Harry goes home later that night, claiming he has a cake to eat and some porn to watch. But then takes back the last part, claiming he doesn't want to scare me off by acting "weird".
Though, I already think he's weird as hell, yet unbelievably adorable and his bluntness is hilarious.
He makes me walk him through the dark hallway to his flat, and even inside to his kitchen as I share another piece of cake with him.
His apartment is exactly as expected, a mess of clothes everywhere, junk food splayed across his counters, and the faint smell of deodorant and cologne.
The only thing I definitely didn't expect was the mess of art supplies set up in the corner on a desk.
Newspapers were laid down there, trying to keep the mess to a minimum, but obviously they hadn't been changed for a while and probably did more harm than good.
Bowls of dirty, brown water, paint brushes sticking up in all different directions sit there, and at least a dozen different pallets of paint, that's not including all the million different individual tubes of paint he has.
Empty and half-filled canvases lay on the table and on the floor, and old, dried paint splatters decorate the walls surrounding it.
"You paint?"
He looks up from the cake, "Hmm? Oh, yeah." He says casually.
"That's so cool."
He notices my interest in it and all the staring I'm doing and says, "I can show you, if you'd like."
I nod, quickly.
He connects his phone to some speakers, playing some rock-y music a bit too loud for this early in the morning, and then opens up a little sketchbook filled with watercolour designs, tossing it my way.
They're not the most detailed pictures, just soft brush strokes that make up portraits and nature and animals.
"Here, sit. I can do you--I mean, shit! That came out wrong, like, not sex you, but I can paint you."
I just laugh because I know what he meant and then nod.
He sits me down on his couch and then sits in a chair in front of me.
He starts with just sketching and then moves on to painting, not even bothering to be careful when he swings his brush around or tips over a container.
But now it's just silence, Harry hard at work looking gorgeous as ever, he's even pulled his curls back with a headband. Though, he hardly sits still, he quietly sings the words to the song under his breath and bobs his head back and forth. He doesn't look tired in the slightest even though it's 2 in the morning, he's still perky as always. He's too cute.
"Would you be offended if I burped right now?"
I shake my head, "It's your apartment, do what you do."
He proceeds to let out a huge burp, and I cover my mouth to hide my laugh.
He just smiles shyly, his cheeks flushing, and picks up his blue paintbrush.
"Tastes like chocolate." He whispers, which makes me laugh loudly and he seems happy at that.
(harry's style of painting on side)
YOU ARE READING
Crazy | {h.s}
أدب الهواة❝Anyone within a ten mile radius, gay or straight, could tell he was beautiful. They could hear it too. I'm sure the cops had been called on numerous occasions on account of him blasting that rock music throughout his flat. (Though, I loved the musi...
