The Good Son - 5. Chapter 5: Tired Eyes

Since it was only Monday, Jack would be home late. He was only ever early on Wednesdays and Thursdays.

“Daniel, could you get the front door?” Arty asked while he unbuckled Geil. Daniel nodded and walked to the front door, where he pushed it open. He waited on the porch for Arty, the man carrying sleeping Geil over in his arms. As Arty stepped inside passed Daniel, the teen followed him and shut the door.

"When does his school let out?" the teen asked Arty, the man carrying Geil to the stairs.

“Two forty. I decided that I'd just take him to the park until your school ends, and that way I won't be late picking you up or anything. That's why he's so tuckered out,” the man replied. He looked aback at Daniel and offered a smile. The teen raced in front of Arty to the stairs.

“Let me help you with him,” he said, stepping onto the first stair. Arty chuckled.

“Okay.”

Daniel turned to the stairs and started up them, and Arty followed from behind.

Up the steps, Daniel kept down the hall to Geil's room, where he opened the bedroom door for Arty. He carried the child inside and lay him on his bed.

"Here, can you pull off his shoes?" Arty asked Daniel, glancing at the teen while he unbuttoned Geil's coat. Daniel nodded and stepped to the foot of the bed, where he knelt to the floor and started slipping Geil's shoes off. They were fastened by Velcro, so he ushered them off to not wake the boy.

As he got the shoes off, he set them beside himself on the floor, and then looked over at Arty, who was slipping the jacket off of the child's arms.

Arty was beautifully handsome, his flesh smooth of any blemishes and lightly tanned from what Daniel now knew was from his Hispanic father. His lips were full and nature colored, and his nose straight, unharmed by any damages. His long eyelashes rested on his cheeks from his hooded eyes as he looked down at Geil, slipping off the jacket.

He looked at Daniel and smiled, his mouth wrinkling at the corners from his share of teen smoking. "Thanks for helping Daniel, that was nice," he said, balling Geil's jacket underneath his arm as he got it from the boy. Daniel looked away and nodded.

"You're welcome." He decided to cover Geil up, grabbing the blanket and draping it over his adoptive brother. When he looked at Arty again, the man was walking to Geil's drawing table, where he hung the jacket over the back of the chair. After doing that, the man started picking up stray pencils and putting them in the pencil cup. He looked back at Daniel.

“Have you started painting yet?” he asked curiously. Daniel shook his head. He twisted his lips.

“I don't... feel right," the teen replied. Arty rose his eyebrows.

“What do you mean? This is your house too, now, Daniel; you can do what you want. Here, let's go and check out the art room," the man said and waved Daniel over to him, as he turned from the table to leave the room. Daniel got up from the floor and followed.

Walking down the hall, the two turned to the art room and Arty opened the door wide, so that it welcomed them, and then stepped inside. Daniel stepped in beside him and stood close enough to smell the man; soft, airy soap, and a light, delicate fragrance of Axe. Then the man stepped further into the room, leaving him.

He looked around the room like he hadn't been in there in ages, and looked at Daniel. "Here Daniel, look," he said and pointed around the room. There were two easels, one with a canvas and covered by a white sheet, and another that stood empty, with a thin layer of dust on the pale wood.

The room looked like an artist's lair, with canvases sitting stacked against the walls in a clutter, turned so that the paint on them was hidden from the eye. A glass vanity attached to the wall held different paints, of acrylic, oil, water, and a case of pastel chalk sticks. There were also two pallets, one filled with overlaying paints, and the other slightly used.

"Jack hasn't come in here since his last promotion, and I'm going insane," Arty said dramatically. Daniel smiled.

He walked to the easel with the sheet and pulled it off to look at the canvas beneath.

The painting was an abstract art, full of dark, dull colors. A pale sky held the canvas, with dark scratches and scribbling over it, digging deep into the canvas, from a pen, most likely. The teen looked at Arty for an explanation, who was already looking over at the emotional art.

“... Jack's youngest son came to stay with us a while back, to help with his college fees. Then he, uh…” Arty pressed his lips together, and brought a hand up to rub his neck, his eyes examining the unfinished work. Daniel watched him, the man seeming… distressed.

“It's alright, Arty,” the teen said and turned his gaze back to the painting. It was undoubtedly screaming.

He lifted the sheet back over the canvas, erasing it from their view of it short. Then he spoke up, “I'll paint in here.”

l.l

Arty made chicken soup for dinner, since Geil seemed to be getting a cold. Daniel hadn't left the art room since Arty talked him into it, so the man cooked alone, with Geil laying on the living room couch and watching television.

For dinner, Arty used egg noodles and fresh vegetables that he bought when last shopping. Dill was an herb that he couldn't stray away from; it was almost always present in his soups. While stirring the ingredients together, the man's phone went off from his pocket. Putting the spoon to the side, he grabbed the pot's lid and lay it over so that he could check his phone.

It was a text from his mom.

Mom: I have some clothes for the boys.

Arty: ok.

Mom: I'll bring them tomorrow.

Arty simply shrugged to himself and put his phone away again. He wasn't one for talking to her. It was surprising that anyone was.

The man turned and left the kitchen, where he went to peek over the living room sofa at Geil. "Just a little bit longer, babe," he said and pat the boys head. He then grabbed some of Geil's stray hairs and tucked them behind his ears. The child didn't reply, watching the television intently.

Upstairs, Daniel had taken the liberty of looking at Jack's paintings. They ranged in styles; impressionism, abstract, portrait- it went on. At the back of a stack, Daniel found an oil painting of Arty. The man was younger, probably his early twenties. He looked innocent and angelic, his attention pulled away to the side by something; his body slender and nude, covered by mere drapes.

The painting looked as fresh as when first created: August 2nd, as written in the bottom right corner. Daniel looked at his own work in progress. A perfect replica of Arty whilst in Geil's bedroom, his perfect face and skin. Though a mere rough sketch, his expression was still perfectly present. Calm, content. He still looked the same as in Jack's painting, like he hadn't aged a day. The things separating him from his younger self were his hair and beautiful sea blue eyes, which aged into a worry that he had mastered to conceal.

Walking back to his sketch in progress, Daniel picked up his pallet of wet paints and started laying down a background, of light and pale colors.

“Daniel! Dinner's ready,” Arty called up the stairs from where he stood at the bottom. He had left Geil at the couch, the child waiting for his bowl of dinner; eyes puffy because he wouldn't stop itching them. When Daniel didn't come to the stairs or call out, the man decided to feed his younger son.

Going to the kitchen and getting a bowl of soup, he dropped two ice cubes inside to help it cool faster; something he learned from his father. Then he carried the bowl to Geil and set it on the coffee table.

"We'll eat in here," he said, "Be careful and don't burn yourself. Daniel!" he called again. Geil sneezed, and Daniel still didn't come down. Arty clicked his tongue. "Well, I guess I'll go get him-"

"Stay," Geil said through a funny voice and grabbed Arty's arm. The man looked at him and offered a smile.

"Okay." He sat down beside Geil and brought the bowl from the table so that he could eat.

l.l

Usually when Jack got home, he went into the kitchen to get his dinner, because Arty was just short of livid if he didn't eat it or it got wasted. Before he got to reach the kitchen, though, he saw that the TV was on, some cartoon flashing over its screen. The man rose an eyebrow and took off his coat, hanging it up on the coat rack. The. He walked to the TV to shut it off.

As he cut the power, he noticed a shift on the couch and looked to see Arty and Geil, both asleep. Arty slept against the arm of the sofa with Geil's head in his lap, their dinner bowls empty beside them. Smiling to himself, Jack took up the bowls and brought them to the kitchen, where he set them into the sink.

The pot of soup was still on the stove, cooling off so that it could be put in the fridge. Jack grabbed a plastic container to start pouring the soup in, which he then put in the refrigerator. The pot, he put in the other side of the sink to soak.

He stretched and groaned, a kink in his neck from his long day at work. He wanted to get some soup, because Arty was a hell of a cook, but there was a birthday celebrated at the office, and all of the junk food around made him not hungry. It was just the appearances; he had always hated sweets, ever since his ex-wife bought them all of the time for the kids.

So, he left the kitchen and came back to the living room, where he picked Geil up from the couch. "Arty," he whispered, but his husband didn't respond. He tapped his knee against Arty's leg, which prompted the brunette to moan and peek his eyes open, the sleepy orbs looking at the blonde man.

He groaned and brought a hand up to mess with his hair. “What time is it?” he asked groggily.

“Close to midnight. Come on to bed.”

Arty pat the couch beside him, sitting up and looking when he felt that it was void of anyone else. Jack chuckled. “I've got him. Come on.” He turned from the tired brunette and carried Geil to the stairs.

Stepping up with his tired feet, he carried Geil to his bedroom and put him in bed, covering him up and tucking him in a little. Then he left the bedroom, shutting the door quietly, until it just clicked into place.

He knew from his years of marriage to Arty that the man was probably still asleep on the couch. It was what he did. He either couldn't sleep, or he didn't want to wake up. Walking back to the stairs to get the man, he paused when he heard a brief sound from inside of the art room. He glanced at the door.

From the underside, he could see that the light inside was on. He stepped to the door and knocked.

“Yes?” Daniel said from inside.

Jack cleared his throat. “Painting?”

“Yes.”

“Well, don't stay up too late.”

“I won't.”

Jack nodded, but he stayed beside the door. He dropped his gaze before looking at the wooden frame again. He hadn't been in there in forever. He wanted to. He just... He also didn't want to.

He turned from the room and left back downstairs. He walked back to the couch, where he easily let Arty take his attention and distract him.

“Art," he said, looking down at the man. He flicked some loose hair from Arty's face, which made the brunette look at him again with his blue eyes. He sighed in exhaustion and held his hands out to Jack, who took them to pull him up from the couch.

“Carry me,” Arty whined. Jack puffed.

“You're old enough, walk.”

“Ba-be..”

Jack rolled his eyes but gave in, picking the man up into his arms. “There's no way you're really this tired," he said and bounced Arty for a better grip. The brunette wrapped his arms around his husband's neck.

“I am though.”

From inside the art room, Daniel could hear Arty and Jack's distinct voices as the two came up the stairs.

“You've gained weight, haven't you?” Jack joked. Arty scoffed.

“Jackson Laurence Mason, I know you didn't just say that!”

“I know you didn't just say that.”

Arty's laugh echoed down the hall as their voices trailed away, and Daniel looked at the art door from his painting.

He heard their bedroom door shut.

He slipped his gaze back to his painting, sighing while looking at Arty's painted eyes.

l.l

After an extensive search as to where Daniel was when not in bed in the morning, Arty found him in the art room.

He opened the door and peered inside with his blue eyes. “Daniel?” he asked.

“Yes?” Daniel looked at the door from his canvas and Arty sighed in relief.

“You weren't in bed, so I was about to freak out. Were you in here all night?”

Daniel smiled and shook his head. “No, that wouldn't be too wide, would it?” He had, though. He had lost track of time. But, he was a good liar despite.

Arty huffed and waved the teen over. “Well, come on for school- Geil's sick, so he'll be staying home today.”

“Does that mean you'll be late?” Daniel tossed a sheet over his painting and walked to Arty. The man blinked and furrowed his eyebrows.

“Late for what?”

“Picking me up. Since you aren't going to stay in the city with Geil.”

“Oh, no! No, I'll be right on time, I promise.” Arty pat Daniel's head, his fingers long and slender, but soft. It was a comforting feeling.

“Come on, I made your lunch.” The comfort left as Arty turned from Daniel and left the room. It made the teen a little upset.

“I'll be there in a minute,” he called after his “father”, where he left to his bedroom. In there, he changed his clothes and put on his shoes and jacket before looking at his reflection in a mirror.

His eyes looked wide from his night of no sleep, a pale pink irritating his whites while his eyes begged for rest. He had paint dried on his fingers.

“Damn.”

l.l

“Daniel-”

“Leave the boy alone, he's probably in the bathroom,” Jack said from the kitchen table, where he ate a slice of toast. Arty frowned.

“I just don't want him to be late.”

“He'll be fine.” Jack said to Arty, waving his toast at the man. Then he looked at his watch and huffed. “Speaking of late-” he put the toast down and walked to his husband to say goodbye.

“Someday that law firm is going to burn.”

Jack laughed and kissed Arty. “Hopefully when I'm not in it. Hey,” he touched the brunette's chin lightly, making the other man peek at him through his lashes. “Tomorrow's Wednesday.”

“Fine," Arty said, "Go on to work, then.” He kissed Jack, who smiled into it. Then he turned and left the kitchen for work. Since he'd left his toast and Daniel was taking his time, Arty walked to the table and took the warm slice, finishing it while leaning against the wooden tabletop.

“Daniel!” he called through a mouth of toast, glancing at the kitchen doorway.

After a moment, Daniel came into the kitchen all ready for school. Arty pointed.

“There's your breakfast, and your lunch is on the counter.”

Daniel nodded and walked to his breakfast, of an omelet with bacon. “Is Geil staying home while you drive me?” he asked, since Geil wasn't present. Arty shook his head.

“I hired a babysitter, and she should be here in a little bit.”

“Oh. Arty, can I ask you for something?” Daniel looked at the man, who perked up at the opportunity to give.

“Sure; ask away.”

“Could I have an audio recorder? Or a video recorder?”

Arty laughed. “Um, why?”

“It helps me study, hearing things again.”

“Oh. Well, yeah! I think I have a voice recorder from college,” Arty wandered out of the kitchen and Daniel ultimately followed, so that he could talk to him some more.

“What did you go to college for?” he asked, following Arty to the room that Geil didn't know what was. It became apparent as Arty opened it though, that it was storage.

“Oh, this and that. Nursing, some teaching, business.”

“...Why aren't you doing any of those, then?’

“Because,” Arty strained as he tried moving a heavy box, “It didn't work out. I did tutoring and nursing for a while, but kids aren't really… fond of homosexuals. And nursing was stressful, seeing people sad all of the time, and in pain.” He managed to move the box, and started looking in the one that it had been sitting on.

That upset Daniel, because Arty looked like he would love those things. Then Arty startled him with an excited cackle.

“I found it!” He said and rose his hand, holding an old recorder. Daniel laughed.

“You scared me.”

“Oh, did I? Sorry,” Arty stood from the floor and walked over to Daniel, where he handed the teen the recorder. “I used it to record seminars in college- have fun with it."

Daniel took it and glanced it over. It looked a little older, but it was in fine condition otherwise. He smiled. “Thank you, Arty.”

“It's nothing. Do you want me to put it in your bag?” Arty stepped behind Daniel anyway, and started unzipping his backpack. Since it seemed wrong to tell him no, Daniel held the recorder over his shoulder and let Arty take it again.

Their fingers touched. Daniel held the recorder a moment longer, savoring the moment of intimacy. Arty didn't seem to notice, though, because he was just helping the other brunette out. Daniel finally let him have it.

Putting the recorder in the bag, Arty zipped it shut and pat the teen’s head.

“There we go, bud. Let's see if the sitter's here; I hate calling them when it's so cold.”

Daniel turned to face Arty. “I do mean it, Arty, thank you for this,” he said. Arty smiled and waved him off.

“You live here now- if you ever want something, I probably already have it in here. Just take a look sometime." A box seemed to fall over just on que, and Arty chuckled awkwardly. “Just uh, don't let anything fall on you. I'm a clutter.” Clearing his throat to make a show out of the whole thing, the man spun on his heel to leave the room.

His energy now made Daniel wander how he was as a teenage. He followed the man out, walking down the stairs with him.

He lied and told Arty that he had finished his breakfast, so that they could leave the house sooner. They had to wait on the sitter, who came just as Arty left to start the car's heater. Then, they could start to school.

The drive was relatively quiet, because neither really knew what to say in the early morning, so Arty just turned on the radio.

“What do you like listening to?” the man asked. Daniel looked at him.

“Nothing much.”

“...Oh.”

“Well, I fancy your singing.”

Arty laughed. “Daniel, that's not music- trust me. And I wasn't singing it, anyway.”

“I beg to differ. You're just being modest.” This made Arty laugh even more, and he looked at Daniel.

“What's with you today? Jokester much? That girl's in for something, I'll tell you that!”

Daniel furrowed his eyebrows. “What girl?”

“That Laura girl. Laura, right? Your new potential girlfriend.” Arty nudged Daniel playfully with his elbow, who just watched him.

“I don't want to date her.”

“Okay, mister Macho, forget I said anything. I'm just teasing.” Arty smiled at the teen, who turned his attention back to the road.

“Okay.”

When the got to the school, they were early.

“I'll be here when you're out,” Arty said, waving to Daniel as the teen got out of the car. He nodded and shut his door before going into the school building.

Immediately as he stepped inside, Laura was on his hip.

“Hey, you're back!” she said like he had moved. “Who was in the car back there? Your brother?”

Daniel looked at her with his tired eyes, quirking an eyebrow. “What?”

“The... guy- hey, what's wrong with your eyes? Sleep much?” She brought a hand up to poke his face, but he pushed her hand away before she could.

“I've got to go to class,” he said and she nodded, crossing her arms.

“...Okay. I'll see you at lunch!”

Daniel waved to her, walking to his first hour. In the left hall, he could hear Morrison and his goons.

“Hey, this thing says “Arty”,” one of Morrison's friends said, and Daniel stopped walking.

“What? Bullshit,” Morrison sounded. “Give it to me.”

“What the hell kinda name is that?” one asked.

“Fuck if I know. Joe, get me a marker,” Morrison.

“You're keeping it?” The first, Joe, asked.

“Yeah, it's a nice thermos,” Morrison said.

Daniel dropped his head back to look up at the ceiling. He hadn't known it was Arty's thermos. Damn.

l.l

When Arty got home from dropping off Daniel, he paid the sitter, Jessica, seventy dollars.

“Thanks again,” he said to her as she walked outside. She smiled and waved.

“I can come again!”

“Well, I'm counting on it,” Arty laughed. He was, too, because Geil would probably have to stay home tomorrow also. When the front door was shut, Arty flopped onto the couch and rest an arm over his had, where he looked up at the ceiling.

He hadn't really gotten much sleep last night. Mainly because of his nap with Geil. That, and the fact that he always had a hard time sleeping after nine o'clock.

He sighed and pulled his phone from his pocket, where he texted his mom.

Arty: what time are you coming?

Mom: About noon

Arty: can you bring some milk

Mom: Yes.

Arty closed his eyes.

She's coming at noon. He'd nap until noon, then, so that he could get some rest in for the day. He always hated being tired more than he hated being an insomniac. That was why he didn't take his medicine- it made him groggy, and then he couldn't wake up.

“Arthur, wake up.” Sandra set her bags of clothes on the floor beside the couch, looking at her son. She inhaled deeply through her nose and put a hand on her hip. “Artemis Grey, get up.”

Arty opened his eyes and gave her a look. His grogginess made him look upset. Sandra clicked her tongue and looked at the bags.

“I brought the clothes for the boys, and I put the milk in your refrigerator.”

“What time is it?”

Sandra looked at him again, spurned, as though he had said something wrong. Because he had- he didn't say “thank you” first. She shook her head and looked at her wrist watch.

“It's three fifteen, why?”

Arty's eyes went wide. “You're fucking kidding me.”

“Language.”

Arty jumped up from the couch, looking at his phone’s time. His mom was no liar, it was three fifteen. “Mom, why didn't you wake me up!”

“I just got here, Artemus. I had a meeting with a client, and there was a detour; I know, I'm very late.”

“No, Mom! Daniel gets out at three forty- it's a forty minute drive there- shit!” Arty ran for the front door. “Watch Geil, please!”

l.l

School went well, besides Daniel's body trying to shut down for sleep mode. He managed to stay awake, though, and didn't see Morrison besides science class, but they were in paired groups and he didn't see Daniel.

Stepping outside of school after the bell rang, Daniel looked around for Arty's car. He looked three times, because he thought he may have overlooked it. It became apparent after a while, though, that he hadn't. Arty just wasn't there.

After ten minutes of waiting, the school doors opened and Morrison and his friends came out. They saw him.