Gemotions

The faint scent of oil paint clung to Elias's workshop, a smell he'd come to love over thirty years. Now, it seemed, his son Leo was inhaling it with the same fervor. Elias found Leo, barely eight, perched on a stool, meticulously copying his latest landscape, the boy's brow furrowed with intense concentration. Elias approached cautiously, his hands instinctively reaching out, then retracting. It was his art, his escape, and it was…odd.

He'd tried to teach Leo, a few tentative lessons, but Leo had always been more interested in video games and building things with Lego. He found himself standing, arms crossed, watching the small figure.

"Leo," he began, the word catching in his throat.

"Shhh, Dad. Almost got the light just right," Leo mumbled, his tongue poking out between his teeth. The boy's grip on the brush was firm, his strokes deliberate. Elias retreated, the back of his neck prickling.