The next day Sören went back to the beach with his art supplies. He didn't get down to making art right away, spending time wading in the cool ocean water and then just watching the waves and soaking up the sun, letting himself zone out. But when the muse finally made its appearance, he took out his watercolor pencils and watercolor paper, and began to draw what he saw in front of him.
Just before he could put on his headphones to have music to help get more in a creative headspace, he heard a guitar from a few feet away. Sören couldn't help but turn and look... and there was that guy again. Apparently he could play guitar too, and not just harp.
Sören swallowed hard, face on fire. The guy was even more attractive now, wearing nothing but jean shorts, showing off a sculpted, muscular physique, his long hair tousling in the salt breeze. The haunting notes of his guitar and that beautiful voice made the picture even more perfect.
He told me sweet lies of sweet loves
Heavy with the burden of the truth
And he spoke of his dreams
Broken by the burden
Broken by the burden of his youth
Tears came to Sören's eyes. He knew the song was by Sade, but his hotel room neighbor made the song his own, pain in his voice, making Sören shiver despite the warmth of the sun.
I remember his hands
And the way the mountains looked
The light shot diamonds from his eyes
Hungry for life
And thirsty for the distant river
Like the scar of age
Written all over my face
The war is still raging inside of me
I still feel the chill
As I reveal my shame to you
I wear it like a tattoo
Sören wanted to go over there and give the guy a hug, but he remembered making an ass of himself yesterday and regardless, it felt intrusive. Sören tried to resume drawing, but his gaze kept wandering over to the guitarist, captivated not just by the gorgeous appearance but the soulful music.
Sören made himself tear his eyes away and focus, using the music to re-enter the little world he was creating. As often happened when Sören did landscape art, it became less a strict capture of what was immediately in front of him, and more that the scenery was inspiration to go deeper, higher, with elements of fantasy, as if the land was full of spirits or memories. As the guitarist played happier songs, Sören sketched spirits of the wind, dancing on the breeze, with dolphins playing in the water.
When Sören's watercolor painting got close to being finished - just a few more touches here and there - suddenly a group of shirtless, buff men walked by. Instead of noticing them, Sören froze, feeling a flood of panic as his mind's eye replayed the incident from yesterday, rejected for being trans in such a cruel, invalidating way, driven out of the men's locker room... it wouldn't be safe to use that locker room at the hotel's pool again. Doing a double take, it seemed that none of the guys passing through were the two who'd started trouble with him yesterday, but not knowing if any of them perhaps witnessed the shitshow and recognized him was enough to make Sören want to bolt back to the hotel.
And then the guitarist was playing another Sade song.
Some will tell you that you’re wrong
You do it all the wrong way
Some will tell you that you’re wrong
That you don’t know the way
They enjoy cheapness
Don’t show your weakness
Don’t let them bother you no
They enjoy the cheapness
Don’t show your weakness
Oh no
It’s no use sitting down
Don’t walk round with a frown
Oh no, aah keep looking
It’s no use sitting around
With your head in your hands
Oh no keep looking
Once again, the man was playing the perfect song for the moment. Sören knew it was just a coincidence and there was no way the guy could know the exact right song to comfort him, but he was still touched anyway. He quickly finished the painting and then, not thinking, just feeling, he found himself going over to the guitarist with the painting in his hands.
The man stopped playing and gave him a smile. "Oh hello again."
"I'm, ah... I'm sorry about yesterday." Sören shifted his weight from one foot to the other, feeling even more awkward than he had when he'd blurted out "you're beautiful", but he wasn't going to run away this time. He held out the painting. "Here. Um, this is for you. To say thank you for the music. The other night I had a really bad headache and your songs made me feel better. And today, too, it's been a rough day and your music is... ah. It's." Sören made a vague hand gesture. "Words don't really do it justice."
The guitarist took the painting and his eyes widened. "Wow, are you sure I can have this? For free? It's really good, you should be charging money -"
Sören gave a nervous laugh. He didn't know if the guy was sincere or just trying to be polite, but he still felt like he was turning cartwheels inside, full of giddy joy at the compliment. "And you... you're out here, giving us all this wonderful music for free, so consider it a trade."
The man smiled again and held out his hand. "It's beautiful, and like you said to me yesterday, you're beautiful. How about you have dinner with me tonight?"
Sören's jaw dropped. "You..." He cleared his throat and tried to pull himself together, but he was completely stunned - in a good way, but also... "Do you mean, um, like a date?"
"Yeah, more or less? We don't really know each other and yet... we've touched each other with our respective creative works." The man gestured at the painting. "You made something worthy of me wanting to get to know you better, meet the person whose soul is beautiful enough to make something like this."
"I could say the same about your music. I did, yesterday. Badly." Sören let out another nervous laugh.
The guy grinned back, and the way he smiled took Sören's breath away.
The guy went on, "How about you meet me in the hotel lobby at seven and we go to one of the local taquerias? My treat."
"OK. That sounds good. Um..." Sören bit his lower lip. "I don't even know your name, sorry."
"I'm Mark."
"I'm Sören."
"You're... Scandinavian? I was trying to place your accent."
Sören nodded. "Iceland."
Mark let out a low whistle. "Interesting. You're a long way from Iceland. You must have some stories to tell."
"Interesting in the Chinese curse sense," Sören said, then realized that probably was potentially off-putting to a date - he didn't want to seem like an unstable mess, those were a dime a dozen in the gay community, but Mark seemed nonplussed. "What about you, where are you from?"
"...Everywhere, and nowhere." Mark laughed, and then his gaze wandered out to the waves and Sören wondered what was behind that statement... behind the music.
"You sound American, unless I'm really bad at picking up accents," Sören said.
"Yeah. I live in Maine. Currently."
Sören tried to remember where that was on a US map... somewhere in New England. "You're also a long way from home."
"You have no idea." Mark looked at the sea again, then back at Sören. "But yeah, we're on for seven?"
Sören nodded. "That works for me."
"Just so you know, we do have to get back to the hotel at a decent hour, I came here with my dog and he'll need to be walked and all that."
"That's cool. I brought my cat and he won't want me to be away all night either. It's nice that you're an animal lover too!" Sören liked Mark already.
"And I love cats. I hope I get to meet your kitty!"
Sören's mind immediately went in the gutter, and he bit back an innuendo-laden reply about letting Mark pet his kitty. Unless Mark had noticed his faded top surgery scars and immediately clocked him - which he doubted, since the gay guy who'd rejected him yesterday had seen him shirtless and assumed he was cis - he was going to have to tell Mark what he had downstairs if things looked like they were progressing towards a hookup. He briefly contemplated telling Mark now, but he really didn't want to potentially face another rejection and he was really in the mood for some company, if nothing else tonight would be a pleasant distraction and getting out of his head for awhile.
"I'm here for almost the next two weeks, so there'll be opportunities," Sören said. "Maybe even tonight."
Mark smiled and nodded. He took Sören's hand and kissed it. "Well, here's to the start of a beautiful... something."
Just that little touch sent fire through Sören's veins. Of course, he knew that fire could easily burn him. But for the moment, he was basking in its glow.