As Ezekiel swept the final strokes across the vibrant canvas, the tranquil silence of the gallery was shattered by his husband coming in, face in its ususal rock-like state. Ezekiel couldn’t help but wonder why emotion was so foreign to this man. With a resigned sigh, he set his brush on the windowsill and rose from the stool. His steps were measured and calm as he moved towards a shelf full of material. "Oh. I thought you were charles,” Ezekiel spoke gently, runmaging through the packed drawers.