Amazonas, Brasil.
1982.
Another terrifically hot day.
... Hardly day yet, though ...
A glance at the watch he left on the bedside table confirms this;
A few minutes before six o'clock.
He's always been an early riser, though.
Even if the world clings to its predawn grey
He's up and flitting around.
... Perhaps he's the one who paints the colours of the world in.
For me, certainly
Of that there can be no doubt.
My ankles ache before my feet even hit the floor.
And as I rise, I press my palms onto my lower back and arch backwards as far as I can
My morning stretch for two.
... I know where he'll be.
Know where to find him ...
With silent, steady feet I make my way down the still darkened hall
Pausing when I reach the wall of windows, each flung open to greet the oncoming day
Their sheer curtains billowing as they catch the breeze
Delicate gossamer folds swaying back and forth
The colour of macaroon cream
And beyond them, the soft hum of wildlife.
Sure enough, there he is:
Standing on the back patio,
Painting
His back to me.
Though the instant I step out, he stills and turns
Mouth forming the softest of smiles
"Good morning, you."
Good morning, you.
Striding towards him, my lips find their way back home
Back to you
As a ray of sunlight hits us
I see the speckles of paint splattered across the bridge of his nose
"Wearing it," I giggle softly, gesturing from the brush to his face.
"Wearing it, living it," he whispers back.
Kissing me again, he turns me towards the canvas.
... He paints beautifully
Though he's no classical training
Painting's a love he found after the three of us first began.
He paints abstractions
Dreamscapes
Visions of the sea, the sky, the fog.
Paints the muggle way then infuses his work with magic;
Charms that leave a permanent shimmer
Or loose swirls of movement here and there.
He paints anything so long as it's the colour
... The colour ...
You know the colour.
The colour of those eyes.
The ones we both fell in love with
Our Him's eyes
That colour
Painted over and over and over -
Every possible shade, every possible variation.
It's a study of true love
Tipping his head to meet mine, he murmurs as we consider his newest creation,
"... What do you think?"
"It's him."
YOU ARE READING
Coiled (Book 1 of 2)
Fanfiction"This is our story: Reggie, Evan, and I." A Marauders Era story that follows the reader (FMC), Regulus Black & Evan Rosier through their last year at Hogwarts into the First Wizarding War. This is book 1 of 2, and contains the first two parts of th...
