Andy hated the smugness of gallery openings, but he really could use the money. He knew he should be focusing on getting into grad school, on his next grown up step, but he couldn't turn down the offer of a showing. Even if it was some random gallery in Lakeview that no one had ever really heard of. He'd invited a handful of his friends just because he didn't want to stand there waiting for approval by himself. The air was full of pretention and Japanese electronica as people mused for life's deeper meaning in his slapped together paintings. There was only one that mattered and as he chugged his fifth plastic flute of cheap champagne, still no one approached it.

"It seems full of remorse," said a voice behind him as he stared contemplatively at the one good piece he created all summer.

"Yeah, it... well, how does it say that to you?" Andy asked, turning to the cute guy in Buddy Holly glasses.

"The desperate way the red bleeds away from the blue. How much the blue dominates the actual canvas. The purple that never quite blends into itself properly."

"I thought you might've just peeked at the piece's tag."

"Regret," Buddy Holly read aloud. "It's perfect. It encapsulates it in one word but the strokes and the canvas does the rest of the work."

"You seem to talk from experience. About regret."

"Who hasn't it felt it? I think I spent most of my life pushing it down, trying to tell myself that there was no such thing, that mistakes were opportunities to learn and grow. I know better now. If you don't accept that, if you don't acknowledge it to move past it, then you really never grow. Really."

"I... yeah, that's... " Andy was speechless. He couldn't believe he was actually having a heartfelt, thoughtful conversation at an opening.

"I'd really like to meet the artist. Is he here?"

"You're looking at him" Andy said, extending his hand. "I'm Andy."

"Nice to meet you," said Buddy Holly, shaking his hand. "I'm Scott."

###