Serenity

8| Dangerous Territory

"How come I've never been here before?" I asked as soon as I entered the room.

"Because I've always kept it locked up," he replied, a wry smile on his face.

I raised an eyebrow, my curiosity piqued as I looked around the room. It was a stark contrast to the bright, airy art studio on campus. It was smaller, darker, and filled with a sense of quiet intensity. Sunlight filtered through a small window, casting long, dancing shadows on the walls as the day descended into evening.

I was struck by the sheer amount of art supplies. The walls were lined with shelves filled with paints, brushes, canvases, and other art supplies. A large easel stood in the center of the room, its canvas blank and waiting to be filled with color.

But that wasn't what drew my attention.

It was the sheer number of paintings and sketches covering the walls, each one telling a story, revealing a hidden side of the mysterious man standing before me. I had seen a glimpse of his talent on the internet, but this was on a whole other level. Each painting, each sketch, was filled with a passion and energy that was almost palpable. It was a window into the soul of an artist, a man who poured his heart and soul into every stroke of his brush.

There was a sketch of a woman, her eyes filled with pain and longing. There was a painting of a tree, its branches bare and twisted, its leaves withered and faded. There was a canvas filled with vibrant colors, each one blending and merging into one another, creating a beautiful, chaotic tapestry of light and shadow.

The paintings and sketches were all different, each one unique and distinct, yet they all shared one common thread—they were all infused with a raw, emotional power that was impossible to ignore. They were a reflection of a man who had seen both the beauty and the pain of the world. I could feel the pain, the sadness, the joy, the anger, the longing, the desire, the regret.

"I can't believe I've never been here before," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

"Like I said," Shane replied, his voice laced with a hint of amusement. "I've never let anyone in here before."

I turned to him, a question on my lips, but the words died before they had a chance to form. In the dim light, his features seemed even more chiseled, the sharp planes and angles of his face highlighted by the golden glow of the setting sun as his piercing eyes remained fixed on me.

"Why?" I finally managed to ask.

His eyes crinkled at the corners as a wry smile tugged at his lips. "My mother put this all up the moment she got to know I was moving in with Leo. I guess... she hoped that it would help me bring that spark to paint back again."

I couldn't help but notice the bitterness in his voice and the pain and regret lacing his words. There was another story there that I didn't know, a tale that was yet to be told, but I knew that I had no right to pry.

"But I never really came here," he continued, his eyes still fixed on me. "Not until today."

"So..." I said, gesturing to the vast expanse of the room. "What made you decide to come here today?"

"Honestly?" he said, a slight smile playing on his lips. "I'm not sure. I just thought I'd have better luck trying to paint in private."

He turned to look at the blank canvas, his eyes filled with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. I could see the battle raging within him, the conflict between his desire to create and his fear of failure.

I wanted to reach out, to touch him, to tell him that it was okay, that I was there. But I knew I couldn't; I had to maintain a professional distance. Instead, I simply smiled and asked, "So, you're going to paint?"