Drawings For Colby [A Colby Brock Fanfic]

xxii : Visitor

"My place or yours?" I ask Colby as we approach our road. He thinks for a second.

"I'm ninety percent sure we don't own tweezers"

"Mine it is" I decide. There was no other way I could get the glass out of his hands without them.

I make a right turn and another, into the parking lot of my apartment complex. I park Colby's car in my dedicated space, seeing as I don't own a car to occupy the area with.

I get out walk around the other side to help Colby out. His hands look really sore and slightly swollen. As he stands up and out of the car, he bits his lip to keep his mind off them.

"C'mon," I gesture, gently pulling his arm. We take the elevator up to my floor. Colby surveys the corridor as we walk to my apartment.

I fetch the keys from my front pocket and unlock the door. Allowing Colby to enter first, I shut the heavy thing behind me.

"Ella," he earns my attention.

Oh no.

No, no, no.

I hastily make my way over to the coffee table he's at and begin collecting up each of my drawings as quickly as possible but I'm stopped in the process.

"These are incredible"

"What?" I question in disbelief.

"I think they're amazing" Colby clarifies.

Oh.

"These ones are just rough sketches, definitely not my best" I tell him.

"Can I see your best?" He asks warily.

I think about saying no, but that would be rude and plus, he likes my sketches. I nod my head.

Colby follows me into my bedroom. I found some time last night to pin some of my work up on my wall.

He goes straight for the end one, the one of a Greek column I drew about a four months ago.

"This is my favourite," he nods. "You're very talented"

"Um, thanks" I say, shy.

"I really mean it" Colby looks over at me.

Our eyes seem to lock in a way that doesn't allow me to divert my attention. I love the colour of his. I wish mine were the same, but instead they're murky brown and only ever look nice in bright daylight.

Colby turns towards me and I feel a little nervous. I cross my arms across my chest.

"Let's get the rest of the glass out of your hands" I break the ice.

He looks at his hands and nods, "I completely forgot about that. They're not that sore anymore"

I gesture for him to follow me out and into the bathroom. He hoists himself onto the counter top using his elbows and rests his hands on his legs. Beside him, I pull the mirror open, revealing multiple white shelves. I collect a roll of bandages and a pair of tweezers.

"This might hurt but it'll feel better afterwards" I warn him.