Happiness, serenity, or relaxation is blue. Pain is orange, green is guilt or discomfort, yellow is sorrow… all of them are nuanced, of course, and sometimes the shades blend into each other and get muddled, but it colors my world in a way that others can’t see. Most people I talk to can’t even imagine what it’s like. But feeling in color? It helps me hammer expression home. It gives me an edge that other people don’t have, even if I don’t usually paintabstracts.”
Feeling emotion in color. Laurence looked up at the night sky and imagined it. What would the world look like through Alex’s eyes? Swirling color against a starless night. Beauty even in the mundane. It was no wonder why he thought the way he did. If Laurence felt in color, how much of his life would have turned out differently? There would have been no burying his head in the sand back when he’d been with Ann. The elephant in the room wouldn’t have been ignored until it was toolate.
“So you can’t hide what you’re feeling from yourself,” Laurence said. He chose his words carefully, thinking what he wanted to say through before he said it. “Whatever you feel literally appears before youreyes.”
“Mmhm.”
“Then I have a question for you.” Laurence lowered his gaze from the night sky to look at Alex instead. Alex’s chin was tilted upward, his gaze loosely set on the invisible stars. “When we met at the gallery—when you pulled me into that room—what was it that youfelt?”
Alex smiled. He glanced at Laurence without turning his head. “Purple.”
“You didn’t mention what purplemeans.”
“I know.” Alex stretched his neck, then let out a slow, contented sigh that couldn’t quite hide his amusement. “But I don’t talk about purple on the second date. Icantell you that right now, I’m feeling hungry. How about you take me home and make medinner?”
