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[sub][color=slategray]Featuring: [color=1ca9c9]Wyatt Durand[/color] & [color=c93c1c]Dr. Elton Durand[/color]
Location: The Durand House, Friday Night[/color][/sub][/center][hr][hr]

Friday night may have been filled to the brim with stuff to be excited for, but first, Wyatt would have to get through his shift. Wheelz N Dealz wasn’t a bad place to work at all, in fact Wyatt loved it. The people that came in were chill enough for the most part, and the manager didn’t care if he was high at work either. Today though, the hours had dragged by. His friends, who usually stopped by to keep him company, were all busy and his date tonight had his stomach doing flips every time he thought about it.

Wyatt’s foot hammered against the ground as he watched the clock tick it’s way to seven o’clock. The moment the red hand made it’s final jolt across the top of the clock, Wyatt vaulted over the counter, shouting a hurried, [color=1ca9c9][b]“Bye Scott!”[/b][/color] to his manager, and rushing out the door, his skateboard in hand.

As Wyatt rolled down the streets of Beverly Hills, his mind returned to thoughts of his secret admirer. Was it the redhead from the night at the boat? Or someone else like she’d said? Did she like flowers? Shit, he didn’t have any flowers. He’d have to buy some on his way there.

The Durand house was an imposing sight. Cold, modern architecture, all pure white and pristine, made the place look like some sort of space ship instead of a house. It was impeccably precise, just like his dad liked it. 

The interior of the house was much like the exterior. Clean, pristine, with all white walls and marble floors. Black accents were placed throughout, splashes of color in the form of paintings, but the overall vibe was apparent; This place was cleaner than a hospital.

When Wyatt stepped through the front door, he saw the last person he wanted to see tonight: Dr. Elton Durand, aka, his father. Elton looked up at his son as he walked through the door, his typical expression plastered on. Cold, aloof, and busy. If those three traits could have been given physical form, it would be this man right here.

[color=c93c1c][b]“The boards sell well?”[/b][/color] Dr. Durand asked, from the couch. Wyatt veered left towards the living room, and stood, nodding. It was rare that his dad wanted to ask him about his day, and like a moth to a flame, he gravitated to the attention. [color=1ca9c9][b]“They did. Well, I mean, as well as they normally do,”[/b][/color] Wyatt said, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. Prolonged conversation wasn’t something he was used to when it came to his dad.

[color=c93c1c][b]“Any plans for tonight?”[/b][/color] The doctor’s eyes had drifted back to his magazine, a medical journal that Wyatt had tried and failed to read once in an effort to make conversation with his father less painful. However, tonight, the conversation was...lively. At least compared to the last four years of their relationship.

[color=1ca9c9][b]“Actually, I...well I have a date,”[/b][/color] Wyatt said, unable to prevent the grin that broke out across his face. His dad turned to him, an eyebrow cocked in surprise. [color=c93c1c][b]“Well, that is interesting.”[/b][/color] Wyatt grinned even harder, if that was possible. His dad had called his life interesting!

[color=c93c1c][b]“See, I thought your evening plans would consist of something, oh I don’t know, Xanax related?”[/b][/color] Elton said, calmly producing a bottle of the anti-anxiety pills that he shook around. It was empty.

Wyatt’s face fell. So this had been a setup all along. He’d never cared about what his plans were. It was just a way to build him up, only to knock him down.

[color=c93c1c][b]“Anything?”[/b][/color]

Silence held the father and son in a tight grip as they stared each other down, both refusing to budge.

[color=c93c1c][b]“Stealing your dad’s anxiety meds? Come on, Wyatt! What the hell is going on? We let you off with a [i]lot[/i], mainly because your dad thinks you have to be allowed to be a kid, but [i]this[/i]? What the fuck is wrong with you, Wyatt?”[/b][/color]

Wyatt stood in silence for a moment. [color=1ca9c9][b]“Why does there always have to be something wrong with me?”[/b][/color] he said softly. Before his dad could say anything in response, Wyatt was running up the stairs and slamming the door to his room behind him, sending a [i]BANG[/i] throughout the house.

Wyatt’s breathing was heavy as he looked at himself in the mirror and struggled to calm down. [color=1ca9c9][i]Fine. It’s fine. Everything is fine.[/i][/color] 

The burner sighed and sat down on the edge of his bed, his face in his hands. He stayed there for a moment, still and silent except for the sounds of his breathing, before standing back up and wiping his face with the back of his hands, sniffling as if that would send all the bad feelings away. It wouldn’t, but he knew what would.

Fifteen minutes later, Wyatt stood in front of his mirror, dressed in a suit jacket and a slacks, his ratty converse peeking out from under the cuffs. His tie was a mess, but he hoped his secret admirer wasn’t a stickler about stuff like that. He grabbed his board and opened up the window of his room, slipping out and onto the roof of his house.

He stayed low, moving along the edge of the flat roof, a perk of Dr. Durand’s taste in modern architecture. He dropped down to  a separate, lower section of the roof, then climbed down from there. The boy seamlessly got on his board, and skated down the driveway, pulling out a joint and a lighter from his jacket pocket and lighting it as he rode. He took a hit and exhaled his troubles in a cloud of smoke.