DEADLY SEVEN

DEADLY SEVEN - .FIVE.

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.FIVE.

IT WAS ALL MY FAULT! Galileo blamed internally with each hard stroke of his pencil onto the sketch, almost poking holes in the paper. It's all your fault! All your fault! All your fault!

Damon's musical recital competition is fast approaching and now his best friend's going to have a hard time because of him. He dropped his pencil and used his two smooth hands to rub his face with insanity as the cool, fresh wind blew on his direction; soothing his thoughts.

It was just best stay here on the rooftop to think than to wish he was eaten alive at that moment due to his stupidity.

He gripped his pencil and looked at the heavenly sky; blue like the clear sea. He closed his eyes to inhale another cool zephyr to calm his racing heart—

"Hey," A guy knocked on the open rooftop metal door.

Even without reacting or looking back, he was too sure that it was Damon Paige. He can imagine him coming close to the sketcher with a hand gripping still on his bandaged right arm while holding down the pain that Galileo caused.

"I was, uh, wondering you'd be here."

Damon came near to his table but didn't sit with him, instead, he leaned his elbows on the cool railing and looking far; his beautiful eyes sparkling into the horizon and his short hair vibrating with the wind.

"I mean," he chuckled. "this is the only spot where the staffs can think freely. And besides, this is your favorite place here in the café."

Galileo crossed his legs and looked at the man on his left.

"So, uh, wacha doin'?"

"Sketching." Galileo said monotonously and stared long at the view outside.

At his answer, Damon wrinkled his nose. "Why do you love sketching so much?"

Still staring at the beautiful horizon, Galileo sighed and explained once again. "Sketching—or drawing, whatever—helps me escape reality for awhile. Like reading a book 'ya know?"

Damon nodded in agreement as he closed his eyes to inhale the fresh sunrise wind.

"It makes me feel alive; makes me feel human." Galileo whispered and closed his eyes for a moment like Damon. "It makes me calm and it helps me to express who I am: to be myself."

"Uh-huh, I see," Damon nods and finally looked at him. "But doesn't it feel stressful, I mean?"

This time, Galileo looked at his friend's deep brown eyes. "No. It doesn't."

"How? Why?" He asked, fascinated and intrigued.

The artist smiled softly. "Because I only draw people who are dear to me; and some . . . some of the most unforgettable moments that I will always treasure in my memories."

Damon whistled long, mesmerized at the inspirational wholehearted-felt answer.

When another pause took long, Galileo confronted: "Listen," he said solemnly, facing him. His deep husky voice showing regret. "I didn't mean to, err, hurt y—"

Damon raised a hand to silence him and shook his head with a painless smile. "There is nothing to apologize for, Gallo. It was just an accident after all. And I know it was. Besides, I wouldn't blame you for thinking we were thieves, and I might've did what you did back there. So it's fine, all right? No need to punish yourself."

Galileo pouted unintentionally and looked down like a lost puppy. "You don't seem fine." He whispered, barely audible.

Damon came near and kneels down to meet his friend's stylish black hair. He put a good left hand on his best friend's heavy-laiden shoulder. "Hey hey hey! Listen to me, Gallo: don't blame yourself for the accidents that you did. Regrets make us guilty that brings our conscience to us, which, in turn, gives us a reality check that we are still humans. I'm not yet dead, c'mon! That's what's important, right?"