[Aw, hey, I’m sorry to hear that. I hope you’re not too worn out and I’m glad she is okay. Have some fluff and I hope you feel better soon. Thank you for being awesome and thoughtful of others.]
Stiles spots the waiter with the cheese tray, and immediately chases him down. He pops a few of the cheese cubes in his mouth, and takes another sip of the wine whose fancy name he can’t remember. This is a ridiculously fancy event at an art gallery and Stiles is only here because Erica insisted he accompany her to Boyd’s first gallery feature.
Stiles swallows down his cheese, looking for another waiter dude, sadly alone. He’s played his role as supportive friend, watched the confession of feelings and then then Boyd and Erica had kissed and made up, and they’re now holding hands, Boyd leading her from painting to painting, telling her about each one. Absolutely adorable.
Stiles is planning to hang out and eat as much cheese and crackers as he can and see if he can get drunk on terrible wine, then walk home.
Stiles wanders away from the room full of questionable sculptures he’s currently and into the next wing. These pieces are actually enjoyable. They’re mostly landscapes, drawn by a steady hand. Even without any people in them, Stiles can feel the emotion present in the pieces: they all feel like the artist is longing for something.
They’re pretty, anyways.
There’s a small crowd in front of one of the paintings at the end at the room, so Stiles ignores it in favor of eating more appetizers. There’s lot of hush-hush whispering, which makes him think that painting must be the most popular one or something.
"Hey, what’s up over there?" Stiles asks one of the docents.
She’s busy looking at her clipboard, but she answers him anyway. ”Ah, that piece is on loan from the Hale Musuem of Modern Art. It’s one of this particular artists’ most famous works, and we’re incredibly lucky to be able to show it tonight. It’ll be en route back to the museum tomorrow.”
"Hmn," Stiles mutters noncommittally. He doesn’t know that much about art. "It’s the same person who did all these landscapes? I mean, all of these paintings are nice, but what’s so special about that one?"
The docent clicks her tongue, like she doesn’t have time to explain the intricacies of the art world to a person like Stiles, and she sighs in exasperation. “D. Hale is quite prolific in many circles, and that particular work is the only portrait he’s ever done. It’s a very beautiful piece, valued at over— oh!”
She looks up at Stiles, who blinks at her quizzically. Maybe there’s crumbs on his face or something.
"Uh…" Stiles says awkwardly.
She just stares at him, wide-eyed. “The resemblance is uncanny. The same spirited smile, that same—”
"Hold up a minute," Stiles says, frowning in confusion. "What are you talking about?"
She leads him to the painting, pushing him to the front of the crowd.
Stiles stares. It’s a painting of him, done in painstaking detail, colors soft and warm.
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