CLOSE BEHIND | F. Hargreeves²

03

TW!: Verbal abuse and mentioning of physical abuse

Beau had always been rather interested in paintings, especially those with obvious passion poured into it. Every brush stroke told a story and every colour was a particular choice not to be taken lightly. He supposed it all started when he noticed all of the canvases hung in the Hargreeves home, artwork meant to be noticed and studied and not to be put away and hidden, they caught your attention in the most wonderful of ways and you could stare for hours. Well, Beau had found himself staring at those paintings for quite some time, not noticing the length of time he had really stood and studied them though that could have also been because of his wandering mind.

Beau had known Jude was a painter the very first time they met. With dried pastel colours on his hands and even some caught in his hairline, he had found it rather amusing but also intriguing. He hadn't met someone who was creative or passionate enough to always be seen with smudges on their hands, washed away halfheartedly as if proud of such a thing. 

Jude exited the kitchen with Beau's food in hand, giving one of his dazzling smiles that had become very much a constant the more they got to know one another. 

"You're a painter, Jude?" Beau questioned the boy, gaze moving over Jude's hands as he set the plate down.

Jude's eyes snapped to Beau as if he had been caught in the act of something terrible before peering down at his hands and giving a soft smile, almost relieved. Beau guessed no one had ever asked him the simple question. "You're very observant, Beau."

"Well, I do see paint on your hands every time I see you."

"You must think I'm unprofessional," Jude spoke sheepishly, pulling his sleeves down as far as they could give, even if they couldn't cover his hands at all. Beau noticed his self-confidence often plummeted as soon as something was said about him and often when he didn't know what the comment mean and was probably his father's doing.

"Quite the opposite actually, I think it's endearing. Shows you are proud of it." 

Jude frowned with confusion, "How can you tell that?"

"Acrylic paint is not that hard to wash off," Beau shrugged, pointing at the pastel colours, "And those aren't small smudges."

"You know a bit about painting?"

"Not the act of doing it so much but I do like to study them. I can get quite lost I must confess."

"What are your favourites?"

"My childhood home; it had a lot of landscape paintings. Mountains, forests, oceans, all telling a different story." About two weeks after Beau was taken in by Reginald he had gone downstairs that morning and found the foyer filled with wrapped canvases and when he was told by the man to rip one open he saw one of the most beautiful pieces of artwork to grace him. They were to be hung on one of the barren walls upstairs where Grace was to be recharged each night and soon to be where Beau was found staring at the lovely landscapes. Reginald had told him it was to 'liven up the place' but Beau felt it was something else he never told him.

"That's beautiful."

"What do you paint? And with so many pastel colours too." With how many times Beau had seen lavender purple and baby blue and rose pink on his skin one would think the paint was permanent or, at least, part of a bigger picture waiting to be shown to the world.

Jude wiped down the counter halfheartedly, "They're soft. Good for clouds and flowers." 

"Much like you then I suppose."