Luke nodded slightly, made a little sound of vague acknowledgement-- yes, he knew the statue, but he didn't understand...  Oh.  The realization hit him like a train, sharp and fast, and the mild confusion on his freckled face turned to shock.  Oh.  Oh,<i>hell</i>.<br/><br/>Luke tensed, sitting up straight as a pole, staring at Eddy like he'd never seen him before as he blurted out, "What,<i>you</i>made that?  That's<i>yours</i>??"  His mind was racing as he looked at the man, the grumpy bartender who was also apparently a world-famous artist... and who had swept Luke off his feet and took him to bed.<br/><br/>Shit.  Luke was beyond embarrassment; they had done what they'd done, and it had been so wonderful that the boy had come back, but he'd had no idea.  No fucking clue that the man he'd slept with was someone so, so...  He'd had no idea that Eddy was Edwin, that the bartender had a name found in art books and on gallery walls.<br/><br/>After a couple of seconds, Luke laughed; what else could he do but laugh at such a situation?  It was like something out of a comedy, a drama, something not real, but it was happening right there in front of him.  He drank more of his cider, staring at Eddy over the can, then bit his lip as he continued to stare, freckles darkened by the flush in his cheeks.  What the hell should he even say...?<br/><br/>"It's kinda hard to miss."