Heterochromic Haze

35- Heterochromic Haze

I make my way back to my shitty apartment, groaning when I realise that it's past midnight.

I jiggle my key in the lock, using my entire body weight to wedge the door open before stumbling inside. The smell of clay and oil paint welcomes me as I carelessly throw my jacket onto my sofa.

I could have moved out of this flat months ago when my pieces started selling, but for some reason I seem to have grown attached to the space. It's comforting, humbling to be connected to my roots. This room, this tiny space reminds me so much of my chaotic flat at uni, the spare room in my grandparents place, all those places that I had found my calling, honed my skill.

I shrug off my waistcoat, slumping down on the sofa as I stare up at the moon in the window behind me.

I feel empty. Exhausted and drained and tired to the brink of madness. And empty.

I put on some music, ignoring the pounding on the walls and unbutton my shirt. I pull on my paint stained joggers but remain shirtless as I begin a new piece. It'll be a piece of shit, but it's something and seeing as sleep seems to be out of the question tonight, it's better to have something to show for my time.

My fingers smooth against the clay, images of tonight haunting my brain as my thoughts go round and round, replaying every heated second, every loaded stare, every word uttered. Would things have been different if I had said something? If I had reached out or demanded answers? I don't think so.

A gentle knock pulls me violently from my reverie and I freeze, glancing at the door.

I pause my music, waiting. Nothing but silence follows and I sigh, wishing I didn't feel so disappointed. I go to press play when another knock echoes from my door, a little more urgently this time.

I frown, wiping my fingers as I walk forwards and pull open the door.

The breath in my lungs is lost as mismatched eyes gaze into mine. His hair is tousled and messy, his first two shirt buttons undone and his eyes, usually so controlled, are now tortured.

"Ledger." He whispers, his eyes wide at the sight of me. He stares, looking confused as he purses his lips. A small frown forms between his brows as he exhales shakily, glancing at his feet.

"I don't...I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come..." He says at last and I frown.

"Do you want to come in?" I ask. I hate how vulnerable I feel, how desperate my tone sounds.

He finally nods and I swing the door wider, allowing him through.

He looks around silently, taking in the ratty furniture, my hand-knit blankets and all my thrifted lamps. When I'm stressed I tend to buy lamps. I have a lot of lamps.

Paint litters the walls, clay staining the floor underfoot and the air is thick with a cedar wood scent that reminds me of home.

He exhales, smiling to himself as he shakes his head.

"What?" I ask and he laughs gently.

"It's just so...you." He breathes and I shrug, fidgeting in my spot.

He sits on my sofa and I hesitate, reluctant to look away for even a second in case he should disappear. How many times have I closed my eyes and dreamt of him being here? Now that he is, I find myself unsure what to do next. In my dreams he never looked this unsure.

"Why are you here, Everett?" I ask at last, the silence being too much to bear and he looks up at me.

"I can't.." He says, his voice breaking as he inhales sharply.

His gorgeous eyes are huge, filled with emotion that he rarely expresses and I long to hold him, to comfort him.

"I can't stay away from you," He finally says, glancing at his hands which are interlocked between his knees.