Heterochromic Haze

14- Water Lilies

I wander down the platform, not really paying attention as I try and stuff my sketchbook into my lavender tote bag. It fit in there last week, why isn't it going in now?

I look up just long enough to hop on the train before my attention is inevitably drawn back to the sharp edge of my sketchbook digging into my ribs. I fiddle with it, balancing the edge of my bag against my purple plaid trousers.

One of my headphones has fallen out of my ears and I can feel my fleece slipping off my shoulder as I wrestle the bag into submission.

"Do you ever wear anything but tartan?" A voice asks and I glance up sharply to meet those glorious mismatched eyes.

"Wouldn't you like to know." I say, winking at him.

He clears his throat awkwardly, glancing at one of the twins who is stood by his side.

I tilt my head, examining him for a moment before smiling.

"Hey, Walter. Didn't see you there." I say happily.

His eyebrows raise a little, but he smiles.

"Hey Ledger." He says, giving me a wave. Nailed it.

"What are you two up to?" I ask curiously, glancing at Everett.

"We're going book shopping and museum hopping." Walter says excitably and I grin.

"That sounds awesome." I say.

"What are your plans?" Everett asks, almost tentatively as he scans my outfit.

"I'm going to fawn over the national gallery and do some watercolours by the river." I say.

"You do watercolours?" Everett asks dubiously, a hint of a sly smile on his lips and I scowl at him.

"Sometimes." I mutter.

I don't admit that when I do, they're usually complete garbage.

"We're planning on going there too! We can go together!" Walter says.

I glance at Everett, who shrugs.

That's probably all the invitation I'll ever get, so I nod enthusiastically.

We leave the station together and I almost run up the stairs when we get there. Walter grabs a map, perusing it but I already know where I want to go.

I grab Everett's arm and tug him along to the right side of the building.

"So everything in this section was painted between 1700 and 1930, and believe it or not this is the most recent stuff in the gallery. Everything else is older." I say, Walter trailing behind us.

I drift over to the Monet section almost immediately, completely transfixed by the colours.

I can feel Everett's presence next to me and I spare a glance at him. His eyebrows are furrowed in a thoughtful manner, his arms crossed as he stares the painting down.

I look away, instead delving into the glorious purpose behind every brushstroke. The colours, so thoughtfully chosen, blended in a way that makes no sense until you stand a good metre or so back.

"Is he your favourite?" Everett asks gently and I turn to find his eyes fixated on me.

"No, I don't think so. But I love his work. I'm a big Van Gogh fan too, but they only have 4 pieces here." I say, gesturing to the room next door.

Everett wanders over, gazing at Sunflowers with a glimmer of recognition.

"The lack of straight lines and a traditional linear perspective make their works quite similar, as well as the very defined brush strokes, here....and here for example." I say, sweeping my hand and Everett nods gently.

"Yeah, they do look a bit similar." He says.

"Van Gogh is post-impressionist whereas Monet is largely accredited for starting the impressionist movement, but it was actually Manet who was the first, true, impressionist artist." I ramble, unable to stop as we meander through the rooms.

Everett doesn't tell me to shut up though, instead looking at me with a funny little smile on the corners of his lips.

I spot Walter slipping into the Holbein section and I race after him, my head spinning with the jumble of irrelevant facts that are slipping out my mouth at every possible interval.

Everett trails behind us as I link my arm through Walter's, essentially providing a tour-guide service all of my own. Walter smiles and laughs, asking me questions as we walk and I can feel myself practically glowing.

When Walter heads to the bathroom, I pout and slump down on one of the plush sofas to await his return.

I can feel Everett's gaze on me and I turn to look at him.

"I go a bit nuts in galleries." I say, completely unapologetically and he smiles.

"I didn't think this would be your thing." He says, gesturing to the paintings and I sigh.

"I love the fine arts, I'm just not very drawn to them when it comes to creating my own art. If you want to hit the Tate modern, The Pangolin or the V&A next then I can freak out over sculptures too?" I offer and he laughs.

"Sure, why not." He says and I feel a jolt of excitement run through me.

He sits down to the right of me, offering me his bottle of water and I nod, taking a swig.

His arm rests behind me as he leans his weight back, our shoulders brushing together and I nearly choke. I screw the cap back on and hunch over, biting my lip as I feel his warmth against my side.

His right hand raises, pushing my shoulder back so that my weight is resting against his shoulder. Once I'm leant against him, he returns his hand to the sofa to support the weight of both of us. I tilt my head into the curve of his neck, feeling his lips press against my hair as he turns his head toward me.

My cheeks are hot and I can't suppress the smile that threatens to overtake my entire face.

Sitting in this dimly lit gallery with Everett Hayes feels like heaven, and I selfishly hope it never ends.

_

A/N Sorry for the delay...again.

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