Kill The Boy ( boyxboy )

Prologue

They say only those who've been hurt deeply can truly write music. That only wounds that cut deep could reflect emotion through beat. That's when bad blood flows to our creative and herein makes a true artist. Art had only known love once and that was a wound that had cut him deeply. He'd lost his only love at an unnaturally early age and that might have been a scar in his life. Sure enough, the memory of his love had faded, but Art had somehow managed to turn the lust in his life into something good, something creative, something that would last.

He was in his zone; on a stage, surrounded by thousands, clutching hard to his microphone, sweat dripping down his face due to overusing his vocal chords. That was his prime, that's when he felt like Art. He'd never known a better feeling other than truly expressing himself, and above all, being heard. And lately, recognition was all he was getting. His fans didn't know much about him, but they sure loved his music.

The Blue Face was the name of the song he was singing. It was really the song that turned him from a normal LA teenager to an overnight Hollywood sensation. The song had officially been published on his youtube channel with the help of some creative friends and it received the most positive feedback Art had seen in any of his older youtube videos. Long story short, it caught the eye of a major producer in the business, and now Art was on his way. He sang the last note of the song, the one note which made him wanna cry every time he sang it. I miss your blue face, he sang, dragging the last word of the song with deep emotion.

An eruption of applause and cheer stormed the House Of Blues in West Hollywood as he sang his last verse. He gave his gratitude to everyone who came out and just like that, a long day of hard work was over. He retreated the stage where he was met by his assistant with a bottle of water and a hard towel. "Thanks, Marcy," he said accepting them.

"You're done," the short auburn haired assistant informed him, reading over his itinerary.

"Finally!" He cheered. That meant that was his last show for some time and he was finally free from all the touring and the madness. "Where's my mother?" They walked into his dressing room where he sat down on a couch, doubtful if he had the strength to get back up.

"Speak of the devil and she shall appear," Marcy mumbled below her breath then scattered. Art only smirked but hid it before his mother caught glimpse of it and interrogated an answer out of him.

Art loved his mother more than anything, she'd supported him always, but there was no denying that everyone in the office had trouble adjusting to how bossy she could become. "Mother dearest," Art sighed. That's why even though she was his manager, he'd decided to tour Europe without her. This was her first time seeing him, given he flew back to LA in the morning, had a nap played a show the same day.

"My beacon of hope," she said dramatically in her accent (his mom was from South Wales) as she approached him. She strutted backstage wearing her typical "momager" look, like those you'd see the likes of Kris Jenner wearing. With long legs she rocked her pant suit, accompanied by a bun and black glasses, with a phone at hand and her assistant at her side. "Hope you didn't forget all about me. Given you left me behind while you were on tour."

"We already discussed this mom-"

"Yeah yeah," she rolled her eyes, "you can't be creative with your mum watching over your shoulder, blah, blah, blah." She rolled her eyes at him and crossed her arms, "C'mon, we've places to go."

He was on a break from then on and had no place to go but to sleep. Art knew to expect the worst from his mom's plans. "Uhh... what is it?"

"It's a welcome back party!" She cheered. "Everyone will be there. Now hurry up. We have business to talk on the way there, indeed."