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— AFTER THE RATHER FUN BEACH DAY WITH BELLA'S FRIENDS, and now Tony's friends he supposed, the two siblings were dropped off back home.
When they entered the house, their father was passed out on the couch with the TV on again. He always wanted to watch his shows and rerun games but he was so exhausted all the time that he couldn't get through them.
Isabella shuffled up the stairs quietly, Tony behind her, struggling to hold his oxygen tank and his heavy art bag.
Once they made it to the top of the stairs, Bella went to turn the knob on the door to enter her room.
"Psst, hey." Tony addressed.
Isabella shooshed him and glanced down the stairs, waiting for signs of movement.
When nothing came, she looked back up at Tony, who had an amused look and raised eyebrow.
"What?" She asked.
"Meet me in my room in about ten minutes, you have to tell me what Jake said."
Bella nodded, "Right, okay."
Tony would have followed Bella into her room in the first place, but he had to either switch out his oxygen tank again or hook himself up to the oxygen concentrator in his room.
The latter seemed like a better option.
Besides, he also had to change into something more comfortable and clean the paint brushes he'd used because dipping them in water was never enough.
Renée always thought his obsession with art was a bad idea. She discouraged him, saying stuff like 'he would never make a living on it' and 'it took years to have the same talent as those famous artists'.
It was obvious to Tony, she didn't know what the real meaning of art is. Or his art at least. It's not meant to be a perfect carbon copy of someone who was before him. He didn't make art for someone else to have credit, he did it as an outlet for his feelings. Or to preserve memories.
There were a lot of things Renée didn't understand about her son, but Tony really wished she at least understood his art.
Like Charlie always had. It was always Charlie that hung up his drawings on the fridge, or carried a small one that Tony made on a sticky note in his wallet to show his friends at the station.
It was Charlie that bought the art supplies. The pencils, the paper, the paint. It was Charlie that found him some jam jars and even lids so he could travel with paint water.
It was always Charlie.
This is what Tony thought about as he pulled out the sponge he kept in the bathroom, cleaning out the glass jam jar he'd used that day.
