whelve - with leo :3c
to bury something deep, to hide
He thinks about the ten year old kid, standing in the Museum of Modern Art, staring up in awe at the huge canvas looming over him, an explosion of colours and exaggerated brush strokes coalescing into the face of a man.
Carl Manfred is your father. He remembers those words filling him with immense excitement and hope. Such a foolish child he’d been.
He thinks about that sixteen year old kid, standing at the airport and kissing his mother farewell before she returns to Paris. She’d tried to dissuade him from moving to Detroit and seeking Carl out, telling him he belonged with her, by her side, whether in New York or Paris. Such a foolish adolescent he’d been.
He thinks about that twenty-eight year old broken man, standing in that studio, driven mad with addiction and betrayal and grief. He thinks about that android, the one crafted so lovingly to look after the man who was never really a father in any way other than genetic. Such a foolish man he’d been.
He thinks about who Leo Manfred was, all the incarnations of him scrabbling for scraps of affection, of approval, and he locks him up and buries him deep in the ground where dead things belong. Corpses will decay, of course, but from the detritus new life will grow and bloom.
“You ready?” Simon’s hand is warm on his shoulder, his smile warmer still. Leo stands in front of the Museum of Modern Art, looking up at the banner that announces the exhibit of Léopold Aurélien documenting the Android Revolution one year on.
He thinks about who he is now, twenty-nine and clean and whole because someone decided he was worth loving, someone lovingly picked up his pieces and sealed them together with gold. Leo smiles.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
