A Different Type of Art

Chapter 1

The brisk aroma of fresh coffee in the cold room is a little less welcoming than intended. But no smell is comforting during the early hours of a Monday morning. Especially in the company of your boss and coworkers that look down upon you. 

They sit around a table, the main detective already on a tangent. They follow along lazily until the subject of the meeting takes a stand. Any lingering sounds clear out as he’s introduced.

“This is Dr. Blackwood. He will be joining your task force in order to create a more...stabilized environment.” 

The man is pale. But the first thing to note is how tall and thin he is. It’s almost like a rumored cryptid stepped out of the wild but wearing the mask of an attractive man. 

His green eyes are as piercing as the woods and forest trees. He’s captivating in and of just his appearance and he clearly knows it with how he stands in pride. The navy blue suit that sits perfectly on his frame is fine quality, far beyond that of anyone else in the room. And the last to note is the silver watch on his wrist, gleaming with the price of what has to be in the tenth thousands.

The special investigator that hadn’t said anything the entire meeting remains in his silent state, he’s not giving any sort of physical nor verbal response to any of their words or actions. His eyes are locked down at the table with dark strands of hair from his rather long bangs tickling against his cheek. He doesn’t even seem to want to speak up even when the new presence in the room is introduced.

Instead of speaking up, or even listening, the smaller boy of the group moves his eyes from the table to his now fidgeting hands, mainly because a glint from the sun had appeared on the table after it’s positioning had shifted to shine at a certain angle through the window, and it had bugged him just enough for him to shift his eyes.

“Mr. Holzer.” What has to be his boss’s boss calls to catch the special investigator’s attention. There’s obvious irritation in his voice, like a scolding teacher to a kindergartener. There’s also the degradation to be considered with that comparison.

Dr. Blackwood’s green eyes flick over to the special investigator. He moves a few steps over to stand behind him, looming over his seated figure. He steps back and swiftly pulls the cord hanging from the hall, successfully closing the curtains. There’s a moment of saturated darkness before everyone’s eyes adjust and he stands back where he originally was.

The man who had been speaking chuckles, a bit nervously, nodding. “Eh...thank you, Dr. Blackwood. Now, Mr. Holzer?”

The special investigator’s eyes darted up immediately, but his intent wasn’t to make eye contact with anyone, nor was his intent to respond to his name being called. The sudden action that came from the surprise of the newly introduced Dr. Blackwood closing the curtains.

Eventually, though, the male manages to make a verbal response to his name being called. “Am… I needed for something….?” He always had slight hesitation between some of his words, it didn’t mean much, it was just how he talked.

“Well, obviously. Dr. Blackwood will be working with you primarily. He’ll help keep in line…” There’s a pause in his starch voice as he dances around a few certain and probably offensive words. “...your work productivity.”

“I’ll act as your psychiatrist, Mr. Holzer.” Dr. Blackwood cuts in to get straight to the point, talking to said special investigator like the grown adult he is instead of the usual degradation. His long fingers readjust his watch for the third time since it was first noticeable before tracing his eyes back to the male, observing him. His eyes take apart every feature with dissective precision in a painfully thorough manner. Once he finishes, the doctor clears his throat, readjusting his stance, his shoulders standing with architecture to their shape. 

“My name is Asher..” Asher shows clear discomfort with being referred to by his last name, even if it was considered formal, he personally only liked his first name being used. Maybe it had something to do with how it was his fathers’ last name, and he no longer wanted a tie with him.

“I don’t… need a psychiatrist… I don’t need someone in my head all the time..” He shakes his head at the idea of having a Doctor primarily focus on him, clearly disliking it. He keeps his eyes on the table now, not meeting them with either of the men that have interacted with him verbally, he didn’t want to, he’d rather hide behind his long bangs and otherwise the rest of his fluffed mess of hair.

“I have no intention of being in your head.” Dr. Blackwood takes the reins in the conversation, gesturing to his colleague that he has everything handled with a mere flick of his wrist. Those green eyes stay locked back in Asher's general direction but seem to gaze past him to the window and even past that to the scenery of the mid-afternoon cityscape. He seems to already be doing things differently than Asher’s colleagues. 

“My intentions are strictly to help your head focus more on the work.” He walks back over near Asher, placing a hand on the back of his chair. “Why don’t we take this conversation back to your office so it’s all a bit more private?”

“I don’t…. I’m perfectly focused on my work..” Asher hesitates his words, but more especially with answering the Doctor if he preferred the conversation as… more of a private thing.

“I don’t… need you... I never asked for you..” He continues with the distaste on the tip of his tongue, his shoulders stiffening as one hand grips the other side of his jacket tightly against the palm of his hand, the texture was rough, but he’d owned the jacket for so long that it had become somewhat of a comfort for him.

He continues to dance around the idea of a locked-off conversation.

“Your coworkers still have concerns about your current state during work.” The doctor continues despite Asher’s quite obvious distaste. Dr. Blackwood removes his hand from his seat and takes the slightest of steps back to respect Asher’s space, but insists on considering his offer. “Why don’t we both talk this over like civilized men?”

He paces a bit, glancing at Asher’s coworkers, boss, boss’s boss, and any other onlooker that had joined. He seems to have a habit of observing. But his attention still seems to narrow in on Asher and focus on the subject at hand, speaking clearly while preoccupied with watching. “I insist that we speak of this privately. And this is growing to be a work requirement for you, anyhow. I think you’d prefer me over the person they’ll have lined up next.”

“Okay,” Asher’s words were never formal, so it’s not a surprise that the next word he spouts is an ‘okay’ rather than something like ‘Yes, Doctor’ or anything along those lines.

The special investigator’s hesitation is only apparent when he seems to struggle to pull himself out of the chair, having a hard time confirming with himself that he’d actually rather be alone with someone who’s only managed to make him feel uncomfortable within the mere minutes that he’s known him. Nevertheless, he prevails, pushing himself up and out of the chair. Standing doesn’t make him any less small than he was sitting. He remained standing at 5’4 and his jacket and the layering of his clothes were the only things preventing him from looking slim in complimentary.

Dr. Blackwood steps back to the side to allow Asher to guide him out of the meeting room, not speaking another word to any other person there. When the two walk down the hall, there’s a strange tension. Onlookers would think the two looked like a businessman guiding a troubled teen off of his property because of their quite drastic appearances. 

But the atmosphere the two holds is even more different. That tension isn’t thick to the point of a texture like stone but instead underlying; a jumpscare you know will happen but you’re stuck waiting for. 

Asher scratches at his wrist when they walk, he doesn’t seem to care how hard or how much he does it, not even stopping when the skin begins to turn red. He didn’t want to be doing this, and thus his nervous habits were just... Increased. It’s not like he could help them, even when, or if he wanted to. 

The trip to Asher’s office remains silent, Asher keeping his eyes on the ground the entire journey, his bangs having mostly fallen over his face. He wished he was comfortable with the situation or even just tolerated it, but he couldn’t change it. He couldn’t change how tense he was, and he couldn’t change the underlying tension between the two that continued to linger even as Asher closes the two of them into his office as silently as the door would allow him to.

Dr. Blackwood walks in behind him, immediately dropping that intimidating stature he had been holding in front of Asher’s coworkers. He still seems cold, but something’s changed. His green eyes seem warmer and his lips curl into a smaller frown than before. “I know this will seem like a bit much. Your coworkers seem like idiotic assholes who don’t have a clue of what you’re feeling and chalk it up to going mental. I don’t mind just hanging around and analyzing your behavior after the descriptions I’ve received. You’re perceived as quite the oddball, angel.”

He slips behind Asher, hoping to catch his eyes for only one moment so he can stare deep and down into them.

Asher doesn’t let him catch his eyes, though. He always did everything in his power to avoid any kind of eye contact with anyone, really. So, he never would’ve noticed the doctor trying to catch his eyes, anyhow.

“I’m not odd…” He doesn’t say anything about the immediate nickname, but the skin on his cheeks started to heat up into a red instead of their normal, tanned color. “I do everything right…” He continues. He’s so off-put and upset by being forced to have a companion he didn’t need, nor want. The “companion” wasn’t even really a companion, he was a man recruited with the sole purpose of getting into the investigator’s head with the hopes of his coworkers that he'd be more… “normal.” Whatever that was, anyway.
“And I don’t think you’re odd.” Dr. Blackwood’s voice is probably the most dramatic of the changes once they left the room. His tone is no longer brisk and sharp but rather soft and velvety. It’s nearly to the point that they had hired an entirely different person.

Dr. Blackwood finally stops trying to make eye contact for the time being and gently smiles. It’s alluring, a snake’s smirk that a cobra could use to lure in prey. “I really would have dropped the job altogether. However, I saw something in you.”

Asher looks at his hands for a moment, his bangs have fallen more over his eyes with the way his head leaned down to keep his eyes on his hands, but it never bothered him, brown-ish black strands of hair always fell over his eyes, that was just the way his hair was cut, or, wasn’t cut. Asher nearly never got his hair cut, hence the small ponytail holding up some of his thick hair in the back.

“Do you have a name I can call you..?” He changes the subject after a couple of moments of deafening silence. Deafening at least for Asher, he hated when rooms were silent, it felt more like his eardrums were being burst. It didn’t help that loud noises and rooms overwhelmed him, either.

The subject change was brought because of Asher’s clear discomfort by continuing to refer to Dr. Blackwood as any kind of “Doctor” whether it be the full, formal term, or just the word Doctor in general.

“Sammie. That’s my preference.” The once Dr. Blackwood, now viewed as Sammie, keeps eyes on Asher’s figure and any movement he makes. That strange smile seems to linger on like a ring of smoke from a fat cigar. 

His raven hair falls a bit in front of his face as well and he oddly only chooses to swipe away a few strands, not even going back for the remains. Though he described Asher as the odd one, he might be a rival to that. Well dressed with unkempt hair and eyes as deadly as hell and as bright as heaven. He seems like quite the character. 

Asher doesn’t give a verbal response quite yet, hell, he doesn’t even know what he’d say, so he didn’t see a point in trying to squeak more words out in hopes Sammie would drive them to a topic that Asher was actually excited to talk about. 

He fidgets with his hands until his right-hand moves up to scratch his left wrist raw again, it was such a bad habit of his, and he didn’t seem to care if it could be dangerous or not, all he cared about was getting his mind off the topics that scared him and avoiding having to verbally confront anyone or anything.

While continuing to scratch at his wrist, Asher moves so he’s standing and leaning against his desk, his eyes never moving from where his hands continue their nervous work, brown eyes unable to be seen by anything or anyone.

Suddenly pale fingers grip his wrist to tear away from his culprit hand, Sammie right next to Asher and leaning over his shoulder. “That’s an awful habit.” 

He lets go once the hand has stopped before leaning back and walking to lean on the wall across from him. He’s nonchalant in his actions, passing as if touching the client is perfectly normal. Maybe it is in his line of business but it would be extremely uncomfortable under these circumstances. He’s still smiling at him. That damned smile. “So then, tell me more about yourself.” 

Asher isn’t looking up at Sammie, his hand just moving back to scratch at his wrist more discreetly. He didn’t look uncomfortable, his expression and body language remained entirely neutral.

“Your statement is too broad…. I don’t know what to say.” Asher’s unable to give him any answer, keeping his eyes from meeting any part of Sammie’s body, and just remaining on his own hands that remained to scratch one another, just more roughly this time, he’s seconds from drawing blood.

Sammie takes a short moment to think over the suggestion before narrowing the topic, folding his hands in front of him nearly. “What’s your favorite book?”

He oddly looks genuinely curious even if it is his job to learn more about Asher. But he seems to be far too amused with the conversation for just that to be the case. He really wants to know…?

Asher seems taken aback by his interest, he hadn’t thought of the new work companion to be anything more than interested in toying with him rather get to know him. Maybe he knew it was his job to do so, that way he could get me into his head like those damn psychiatrists do, but Asher did manage to note it seemed out of ordinary how interested he was in the question.

“The title… I don’t remember it off the top of my head. It’s about a boy in.. high school, trying to learn more about himself while carrying friendships and other life stresses… It’s beautifully written.” After he was done thinking for a few moments, Asher tries to give Sammie a relatively decent answer without scaring him away by going over the book for far too long. But he clearly wanted to continue talking about it, stars shining in his eyes behind dull curtains when he started his answer.

“I don’t think I’ve heard of it. What other troubles does our hero face?” Sammie leans his sharp chin into his hand, watching Asher with interest in those green eyes. He does seem invested in the topic. 

His body language doesn’t seem far from that observation. His shoulders are hunched just the slightest and his head pointed towards Asher the whole time. His eyes don’t wander nor does he even tap his fingers. Asher seems to really have his full and undying attention.

“Um…” Asher hesitates to answer the question, not because he didn’t want to, but because he needed a moment to recollect the information, which might be obvious to tell by the way his hands continued to fidget.

“The main character struggles with the topic of sexuality throughout multiple chapters…” He doesn’t seem afraid to say this, hell, besides the slight hesitation he always had between his words, Asher’s statement was rather bluntly said.

The fidgeting in Asher’s hands suddenly changes to scratching again, making cracking his knuckles and picking at his skin while the sound of his jacket shifting made itself obvious just wasn’t enough for him and he had to return to scratching. It seemed that this time he was nearing more so towards drawing blood than last time.

“That’s an interesting topic to relate to,” Sammie responds with even more curiosity latching onto his moving words. He grins a bit now, his eyes still sharp but hiding something that his words don’t say. “Why did you relate to this hero?”

Although his head is relaxed in his hand, he still seems oddly attentive and on his feet (figuratively speaking). He’s waiting to absorb every word that Asher gives him. 

“No one said I did…” Asher gets on Sammie for jumping to conclusions as soon as he’s been given the opportunity to speak, and from there he doesn’t give him any more answers to that question.

Once more, he’s verbally silent, but the tensing in his shoulders and the warmth of the blood that he had just drawn from his wrist, spoke a lot louder than any more verbal response could in this situation.

“Every reader relates to their hero. That’s why they like the piece so much.” Sammie gets a bit too psychological, possibly out of habit, or possibly as part of his job. His intentions are hard to read and his expression is definitely his poker face.

Asher doesn’t want to respond anymore, he just continues scratching despite the now cool blood meeting his fingertips when he did. He didn’t like this conversation anymore. He didn’t know, nor did he like Sammie, so he was bothered by the way he chose to ask that question. Asher thought it was too personal, he didn’t like it.

“Can you...Go? Preferably leaving me to my job…” He finally speaks when a droplet of blood from his wrist falls to the hard carpet on the ground. A new stain he’d never clean.

“I told you to stop that.” Sammie’s voice turns scolding as he breaks his relaxed position to stand up and walk over to him. He once again takes his hand without consent, this time taking out a navy blue handkerchief from his pocket and clasping it over the wound.

The red seeps into the blue silk, creating a much darker shade, but Sammie doesn’t seem to care for the state of the fine cloth. 

Asher winces at the unconsented touch, turning his head away immediately. He knew he wouldn’t be able to shoo him away easily, so he had to deal with it, the side of his face that his bangs covered was turned towards Sammie so he could barely see his face, the overall goal was to forbid him from seeing his face at all doing that moment, but he hadn’t shaken his head enough for enough strands of hair to fall over his cheeks and eyes, face in general.

“You shouldn’t hide your face like that. They’ll start thinking of you as a meek mouse.” Sammie uses his other hand to completely swipe away the hair from Asher’s forehead and face. With his body so close, they both can feel the heat that radiates off the other. It’s becoming suffocating, clawing at their lungs in their chest.

But the man stands his ground where he is, his pale lips curled into an obvious frown of dismay. “I’m sorry for overstepping my boundaries but you don’t seem stable enough for me to not intervene.” 

“When you first started talking to me you made it seem like you were trying to be different than what they hired you for..” Asher speaks up, his eyes on the ground and away from Sammie, eventually, he continues, “You’ve proven yourself to be not only exactly the man they hired, but also exactly like them…”

He’s frozen. Tense. The special investigator would rather be alone in a room with a damn murderer that he’s investigated than he would be with Sammie. His distaste was so painfully obvious that it made even the air around them into somewhat of a citrusy type of sour. 

“I’m not like them if I’m actually concerned with your well-being,” Sammie argues verbally but backs his hands away completely, even taking a few steps back. He fixes his stature and sighs, running fingers through that inky black hair. 

“My apologies. I overstepped.” Sammie brings his fingers from his hair to his forehead before he sighs again. His eyes find Asher and that gentle look returns. “I haven’t acted as an actual psychiatrist in quite awhile. My main profession, actually, is an artist. I took the job because you intrigued me and I hope I can find the inspiration that I lost here. So please, tell me more about yourself.” 

“You’re being broad again…” Asher lifts his head up a bit more when Sammie backs away, his bangs falling right back over his eyes, where they were meant to be before Sammie had moved them out of his face. “I can’t… I can’t answer unless you’re more specific…”

“...do you have an eye for art?” Sammie tilts his head a bit as he tries to create a more comfortable environment for Asher. He keeps a leisurely frown loose on his lips, his chin moving once more back into his hand once his body leans back against the wall. 

“Yes…” Asher nods, moving back against his desk. The palm of his hand was pressed against the edge of it as he leaned back on it, he was essentially holding himself back from touching the desk completely, “I have… A couple of pieces on my wall at home… All from the same artist… Most a gift… Some not.” 

When Asher spoke, his words were as spaced and hesitated as always. He wished he had a clear answer for why he did that, but he doesn’t even really notice that his own speech patterns are odd compared to most. He’s oblivious.

“Ah, these?” Sammie glances back at the wall he was leaning on. His eyes scape over each piece but don’t seem to linger. He does, however, suddenly grin. 

“So, you’re a fan of his?” His eyes focus on the first and focus on the brush strokes, a dry chuckle leaving his lips. “Don’t you think this piece is a bit simple? It’s dry and empty.” 

“These are the ones I bought myself…” Asher pushes himself so he’s not leaning on the desk anymore, instead, he walks closer to where Sammie was to inspect the piece with him. 

Despite the monotone and neutral expression that Asher always had, he still seemed to take a slight offense to Sammie’s words when he spoke them about a painting he purchased.

“You might… I don’t…” Asher speaks softly and slowly, the soft silence between each word was strangely comforting, but it also left you to wonder about what he was to say next, a bit terrifying, mind you. “Art pieces appeal to different people… That’s the point of art… Something about it connects to me in a way it seemingly never could to you…” On their own, his words weren’t necessarily insulting, but the way he said it made it sound like he was trying to insult Sammie.

Sammie doesn’t seem to take it as such by the small smile on his lips. He stares back at the piece, drawing a conclusion so he can speak his thoughts to the man. “The piece is bleak. But I think that was the artist’s intentions. To show the beauty in bleakness.” 

He focuses on the next piece but Asher has his attention.  

“It fits well on the wall anyway…” Asher finishes up talking about that piece, in particular, his eyes moving to the one next to it instead, but he doesn’t say anything, he just blushes when he looks at it like it makes him feel something entirely different than what the other one made him feel.

“What about this one?” Sammie catches on almost immediately and is quick to investigate. He looks at the painting, noting the splashes of orange and red with an alluring black to rival the bright colors. It’s a juxtaposition of colors and meaning. 

“It’s like fire, meant to eat at everything you are and consume you…” Sammie explains his own rendition of the piece, but his eyes glance back at Asher. 

“Yeah, I guess.” He responded in a seemingly unenthusiastic manner, Asher didn’t give his own interpretation of the piece. Maybe he didn’t have one, or maybe the meaning he had was so personal that it was stuck in the ridges of his brain so he didn’t have to give anyone other than the people he trusted the information.

“You have… Different interpretations of each piece, I assume…” Asher looks away from the art pieces, instead, he’s looking back at something else, something a bit less interesting on the other side of the room.

It was a fish tank. A rather large one, but it couldn’t be any bigger than 20 gallons. Admittedly, it was nicely decorated, but, what use would a special investigator have for a fish tank in his work office?

“Fish lover?” Sammie questions the strange piece of furniture that would be looked over in nearly every other environment than this. He’s glad to look away from the pieces, turning to stare at the tank with that familiar curiosity. 

He stays by Asher’s side, staring from a distance, seemingly less interested in the object and more interested in his reasons.

“No, they just look pretty…” Asher walks over to it this time, moving his hand over the container of fish food he conveniently had next to it. “... They can’t be at home. I have cats.”

Slowly, Asher unscrews the cap, not slowly because he wanted to, but because he struggled. It wasn’t necessarily the best type of fish food out there, more like the cheap kind.  Probably couldn’t afford anything more… But why? He had a good job, didn’t he? Doesn’t matter. Asher takes a pinch of the food and drops it into the open water, bending down and watching it start to fall as the fish begin to swim up to meet it about halfway.

Sammie nods to acknowledge that he spoke, glancing back at the paintings one last moment. His lips part but before any words can come out, he closes them again, sealing them tight in a small grin. His eyes slide down to his watch again, fiddling with his cuff to pull back the sleeve. The silver gleams in the dim light. 

His lips part again, his voice finally falling to fill the empty void of silence. “I’m sorry but I have a meeting soon. I’d like to continue this conversation sometime, however.”

Sammie slides his fingers through his hair like paddles gliding through an inky black sea. He retrieves his handkerchief from the desk and stuffs it in his pocket, his chartreuse eyes finding Asher’s face once more for the final time of that day. “How would you like to join me tomorrow evening at the museum? I have an extra ticket to the art show they’re holding.”

Asher stands up straight and he’s looking away from the fish now, his eyes only at the ground. Not that Sammie would see, from that angle, Asher’s hair covered most of his face, including his eyes.

“I guess I can…” He doesn’t provide an enthusiastic response, he never does. He just wasn’t sure if he had the time to do so, and even if he did, why would he want to go with Sammie? He already seemed to despise him.

“Great. We can discuss the plans tomorrow morning.” After readjusting his sleeve to pull down over his watch again, he gives Asher a smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes.