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*****
Owen was still apprehensive; still noticeably unnerved; the salty taste still prominent at the back of his throat getting him hot and filling him with confusion all at once. How he managed to do what he'd done, how he deeply enjoyed it, was beyond him. Noel soothed him with a wary hand to the side of his neck, which was sweaty from exertion, and pressed their lips together softly, taking away every bit of anguish that clouded his mind.
"How was that, was it alright?" Noel tried to sound as casual as he could, frightened that he had inadvertently forced him to do something he didn't like. Owen could only nod frantically.
"Good." He smiled, and thumbed the little patch of blood that collected under the skin of his lip.
"Was I good?"
"Oh, yes."
They sat on his bed, drinks in hand, and Noel leaned to open a little drawer. He shook off the hesitation of his hand as it motioned towards the handle, and pulled out a large sketchbook with a struggle. It was almost as long as his forearm vertically, slightly shorter horizontally, and quite thick. A green hard cardboard cover protected it. It looked neat despite the dog-earing that formed in one of the corners. With a nervous smile, he handed it over to Owen, who could swear he saw a hint of a tremor in Noel's hand as he proceeded to flip through.
Unlike the neat cover, the pages kept inside were anything but. They were dishevelled and wrinkly, as if they had been crumbled, folded into a ball and then flattened again. Some had two deep perpendicular creases along the middle lines, and some had that unfortunate irreversible waving of dried liquid on paper. The pages were ranging between different shades of white and yellow, clearly not belonging to the same sketchbook, with the remnant of where they'd been torn at the top or the side.
What really fascinated him, however, was the content of the book. First page had a pencil drawn tree. One tree with the main trunk to the right side of the page, and a main branch stretched over to the left, the end of which was not on show. There were no leaves, just large branches trailing into smaller and smaller ones, detailed dents and knobs of the bark like Earth cracks after years of drought. It was gloomy, dark for the most part, and at the bottom left corner, the words "Greeneville, TN, 2008" were scribbled.
The next page also had a tree which was abundantly green with blossoming orange flowers, and the sky was sprayed with the red and yellow clouds of sunset. Bottom was signed "Rowlett, TX, 2008". Owen flicked through in amazement, taking painting after painting in with his eager eyes in the mixed hastiness and lingering of the awestruck. Each painting was of trees; sad trees, happy trees, dying trees, colourful, dainty, and pleasant, or sharp, grotesque, and dreary trees, and at the bottom of each page there was a different date and place.
He studied them closely with his eyes wide open, devouring each stroke of a pencil, and blotch of colour, impressed by how different shades blended harmoniously in some areas, and collided in others for contrast. The ones that had absolutely no colour at all struck him as pale and lifeless at first, but the more he looked at branches intertwining, entangling, and breaking, he could sense what he could only describe as energy. It was like each painting had its own energy; was its own entity, and gave different vibrations. It felt to him that looking wasn't enough, so he tried to connect through touch. He traced each line with the pulps of his fingers, trying to absorb those vibrations into his core; pressing over dents, crushing fallen leaves, and cutting his skin over splinters.
It had been just a few moments, and Owen was in a trance. He flipped the last page just as Noel placed his glass carefully on the nightstand -a sound that was like a snap of fingers to the hypnotised. He raised his gaze, and realised he hadn't tasted a sip of his own drink, and that he was far too indulged in the paintings to give Noel any sort of feedback -as if the look on his face was not enough.
The look on Noel's face, on the other hand, was the most alien and unexpected thing he could imagine. Noel had always come off as the strong and confident type, but at that moment he looked guarded. He had one leg underneath him and the other drawn close to his chest, and, most surprising of all, he was wringing his hands. Although he remained quiet, he was biting his tongue -both literally and figuratively- to hold back the words he wished to scream, pleading with Owen to say something.
He was lucky that Owen knew that look too well, however, not lucky enough because Owen never knew what to say when confronted with vulnerability that seemed so out of place -out of character. Owen cleared his throat, and uttered the only observation he was able to vocalise.
"You travel a lot," he said.
The bottom left corner had different cities in different states up until 2010. After that, it became international. Starting with Guadalajara, Mexico, 2010; Rio De Janeiro, Brazil, 2010; Nottingham, England, 2010; Limerick, Ireland 2011; Prague, Bucharest, Tarragona, Geneva, Milan, Machu Picchu, Izmir, and on and on he went, occasionally going back to an American state, just to leave again and capture another tree from another side of the planet.
"I move around a lot, yes." Noel said. His voice was strikingly hoarse, even to himself. He cleared his throat, and continued, "This is the longest I've lived anywhere, actually. Nearly two years in New Jersey now. Here, look." He flicked through the sketchbook with nervous, trembling hands until he found the page he wanted. It was a line of trees over some hills. There was a body of water, and, in the distance, a row of non-detailed tall buildings. At the bottom, it read Passaic, NJ, 2014. "I drew this the day I arrived. I'd love to take you to this spot. I think you'll like it."
There was a pause as Owen smiled awkwardly, and Noel finally said, "I mean, I did travel since then, but only for a few days and then I come back here. But, ever since I was fifteen, I don't think I've lived anywhere for more than... six, maybe seven months."
"How can you afford it?" Owen felt ridiculous, lingering on a topic he wished he hadn't started, but went on with the momentum.
"You'd be surprised how much money you can save up if you stop paying The Big Man." Noel said with a smirk, "plus, all I need is a plane ticket. As soon as I get there, I can find my way around."
"You're brilliant." He uttered almost as a reflex.
Noel smiled, and some colour rushed to his pale cheeks. "Thank you."
"No, I'm serious. This... Have you been to art school?"
