Fixing The Scatter [boyxboy]

Fixing The Scatter {22}

"Are you leaving?" dad asked, looking over at me. He gave me that sad smile of his. "I guess you are. You look so grown up."

"Well, I'm not a child," I said, smoothing out my shirt. I'd dressed up neatly for Staz's art show.

We'd spent the past couple of days doing the same thing. We'd go to Staz's house, watch a movie, eat dinner together, and go for a walk. Staz seemed to enjoy the new routine our relationship had established. He liked stopping at the spot I'd asked him out at so we could sit and watch the sunset together. Sometimes we'd do our homework during the movie and sometimes we just lie on his bed holding hands. Staz was slowly growing comfortable sitting closer to me.

Today was Staz's art show, though. I knew Staz was already at the little local gallery, probably with his family. The show had started an hour ago, but I'd woken up late and just finished getting ready.

"I'm going to head out," I said.

"Tell Staz that your mother and I said hi. I wish we could've made it to the show. I'd love to see his work," dad said with a sigh. Mom was off at a business meeting, and dad had a work partner coming over any time now.

"Yea, sure," I said, slipping my shoes on and heading out of the house.

I got in my car and started off towards the gallery, wondering if Dante was there already. I hoped not. I wanted to see the look on his family's faces when they saw the outcast Montgomery son strut in.

I parked in the parking lot a few minutes later and went inside. The local gallery was fairly small, but it liked to hold shows with local artists, showcasing their talents. A lot of families came to support their kids, and the general town population would walk through in a fairly steady stream.

A woman at the door offered me a smile and handed me a little pamphlet that had all the artists in it. I flicked it open and looked through it until I saw Staz's name and where his art was.

Heading up the stairs and down the hallway to the right, I entered a good sized room. I spotted Staz after a moment and made my way towards him.

He was standing near his art, looking awkward and uncomfortable. He was wearing a nice shirt, though he had wrinkled it playing with it. His tie was neatly knotted and he was currently running his hand over the material of it, his other hand playing the pocket of his slacks.

"Hi Staz," I said.

"Jude," he said, looking relieved. "You're late."

"I'm sorry. I overslept. I had to shower and get ready," I said. I looked at the little gathering of his artwork being displayed, surprised by how incredibly well done the pieces were. The drawings Staz usually gave me were mostly sketches, things done in the moment of an expression he didn't have any other way to express.

But these drawings had clearly taking him longer to do. They were neat and impressive, carefully drawn and colored.

Except for one.

It was a chalky sketch of violent colors. A soft purple flame was at the center of the mess of colors, and flames of other solid colors surrounded it. One of those flames was a navy blue.

"Is that your family?" I asked, gesturing to the flames. There were seven flames total on the page, one being Staz, one being me, and the other most likely representing his family.