How Green Becomes Wood

"I like them as stories," Milo replied as he finished up the prints Xander wanted to see before getting up and checking if the other film was ready to enlarge. Finding it suitably dry, he picked up the loupe and worked down the line of film before suddenly shouting in delight, not dissimilar to the way sports fans do when their team scores.
 
"Come here, look," Milo said, holding the loupe out over one of the frames of the film. It was an absolutely perfect photograph of the exact moment Ivy had dug her frosting-covered hands into her father's beard at an angle that had a sliver of Ivy's bright smile but Dark's entire face, showcasing the moment his brain came to a screeching halt.
 
"No way!" Xander practically scrambled to look over Milo's shoulder, stretching up more than he expected to be able to see over it. "You got proof positive he can laugh? Dude, you have got to protect that one at all costs."
 
"Nah, look at the way his eyes crinkle," Xander said, lifting a hand to point. He narrowly missed brushing Milo without realizing it. Not at all unusual for most people, but a surprising lack of spatial awareness for Xander. "His eyes are all crinkled in a smile. They don't do that when someone's scowling, right? That's the best. And you're right. Even if others get it wrong, we all know."
 
"That's a good point," Milo replied, not registering how near Xander came to touching him or what it meant, "Normally your eyes get wider when you scream." He looked through the loupe at the other pictures in the sequence, chuckling as he did so, "The shots of the crowd are really funny. Your uncle looks like he's about to fall over. And your aunt... Look,"
 
"I've never seen someone have that reaction to someone laughing before," Milo laughed, spending more time looking at the pictures, "Even your mom's dad is smiling in them. The pictures of Ivy on the rocking horse came out really nicely too."
 
"I think she's still stuck on the fact that he's got frosting muddled in his beard and face, but laughter does seem to shock her by itself," Xander smirked. "Poor lady is even more uptight than the Hollises, and they're practically British royalty or something." He moved over to look at the rocking horse pictures. "The horse came out better than I'd have thought. Good detail."
 
"The horse was really cool. I didn't realize your dad could do something like that. Like, I know I've seen some of his stuff and Alec talks about it sometimes, but it looks like the sort of thing you see in a museum and go, 'why don't we have stuff like that anymore?' It's really impressive." Milo said, looking over them.
 
"He kind of hides it away. I think mostly so people don't ask him to make stuff for them and stuff or tell him he should make a business out of it," Xander said. "He mostly does tiny things, only does big stuff when he feels it's important. Like my wardrobe. Told him I couldn't keep sharing a closet with Mister Sparkles and Glitter, and he made me a whole friggin' Narnia thing. He also made that highchair the Mini sits in and her crib and... uh, oh, that tiny baby holder. You know, for when they are too little for a full crib. I could see his stuff in a museum."
 
"That sucks that he feels like he needs to hide it," Milo said earnestly, "He's like... a proper artist. You wouldn't guess normal, everyday people in your life can do stuff like that." He thought about something for a few moments, turning to look at Xander, "Is it ever intimidating?"
 
Xander considered the question. "Not really," he said at last. "It kind of was at first because I'd never seen that level of talent where it seems almost casual. Second nature. But not really anymore. It's more like... inspiring, I guess. It's where I got the idea to do leathwork. It was kind of a twisty road to get to that conclusion, but, yeah, he inspired me to do my thing, and sometimes I look at his work for ideas of what I could do with leather patterns and stuff."
 
"Cool," Milo replied with weight behind it. He wasn't just ignoring what had been said, "I think art is really special that way. Like everything we do is made up of all of the people whose art we admire. It's cool your dad inspires you. I'm glad you're not spending every day next to a man who's, like, forty feet tall, can become a bush overnight, and makes really cool art and feeling bad about yourself over it, 'cause you're cool too."
 
"The bush thing is totally annoying, but I guess it's nice not to have the maintenance," Xander said almost flipantly as his heart lifted just slightly. He glanced at Milo. "Thanks," he said quietly, meaning it deeply. "You've got a lot going for you, too." Then he cleared his throat uncomfortably, his ears pink. This was all way too personal and emotional for his poor, sensitive self. "Anyway. Your art. We were talking about your art."
 
"I don't know why, but I always find it weird when people call photography 'my art.' I guess it is, technically, but I don't know, I don't really feel like an artist." As he said this, he was stood over an apparatus, moving dials, and working to create a finished print of that picture of Dark standing absolutely frozen in shock and horror.
 
Xander stared at him for a moment. "Your honor, I'd like to present exhibit A for you consideration in the case of 'Is This Art,' a picture Mr. Milo redid because the colors were not quite right," he said dryly, waving a hand to the pictures. "Exhibit B, the fact that instead of using the easiest, highest-tech gear, he opts for what he thinks is the coolest."
 
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