goldendichotomy:
WHERE: alec’s home WHEN: 6:00pm WHO: @sidmurray
alec thinks he could recognize his daughter’s friends by the way they knock on his door. loud and pounding, quick and rapid, or random patterns that may be an attempt at a song’s drum beat all come back to specific people in his mind. so he has an instinct when he hears it from across his home – that bang, bang, bang of knocks smoothing into one another. almost creating a singular sound, and alec thinks, oh.
it hasn’t been awhile. just long enough, though, sid was always the type to come around when he needed the comfort but wasn’t ready to go back to his father yet. that’s a feeling alec can recognize in his own way. wonderful parents growing up, but they hardly understood a gay son, an artistic son, someone who wants to breathe in smoke and wouldn’t erase the mistake of a child when not even secured with a job yet. sometimes alec misses them. other times he imagines it’s better like this, less agony for philomene to go through, less strain.
he wipes the fresh paint on his hands onto a rag besides him. the stain stays, but the wetness mostly scrubs away to be tossed onto the ground in a heap of stained fabric. sid isn’t a kid that should feel apart from the adults in his life. colin’s a good man, and alec absolutely trusts him with his son, but. well. he is an adult now – and moved away from new york. the weight doesn’t belong to alec, but he’s happy to take it. crossing his home, alec opens the front door and smiles at the young man before him.
“it’s been a bit since we had the pleasure of seeing you, sid.” he says, leaning precariously against the edge of the open door. “philomene is out at practice but i imagine she’ll be home within an hour or two, if you’d like to wait for her.”
so — maybe sid is spiralling. a little. it’s just... this is the first time he’s had a serious fight with levi, and he just doesn’t know what to do with himself. without his shadow, it’s like he’s lost, wandering around in a blitzed-out haze, no real direction. he needs his creature comforts. he needs some grounding. and phil gibson is comfort.
a friend from his youth (sid thinks, as though he’s not twenty-four), he finds himself missing phil often, even when they’re living in the same town. she’s wrapped up in her art, and it’s fucking phenomenal — she’s phenomenal, truly godlike, wondrous. and sid supports her work wholeheartedly (knowing she wishes she could do the same, always wishing he’d take himself more seriously), but he misses her, and any moment he can carve out is precious.
usually, with levi, they’re the three musketeers. this time, he comes alone.
his usually rapping at the door, quick and self-assured, are faster, shakier than normal. they roll into one, and he worries, for a second, if he’s being a little too obvious. it’s a fifty-fifty on who’ll open the door, between phil and her father, and while phil’s withering glare is something he can handle, he thinks he’ll deflate like a soufflé in a mosh pit if he’s met with alec’s concern.
he takes a deep breath, though, and waits. alec’s seen him much worse, and for all sid’s issues with authority, he trusts the man — not to judge, not to pry, just to be kind, and maybe that’s what sid needs right now, over more indulgence of his insanity. but that would be a rational thought, and clearly sid doesn’t have a great handle on those at the moment, so he dons a smile after a beat, waiting for the door to open.
and, of course, it’s alec. “mr. gibson! you’re looking well — very dilf-y and vibrant, it’s a good look for you. care to smoke a bowl?” and he brushes past him, into the apartment like he owns the place. his bong is in his backpack, and he pulls it out, waving it at alec with a grin. “got this goooorgeous new sativa hybrid, crit super silver haze. it made me hear more of music. you’ll love it, i swear.” he hopes his eyes are the right type of glazed as he meets alec’s, and smiles, softening his jaw as he cocks his head.
