5' 3"
Morgan was full of surprises. It was such a sweet gesture of respect for the elderly. Ethan had never met his grandparents. He was born too late to meet any of them in person. He was jealous as a child when other children of his age were bragging about the upcoming weekend at their grandparents' house, where they could live off the fat of the land. He was also jealous of those who said that hanging out at their grandparents' house was lame. Ethan had neither interesting trips nor lame ones, though he wanted both. But all of these relationships had other sides. Nothing lasts forever. The more relatives you have, the more people you have to lay to rest. A lot of people of the same age as Ethan had to go through the loss of their grandfathers and grandmothers in primary school already. They either had to go through the loss or, like in Morgan's situation, they had to watch them die.
Ethan didn't expect that the retirement home would jog his own memories—not the nicest ones. That emerald grass. Flowered beds, which were so bright they didn't look real. Nicely cut bushes. And there were nurses and volunteers swirling everywhere with a tight smile and deeply tired eyes. They were constantly reminding that everything around them was just a nice picture, hiding the horrible truth: residents of the retirement home were living out their remaining days, waiting for their time to pass away. Nothing could erase that feeling: neither beautiful benches, where the old people were playing chess, nor even beautiful maple trees, where the residents of this place could sit down and relax in the shadow. Nice weather and fresh air couldn't reduce the feeling of loneliness and desolation. The smell of fresh pastry couldn't mute the feeling of an upcoming loss. That place was deflecting him and making him feel anxious. There was death everywhere—between nice pathways, beautiful fountains, and thick, aged laughter.
That's why Ethan was amazed that Morgan visited this place every week. It was possible to guess that the retirement home affected him differently than Thomson. It was easy to understand at a glance: Noah felt even worse than Ethan. He didn't just feel that dark, suffocating feeling, no. He hated this place.
While wanting to spend more time with Morgan, Ethan didn't lose hope of finding out something about Noah that could alienate him from Thomson. Ethan had already done it before, but not once. Sometimes it was enough for Ethan to hear one dumb phrase for an interlocutor to be dead for him. On the contrary, every word, gesture, or reaction of Noah had led Ethan to the opposite outcome. Even when Morgan, who was pissed at Ethan at the receptionist, took him outside like he was a guilty puppy, Thomson didn't have a single doubt that they could make a great couple. This situation had probably persuaded Ethan that he and Noah rounded each other out. And when Morgan raised his voice, angry with the situation… Good that Noah couldn't read people's minds, or else he would shut his mouth and never say a single word again, in order to never know the fantasies of a hungry Ethan.
Overall, Thomson was mad after their small fight. His inner being was mad, and it was screaming on top of its lungs in desperate wish for obedience because Ethan had been making himself a straightforward, carefree, not thinking about the rest of society kind of person for years. However, in bitter reality, he did care about Noah's opinion. There were two reasons why he couldn't ignore him: firstly, Ethan didn't want to offend Morgan, and secondly, Noah had a point.
Because of his spoilt character, Ethan had lost all of his friends and mates. There was no person (except his father, who was too busy to teach him wit) who could make Ethan look at his own behavior from the side. There was no one who could try to slow him down and explain why he was wrong.
There was no one, and then he appeared.
Ethan was quick-tempered, but he definitely wasn't stupid. He was aware that he wasn't always right. Sometimes feelings just take over. The feelings that others were trying not to notice, and then they became surprised why Ethan was suddenly sore about something. He couldn't say that Noah was more sharp-eyed than the others. However, he wasn't afraid to show his dissatisfaction, looking Ethan directly in the eye and not gossiping behind his back like others did.
"Beautiful," Ethan said loudly enough so that the woman would notice him.
"Yes, the painting is just on fire!" Morgan immediately added, looking extremely proud of his grandma and her art.
The gray-haired woman flinched and turned around. She had her hair up in a bun. Her eyes had definitely lost their beauty with time, but you could see the blue and green colors if you looked closely enough. It was the same marine color as her grandson had. The woman fixed her glasses with thick lenses, trying to identify the unexpected visitors. She was confused at first, but then her lips beamed with a smile.
"Noa! My darling!" she flung her arms up and stood up from the stool awkwardly. If she had been younger, she would have jumped up from it.
Ethan glanced at Morgan, hoping to see the same smile on his face, but Noah froze and stared at his grandmother like she was a ghost. He was disoriented by her reaction. And then Ethan understood why.
"Darling, I've missed you so much!" the woman came up to Ethan and hugged him. Thomson froze. Morgan froze. The woman, who mistook a stranger for her grandson, stepped back from frozen Ethan slowly and reached to his face.
"Why do you need a mask, sweetheart? Did you catch a cold in this hot weather?"
"Yes, I'm terribly sick, and it's extremely contagious," Ethan snapped and stepped away. He remembered that he wasn't allowed to be rude to Noah's grandmother. He certainly wasn't allowed to hit her hands, so she wouldn't touch him. Though Ethan couldn't let himself take off the mask and pretend like there was no need for it,.
"Oh, I see," the woman sighed sympathetically, "I wish I could make you my special chamomile tea with honey. Do you remember that I used to make it for you when you were a kid? However, there's no tea or honey around here," she said, making a helpless gesture. It sounded sad. "Well, we shouldn't worry about these little things! Tell me, who's that handsome young man with you?" she pointed at Noah. Morgan was white as chalk, "Is he…" the woman stepped closer to Ethan, so he could smell paint from her, "... your boyfriend?"
Oh, she's aware of Morgan's orientation. Interesting. When did he come out, and how? More interesting was what she was supposed to answer now?
"Yes, he's my boyfriend," Thomson approved, and he caught Morgan's face falling by the eye. What else was he supposed to answer? There was only one chance for Noah to get some attention from his grandmother. It was the only reason why Ethan had given such an answer. The one and only reason! "His name is…" Ethan stopped short, "His name's Ethan."
"Ethan and Noah! Sounds wonderful!" the woman stated and tried to reach Thomson's wrist when he suddenly hid his hand behind his back and mumbled in response to the old lady's worried look.
"I've…Um…" Ethan didn't like lying for any reason. Nothing had ever come to his mind during such moments.
"He has eczema," Morgan suddenly said. The woman glanced at him,
"Noah, sweetheart? Who's that handsome young man? Is he…"
Ethan understood that he had played the wrong card. It didn't matter how he introduced Noah. However, it didn't bother him to call Noah his boyfriend for the second time.
"I haven't seen you for ages! Come here, sit down, and tell me how you've been!" the woman went back to her stool. The first thought that appeared in Ethan's head, just when the woman turned her back at him, was the urge to run away. He should've left as soon as possible. Thomson was about to turn around to leave the pavilion, but Noah had blocked his way out already. This barrier didn't look resistless. One punch was enough to get him out of the way. But Ethan decided to listen to what he was up to.
Noah leaned forward to Ethan and whispered quietly,
"Play along."
Ethan's right ear became hot with Morgan's breath. It was good that Noah was smart enough not to touch Thomson. It was good that Thomson had the guts not to punch Morgan when he was standing so close to him. The torture with the code word 'grandmother' was already enough. He had certainly reached his limit of touch for this month.
"Please, let her think that her grandkid came over to visit," Noah begged.
"Her grandkid actually came to visit," Ethan parried quietly.
"Recognizable grandchild. She hasn't been recognizing me for a long time," Morgan said.
"Then why do you come visit her every week?" Thomson was truly surprised.
"What do you mean 'why'? I recognize her. And I do remember her!"
"That's kind of unfair," Ethan noticed, "Okay, fine. I'll play along. But I'm not a fan of humanism. If you want me to do something for you, you need to offer me a reasonable reward," he demanded.
"What would you like to get?"
Ethan would like a lot of things. Considering the fact that he hadn't touched a single body for four years (besides when he was in fights), Thomson's imagination worked with double effort.
Oh…
He would definitely…
Yeah…
"I don't need anything," Ethan lied without skipping a beat.
"Then…" Noah tapped his chin, thinking, "I owe you a wish. Sooner or later, you'll want something!"
That was smart.
"You'd do anything I ask?" Thomson clarified.
"Anything within reasonable limits," Noah mumbled.
"What if I had only unreasonable wishes?" Ethan smirked, "I don't see a scale of reasonableness here, either," he noticed and frowned, "Besides, you already owe me one," Thomson reminded, meaning the last evening. Morgan was supposed to make it up to him, not give more promises.
"I remember. These are going to be two separate owings," he assured.
"What's the difference?"
"For the first thing, I need to think of something for you, right? And for the second, you'll tell me what you'd like."
"Another pointless blathering," Ethan concluded, "Okay, let's do it your way. I'll warn you; you better not keep me waiting for long."
"Or else?"
"Or else there will be charges."
"Charges for wishes?" Noah smiled.
"Exactly," Ethan nodded and went to the bench that was standing near Noah's grandmother. Ethan had to sit down near the old lady when Noah sat a bit further from them. Everything looked absurd for Thomson, and it was getting worse and worse. The woman was a bottomless well of questions, and Ethan was answering them with the help of Noah's quiet hints. Was she really not noticing? Was it real that her ill brain wasn't suspicious? What a horrible illness!
Ethan talked to Noah's grandmother for forty minutes. This torture made him exhausted. On the other hand, judging by Morgan's appearance, it literally destroyed him. Not once. Noah tried to take part in their conversation several times, but the old lady either ignored him or asked Ethan again who Morgan was. Finally, Noah gave up, and when they were walking back to the parking lot, he was ashen-faced.
"Are you upset?" Ethan asked when they got into the car. Of course, he was upset.
Morgan bit his lip nervously. And didn't say anything.
"If you don't feel like doing anything, we can call it for today," Thomson said calmly. Even though he wanted to spend some more time with Noah, torturing him wasn't in his plan. Morgan shook his head.
"No, I'm fine," he assured, "There's one thing, m-m-m... Do you mind if I stop by my house?"
"No, I don't," Ethan nodded and started the car.
Morgan surely wasn't the heart and soul of the party on the way to the retirement home, but Ethan thought his silence was because of the embarrassment he felt. Now the silence felt almost heavy. Ethan Thomson even felt a tiny bit guilty. He should've stayed in the car, as Noah asked. But no, he didn't. As usual, Ethan did everything the way he wanted to. Was he satisfied with the result? Of course, not.
Suddenly, the sound of the rain coming out of speakers started to annoy more than usual, so Ethan switched to the radio. The car was filled with the voice of Robert Johnson – one of the most popular blues composers of the 20th century. He insisted that he once made a deal with the devil on the crossroads in order to play blues.
…Early this mornin', ooh, when you knocked upon my door
…And I said, "Hello, Satan, I believe it's time to go"
…Me and the devil, was walkin' side by side
Ethan started wondering what he would ask if Devil proposed to him to make a deal. He tried to convince Morgan that there was nothing he needed. However, there were thousands of wishes deep down in his subconscious. It was such a dark place that Thomson tried not to look inside it too often. Still… What would his wish be? To change the past? To fix the present? Or to give himself a chance to build a happy future?
Ethan glanced at Noah and noticed that he was singing along quietly. So, the choice of music was right. Which was to be expected from the owner of 'Devil's Eye'. Such an interesting power in the hands of a person who couldn't use it for his own defense. Devil's Trap it was, indeed.
"I'll try to be back asap," Morgan nodded when Thomson stopped the car near his house.
"So you won't invite me?" Ethan asked out of curiosity. It wasn't that he really wanted to see Noah's place, but he was curious after all. The biggest reason for that question was a feeling of guilt. Thomson understood that there was nothing to feel guilty of. Though, understanding didn't match with feelings.
A vestige of doubt ran across Noah's sad face.
"Y-yes, sure," he stuttered, "Fluffy and Peanut will be happy to have a guest over!" he said it more confidently.
"And what about you?" Ethan asked seriously.
"Of course, I'll be happy, too," Morgan mumbled and immediately turned red. Well, it was better when he looked embarrassed rather than like the saddest person in the world. When Ethan looked at the upset Morgan, he wanted to hug him and take pity on him. But he couldn't do the first thing and was incapable of doing the second one. He could show emotional support, but Thomson wasn't showing any progress in this either.
Morgan's flat seemed tiny to Ethan. It was probably because every inch of the wall was covered with paintings. There were even more of them standing by the farthest wall, by the side of the wide bed. You could only guess how the fluffy inhabitants of this house managed to live together with this art gallery without ruining it.
"Did your grandmother paint all of them?" Ethan asked to specify while looking at the canvas with a sunset shining through the billowing waves.
"Yeah," Morgan said quietly, "You want some tea or something?"
"No."
"Then, if you don't mind..." a towel appeared in Noah's hand, "I need to wash my face real quick."
Why would somebody need to come back home just to wash their face?
"Sure," Ethan decided not to bring up that topic and looked through the paintings instead. They were all showing the sea, ocean, or some sort of water. They all looked different, though. And unbelievably realistic. It felt like Ethan was looking at the photographs. You needed to look extremely closely at the canvas to tell the difference between the real photographs and these paintings. Ethan walked around the studio, looking at the pictures hanging on the walls, and then went over to the set of paintings standing near the wall. He was in the middle of the process when he suddenly felt something touching his leg and flinched: the black cat was sniffing his ankles suspiciously. Usually, the majority of people have the urge to pet such a big, fluffy cat when they see it. Ethan didn't move. He was looking at the cat, and the cat was looking back at Ethan. It seemed like they were trying to stare each other down. The winner was the one to blink the last.
Ethan lost. Accidentally. He heard something fall, so he broke eye contact and looked around unconsciously. He found the source of the sound when he looked behind his back. The ginger cat, which was lying the whole time on the bed, at some point decided to stretch its hind paws. While stretching, the animal accidentally pushed the sketchbook that was lying on the bedside table. So it fell on the floor and opened on the pages that were touched more than the others. Ethan picked up the sketchbook with no thoughts of looking through it, but then he accidentally looked at the savage look drawn on the paper. It was his look. Noah didn't draw in realism like his grandmother did. His style looked more like it was from a comic book. However, Ethan recognized himself easily.
Thomson was aware that it was, at least, rude to look through people's sketchbooks without permission. Through… It was him in the pictures. Nobody asked his permission, either. So, Ethan thought it was a fair trade to look through the sketches. It was a drawing from the evening of the party, where he and Noah met. Did Ethan really look so gloomy and unsociable? Thomson turned the page over. He was taking his mask off in that picture. On the third sketch – he was already taking his hoodie off.
Okay.
Ethan flipped through the rest and evaluated his torso, according to Morgan's imagination. Well… It almost looked like his actual torso. However, Ethan couldn't say he had such expressive abs, which Noah had probably dreamed of. More or less, it looked similar. In the sketch, Ethan held the button of the jeans with his fingers. Thomson turned over to the next page, and... he suddenly had the urge to close the sketchbook, feeling his cheeks turn red. What the hell was that?!
Ethan slightly opened the sketchbook again and then closed it so fast, like he did the last time. He thought that there was nothing that could make him embarrassed. Well, he was wrong.
Thomson quickly put the sketchbook back in its place and forced himself to get back to looking at the paintings. The thoughts were still coming back to Noah's drawings, but he was trying to put them away and pay attention to the drawn waves of the sea. Finally, he succeeded, thanks to the last painting in the pile. This painting was different because it was the only one that had something else in it besides water.
Ethan looked at the back of the canvas automatically and read the familiar phrase.
'Devil's'Eye'—there was the name.
5' 8"-5' 9"
Noah understood that it was dumb to go back home just to cry. He could've done the same thing in any restroom at a local diner. Or in a supermarket behind the toilet paper aisle. Or he could just not cry. He was an adult, after all, he could handle his emotions. Or maybe he wasn't mature enough to be an adult? Or was he?
Anyway, he needed to get home to cry in Fluffy's fur. Though he wasn't ready for Ethan to decide to make him a company. So the plan to cry in a cat's fur was ruined. Noah had nothing left but to hide in his bathroom. He took out a pack of cigarettes from under the towel, a lighter, and a pen. Then he sat on the cold floor and wrote a word on a cigarette, which he had desperately wanted to smoke for the last couple of hours of his life.
'Alzheimer'—he wrote on a cigarette before he lit it. Noah hoped that the cigarette would ease his emotions, but he was wrong. Tears started running down his cheeks when he was roughly half-done. Noah quickly turned the water on in the sink, huddled himself up in a corner of the bathroom, and smoked sobbingly.
It wasn't Grandma's fault that she didn't recognize him. And, of course, it wasn't her fault that she mistook Ethan for Noah. It was only the illness' fault. It also wasn't fair to blame Thomson for anything; it was tough for him, too. Still… Noah was really mad at the moment. Mad at grandmother. Mad at Ethan. What the hell?! He had been visiting her every weekend for almost two years now, and suddenly her grandchild was some random guy who looked nothing like Noah?! What the fucking hell?
After throwing the cigarette end into the toilet, Noah came to the sink and looked at his tearful reflection. Every time he would lose it, Ethan would promise himself not to do it again. It wasn't nice for a twenty-year-old young man to cry every day. Though he couldn't handle it for a long time. If he tried to hold it more than once, it could end with something even worse and suffocating. So, finally, Noah gave up and decided not to torture himself again.
'Yes, I'm a crybaby. I deserve to be one.'
After he washed his face and sprayed some air-freshener to hide the cigarette smell, Noah came out of the restroom and saw Ethan standing near the pile of his grandmother's paintings. Fluffy was sitting a couple of feet away from Ethan and was watching him attentively. Peanut, with his paws stretched out, was sleeping on the bed peacefully, ignoring the unexpected guest.
After hearing the sound of the door opening, Ethan turned to Noah. Just for a moment, but through the mask of coldness and boredom, there was a sign of bewilderment on his face.
"Were you crying?" he asked with pressure.
"What? No! Of course not!" Noah tried to laugh, "It's just that, when I was washing my face, I got some soap in the eye," he explained, trying to smile as wide and convincingly as he could.
"How old are you, five?" Ethan smirked and looked back at the paintings, "They're all amazing, every one of them."
"Yes. I also think so. And nobody needs them besides me. As you can see, I don't have enough space to hang all of them," Noah made a helpless gesture, hinting at the walls, "Too sad that this freedom that my grandmother painted on the canvas has to forever be isolated in a small apartment."
"That's true. Will you give me one as a gift then, maybe?" Ethan asked. Noah couldn't believe his ears. Neither Andrea, nor Scott, nor anyone else who had ever been in this flat, asked him that. They admired, yes, but that was it.
"Of course!" Noah smiled sincerely this time, "You can pick anything you like!"
"I've picked one already," Ethan said, taking one of the last paintings from the pile. There was a sea in it, just like in any other painting. Though unlikely from other pictures, there were other 'figures' in it: a small patch of the coastline and the boy standing on it. He was facing his back. There was an enormous wave in front of him. It was about to cover the boy and take him away. There was something else in the depths of the water. Just a vague silhouette, similar to the gigantic eye that was looking at the boy.
"Oh-h-h-h… Why this one? I've always thought it looked kind of creepy."
"Your grandmother had never painted anything like that before. And only in this painting... Why?"
Noah sighed.
"I don't even know... Maybe these were the first signs of her illness. Look at the name."
"I already did."
"It's me painted in this picture. And this thing hiding in the water and resembling the eye—it is the open mouth of a giant stingray. They're also called devilfish. However, there was no stingray at the beginning. My grandmother painted this picture a long time ago. I was little back then. Once, we went to the ocean on her birthday. She was painting, and I was running along the beach," Noah walked down memory lane. When everything was simple and easy. With great pleasure, he would get back to those warm, sunny days, full of his grandmother's laughter. "And when I met Andrea during my freshman year, she gave my power the name 'Devil's Eye'. I told my grandma about it, and she liked it. A week later, I saw her repainting this old picture. She added the stingray," Noah touched the edge of the painting, "I don't know whether it should be counted as a symptom of an upcoming Alzheimer, but you're right. She hasn't drawn anything like that, neither before nor after that."
"There's something about it," Ethan touched the little boy in the picture carefully, saying, "Like it's a warning. Something like, 'Don't use this power carelessly, or else it'll take over.' What do you think?"
"I've never thought about it this way," Noah shrugged.
"So, can I take it?"
"Yes, of course. If it doesn't confuse you, there will be a picture of me hanging somewhere in your house," Noah chuckled sadly.
"Should I be confused?" Ethan answered a question with a question, "Or... Are you sure that I should be confused by this picture?"
Noah got embarrassed and accidentally looked at his sketchbook. OH, JESUS CHRIST! WHO COULD'VE THOUGHT! What if Ethan saw it?! Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!!!
"A lot of people would've been confused," Noah mumbled, trying to calm himself down. No, if Ethan saw what Morgan had drawn, he wouldn't stay in this flat. There was nothing to worry about. Then, what was Ethan hinting at? Was he even hinting?"
"Good that I'm not one of them," Ethan noticed, taking the canvas from the pile, "I'm the actual person."
"Yes, I know. I'm sorry," Noah wanted to go bright red with shame. Why was he always saying something awkward?
"Did you do everything you wanted? Can we go to the art gallery?" Ethan, unlike Noah, decided not to pay attention to the awkward dialogue.
"Oh, yes, absolutely!" Noah scurried.
"Then let's go," Ethan took 'Devil's Eye' in his hands and went to the door.
5' 3"
'Closed due to technical reasons.'
The sign met Noah and Ethan instead of the open doors.
"Due to which reasons?!" Morgan boiled over.
"Technical," Ethan answered, and Noah looked at him with a suddenly mad glance. Then, almost immediately, his funny face changed and became sad, just as it was already usual for today. It seemed that Morgan was on the verge of crying. But Ethan didn't feel sorry for him anymore. Noah's innocent behavior didn't match with the drawings in his sketchbook.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know that the exhibition was closed earlier. You had to spend time with me at my grandmother's and at my house, but then we didn't get into the place we wanted to in the first place.
Ethan only sighed. He couldn't care less about the gallery. He wasn't a gentleman of virtue, and he thought that he was completely incapable of it. He needed Morgan. He got Morgan. And his freaking sketches were a bonus, so they were stuck in his head. It was a pity that Morgan didn't draw himself. Ethan would buy a couple of the drawings of Noah naked with great pleasure.
"That's okay. Some other time," Ethan said half-heartedly.
"It ends tomorrow. Something tells me that technical reasons won't be solved by that time," Morgan answered sadly, touching the closed door.
"We can go to another exhibition," Ethan suggested carefully.
"We can," Morgan said with no enthusiasm.
"But this one is special?" Thomson guessed.
"Yes," Noah nodded, "Every time I visited it, I imagined that there was a painting of my grandma hanging among the paintings of other great artists. It would perfectly fit into the marine theme! It would be even cooler to bring Grandma to this exhibition and show her her own painting! Can you imagine how happy she would be?"
Ethan smiled. The mix of openness and childlike innocence made Morgan especially charming. Who could've thought to accuse him of prostitution? It was impossible to believe in it… It's impossible if you don't look through his sketchbook.
"So, if the exhibition's closed, how about coffee?" Ethan suggested before Morgan said it was time to go home. Thomson didn't want to do that.
"I'll be more than happy!" Noah smiled widely.
Of course, you will.