“You should ask him out to coffee or something.”
Harry was startled out of his thoughts by Liam’s voice. He glanced at his friend as they walked step in step towards their houses, curious as to what had prompted that statement. “What?”
“That Niall kid. You should ask him out.”
“Why?” Harry tilted his head back and studied the sky as Liam sighed. He hated Harry’s short attention span sometimes. It was obvious his best friend had become distracted.
Liam really wished Harry would show at least a remote bit of interest in something other than art for once. In their seven years of friendship, Liam had learned to accept Harry’s odd, vacant personality. It made the other boy easy to be around, because the frequent silences were not awkward, but it also confused Liam quite a bit. He didn’t understand how nothing excited Harry, not even a tiny bit. But today when the blonde kid had stepped out of the back room, Liam had seen a strange spark in his friend’s eye. A spark of interest. And Liam could have sworn he saw a fierce blush highlighting Harry’s cheeks when the model had looked his way. That was something he had never seen Harry do.
“Because,” Liam nudged Harry with his elbow. “I think he liked you.”
His best friend didn’t respond. Liam wasn’t sure if he was deep in thought or just bored. Harry’s expression was the same for both actions.
When Harry finally spoke fifteen minutes had passed and Liam had assumed the topic had been dropped. “He said he liked my eyes,” Harry murmured so quietly that Liam barely heard him over the fall of their footsteps on the sidewalk.
“See,” Liam beamed at his friend and was glad when Harry smiled back. Harry smiled a lot, but it never really reached his eyes. Even as his face filled with joy, he still managed to look empty. But this smile was soft and real and it made Liam’s own smile grow. “He does like you.”
“No,” Harry’s reply was slow and thoughtful. “It just means he likes my eyes. Eyes are a physical quality. I like his face.” Harry pointed to his best friend’s lips, “I like your lips. They are interesting to draw. But that doesn’t mean I like you.”
“Harry, not everyone looks at things like they are a work of art. We all don’t see everything as a potential project. He was probably flirting with you when he said he liked your eyes.”
“Maybe.” And that was the end of that. Harry’s interest disappeared and they walked the rest of the way home in silence.
-
“Louis is having a party tonight. Wanna go?” Harry frowned down at his phone. Why was Liam asking him that? He knew Harry was in the middle of something. “I know Friday is the day you work on your…”
“Painting,” Harry supplied. As he spoke he dropped his roller into a bucket of white paint, then slapped it on the wall. It wasn’t so much of a painting as it really was a journal, a way for Harry to outpour the feelings and thoughts that he couldn’t put into words. The wall of his bedroom had been covered in so many layers of paint over the years, a new one going up every Friday, that Harry was sure the wall had thickened by a good few inches. Sometimes Friday nights resulted in a realistic painting, a portrayal of people or places or things. Sometimes when he was feeling down he just splashed on random colors until he was emotionally drained. Tonight he was confused with what to do. He wasn’t angry, or sad, or happy, or disappointed. He just … was. Harry had gone out a bought a few buckets of paint in different shades of blue, suddenly realizing his inspiration for the week. He was going to try and capture the brilliant color of the model’s eyes.
