Page 83 of Seeing Grayscale

Maybe I am just a tool, a way to distract him from his double life. Because that’s what he’s doing any way you look at it. For all I know, I’m simply another Brent or Leonard—a new distraction. I won’t be used again, especially not by someone who can’t see the colors all around them, begging to be painted into something worthwhile. He has all the tools to create a world glittering with light.

All I know is the bleak, the grey, the flatline of stagnance.

If I were him, I’d take that education, that pilot’s license, and get the hell out of Dodge. Start over somewhere better, somewhere I could breathe fresh air, blend all the good into a masterpiece worth seeing. A single asshole wouldn’t stop me, that’s for damn sure. But I’mnotHunter. I’m just Gray. And no matter how much I think I know how easy he has it, I don’t know. I’m assuming—angry over everything he has that I don’t—missing out on a life I could’ve had that he’s throwing away.

Slowly, Hunter slumps onto the edge of his bed. He lets the papers slip from his fingers, falling dramatically to the floor. With his face buried in his palms, he cries. Soft sobs that are so faint I wouldn’t know they were even happening if not for the shake of his shoulders and tears staining his lap. All that care he claims I don’t have—that I don’t feel—consumes me as I watch him cry.

“Hunter,” I say gently, taking the few steps to get closer.

“You’re right.” His voice is broken, a painful cry.

Guilt gnaws at my heart. “I shouldn’t have looked at the papers.”

He cries harder.

“Hey,” I coo. “Come on. Stop that.”

It’s jarring to me. This man, who appears to be larger than life—with endless power in his grasp—is crumbling beforeme.Just a homeless guy. A faceless nobody in the crowd. Society’s forgotten trash.

Careful not to step on his papers, I wiggle between his legs and pull his hands down, just like he’s done to me. The green in his hazel eyes is so bright, glistening behind wet lashes. Those dark locks he’s got trained to stay out of his face fall forward, as if they too have given up.

I brush the hair from his face. “We can end this now,” I tell him. No matter how I feel or how much my heart has already claimed him for myself, I know better. “I can go, and you can stay just like you’ve always been.”

His breath hitches, chin trembles, and true panic flares in his gaze. “Scared,” I whisper, tracing his jaw. “Alone.” My thumb drags over his bottom lip. “Weak.” The digit moves over his top one. Slowly, he lifts his hands to rest on my hips, staring deep into my eyes like they’ve got all the answers to his problems. “Or,” I slide my hand over his throat, applying gentle but firm pressure. “You can apologize and tell me what is so important about those papers.”

The thump of his pulse against my fingers quickens when he wets his lips. “I’m sorry, Gray.” His nails dig into my hips as he clings to them. “I’m so sorry. I was taken by surprise. It won’t happen again.”

I shake my head in disapproval. “That’s not what I want an apology for.”

He frowns before swallowing. I soften my stare before smoothing my thumb along his pulse point. Bringing my free hand up, I brush the backs of my knuckles down his cheek, searching his face, and savoring the scratch of his beard.

It takes him some time, but when he finally understands, slipping his fingertips under my shirt to feel my skin, he says, “I’m sorry I said you didn’t care.”

“I care too much,” I admit before brushing my lips over his. It’s not a kiss, but a reminder of what this could be—if given the opportunity.

He guides me closer, pushing for more.

I called him scared, alone, and weak, but clearly, I was talking about myself. Without Hunter, that’s exactly how I feel—how I’ve felt half my life. There’s a very real possibility that I’m siphoning everything I need directly from him.

An emotional bloodletting, one I achieve with my words, my lips, and, if he wanted it, my body. When his tongue teases the seam of my mouth, seeking entrance, I pull away.

“Now the rest,” I say, a bit too breathless to be stern.

Guiding me to his lap, he positions me over his right leg, holding me tight. His eyes fall to the pile of paper at our feet, and he sighs. “They’re symbolic more than anything.”

“How so?” I have my arm draped over his shoulder, toying with the hairs at the nape of his neck. His hair is just so soft.

“Everything my dad doesn’t know,” he says simply. “The transcripts are from my second major, which he doesn’t realize I even studied for. Aeronautical science. I lived, breathed, and slept school so that I could do both.”

“How? Didn’t you go to like…some fancy law school?”

“I did,” he agrees. “But I did online courses for my second degree. It was…draining.”

“He never noticed?” I pry.

With a soft shake of his head, he kneads into my waist. “And the pilot’s license I got last year. It took longer to get because I had to squeeze in time between my work schedule. He doesn’t know I actually did it, only that I was considering.”

I nod, sensing his hesitation over the last secret. I nuzzle his cheek with my nose before kissing it. “And the last one?”

---