the book of fluff (that usually isn't)

different

honestly i'm really not happy with how this turned out but i'm not happy with anything lately i guess

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trigger warning: depression, homophobia, panic attack, homophobic slurs

Scott refused to look at his father during the entire ride to his new apartment. Rick tried to make small talk, but Scott either answered shortly or not at all. He was not in a good mood. If his mother hadn't begged him to go with his father, he would have refused to go. He never wanted to see that pathetic excuse for a man ever again.

"Here we are!" Rick announced with fake cheerfulness when they arrived at the apartment. Scott slammed the door to the car and hoisted his backpack onto his shoulder, silently following his father into the apartment building.

The lobby was nice enough. It was warmly lit, and the couches looked comfortable. However, it went downhill from there. The elevator ride was cramped and awkward and Scott spent the entire time avoiding staring at the reflection of him and his father in the foggy metal. When they opened the door to the apartment, the smell of cigarette smoke and beer slapped Scott in the face, and he couldn't help but cough while glaring in his father's general direction. Rick had the decency to appear apologetic. "Sorry, I forgot to spray Lysol before you came. I'll- I'll smoke on the balcony from now on. Um, your room is this way." He led him down the hall and pushed open the only closed door, where a virtually empty room awaited. It only had a simple desk, a plain bed, and a tiny closet across from the window.

"So, uh, I thought we could go out to dinner tonight to celebrate your first weekend with me," Rick started as Scott sat down on the bed. "There's trivia at Johnny's Pizza. We'll live at six thirty, but you can settle in until then."

"Whatever," Scott mumbled, laying down on the bed and going on his phone.

Rick sighed, his smile fading, but he just left the room without another word.

Scott scrolled through his social media in silence for a few minutes before he couldn't stand the choking smell of cigarettes anymore. Cursing his father under his breath, he opened the door to his bedroom and peeked out, making sure it was clear. There was no sign of his father except for the distant sound of the TV. Scott took his chance and slipped out of the apartment.

He wandered around the town until he found a park. It wasn't too far from his father's apartment building, so he decided then and there that he'd be spending as much time as he could here. He plopped on a bench and got out his phone once more.

It wasn't long before he registered the sound of a soft voice humming and the gentle strum of a guitar. He glanced up and searched for the source of the noise for a moment before his eyes landed on a boy sitting in the grass with a battered guitar in his lap and an open notebook on the ground before him. Scott watched the boy thoughtfully as he would hum a phrase, play the corresponding chords, decide he didn't like it, and try something else. When he finally came to a decision, he scratched it in the notebook before he started on the next phrase.

The boy looked like the sound of his voice. He was soft, delicate, innocent. He wore a large white sweater with blue jeans, and the sweater resembled the battered guitar in that it was worn and used.

Scott was mesmerized for a while. He wanted to be closer so he could hear the boy better, so he got up and approached without really thinking about it.

The boy jumped when Scott plopped down beside him, and he closed the notebook so fast Scott didn't have time to read a single word. "Oh. H-Hi."

Scott thought his speaking voice was nice too. "Hi. I heard you singing," he said bluntly. "You have a nice voice."