Living Statue Boyfriend: Pothos (special preview)

“It’s a start.” He returns back into your apartment, scooping up a load of daffodils into his one arm. He then returns back onto the porch and dumps them over the edge.

“No!” You squeal, trying to stop him but it’s too late. “You can’t do that! You’re going to get me into so much trouble!” You pull him away from the balcony. “I’ll get trash bags, ok?”

Pothos nods. “Ok.”

“After that, you can return to your little perch,” you huff.

Only thing is, he doesn’t. After cleaning up all the daffodils, you have him stay in your apartment where you make him stand over tarps. You’re not the best at restoring, but you have studied it and have watched quite a few youtube videos. You set to work getting some of the worst bits off of him and cleaning him so that later, once you get the proper supplies, you can repair the worst bits of decay.

“I’m only doing this because I appreciate fine craftsmanship and works of art,” you grumble to him. “So don’t go getting any ideas.”

“Far from it,” Pothos grumbles back.

One afternoon as you’re sanding down a patch of what looks like barnacles on him, your phone chimes. To your shock, it’s a text from your stepbrother. Your expression changes suddenly and your gut starts to churn.

“What’s the matter?” Pothos asks gently.

You frown and throw your head back, trying to keep the tears from spilling. “It’s nothing it’s-” You set your phone aside. 

“I can tell from the way you look it’s not.” Pothos places his hand on your shoulder and you find it an actual comfort.

Turning around you look up at him, half his face is dulled, but the other half is handsome and striking. His features were once sharp and strong, perhaps at one point he’d been a true beauty.

“It’s not,” you grumble. “But I don’t feel like dealing with it. Get back into formation.”

Pothos reaches up, rubbing away a tear that has escaped. “If you say so.”

A few weeks go by, and you’ve been working on small pieces to repair Pothos. Every so often you get a text from your brother that you ignore. As you work on Pothos, you grow closer to him, finding you enjoy his company, and having him actually respond to your words.

“My stepdad taught me all this stuff,” you tell him. “He’s the one who got me into art and everything. He quit everything to be a sculptor,” you murmur dreamily. The power had gone out due to a storm, so Pothos was inside, away from the harsh weather. You were nestled in candle light, sitting on the floor, painting your nails, as the rain poured outside.

“Everything?” Pothos asks cautiously. “Even-”

“No,” you gasp. “No,” you smile. “He didn’t leave us or anything. Far from. My mom supported his dream. I mean, things were hard, really hard.” You grimace at your toenails, wondering if they’d look any good in the daylight. “Money was tight, so in high school I got a job to help out. I almost flunked out but I managed to graduate. Saved up money, got a car. All that miraculous teenager crap.”