You looked a Mess

I

'I found a girl, beautiful and sweet
I never knew you were the someone waiting for me'

"You look perfect."

The girl winced at the sound of the familiar voice, surprised by his presence. She rose her head from above a book and looked backwards, though still not changing her initial position. She sent the newcomer a welcoming gaze and almost unnoticeably raised her right brow.

He was standing at the entrance, at the very place where the door was – where the door used to be – watching his fair-haired friend with amusement. He saw the question flickering in her eyes, but he ignored it, laughing softly underneath his breath and shaking his head in disbelief. The girl rolled her eyes and went back to her former occupation.

With his arm leaned on the empty frame, Hiccup stayed put for a few more seconds and then, not waiting for an invitation, he walked ahead. He went past his lost-in-thoughts companion saying nothing. As he reached a window, he turned around and, resting his hips on a low sill, he took up his previous observation, the slightly derisive smile not leaving his face for a moment.

The room, where they were staying wasn't big, but it didn't seem cramped either; quite the opposite, one could think that everything above that small metric area would be a superfluous whim. Of course, the young architect-to-be was perfectly aware where that feeling came from – a relatively wide southern window provided the best lighting for almost an entire day, while the recently painted green walls made it appear shipshape and clean. And the most obvious of things – in connection with the still on-going redecoration of the room, there was not a single piece of furniture left in it. Only paints, brushes and old newspapers sprawled in all possible directions. And a gold-haired girl sitting in the very middle of it.

Still hanging on the sill, the boy decided to break the silence.

"When you messaged me about spending the whole day painting, I imagined it a little differently–" he said casually, not taking his eyes off her. "You know, I am no artist, but I don't think you can do much with a book here."

The blonde raised her hand in response, constantly focused on the text. She was sitting cross-legged, with a tick volume rested on her calves, staring at the paper stubbornly, as if she was trying to find a meaning hidden between the lines. At the same time, her whole silhouette bore marks of her artistic struggles, that had undoubtedly been taking place just a moment earlier. Hiccup couldn't have not notice the multicoloured stains spread over her light shirt – over her tight, knee-high jeans – over her bare forearms. He saw how the girl used her tinted fingers to brush away the unruly wisps of hair, sloppily bound in a big bun, and realised that the hair itself was as much affected by the gooey substance as were her clothes.

'That is so Rapunzel...' he thought, beaming.

He was ready to bet that her face was covered with an equal amount of paint.

With a nimble move, he pushed away from his support and approached his friend, taking a seat right next to her and still waiting for an answer; all in vain. Now it was for him to roll his eyes before he gently bent towards her and pointed:

"You'll smear the pages with that paint."

"Hmm." She murmured in answer. Not breaking her gaze on the book, she reached behind her back, and without the smallest difficulty, she found a stack of papers that was laid there. She caught it and put it down in front of her.

"Look, I've been thinking..."

"Mhm."

"...that maybe you'd find a moment..."