text: Micheal plodded down the steps, into a bright room, empty except for the brightly-lit and colorful displays on the walls. He had begged his father to go to the museum to see the new exhibit from a local artist - a close friend of his - all morning, but now that his father wanted to stop and look at each and every work of art before seeing the main attraction, Micheal was questioning his life choices. *I could have just waited and went with my friend*, he thought. The thought stung, for a brief moment. He and Cavill were more than friends, but to the world, they were friends, and he’d been trying to work up the courage to introduce Cavill to his parents, going so far as reciting how he’d introduce him. He’d gotten very used to the words “This is my friend, Cavill” but, even in his internal monologue, referring to his lover as “my friend” pained him. He wished he could perceive anything in his father’s attitude as a clue for whether he’d accept the truth. He’d been dropping hints and watching his father for over a year, but couldn’t read anything, good or bad, in the man’s stoic expression. As they walked into yet another exhibit room, Micheal noticed his father lingering, looking down at the explanatory plaque below one of the exhibits - an exhibit they’d probably seen before in their previous trips to the Museum, which had mostly remained static since the days when his father brought him here as a younger child, teaching him about the world by pointing at exhibits and reading the plaques. As he caught up with his father, he looked at the painting above the placard. It depicted two men, one with his tie loosened, sitting on a couch and leaning his head on the other man’s shoulder, the other carefully pouring wine into a glass, their faces glowing in the light of what must have been a television in front of them. They looked exactly like a couple just settling down after a long day at their respective jobs. The room around them was meticulously tidy and well-decorated, with flowers and little flashes of greenery adoring the mauve-painted walls and the light hardwood floors. Micheal inwardly groaned at how his younger mind had perceived this painting - he thought they were two friends who perhaps shared an apartment. He remembered the title of this one - “Confirmed Bachelor Pad” - but he couldn’t really recall what the placard, which his dad had probably read to him years before, said. As he tilted his head down to read the placard, his father seemed to shift a bit, and suddenly Micheal felt like he was being observed - “watched” would be a loaded word here, and it didn’t really feel creepy. This is just what parents do sometimes, suddenly realize that their child, their precious baby, is growing before their eyes and that time is fleeting, and choose to spend a moment just observing them. That’s how he passed it off, anyways, beginning to read the plaque as he could feel his father’s eyes reading his face. > “*Confirmed Bachelor Pad* by Lucious Thomas, 1986: > Lucious Thomas himself was referred to as a “Confirmed Bachelor” by his biographers for nearly a decade after his death. In 1993, when his estate, in accordance with his will, released a collection of until-then secret and hidden works, this painting caught a large amount of public attention with its title and subject matter. The subjects in the painting resemble a younger Lucious Thomas and his longtime “roommate”, Henry. Micheal caught a lump in his throat and tried not to betray anything in his facial expression. The sensation that his father was watching him passed. He turned around and, following his father, proceeded to the next exhibit. He remembered his father reading that plaque to him now - when he was too young to understand it. He was too young to have possibly ever met Lucious Thomas, but in that moment, he felt like he was in one of his portraits, a classic Lucious Thomas work, where the subject grimaces in some uncomfortable or awkward circumstance, with no easy escape in sight.