Thanks a million to rockband80 for the wonderful idea (and quite fitting b/c I'm also an artist ... not digital, i'm quite rubbish at digital art. I want to buy a cintiq at some point to try and remedy that, but for now i'll stick with my old fashioned oils, the smell of paint thinner and colored fingernails thank you very much :) 

Also - speaking of digital art, I'm absolutely in LOVE with Alice de Ste Croix AKA destiny blue and the way she uses light and shadow to create an almost illuminated glow to her art. It's fantastic. I imagine Scott's art style quite similar :)

I'll attach a picture of one of her pieces just as a reference and if you're interested check her out - destinyblue.deviantart.com)

Enough of my rambliiinggsss..

_____

“It’s beautiful.”

He turned towards the voice, not even the least bit surprised to find Kirstie standing there.  

“Thanks. Still a work in progress, but it’s getting there.”

“I wish real beaches looked like that.” She smiled and he took a step back to look at his work. He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to paint this particular scene, but then again he was never really sure what inspired him to paint nearly any of his work.

“I see your imaginary boyfriend is there, just like always.”

He looked at the small, nondescript figure in the distance, dark hair shining in the sun as he stood on the edge of the cliff overlooking the glittering water. He never set out to include the featureless figure, but somehow he always ended up somewhere in his art, even if mostly hidden.

“Well, whatever wacky you’re smoking keep doing it. It’s gorgeous.”

He smiled brightly as he looked her over. Brazil had gifted her with a gorgeous glow. “I missed you”

She shot him a smirk in return. “Missed you too, Dipdot. I’d hug you but you kind of look like you spent more time painting yourself than your canvas.”  

He rolled his eyes as he went back to painting the beach he was currently working on. It had been nagging at him for most of the night. He’d dreamed of him again, the boy with the silver eyes. He could never quite get a good look at his face, but it almost felt as if he didn’t need to, as if he already knew it.  His sketchbook was filled with it, those eyes, that strong nose, those full lips.  

He always looked so sad, but remained beautiful in his sorrow.

His best friend Avi told him he should sell all of the various portraits he’d made of the mystery man from his dreams, but he just couldn’t bring himself to. He didn’t want to share him with anyone.  Sure he sold the random scenes with the tiny figure of a brunette boy somewhere hidden in the landscape, but nothing with any detail. He just couldn’t let any of them go.

“Oh my gosh. Please tell me you are selling this one! I want it! Pleaseeeee let me buy it.”

He turned again to find Kirstie going through the drying rack and in her search she had found his most recent painting, his absolute favorite to date. He’d seen it so clearly in his dreams that he’d come straight to his studio at 3 in the morning, fingers itching to get started. It had taken him a couple of weeks to finish it, to perfect it. The colors were just never right on the first mix, the paint never quite thin enough or bright enough to capture the beauty of his dream, but finally after much trial and error and loads of money spent on new mediums and oils and various other tools he finally was satisfied with his work.

The shirtless man was captured from the shoulders up, angled away from the viewer, looking off into the distant sky, chin raised, silver eyes sparkling with tears that would be forever suspended. The dark blue sky rained irridescent … something… down on him,  It looked almost like falling lines of celestial glitter, stars and crystal dust.

“No. That one is going in my new house.”

“Isn’t that a bit narcissistic, displaying your own work?” She playfully pouted, but was actually quite disappointed that she couldn’t have the oversized canvas to fill the perfect wall in her office.

“That ones special. I can’t part with it, at least not any time soon.”

“Well, I have to hand it to you, your boyfriend may be imaginary but he certainly is beautiful, y'know minus the whole pointy ears thing.”  

He rolled his eyes. She loved to tease him for the drunken ramblings of a teenager. He’d always had a vivid imagination, but it was actually starting to pay off for him. People paid a lot of money for his work now. He’d mastered the colors to a point where it almost looked as if the canvas was illuminated. He knew how to manipulate the brights, the darks.. the shadows, the highlights…

He knew how to use the brush to tell a story, albeit almost always a story of sadness, longing, or loss. He knew how to bring a canvas to life.

“Is this new?” She knelt down to look at the bottom corner where his signature stood out in white paint, a golden symbol lined perfectly, two lines curled around each other placed behind it.

He nodded. “Yeah, I don’t know where it came from, it just did. I like it. It’s unique.”

“Adding that permanently to your signature?”

He nodded. “I think I will.”

She smiled. “So, I was thinking… “

He sighed, knowing EXACTLY what was coming. She constantly tried to set him up with all sorts of guys and while he appreciated her efforts, he also knew that it was a waste of time. He just never had the same enthusiasm for romance that his friends had. They always had these passionate relationships, or even brief flings that they threw themselves into wholeheartedly. He just couldn’t.

His father always said it was because he had a much higher than average IQ, just like him. That made them socially awkward and sometimes distant. He also called him an artistic genius, but then so had many others. He’d never even taken a lesson, just one day in the middle of his senior year in high school he’d had the urge to draw, to paint, to record his dreams onto something he could keep, something substantial.  

He spent hours in the garden at his old house, drawing, painting… then with acrylics, but when the color just wouldn’t move the way he wanted he moved on to oils. It had quickly taken over most of his free time. There was just something about it that made him happy, even when it looked so incredibly sad.

He couldn’t put his finger on it, but nothing ever gave him satisfaction quite like when he was painting, not even when he had a gorgeous naked man in his bed.

“I think you have had quite enough time to get over Alex. It’s time to move on.”

Alex…

Alex was… amazing. Beautiful and fun and smart. He was creative and he spent hours with Scott in his studio both of them painting away, lost in their own worlds. He really had loved Alex, but more in a friendly way than a romantic way. He’d been an idiot to let him go, but he just didn’t think it was fair keep the wonderful man from someone who could really love him the way he deserved to be.

Alex had been heartbroken and while he’d wanted to remain friends, the other boy just couldn’t handle it and so he’d been left alone again with his art and his dreams.

“Kit, we’ve talked about this.”

“I know you think it’s fun to play pretty boy roulette, but there’s more to life than one night stands, Scooter.”

“You’re not going to let this go are you.”

“Nope. Besides, you’re already going to Avi’s grand opening, I mean you have to you helped finance the ridiculous thing.”

“What’s his name.”

“Mitchell. He completely fits your type…  exotic, long, lean and brooding.  Dark hair, blue eyes.  He works at FIDM.”

That name. He didn’t hear anything after she said that name. For some reason it felt like a punch to the chest. Something didn’t sit right, something was off.

“So, just show up, look cute, flash those baby blues and I’ll do the rest.”

“I think I liked you better over Skype.”

She laughed and turned with one last wave over her shoulder she was gone.

He kept repeating that name in his mind. Something was there, lost in the far reaches… hovering around the perimeter…  he just couldn’t quite get a grasp on it.

He sighed in frustration. Sometimes he wished he was normal, with normal emotions and normal dreams. He wished he could feel the way others felt when they talked about love and happiness and passion, but he just couldn’t.  There was something wrong with him, if only he could figure out what.