Through the Artist's Eyes

Ethan moved slowly through the gallery, weaving between the other visitors as he studied the paintings that lined the walls. Every now and then, his eyes would drift back to Gabriel, who was animatedly chatting with a group of people on the far side of the room. There was something magnetic about the way Gabriel moved—confident but lighthearted, as if the world around him was something to be enjoyed, not endured.

It was strange to feel drawn to someone so effortlessly happy, especially when his own world felt so heavy, but that was part of what intrigued Ethan. He watched Gabriel for a moment longer, then shook his head, feeling slightly embarrassed. He wasn't here to focus on Gabriel. He was here because Sam thought it might help him, and to his surprise, it was.

He turned back to the nearest painting, a swirling mix of blue and green that seemed to ripple across the canvas like water. The colors were vibrant, but something about it felt distant to him, like it was too bright for how he felt inside. He moved on.

As he made his way through the exhibition, Ethan found himself being pulled toward a particular section of the gallery where fewer people were gathered. The paintings here were quieter—less bold in color but somehow more intimate, like they were revealing something personal that most people might overlook. He found himself standing in front of a painting that immediately caught his attention. It wasn't as large as some of the others, but there was something about the way the colors bled together that drew him in.

The brushstrokes were softer, more deliberate, the tones muted in contrast to the vibrancy of the other works. The painting was a mix of deep blues and purples, with hints of gold scattered across the canvas, like a sky caught somewhere between dusk and dawn. It was beautiful, but there was something else—a weight to it, a sadness that Ethan couldn't quite explain.

He stared at the painting for a long time, his mind trying to piece together the emotions it stirred within him. It felt… familiar, in a way he couldn't fully articulate. The colors might have been subtle, but the emotion behind them was raw, almost palpable. As if the artist had poured their sorrow into the canvas, leaving a piece of themselves behind.

"Still here, huh?"

Gabriel's voice snapped Ethan out of his thoughts. He turned to see Gabriel standing beside him, smiling softly. His tone was playful, but there was a warmth to it, a genuine curiosity.

"Yeah," Ethan said, feeling a little self-conscious about how long he'd been standing in front of the same painting. "I guess I just got caught up."

Gabriel glanced at the painting, his eyes flicking over the brushstrokes before turning back to Ethan.

"Find anything else you like?"

Ethan hesitated for a moment, then nodded toward the painting in front of him.

"This one."

Gabriel raised an eyebrow, stepping closer to get a better look.

"Really? What do you like about it?"

Ethan looked at the painting again, his eyes tracing the lines of color.

"It's… sad," he said quietly. "At least, it feels that way to me."

Gabriel blinked, the playful expression on his face faltering for a brief moment.

"Sad?" he repeated, his voice softening. "Most people think this one's vibrant. They talk about how the colors pop, how it makes them feel energized."

Ethan shrugged, his gaze still on the painting.

"I don't know. I just feel like… whoever painted this was going through something. Like they were trying to hide it behind the colors, but you can see it. It feels like they were crying, you know? Like they were putting all that hurt into the paint."

There was a beat of silence between them. Ethan realized he'd said more than he intended, but something about the painting had drawn it out of him. He glanced at Gabriel, expecting him to laugh or brush it off, but Gabriel wasn't smiling anymore. His eyes were fixed on the painting, his expression unreadable.

"That's… interesting," Gabriel said after a moment, his voice quiet. "I've never heard anyone describe it like that."

Ethan felt a pang of embarrassment creep up his neck. "Sorry," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "I probably sound ridiculous."

But Gabriel shook his head, his eyes flicking to Ethan.

"No, not at all. It's just… most people don't see that side of it."

Ethan frowned, confused by Gabriel's reaction. He glanced down at the small plaque beside the painting, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw the name listed there.

Gabriel Westfield.

He froze, realization dawning on him.

"Wait, this is yours?"

Gabriel smiled faintly, a touch of something melancholic in his eyes.

"Yeah. This one's mine."

Ethan felt a wave of awkwardness wash over him, his face flushing with heat. He'd just spent the last few minutes telling Gabriel that his own painting looked sad, like the artist was crying. How could he not have noticed?

"Sorry, I didn't know," Ethan said quickly, feeling even more self-conscious. "I didn't mean to—"

Gabriel held up a hand, cutting him off.

"It's fine, really. You don't have to apologize." He paused for a moment, his gaze lingering on the painting. "Honestly, I think you're the first person who's ever said that. About it being sad, I mean."

Ethan frowned, still feeling embarrassed.

"I didn't mean to—"

"No, I'm serious," Gabriel said, his voice softer now. "Most people look at it and see the colors, the brightness. But you saw something different."

Ethan didn't know what to say to that. He wasn't an art expert. He didn't know how to analyze brushstrokes or color palettes. He just felt something when he looked at the painting, something that spoke to the darker parts of himself—the parts he tried so hard to keep hidden.

"I guess it just… hit me that way," Ethan said quietly. "Like there's something underneath it all."

Gabriel was silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful.

"You're not wrong," he said finally. "I painted it during a rough time in my life. Most people don't notice that. They just see the colors and think it's bright, you know? But you're right. There's more to it than that."

Ethan looked at him, surprised by how open Gabriel was being. He didn't expect an artist—someone as vibrant as Gabriel—to admit to struggling. But then again, everyone had their own battles. Maybe Gabriel's art was just his way of dealing with it.

"I didn't mean to pry," Ethan said quietly.

"You didn't," Gabriel said, offering him a small, reassuring smile. "I'm just glad someone noticed."

There was something in Gabriel's voice—something vulnerable and honest—that made Ethan feel a strange sense of connection. For a moment, the room around them seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them standing in front of the painting, each of them understanding a little more about the other.

Ethan glanced back at the painting, the soft colors now taking on a new meaning in the wake of Gabriel's admission. He wasn't sure how he had picked up on it—maybe it was just because he knew what it felt like to hide pain behind something else. But whatever it was, it had created a bridge between them, one that neither of them seemed eager to cross just yet.

"Well," Gabriel said after a moment, breaking the silence. "I'm glad you came tonight, Ethan. Even if it was just to tell me my painting looks sad."

Ethan chuckled softly, the tension in his chest easing just a little.

"I guess I'm not great at this whole art thing."

"You're better at it than you think," Gabriel said, his smile returning, brighter this time. "It's not about knowing the right words. It's about feeling something, right? And you felt something. That's all that matters."

Ethan didn't respond right away, but Gabriel's words stayed with him. Maybe he was right. Maybe it wasn't about knowing what to say or how to act. Maybe it was just about being honest with what you felt, even if you didn't always understand it.

And that was enough.