BETWEEN FOUR JUNCTIONS

particularly funny. Aaron resolved to return there the next day with a list of books he needed tucked into his folder. And from then on, they would both secretly look forward to their next meeting, to the next time they could talk again. Aaron would come and talk to him about books and history and art. They could spend hours simply sitting and discussing their opinions on such things.

Aaron looked around and quickly spotted Lawrence walking over to him and sitting down with an amicable smile. Aaron’s stance was always very open. He sat with a straight back and good posture and talked unconsciously with his hands when he was passionate about something. Lawrence, on the other hand, was quite closed off. He was often hunched over his laptop or a book, and he held his hands crossed over his front when he was talking. Yet they shared a similar spark in their eyes when they were excited. That shine in their eyes was what made them like magnets; that’s what drew them to one another.

Lawrence ended up opting to take a break from his work; he put his attention towards talking to Aaron instead. But the light chatter did little to distract him from his thoughts. The fear of failure he harboured was often why he didn’t take chances. Lawrence had to be sure that what he was doing was right, otherwise he simply wouldn’t do it at all. Writing his book had been a step out of his comfort zone in that way. Doing something simply because he wanted to was alien to him. And here he was, unable to get the book published. Maybe he was right to worry like he did. Clearly, he did not have what the publishers were looking for in an author. What if he just didn’t have what it takes? What if he just wasn’t supposed to write?

“Laurie? Are you listening?” Aaron snapped him out of his trance with a laugh. Lawrence laughed too, focusing back on the conversation.

Time wore on, the night outside getting deeper and darker. The library was completely isolated, occupied only by the two men sitting comfortably together on a comfortable sofa near the back of the room. In front of them was a circular coffee table. Aaron was telling Lawrence about a class he’d taken recently. He was in his last year at the university, and was only taking a few classes. Lawrence was still in his second year, majoring in English Literature. He had always wanted to do something to do with English when he was older. Even in childhood, his most vivid memories were those of books that had been read to him, books that he had read himself, books he had seen. His entire life was held together by prose and poetry, strung together with beauty and thought.

Very rarely did Lawerence feel the need to share his prose with people. His mind would write his thoughts out, almost as if they were supposed to be printed by a typewriter for their beauty and their thought. But they weren’t fated for the page, nor for others’ ears. Instead, they lay in his mind, a pit of thoughts jumping on top of each other, trapped in a box they could never leave. Aaron could open that box with ease, teasing out story after story, thought after thought, opinion after opinion. The time after would leave him feeling empty, as if Aaron had taken everything he had and left him without a filling in his mind.

Lawrence’s reluctance to share also carried over to his actual creative work. No matter how much Aaron had teased and tugged, Lawrence would not let him see his book. He claimed that it would only be good enough for

Aaron’s eyes when it was good enough for a publisher’s eyes. Aaron had neglected to tell him that he had started working at a publishing company. He was working there while completing his master’s degree part time. He justified not telling him by saying that it would create an “unfair imbalance” in their friendship, but truly it was because he wanted to see the book with the eyes of a friend, an admirer, a lover. Not the eyes of a professional. Yet this day, it seemed that Lawrence was ready to share. It wasn’t clear if it was because of the lack of action from the publishers, or the need for praise he secretly harboured, but he silently slid the laptop over to Aaron when he asked to see.

“Just this chapter though. Don’t want you to know too much,” Lawrence said in a lightly teasing tone. Aaron pulled over the laptop, seeing the doc scrolled down to a middle chapter. As he read, he felt the words dripping like syrup in his mind, filling his thoughts with pictures, with feelings, with beautiful art. His silent enjoyment of the pages did not go unnoticed by the younger man; he found himself smiling slightly.

“You’ve got to show me the rest of this. Jesus Christ, I didn’t know you were this good,” Aaron said, looking up at Lawrence.

“I’ve already said, only after I get a deal.”

“I could get you a deal, Laurie. Give me the rest of the book and I’ll get it published.”

“What?”

“I work for a publisher. I’ll get it published.” Aaron admitted. Lawrence stared at him in disbelief for a moment.

“Are you serious?”

“I’m dead serious.”

Lawrence’s eyes lit up, before he engulfed Aaron in a hug. Aaron chuckled, hugging him back. They stayed there for a moment, and then Lawrence pulled away. He was still dangerously close to Aaron’s face; as he looked up at it he felt the urge to lean in and kiss him. So he did.