the first meet
Eliot had always been uncomfortable in crowds. The noise, the laughter, the endless sea of faces—all of it felt overwhelming, suffocating. It was why he spent most of his time alone in his studio, surrounded by half-finished canvases, the only company the hum of his music and the quiet whisper of his thoughts.
Tonight, though, was different. His paintings were part of the annual student exhibit, and as much as he hated the idea of exposure, he knew it was necessary if he wanted his art taken seriously.
The gallery was packed, the air thick with perfume, wine, and idle chatter. Eliot stood in the corner, nursing a glass of cheap red wine, eyes scanning the room. His work, abstract and raw, rarely drew more than a passing glance, but tonight, his attention was elsewhere.
A man, tall and sharply dressed in a black jacket that seemed to absorb the dim lights of the room, stood before one of Eliot’s largest pieces. His gaze was intense, studying the portrait of a half-finished face with quiet focus. There was something about the way he looked at the painting, as if he was searching for something Eliot hadn’t even put there.
The man turned, catching Eliot’s eye with a steady, almost unnerving look.
the man said, his voice smooth with a trace of an accent
Unknown
It’s unfinished. It feels like it’s hiding something.
Eliot, caught off guard, fumbled for words.
Elliot
It’s... meant to be unfinished. It’s still waiting for something.
The man’s lips curved into a smile, something almost predatory in his gaze.
Unknown
Maybe it’s waiting for someone.
Eliot’s breath hitched. There was something magnetic about the man, something he couldn’t quite place.
the man introduced himself, extending a hand.
Eliot hesitated, then shook it.
Milo’s smile deepened, his eyes lingering on Eliot’s face.
Milo
I’m an artist of sorts. Photography.
He looked back at the painting.
Milo
But sometimes, it’s not just the art that speaks. It’s the moments we share.
Eliot didn’t know why, but the words sent a shiver down his spine.
Milo added, his voice quieter now, with a hint of something that made Eliot’s heart race.
Milo
Maybe we could talk more. Share a drink... See what else your art is hiding.
As Milo walked away, blending into the crowd, Eliot stood frozen. The air between them felt charged, like an unspoken promise. Something was about to change, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for it.
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