"Follow me," Toby said when I awkwardly paused at the center of his living room. I nodded, following him into the hallway. I'd followed him to his apartment after the school day. I was here to see his studio. I felt a bit out of place as we walked through the passage. Toby stopped at one of the doors, making to open it before walking into the room. I followed him inside, squinting a bit from the harsh light that flooded the room when Toby flipped the light switch beside the door. The place was lit up, and everything in the room stood out. Though, there wasn't much to see. The place was organized in that plain rigid fashion Toby liked.

I looked around the room, noting that all the canvases were turned to their back, except for the one holding Toby's current painting that was displayed on the stand at the center of the room.

"You can flip them and have a look," Toby said, making me turn to find him heading to one of the large canvas' leaning against the wall.

"I've gotten rid of the ones I have to," he said, probably referring to the paintings by and of Brendan. I didn't say anything in reply. I looked away from him, hugging myself as I looked around the small room. The brown painted walls were bare, and Toby's art supplies seemed to be tucked away in small boxes at a corner. I eventually made to flip one of the canvas' resting against the wall. The painting on it was of a fruit arrangement - a typical and ordinary composition. Considering how fast Toby painted, he probably finished it in about an hour on a random day.

I continued to flip canvas', looking at each painting with curious eyes. I could tell the ones that were speed paintings that were not done with much thought put into them - they were probably done to help him relieve stress. I could also spot the ones that had been serious projects. They were more complex and better detailed.

"What do you think so far?" I heard Toby ask from the other end of the room. I looked up, turning to find him by the only window in the room. He was looking out into the street below with an odd expression plastered on his face.

"I can see you," I answered, turning back to the colorful gouache painting of a circus that I'd been inspecting.

"What?" he asked, turning to face me with a small confused frown. I shrugged, not knowing how to explain myself. I could go on and on about how well-done Toby's paintings were, and I could go on and one about how I admired his technique and approach, but what caught me off guard was how I could feel him in each painting—connect with him and his feelings as he'd painted each one on some level—or maybe it was just me overthinking things as usual. It was only normal that I'd like to believe I understood the person I was in love with.

"I can feel you in them, if that makes sense," I finally said. Toby laughed, smiling as he turned away from me to focus on the scenery outside the window again.

"You're odd," he muttered. I smiled a bit, resting the painting I'd been inspecting back against the wall before walking over to him. The studio's flooring was done in wood, and my footsteps echoed through the room until I stopped right behind him. I hugged him from behind, resting my head against his back. We stayed like that, with Toby looking out the window and myself resting on him with closed eyes.

"When do you think you'll start heading home?" he asked, making me open my eyes. I let my eyes wander around the room until I made them focus on Toby's face that was turned a little to the side to look at me.

"Probably in the next three hours," I mumbled into the red plaid shirt he was wearing. It wasn't like my parents would question my whereabouts per se. They were always absorbed in their own activates to notice much in general. I don't think anyone would wonder where I was until maybe eight in the evening, and it was just four PM at the moment by my guess.

"Okay," he said, before making to turn around in my hold so that he was looking down at me as I hugged him. He pulled me to himself, tightening the hug by putting his arms around me as well. I hummed in content, feeling a bit flustered.

I soon felt him place a kiss on my forehead before he began to run his fingers through my hair. "I've been thinking a lot lately," he said in a small voice. It was like he was whispering and trying to keep his next-door neighbors from listening in.

"I feel great now—better than I've felt in the past three or so years, but I've been wondering what will happen to that happiness when you leave for college?" His words made me pull away from him so that I could look up at his face. He had that faraway look of his, and I wasn't sure how to answer his question.

"Toby—"

"Ignore me. I'm just overthinking things as usual," he sighed, pulling me back into the hug we'd been sharing.

"I love you so much."

My heart rate increased at the sound of Toby's words. He'd been saying them more freely now, but if anything, the effect they had on me had become more evident. He moved his hand from my hair to use it to hold my cheek. He pulled me away from his chest a bit so that he could look at me. He smiled, leaning in to give me a kiss. I hummed, moving my lips against his with equal force. Toby had told m kissing me was like taking painkillers, and I wasn't exactly sure what he meant by that. For me, kissing Toby got me overwhelmed with emotion. It was like a physical expression for everything I felt for him that I couldn't say.

Toby pulled away from me soon after, a small smile on his lips as he used the base of his thumb to rub my cheek.

"Before I met Brendan I wanted to do so much with myself. I wanted to graduate, get a masters, maybe a P.H.D in the future if I could save up for it..." he trailed as I rested my head on his chest to listen to his heartbeat as he spoke. He's been telling me about personal bits and pieces of his past now, and I'd learned to listen—lend him the ear he needed.

"But then, things happened, and I never wanted to return after my final year - I never wanted to see him, so I moved away, and here I am I guess," he chuckled in a choked voice as he hugged me to himself more tightly. "I could have gone somewhere else for my masters, but you could say I was crushed and emotionally drained. I didn't even want to see my parents anymore. They knew about Brendan and I knew they'd judge me. They'd warned me, and I hadn't listened to them," Toby continued as the fan in the room creaked with the slow turning movement of its blades.

"Are you hungry? We should eat something," Toby said after a period of silence. He pulled away from me, and I watched on as he made his way out of his art studio. I followed him, heading to the kitchen with him.

We ended up cuddling on the couch with his dog- Duke, as we ate chicken wings that he'd warmed up from a bowl. We watched cartoons, surfing between channels as we talked to each other.

"How's your preparation for the exhibition going?" Toby asked me. I raised my head from his lap, looking up at him with a small smile.

"Fine. My mum and I have submitted our paintings. We're just waiting for the due day now," I said, watching as Toby returned my smile with a dimpled one of his own. It was about seven in the evening now, and it made sense that I should be getting ready to leave soon, but I didn't want to. Cuddling on the couch with Toby was too comfortable for me to want to get up.

"Have you ever exhibited your work?" I asked, watching as Toby's smile thinned out.

"Yes, with some other students when I was in college. If you're asking as of recent, no, I haven't," he said, looking away from me. I followed his gaze to Duke who was napping on the carpet just beneath us. The greyhound was like an overgrown child most of the time. It had taken the dog a while to realize that he'd permanently be sharing Toby's attention with me. I wouldn't say he liked it. He just put up with it.

"Do you think you'll ever exhibit your work in the future?" I asked out of curiously. I wondered if the reason had anything to do with why he wouldn't sell his work either. Toby looked at me, shrugging as he let out a sigh. He adjusted his position on the couch, making to run a hand through his hair.

"The part of me that wanted to make art professionally has died - it's been dead for a few years actually," he answered as a sad smile took form on his lips. I didn't say anything in reply, I just rubbed his knee as a form of comfort as I looked up at him.

"It's kind of an overwhelming thought now..." he trailed with a sigh. Silence took over, and we just cuddled in the living room as the day grew darker as time passed.

I left Toby's house that evening with some thoughts in my mind. I started to wonder if there was a way I could urge him to get a therapist or something similar. Help in some form at least.

Maybe he needs to confront Brendan? I frowned at my own thought, wondering where it had come from, but I started to think deeply about it as I made my way home. Brendan was somewhere out there, probably still teaching and taking part in the art community. Would it do Toby any good to confront him? I also wondered if it would help Toby with the crippling self-guilt he was harboring.