Recreational Center

     Lamb stilled his breathing as much as he could, amber eyes lost in the sight before him. The building was a crumbly mess of brick and rusting metal beams, the hollowed-out skeleton of a once local Recreational Center. Or so he had been told. Even with as much concentration as he was willing out of himself, he still could not picture it. A space filled with memories, for those who grew up in a time long past.

     But Lamb could only see the pile of rubble.

     “What… are you even doing?”

     Hal’s voice came from somewhere behind him, but Lamb refused to turn and look– actually, he refused to move, still trying to breathe as shallowly and slowly as possible as if that would somehow clear his view. He waved a hand back, mindless to his partner, as if trying to dismiss him.

     “Don’t distract me,” he mumbled, “Be quiet.”

     Judging by his lack of response, Hal conceded. And so, Lamb kept staring at the building, trying to reshape each piece of broken infrastructure into a living memory– to no success.

     “It’s useless,” he finally moaned, throwing his head back and abandoning all hope, “I can’t picture shit.”

     “Giving up after a whopping two minutes?’ Hal mused voice tinged with amusement.

     Finally, Lamb deemed him worthy of a glance– if not just to stick out his tongue and let Hal see it, “It’s like trying to imagine a new color or something.”

     “Don’t be so dramatic,” the man chuckled, “Tell me what’s on your mind. Maybe I can help?”

     “Maybe I don’t want to tell you,” Lamb said, weary and suspicious, like trying to hold on to a mystery. He was bad at that, “Never mind– maybe I want to tell you. See that building?”

     “Sure have,” Hal hummed, “Did some of that staring with you? Something wrong with it?”

     “I found a diary the other day,  an old one. From the Before,” Lamb waved his hand around mindlessly, ignoring the way Hal’s eyebrows furrowed, “Apparently a guy used to work here. Said it was a very pretty building or something. I was trying to imagine how a pile of shit could have been– well, less-shitty enough to be called pretty.”

     Hal didn’t respond right away, clearing sitting with the thought. He breached the short distance between them and settled next to Lamb, not once looking away from the infrastructure. His dark eyes were filled with an emotion that Lamb couldn’t quite grasp– as if he had seen a ghost.

     “It was pretty,” he said at last, “More than you could imagine.”

     “Oh, you knew it?” The blonde gawked, his determination to get the picture returning full force. Before he could stare at it for longer, though, Hal let out a snort.

     “You know what?” He dug through his jacket, getting a small notebook out. Lamb had always thought it was kinda pointless, to carry pen and paper with no express purpose. Now, though, it made perfect sense, “I can draw it, I think. From memory.”

     “How good can you draw?” Lamb ask before he could help it, “Cause a building being pretty and you drawing pretty isn’t the same shit.”

     Hal rolled his eyes and smiled, but didn’t grace him with a response. Instead, he started sketching.

     His hands were rough around the edges, as calloused and bandaged up as every human in their living hell. Even so, his traces moved like a practiced artist, to the point where it was mesmerizing to watch. His style was rough, and imperfect compared to old books and illustrations that Lamb had scavenged around, but the more that Hal worked, the more it became less about the product and more about the process. Lamb had seen him do some embellishments for writing letters before, but in passive thought, he realized that he’d never seen Hal draw something before. Oh, how he’d be missing out.

     It was in the details, as it usually was when Hal was involved: not only the way he held the pencil but the way his fingers traced against the paper to steady his grip. The way that he pushed a strand of dark hair behind his ear, kept his eyesight clear. The way his eyes fluttered between the notebook and the building, with an intensity similar to Hal’s when trying to picture the Recreational Center. Only that Hal was, indeed, picturing every detail.

     Once, twice, three times before Lamb realized his name was being called. His partner stood, the picture now finished, looking sheepish and colored red.

     “Have I been staring at you this whole time?” Lamb croaked, eloquent as ever.

     Hal flushed even redder. Instead of answering, he pushed the drawing closer to his partner’s face and whispered, “This is what it looked like. Just, well. Red.”

     Oh, yeah. Lamb could picture it. The sharp lines, bulky American architecture, and the one clock face proudly displayed at the top. A couple of hedges framed the central path, and dozens of windows, leaving each room with ample natural sunlight. Lamb still had no clue what a Recreational Center was even for, but that didn’t matter. The imprint of the building, the soul behind every single one of its red bricks.

     “Pretty,” Lamb said at last.

     “It sure was,” Hal admitted, “I used to come over all the time when I was a kid. It was a public building, so it was cheap enough. At least, for when Ma could afford it.”

     “... sounds like good memories.”

     “They are,” the man’s smile was gentle, genuine. Lamb felt his heart beat faster, “Now half the floor’s gone, though.”

     “Good news, dumbass” Giving him back the sketch, Lamb flashed him a grin, “Means we can get a day pass, half-off!”

     Hal broke into laughter, and Lamb laughed along with him.