.019 White
.019 White
Sydney Alexis
His father's always been weird when it came to keeping mementos. Yeah, there was the stuff that his father was proud to own like sketches and paintings Justin had made that covered the walls in the loft, Brighton, and Kinnetik, but there was also the stuff he'd squirrel away in boxes so that no one would know he'd done it.
In his own, odd way, Gus figured his dad was a little embarrassed that he had this human failing of wanting to preserve the past.
Every once and awhile, Gus would stumble across a box when he was looking for something he'd lost.
Most of the time, they were pictures or little scraps of paper. Doodled on napkins and sketches Justin intentionally left around the loft and office that, to them, took the place of 'I'm thinking about you, 'I love you,' or the more mundane 'replace the pop tarts I know you ate.' There were also sketches Gus had made. Childish, crayoned figures standing happily in front of a playground, Brighton, or the zoo.
Other boxes contained letters. Some Gus had written throughout his exile to the frozen North, but most of them were addressed from New York.
But, of all the keepsakes hidden away in Brighton, the one that made him burn with curiosity was one hidden in a rather large box.
Hidden behind a stack of his own things, Gus had assumed it was his, but, once opened, it became quite clear it wasn't his.
There, mixed in with old clothes was a pair of angel wings.
And, even though he was burning with curiosity, he knew better than to ask.
Even if his father would tell him, he'd learned that some things were just too private.
fanfic100: 31/100
A/N: I'll be expanding on some of the ideas in this one...at a later date.
Sydney Alexis
His father's always been weird when it came to keeping mementos. Yeah, there was the stuff that his father was proud to own like sketches and paintings Justin had made that covered the walls in the loft, Brighton, and Kinnetik, but there was also the stuff he'd squirrel away in boxes so that no one would know he'd done it.
In his own, odd way, Gus figured his dad was a little embarrassed that he had this human failing of wanting to preserve the past.
Every once and awhile, Gus would stumble across a box when he was looking for something he'd lost.
Most of the time, they were pictures or little scraps of paper. Doodled on napkins and sketches Justin intentionally left around the loft and office that, to them, took the place of 'I'm thinking about you, 'I love you,' or the more mundane 'replace the pop tarts I know you ate.' There were also sketches Gus had made. Childish, crayoned figures standing happily in front of a playground, Brighton, or the zoo.
Other boxes contained letters. Some Gus had written throughout his exile to the frozen North, but most of them were addressed from New York.
But, of all the keepsakes hidden away in Brighton, the one that made him burn with curiosity was one hidden in a rather large box.
Hidden behind a stack of his own things, Gus had assumed it was his, but, once opened, it became quite clear it wasn't his.
There, mixed in with old clothes was a pair of angel wings.
And, even though he was burning with curiosity, he knew better than to ask.
Even if his father would tell him, he'd learned that some things were just too private.
fanfic100: 31/100
A/N: I'll be expanding on some of the ideas in this one...at a later date.