Page 58 of Changing the Play

Ben sighs, uncharacteristically serious. “That’s not at all my plan. Might be theirs, though.”

“I think I’m bi,” I blurt out.

“Good for you, man,” Ben says, patting my back.

Fucking asshole. “You’re cool with that, right?”

Benson side eyes me. “Uh, yeah. I’m pan, so it would be shitty of me to not be okay with that.”

“Pan?” I ask. Good God, I’m gonna need to do some research.

Ben’s loud laugh has me rolling my eyes. “Yeah, man. Hearts not parts. Let’s go catch up with Park and Darcy.”

Ben and I weave our way through the exhibits. Parker’s take up an entire wall—large canvases hung in a row. Each one has a label. I glance ahead and notice that Darcy and Parker are deep in conversation. Parker’s hands are flying through the air, animated as hell. Their heads are tucked close together and Darcy’s fingers are twitching at his side like he’s resisting the urge to reach out and touch the intricate painting.

I stop at the first in the row, with Ben beside me.

The tag below the painting saysAnger.

The art I consume the most is words. Obviously. But fuck, there’s really something to be said about this too. Or at least Parker’s. I figured they were at least marginally talented, especially to have their painting displayed in an art show like this, but I wasn’t quite expecting… this.

The blacks and reds streaked across the canvas look angry. Like Parker was pulling the anger straight from some hidden place in their soul while they were painting it. The red is jagged, blending into the black and murky purples. It’s magnificent. I’ve never seen anything like it.

It’s violent, almost.

I can feel it, like a strange tug in my stomach. Like I’ve just gotten off the phone with my dad after he’s yelled at me and berated me. It’s uncanny. And it almost makes me a little uncomfortable.

Ben blows out a sharp breath, reminding me he’s standing beside me. “Holy shit,” he whispers.

“Honestly.”

The two of us just stand side by side, staring at the painting for a second. I can’t speak for Ben, but I’m pretty fucking awed.

We move to the next exhibit and I know what it is before I even look at the wordFearbelow it. The muted blues and grays alone make it feel horrific. Not in a cheesy horror movie way, either. The white peeking through the dull colors doesn’t feel like light. It feels like light slipping away. Like hope slipping away.

“Holy fuck, Ben,” I whisper. “How the fuck do they do this?”

Ben swallows audibly. “Not a clue, man. They’re fucking perfection, though.”

Something tells me he’s not talking about just the paintings.

I can’t come up with a single reason why Parker would be worried about people seeing their art. I can’t speak for everyone, but personally,I can’t drag my eyes away from it. It’s like real fear in a way—awful and gripping—holding you hostage and freezing you in place.

I glance at Ben from the corner of my eye and watch as his eyes drag over the painting. It’s slow and methodical, like he’s committing each inch to memory. I didn’t think he’d be so into art, but hey, I guess we’re learning all kinds of new things about each other today.

After a few more seconds, he clears his throat and makes his way down the line. We’ve finally caught up to where Darcy and Parker are standing. The second I’m close enough to Darcy to grab him, I do. Wrapping my arm around his waist, I haul him in close to my side and press a kiss to his temple. He hums.

I look at Parker. They’re chewing on their bottom lip. I’ve never seen them look quite so shy before. It’s almost as unsettling as theFearpainting was.

“You good, Park?” Ben asks quietly, reaching out to brush his thumb reverently down Parker’s cheek.

Parker jolts, their eyes darting quickly around before nodding. “You guys hate them, don’t you?”

I, for one, am a little taken aback. I’m quite honestly speechless, which Parker immediately takes as a bad sign.

“Of course not. Your paintings are amazing, Parker. Truly.” Ben’s voice is filled with sincerity, and Parker nods, exhaling an unsteady breath.

They lock blue eyes on me. “And you?” Before I can even answer, they’re shaking their head. “No. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

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