AHS Imagines

5: Art Gallery (Michael Langdon)

A/N: I was gonna go for some variety but screw it, this idea came to me and I could only think of Michael to suit it. Comment any characters/ themes you'd want to read. 

Going to an art gallery and Michael approaches you out of fascination

It was relaxing and peaceful, listening to calm music while examining the featured art pieces around the expansive rooms. Certain pieces evoked joy, others confusion, some somber, and all of them were building up to an inspired feeling inside me. I wanted to create something meaningful after seeing the great expressions of these artists. It was like being in your own world, just interpreting the pieces and seeing their depth increase with every second I looked at them. There was also a feeling of sophistication in me towards being at the gallery and imagining the pieces' backstories. 

Everyone else in the room walked slowly around to inspect the paintings, photographs, murals, sketches, and statues displayed. Some people were listening to the audio tour explaining some history of each piece, but my thoughts were that it was much more interesting to self-interpret them. It was refreshing to talk with other people and see what their differing understandings. 

There was an ornate notepad in my hands that I used for taking notes. Every entry listed characteristics of things that inspired me, their titles, and their creators. There were several songs in there, plus some heart-wrenching books and now the works in this building. I only scribbled down notes on the most interesting art pieces I'd seen but admired them all. 

I looked up at a colorful Kandinsky painting on the wall in front of me and observing its details. It was definitely something to interpret but not a piece that I particularly loved. My music was set just loudly enough that I didn't hear footsteps approaching me on the marble floor. I didn't even know that there was someone standing behind me until hearing their deep, suave voice talk to me. 

"Hmm, I never really understood Kandinsky's work. Too abstract and not my taste. I prefer the darker works of Salvator Rosa: L'Umana Fragilita, Temptation of Saint Anthony, La Passione nel Pannello, just to name a few." He spoke.

Turning my head over my shoulder in surprise, my heart stopped upon seeing the character behind me. He was a tall man with sleek shoulder-length blond hair, a crimson velvety suit jacket over black clothes, shining black leather ankle boots, dark rings adorning his fingers, and a touch of red eyeshadow towards the corners of his eyelids. The warm red perfectly contrasted against his cold blue eyes. To say I was intrigued by him would be a massive understatement. 

I couldn't even think of anything to say in return. 

Instead, the corners of his mouth turned upwards slightly in a smart smile and he lifted his chin as he spoke: "I'm Michael Langdon." 

"I-I'm..." I started to introduce myself back.

"I know your name, it's written at the top of that paper you have there." He pointed out.

"Oh, oops, old school habit to write my name on everything." I shrugged. 

"Care to join me through the rest of the traveling exhibit?" Michael offered with an outstretched hand. 

I looked up at him with a shy smile and accepted, there wasn't any harm in walking around an art gallery for a little while. It was just kind of awkward for me to walk alongside this mysterious stranger and have our hands clasped together throughout most of the way. He didn't speak too much of himself, but led us down to the rooms where there didn't seem to be any other people besides security guards. 

All the pieces in this wing seemed to be attuned more to his taste: full of deep colors, death-related imagery, some with religious connection, and curiosity- or even fear-eliciting. Michael's intense stare was focused on one of the white statuettes, his expression seemingly knowing and happy despite the excruciated position of the figure. There was a pleading, yet pained, look in the marble face's blank eyes and its hands were raised as though to plead for mercy. It was utterly striking to me.

"What do you think of it?" He said, releasing my hand to motion towards it.  

"It's very provoking." I commented neutrally.

"You don't like it." Michael stated.

"No, I enjoy how emotional it is without even showing a physical cause of danger and that so much human expression was carved into this piece of stone." 

He was thoughtful for a moment.

"That's appreciation for the mastership. You still don't like what it means nor what it represents beyond just this one figure." He explained like an art critique, stepping closer to me while talking.

I could feel the proximity increase with every millimeter he moved towards me and it was turning my face pink.

"W-well, I can see how it could also represent something beyond my initial thought. It could be internal factors putting pressure on this person and it's like the person is trying to make it stop but can't because they aren't physical beings; like...like work or family responsibility or even some pressure that's completely intrapersonal like an anxiety disorder or somethi-" I rambled on, trying for some reason to appeal to this man.

My voice faltered and halted completely when I could feel his breath by my ear, directly over the side of my face. The beating in my heart was absolutely wild as adrenaline pumped through my veins. Suddenly, I was hyperaware of everything in my body- rushed breathing, slight fear, interest towards what Michael was doing, how warm my head felt, and even a possible flutter in my stomach. I was frozen in that position and couldn't force myself to move at all. 

"Now you're getting it..." He rasped calmly, "Good observation." 

He pulled away, turning to another piece; this one an oil painting with a black background and dark navy waves crashing menacingly over a debris-covered beach. Trees swayed wildly from the gusts of wind and the smoky grey clouds added a touch of more mournfulness to the landscape. Michael shifted his attention towards me in expectation. 

"How about this one?"

"It's a storm in all senses of the painting. The texture from the oils makes it so realistic, like you can feel the salty ocean mist spraying onto your face and the wind blowing your hair around violently." 

"Touch it if you'd like, the texture is its defining feature besides the appearance." Michael prompted.

I was taken aback and gave him a questioning look, "What do you mean? People can't touch the pieces on display." 

"Everything in this room is mine, you can do as you please and the security guard won't stop you." He assured.

"You bought all of these pieces?" 

"Yes, and I made that statuette." He admitted casually. 

My eyes widened, "If you're alright with it, then sure." 

I reached my hand out to the surface of the canvas, directly feeling every element of the painting. The waves were smooth at the bottom but felt spackled towards the top where the white seafoam was. The sand of the beach was gritty, uneven from the rocks and broken tree branches strewn over it. As for the clouds, they felt like murky layers of charcoal piled thickly onto the surface. Each illustrated gust of wind was a short bending line that blew the other features of the painting all over the place. 

"Well?" Michael questioned, standing directly behind me so I could feel his bent-over frame leaning over my shoulders and his hair touching my neck.

I exhaled deeply, overwhelmed by what was happening.

"It's even more impressive from actually feeling the painting." I confessed quietly.

Instead of telling me whether my answer was correct to him, Michael decided to respond more physically. Both of his hands slowly moved to grasp my forearms gently, like a trap for a demure woodland animal. He tilted his head a bit to press his soft lips to my neck for a mere moment, which set off an electric pulse through my chest. It felt like too little contact until he continued the same motion again. Uncontrollably, I tilted my head back against him and savored it. 

Out of nowhere, Michael was somehow able to pull away completely and be standing about two feet away from me within less than the duration of a single second. My lungs were silently gasping for air and my brain couldn't seem to focus on what just happened. The room seemed to be clouding over, like my vision was fading from me. Before I could make sense of anything, my body gave out and I fainted in the middle of the vacant gallery room.