The Art Of Us

2 • I Don't Serve Traitors

Charles looked up from his comic book when he heard someone knock on the main entrance of the Whyte Wyrm, but before he could get up to check who it was, the door slowly squeaked open.

A man with thick raven colored hair, rough stubble, a neat dress shirt and tailored pants that Charles assumed were more expensive than his whole wardrobe, poked his head inside almost a little scared.

"Sorry, we're closed." He said, giving the man a polite smile. The Wyrm wouldn't open until five, so he was at least two hours early.

"Oh, I am not here for a drink. I'm looking for someone. Something tells me she's here. Alice Smith?" FP made his way inside, trying to come across as confident as he possibly could.

However, behind that facade, his heart was beating in his chest so hard, that he was afraid he was going to faint.

"Oh yeah, she's here. She'll be out soon, you can wait here if you'd like." Charles gestured towards the barstool next of him, unaware of who the man really was. Only time would tell.

FP sat down, feeling more uncomfortable than ever. He could still leave, if he wanted to. This boy had no idea who he was, nor why he came here. If he'd flee before he got the chance to ask his name, Alice would never know that it was him that had been visiting her. But just when he thought about getting up and leaving without another word, he noticed what the boy next to him was holding in his hands.

"You read these Comics?" He asked him, a smile curling on his lips.

It was weird to see someone holding and reading his work. FP knew that he had hardcore fans all over the country who couldn't wait for the next edition to come out, who had followed his story from the start, but having someone read it so closely to him without them knowing that he made them was a new experience. Refreshing, he thought.

"Yeah yeah, laugh all you want. Everyone says I am too old for this." Charles smiled halfheartedly.

He was getting tired of people telling him what he could and couldn't do on his age. He was only sixteen, he was still allowed to enjoy things that were such a big part of his childhood, wasn't he? It made him happy, and that was all that mattered.

"I wasn't going to laugh at all. I made these." FP told him, a proud smile curling on his lips.

Charles' eyes grew wide. Was this the man who created the work that had gotten him through the roughest time in his life? The characters that were always there for him, whenever he needed them?

"Wait, you're FP Jones? You created Southside Comics?" He asked, both excited and totally blown away. Suddenly, he wasn't sure how to act.

"Yeah, I did. Great to see you love it so much." FP gave the boy a warm smile. Talking to him had made his worries about seeing Alice fade to the back of his mind.

"That's why you looked so familiar! I have so many questions, do you mind?" Charles asked eagerly, wanting nothing more than to finally knowing all the things about the comics that had been on his mind for years.

FP chuckled. "Ask away."

But before Charles could even open his mouth to say anything, Alice and Fred returned from the back. When they noticed the man next to Charles, they both froze. Alice felt as if the air had been knocked out of her, as if this was some sick nightmare that felt awfully real.

It was really him. He might dress differently now, and he might have grown a small beard, but it was undeniably him. His brown eyes were still as innocent as ever and the way his lips twitched when he was nervous hadn't changed either. And yet, Alice knew that things would never be the same as they used to be.