Parsons

For a week, I waited for some type of law enforcement to come knocking on my door or to randomly show up at my job. All I ended up getting was a text from Landon with an apology and a promise that he wouldn't press charges. He asked if we could meet one last time to talk. I blocked his contact soon after.

"Be honest, do you think I'm crazy?" I asked Aaron the night before my interview. We sat on my kitchen island, a couple of cheap paint-by-number canvases laid out before us. I was trying to do some end-of-the-year cleaning and didn't want to just dispose of them.

Aaron didn't hesitate to nod, focused on carefully filling in what looked like a plant. "Oh, for sure."

I should've expected his candor. "Then why are you still hanging out here?"

He looked up, raising a shoulder casually. "I'm not saying you should turn to destroy property whenever you're at your limit, but you definitely saved me the effort of doing it myself if you had told me what he did."

I snorted. "Aaron, I've watched you grab a cricket with a cup and put it back outside. You couldn't hurt a soul."

"Not a good soul," Aaron agreed, returning to his painting, "but there may or may not be an arrest from my 20s somewhere in the city's system."

I instantly set down my brush and grabbed my phone, scouring Google for any results attached to "Aaron Leiva mugshot" which resembled the calm, responsible man before me. It was concerningly quick to find.

"Oh, you're serious," I spoke, fascinated as I found an image of him with a bloodied mouth and a goofy grin aimed directly at the camera. I looked back and forth from a 2007 Aaron to the current version. "There's just no way. Assault charges?"

Aaron was very embarrassed, refusing to meet my curious eyes. "A cousin of mine got into a bar fight the night we were celebrating me leaving town for another job. Amazing opportunity, but arguing in court that it was in self-defense made me stay."

Of course, it was self-defense. "Is it still on your record?"

Aaron shook his head. "The laughing at the cops made things harder, but witnesses and a camera came through to prove that the other guys started it. Got me off the hook," he explained, smiling to himself, "but in a very non-sadistic way, it was a little satisfying to break the guy's nose."

I chuckled, locking my screen. "You're so full of surprises, Leiva. I never would've guessed you'd be the type to pull these things. At least not like I know you right now."

"Change is inevitable," he said, finally meeting my gaze, "but if it comes to it, I'm sure I can still handle a good hit - in self-defense, of course."

-

Fawn was right - Dalton Pagliari had the kind of face you last saw before you were left for dead in someone's basement. During our entire video call, he didn't as much as crack a smile or hold any kind of emotion in his eyes. I kept bouncing between wondering if my internet was faulty or if I was just that insufferable to talk to.

Pagliari was looking for portraits of his family and was having trouble finding an artist who not only had the patience to recreate each of his relatives in real time but also did so in a style he enjoyed. Fawn had extended my portfolio to him personally during a brunch party, and he had grown fond of my oil pieces.

He asked about my experience, schooling, and one too many questions that kept coming back to him questioning why I had pursued art, especially with a lower pay and limited opportunities. At first I thought it was curiosity, but the fourth time around it was starting to annoy me.

"I'll be frank with you, Diaz," Mr. Pagliari warned, "I'm willing to cover your stay while you complete my project, but I will only offer you this and compensation for the duration of the project. I refuse to tolerate wasting my time and have no issue withdrawing your pay if I see you taking advantage of my kindness. I also want to clarify that once this is done, you will not be guaranteed another project or housing assistance on my behalf."

Considering past experiences, I was all too familiar with that. "I understand."

"To reiterate, you would be moving to the state of New York under the premise that after this assignment is finished, you would have to rely on yourself for further employment or housing at your own expense."

"I understand."

"I don't want to have wasted my time once it dawns on you that you are leaving your entire life behind to take this temporary job."

"You will not," I assured. "I've understood the weight of this gig, and I'm completely prepared to head out."

"How come?"

I didn't expect a follow-up question. "Excuse me?"

"Why are you so eager to leave? If I'm not mistaken, you currently reside in your hometown."

I pondered my answer for a moment, trying to find an answer that didn't make me sound self-deprecating or desperate. It was harder than I anticipated.

"Diaz?"

"I'm here; I'm just trying to find more advanced words to say I'm done with this place."

I searched his pixelated face for any dislike of my answer. Instead, he fixed his posture.

"Go on."

I resisted the urge to let out the breath I had held in. I cleared my throat instead, finding difficulty in looking directly into my laptop's lens. "You know, when I decided to go into art, everyone told me it was the worst idea ever. My high school counselor printed out unemployment stats and begged me to go into something else. My college friends would make jokes that they'd have to provide for me after graduation. One of my old friends, as of a year ago, desperately tried to get me to be a receptionist at his firm. I'm not looking down at them, but I think I'd rather be dead than giving up on this just 'cause other people ask me to."

Pagliari nodded, motioning for me to continue.

I inhaled. "I swear I don't bring this up to get pity, but as a kid who was in foster care, there was already like... a silent expectation to either fail or have to be so perfect that you got to be the poster child of overcoming hardship. It wasn't that I wanted to be in the middle or not have anyone expect anything from me besides the bare minimum - I just wanted to be able to do something that could be whatever I wanted. My whole life, I've been trying to find solutions to unanswered questions."

It probably wasn't a good idea to get into more specifics on those questions. They had haunted me for long enough. "When I got into art... I didn't need to think. Yeah, I worked to teach myself what I could and liked learning new techniques, but I know that whenever I want, however I feel, whatever others wish - I can just sit down and breathe. It's like escaping into a world where I can remind myself that I exist."

Whoops, rambling. "Sorry for the monologue," I apologized, kicking myself internally. "To answer your question: I'm thankful for everything I've gotten out of this town, but even when I questioned where home was, I always felt safe as long as I could create. I'd chase this feeling anywhere."

"I know the portraits would be of your family, but knowing that I'd be able to capture each person and make them remember that they, too, are someone... it'd be fantastic. Painting has kept me feeling whole even when everyone around me was doubtful - I'd love to be able to share even a fragment of that peace. It's versatile, as am I."

The man listened attentively, remaining quiet as soon as I finished. Still no reaction from his face. He sighed. "You're a very chatty young man, aren't you?"

My cheeks grew hot. "I've been told, yeah."

"Do you regret anything you said?"

Was it a trick question? I chose my words carefully. "No. Maybe some of it sounded cliché, but it doesn't mean it wasn't true. It seems kinda useless to be that devoted to lying about something I don't really mean."

"You'd be surprised," he acknowledged, his eyes still blank. "I don't have much time left before my next meeting, so keep your answer to a minimum: if you could choose anyone, anywhere, at any time, to create a portrait of, who would you pick and why?"

"Oh, easy, my mom," I answered immediately, my tone much lighter. "She used to hate taking pictures - seriously, absolutely hated them. As a kid, I didn't understand why since she made sure she looked her best every time she was out. One time, when I was eight, I noticed she had a space in her wallet for a picture, and I spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to replicate her with a pen I found lying around. She loved that ugly little doodle so much she kept it in the picture slot."

When I remembered that story, I felt lighter than I had in a long time. I could still picture my mother with ease, in her ironed uniform with "DIAZ" sewn into it, layering a second coat of brown lipstick right before she walked me to the nearby bus stop. She had thick black hair, often in a bun, adorned by two golden cross earrings that she never seemed to take off.

Her portrait would've been lovely.

I focused back on Pagliari's unexpressive frame. Guess he didn't do personal stories either. Without any comment on the topic, he thanked me for my time and ended the call. I shut my computer and put my head in my hands. Being emotional wasn't the behavior that helped people become CEOs.

I let my arms fall to my sides. I tried. I did my best. I did what I could. I didn't need to add more salt than the recipe called for.

I sent a quick text to Fawn to update her on the interview and another to ask Aaron what he was up to. I would meet him and his friends at karaoke in less than an hour.

-

For the record: I can't sing for shit. Luckily, neither could Kiara, Gill, or Aaron. With Kiara's boyfriend out of town and Gill's wife and kids at a baby shower, an unexpectedly fun evening had been born.

I had already hung out with them all a couple of times before, but it had been in a more speculative role while I figured out their friendship dynamics. You know when you see a trio of people who have known each other for years and you feel out of place? That feeling had a short lifespan - the two welcomed me as if I had worked alongside them this entire time.

Kiara and Gill were both in the IT department at Aaron's company, having met him in the company's short-lived coed softball team. At the time, Aaron was new in town and desperate to make connections, leading to the befriending of the two - from the bench, where they stayed the entire season when their coach realized how horrible they were at softball. Aaron was bad at team sports, Kiara feared being hit by a ball but had already paid for the uniform, and Gill was just there because the company would offer free burgers every two games.

I genuinely couldn't believe I had led a life without them.

"That's your third show tune in a road, man," Kiara complained, reclining on one of the sofas in the room. She and Gill were providing most of the help on the three beer pitchers we had ordered - despite Gill's promise to be designated driver when he had agreed to give Kiara and Aaron a ride. In his defense, the wings we ordered were too dry.

"It's my American right - no, responsibility - no, honor - to keep 'em alive," Gill said with pride, seeking through the karaoke machine's playlist. Behind him was a large screen that mirrored the device Gill fiddled with, with two slots of microphones (one currently in his hand) on each side.

None of us knew what Cats was about apart from knowing Jason Derulo and Taylor Swift were in it prior to Gill's back-to-back performances. Now, as Kiara got up and moved Gill away from the machine, Aaron and I hovered over his phone to read the plot of the musical.

"They're kinda assholes to Grizabella," I said, my mouth close to his ear so he could hear me over Gill and Kiara's offkey Grease rendition.

"That's a lot of hating for cats," Aaron remarked, turning in my direction, our faces a couple of inches apart. "You think my cat secretly dances when I'm not home?"

"Oh, for sure," I nodded jokingly, "he must have a blast playing the vinyl you have there gathering dust."

"Excuse me, that collection is worth thousands," he corrected with a cocky grin. I mimicked him with an exaggerated smile of my own.

The song came to an end, and Gill finally took a seat. An equally drunk Kiara rushed over, pulling me by my wrist to the machine.

"I don't know Spanish, so you're gonna have to carry us both," she said, handing me a microphone. "And don't get shy now, either. I heard you at Gill's birthday when Karol G came on."

-

With at most one glass of beer in his system, Aaron inevitably drove his friends home. Knowing Gill's wife would kill him if their car wasn't in their driveway by the end of the night, I drove ahead while they dropped Kiara off.

Gill's house took my breath away whenever I saw it - a multi-level modern sanctuary with palm trees and their kids' toys in every other corner. He was proud of his wife being the breadwinner - a surgeon whom he showered in kisses whenever they were in the same room. It was sickening and everything all of us secretly longed for.

I couldn't help but wonder if I'd ever have that level of tranquility whenever my eyes landed on the "BÙI-EISEN FAMILY" hand-painted in cursive on the side of their mailbox. A solid, balanced marriage that led to four kids and a pretty house. Not too long ago, the mere idea of having to feed a mouth that wasn't my own sounded like too much - now, I rejoiced in setting out dishes for dinner whenever I had company.

I hadn't considered how this wasn't a hypothetical in my disaster with Landon. It never felt like I could look too far ahead with how anxious I was that another surprise would fall in my lap. I couldn't enjoy fantasies of living in a cul-de-sac and painting in a sunroom while he did some leisure reading on the back porch. Not even the small moments could be enjoyed, like cuddling in the morning or going to the movies. It was impossible not to be alert every time we were together, trying my hardest to prepare for the next thing Landon would expect.

Even though it was short-lived, I felt like it aged me fifty years on top of our twelve years of friendship that I was scared to look at closer. Once I started that retrospect, who knew what I'd find - I'd hold onto my tranquility a little longer.

It took a little while, but Gill's car finally pulled into his driveway. Aaron helped him into his wife's arms. He was definitely in trouble, but for now, she kissed his forehead and helped him inside.

Aaron made his way into my car, and we hit the road. I must've been quieter than usual because he asked if I was alright.

"I am, don't worry. I guess I was just thinking about Gill and his wife."

He was confused. "They'll be okay, probably just a scolding tomorrow."

I let the air out of my nose. "No, not that. It's just so... natural with them, you know? Even right now, you know they're gonna go to bed together, she's gonna kiss him on the cheek, and he's gonna tell her he loves her."

Aaron elevated an eyebrow. "And that's... concerning?"

"No, it's perfect. It's what I want," I explained, giving him a quick look. "I mean, I think back to how I was sure that was a possibility with Landon because it made sense - I mean, we were together half our lives. Then when he asked to see other people, it wasn't even jealousy that bummed me out. Not even the idea of him with other people made me upset."

He was lost. "I'm not following. What do you mean you weren't upset?"

"I think I just... wanted to be wanted so bad that the idea alone that it could work was enough at the time. Even when we were just friends, he was the only person I had that long. Keeping him near was enough for me to justify feeling like shit, even if I didn't actually love him. Now... I don't think I care as much about being alone if it means it gets me closer to my own Gill."

"That's a weighty conclusion to come to knowing the Heath of last week lived by the exact opposite," Aaron noted. "But I'm glad you got there. I just hope you keep being patient with yourself if you feel like you accidentally step back."

"Would it make you feel better if I told you I'm going back to Dr. Jackson?" I asked, pulling into his driveway.

Aaron dramatically put a hand on his chest. "Nothing more alluring than a grown man in therapy," he sighed, laughing when I slapped his hand away. I shut off my car; he thanked me for the ride and bid me farewell.

I stayed in the car, watching as he approached the door. He gave me a tiny smile over his shoulder and went inside. Even as I watched him turn his lights off, I didn't turn my engine back on; my eyes stuck on his mahogany door.

I pictured Aaron just a few moments ago, his full lips pulling upward. I pictured him teasing me in the car whenever we took rides together. I pictured singing a duet with him at karaoke, throwing him a towel at the gym, hugging him from behind whenever I visited him at work. The memories blended with imagination, and I had just realized that they were attempts at manifestation. Shopping for a gift for Aaron and I's first-year anniversary. Struggling to open a bottle of wine while we hosted a triple date game night with his friends. Watching him interrupt my lessons with a surprise bouquet that would make Claudia and Jolene thankful that I had finally found someone who made my eyes light up.

I drove off before I did something stupid.

-

At home, I tossed and turned in bed, replaying every interaction I had ever had with Aaron. l closed my eyes and saw his long stubble. I ran my arm down my sheets and felt the silky texture of his dozens of sweaters. I breathed and could swear the smell of his cologne had followed me home.

I dreamt I was back at Parsons that night, continuously opening hotel room doors that led to nothing, filled with the urge to find something I didn't recognize. It was a massive hallway with hundreds of doors, disappointing me over and over. The one room to finally have something inside was the one Landon and I shared on the bachelor party trip.

This time, however, Aaron received me, taking me in his arms as he kissed me passionately. His tongue against mine felt like second nature. I ran my hands through his hair as I had countless times before, savoring the tresses he worked so hard to keep healthy.

He didn't say a word, not even as he led me to the nearest bed, not even as he cautiously pushed me onto my back and crawled on top of me, our clothes having vanished away in the process. He kissed me once again, my arms finding their place around his neck when he took me in his hand, running his hand up and down my cock with a touch I could only describe as divine.

He didn't break our kiss as I reached for him, relieved as I ran my fingers down the same shaft I had first had in my mouth all those months ago. We moaned in between kisses but were yet to say anything.

Aaron eventually let go of me and guided my legs apart. He held onto the sides of my torso, holding me against his toned chest, and slid his cock inside, inch by delicious inch. Despite the illusion, the thickness I had felt in my throat mirrored in my ass, expanding my hole bit by bit.

He slowly began to thrust into me, kissing my neck while I rested my head back on the mattress, coming up with profanities that only someone like him could inspire. I wrapped my legs around his waist. He fucked me deeper but kept the same drawn-out pace.

He grunted into my ear with every unhurried trust, something I hadn't realized how much I had missed since our first encounter. He lifted himself above me enough to look straight into my eyes, his half-closed with pleasure. I couldn't hear his words, but his lips kept mouthing the same thing repeatedly.

Heath...

Heath...

Heath...

I woke up earlier than I would've liked, sweating more than most people would this late in the year. I immediately felt the wetness inside my boxers and lifted my sheets for confirmation. Like most men, I had wet dreams now and then, but none of them had left this much of a mess.