Monochrome: 40

Finn quietly returned to the apartments, wondering about his conversation with Gavin as he walked up the stairs. He stopped in front of his apartment door, reaching for his keys. Changing his mind, he turned, approaching Kieran’s door. He knocked, and waited for a response.

Kieran came to the door, hands covered in paint.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“What’s up?”

“I wanted to ask you about something.”

“Sure,” Kieran said, walking away from the door. Finn entered, pushing it shut behind him.

“So, this is probably going to seem kind of weird,” Finn said.

“Eh, probably not. What is it?” Kieran said, returning to his painting. Finn stared at it for a moment, before he remembered why he was there.

“I thought I’d ask you, since you’d know…” Finn said. Kieran continued to paint.

“What is it like… when you’re in love?”

Kieran halted. Neither of them said anything for a moment.

“Just, you know, if you’re comfortable…”

“How much do you want to know?” Kieran asked.

“Whatever you can tell me.”

Kieran waited a moment, taking a breath.

“You’re confused. Afraid, even. But, you get used to this,” he said, dipping his paintbrush in a cup of water. He swirled it around and took it out, wiping the water off of it. “The idea seems foreign. Maybe even incorrect. You’re not sure. But, part of you knows.”

He continued to clean his brushes.

“You think about them a lot. Sometimes, it’s hard to think of anything else. You think about sacrifice and change. It could be anything, it doesn’t have to be big,” Kieran said, wiping off another brush. “The idea of being apart is painful. Even for a short time. You worry. About yourself, about them. There’s a lot of worrying.”

He put away his brushes in their case.

“Your heart speeds up. So does your head. There’s not a lot of coherent thought, sometimes. Just a feeling. But it’s strong. It grabs you. Pulling. It’s a tension that seems almost physical. It’s inescapable,” Kieran said. He stopped. “Does that help?”

Finn stared at him, eyes wide and searching. His chest pounded as he realized.

“I… I have to go,” he said, quickly heading towards the door. He fumbled with the door knob for a moment, his hand slipping on the paint. He opened it, quickly returning to his own apartment.

As he entered, he shut the door behind him, pressed against it. He looked at the paint on his hand and exhaled.

What do I do…?