Anaphase

Phase XXVI

I took a step further into the room, a smile of adoration plastered across my lips.

The room smelled of a mixture of pine wood and cinnamon. I loved it.

I stared at the empty canvases covering the walls looking like artwork just by being white upon the creamy light brown wallpaper.

"They're for you to paint. I ordered some canvases in but they only arrived this morning," said Demetri wistfully.

Staring back at him I was completely taken back that someone would do this for me.

"How did you even know I draw?" I asked but even my own voice sounded foreign to my ears.

I didn't care to get a grip, I was so far gone.

He scoffed a smirk, eyes cast down.
Meeting my eyes, the light took to his hair and eyes immediately. Shouldn't the light have made his eyes lighter?
They looked coal black, intimate.

"I just knew."

I bit my lip subtlety.

"This is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me. Ever. I don't know what to say," I confessed.

He gave a contempt smile.

"You said that."

My hands were itching to draw him in this light. The way his fine hair dismantled itself perfectly around his eyes, the deep set of his jaw, the amazing build. The crinkles in his V-neck t-shirt, the muscle definitions in his arms...those lips.

I wanted to never lose this moment.

The silence began to feel too far stretched, that if we left it another few seconds it would get tense.

Silence was dangerous with Demetri, especially alone. It meant me looking at him which meant abandoning all control of myself.

As I stared at him now, all I saw was the watercolour splash of ink capturing the shiny glint in his eye and the slick ebony of his hair.

"Go ahead," he urged shocking me into thinking I had said it aloud.

If it wasn't for the fact that my cheeks stung from biting them from the inside of my mouth I wouldn't have been sure.

I ventured over to a desk and ran my fingers along the smoothed out pine. Beautiful.

I stopped and turned swiftly back to him. I could already feel the smile spreading on my lips again.

"You know, call me crazy if you wish but I keep having this insane gut feeling that you can read my mind. But then again I've always been a bit paranoid around that area," I giggled.

I was so giddy in this moment and happy that I was going over the top. It wasn't often at all that I ever feel bliss and it was like I was on a high of it all like living in a foreign country for years then returning to find they actually understand your references and laugh over-the-top carelessly from how long it's been.

As much as my hands itched to enclose around a paintbrush or a charcoal pencil, all I saw was him.

His strange, unexpected gestures that whether good or bad always left my heart racing to keep up. How hard he was to read at times and how at others he was an open book. How he was like a gallery of emotions, each its own masterpiece and always leaving me gaping at what the hidden message was for its purpose.

How he, in some impossible infliction in nature did this all for me.

Oh gosh how I hoped to the heavens he couldn't hear my thoughts.