Free Drawn To You by Lily Summers

criticism isn’t easy – I know from experience – so I take his request seriously and reexamine it closely. I walk along the length of the outcropping, letting all of its elements wash over me. I frown, following the movement of the piece. The painting’s still lovely, still full of raw emotion, but then I start to see the imbalance.
    I point at the woman, careful not to touch the still-drying paint.
    “Your subjects’ faces are telling a story, but it’s incomplete. There’s a darkness here that’s not being shown,” I say.
    The expressions on the boys’ faces capture my attention and I add, “One of them looks happy, but why is the other so hurt?”
    When I glance back in his direction, I see Ezra’s jaw tighten and his eyes narrow, only for a second. He follows my gaze, his attention lingering on the second boy. I can practically see the ideas flickering through his mind, moving so fast he can hardly keep up. Finally, he turns to me, inspiration buzzing through him, warming all his features.
    “You’re amazing,” he says. “And you’re right.”
    As he brushes by me on his way to the paint cans, he pauses to pull my head in close and kiss me on the temple. It’s so gentle, so tender that I find myself leaning into him, wishing it could be more. But before I know it, he’s gone, back at work adding color to the wall. My fingers brush the skin where he kissed me, and I can still feel his lips there like a brand.
    Breathe, Mia.
    He lets me watch this time as he works. Before my eyes, the dripping paint takes the form of a jewel-eyed snake curling around the woman’s neck and whispering in her ear. It casts a shadow across the boys, surrounding them in darkness. That gloom takes form, becoming monstrous, threatening with sharp fangs. A shadow’s clawed hand reaches up over one of the boys’ shoulders as he strains to keep listening to the song.
    Ezra finishes with a final flourish, and we both stare at the wall for a quiet minute. There’s a whole new layer in the painting now, one that makes me clutch my hand over my aching heart. There’s such fear in this story, but there’s hope, too. My eyes move from the frightened boy to his friend, who is still captivated by the woman’s song, listening and joyful, even in the face of immense darkness.
    Art like this can change lives. It’s already changing mine.
    I look sidelong at Ezra and watch his chest rise and fall in carefully controlled breaths as he takes in his own work. That’s a feeling I recognize, too – the sensation of seeing something that came from your own hands and not being sure where it came from, how it could have possibly spilled out of you. He turns his head toward me.
    Then we come together, our hands tangled in each other’s clothes and our mouths meeting. We collide like shooting stars, bursting in a cascade of sparks on a rooftop.
    I pull back from the kiss, stunned at my own boldness. He’s eager, as breathless as I am, but he waits for me.
    “I want this,” he says. “Do you?”
    “I don’t know,” I answer honestly.
    He takes my wrist and raises my hand so he can kiss my open palm, sending a shiver down the length of my body. I can see the desire in his eyes, mirroring my own. Here, above the rest of the city, surrounded by golden city lights and paint and mist, all I want is him.
    After a moment, Ezra lets me go, his fingers sliding over my skin.
    “When you figure out the answer, please let me know,” he says.
    When he starts to turn away, I instinctively grab his sleeve and pull him around to face me.
    I have no idea how to navigate the storm inside me. All I know is that I don’t want him to leave.
    “Kiss me again,” I say.
    His hands tangle in my curls, and I pull him in close, standing on tiptoe to meet his mouth with mine. I lose myself in him, his insistent lips, the gentle tug of his fingers in my hair. I tip to one side, overbalancing, and he holds me steady. The roof could be tilting and I wouldn’t