Capricorns and Devil Horns

Wrong Son of God

   I awoke to a knocking on the door, which I presumed to be Morgan locking himself out again, but instead turned out to be my delivery. I'd ordered a new large canvas a few days before and had completely forgotten about it. As soon as I'd signed for the thing, I dragged it into the livingroom and set it up on the easel that was kept in the broom cupboard. Art supplies had been limited in the house for a little while. Sure, I had paper, but there was nothing like using oils on canvas.
   12:31pm and Morgan finally woke up. Usually, he'd head straight for the kitchen, but he must've been drawn to the livingroom that day. Probably because Total Eclipse of a Heart was playing loudly. I'd grown accustomed to the sight of his exposed torso and legs first thing in the morning. Today he wore Batman boxers that made me grin a little before I turned back to my canvas.
   "Morning, Love. What have you got there?"
   "A helicopter. What does it look like? It's a canvas. I'm painting."
   "Oh so it is. I didn't know you painted."
   "Morgan, your room was full of boxes of paint and shit before we cleared it out."
   "Well excuse me if I don't rummage through other people's stuff." He defended, "Especially if there's shit in them."
   I rolled my eyes, continuing to paint. Morgan grinned and sat beside me, looking over my painting.
   "Bloody Hell, that's incredible..." Morgan breathed and my cheeks reddened a little, "What is it?"
   "A goat." I said with a small laugh.
   "With wings?"
   "Yeah. I hope you don't mind that I took inspiration from your tattoos. I just thought they were so beautiful."
   "Are you painting me like one of your French girls?" He winked, motioning to the upright goat with his black wings wrapped around his body.
   "It's not you." I told him, "The goat's for me."
   "Why?"
   "I'm a Capricorn."
   "So what if you're a kettle corn? What's the significance of a goat?"
   "A Capricorn. It's my star sign. And the goat is the symbol." I explained.
   He looked somewhat amused by this but made no further comment.
   "So, tell me your star sign. I wanna know how compatible we are." I said.
   "If your star sign's a goat, we're more compatible than you may think." He murmured.
   "What?"
   "What?"
   "When's your birthday?"
   "Not a clue, Sweetheart. I've lost track."
   "You've forgotten your birthday? You're not that old, Jesus."
   "Wrong son of God."
   "What?"
   "What?"
   "How old are you...if you don't mind me asking?"
   "Old." He replied with a smile.
   I rolled my eyes again.
   "Whatever you say.... Put the kettle on?"
   "Yes, Ma'am!"
Morgan had liked my painting so much that he'd insisting on hanging it in his bedroom on the empty wall above his bed. Of course, I was beyond flattered. Besides Hannah, no one I knew in person had ever really seen my art. And Hannah would nod her head along and smile even though I knew she didn't really care when I spoke about art. Morgan, however, seemed genuinely fascinated, and asked me all about the different art techniques I used as I prepared our lunch of ham and mustard rolls.
"Is this what you do for a living then? Art?" He inquired, as we sat down with our rolls and tea.
"Kinda," I laughed, "Sometimes I make a little bit of money selling some of my work online, but not enough to call it a living."
"Well, if you don't mind me asking, how on Earth do you afford the rent of a two bedroom flat?? It's not like this is a dingy area."
"Ah. That would be my father. He died when I was fifteen and left every penny of his money to me."
"How about your mother? She can't have been very happy about that."
"I don't suppose she was. But she only had herself to blame for leaving when I was six."
"Oh that's horrible."
"S'not so bad. I had a great life with my dad up until he died. I stayed with grandparents until I turned 16, when I moved into this place. Been here just over four years and Dad's money still pays the bills."
"Better than being on the streets I suppose."
"Mmhmm. So, how do you get money? You can afford lavish takeaways and snazzy clothes, but you haven't gone out to work and you've lived here nearly two weeks."
"It's hard to explain really. A bit like your inheritance, I suppose."
"Right. From your father too?"
"Not exactly. My father wouldn't give me a penny even if I was a wishing well." He laughed.
"What a pair we are..." I remarked and he gave another grin.
He put an arm around my shoulder and began to sing:
"Just the two of us,
We can make it if we try.
Just the two of us..."