Artwork [h.s]

forty

We were in my studio again, painting just like the day before in order to finish the project on time.

I looked up from the swirls of my brush on the white paper, glancing at Harry's figure from under my eyelashes. I didn't dare to look at his face, not wanting him to notice that my attention was on him, instead of what it was supposed to be on.

He held the brush lightly, a delicacy in his hold that was easily transmitted in the careful strokes of paint on the sheet between us. No rings were on his fingers, a faint hint of what he was to do when we would've finished.

I didn't dare to say a word, not wanting to break the suspenseful air surrounding us. I still had no idea of what had happened the day before. To my surprise, that morning I'd found him in front of my house again, as if nothing at all had happened. As if he hadn't escaped from my house all of sudden. I hadn't asked him anything, and he hadn't shared anything. It was as if the day before hadn't even happened. I didn't know if I should've just ignored it and moved on, or if I should've asked him about what had happened. In doubt, I stayed silent. I didn't want him to run away just like he had done the previous afternoon.

A sudden ring broke the silence, and I looked down as his head snapped up, not wanting him to know I was looking at him. A few seconds went by, in which we stood motionless, and then he reluctantly took his phone, that was on the dresser on the side of the room - forgotten until then. I let my eyes rest on him as he stared at the screen, an unconcerned look on his face, part of me wondering if he would've picked it up.

The phone went silent in his hand all of sudden, way too fast for it to be normal. He silenced it, and put it back on the wooden surface.

I watched as he neared the table again, waiting to see if he would've said anything about it at all.

He took the brush again and cleaned it by dipping it in the water under my glance, drying it up with a piece of paper on the side carefully. "It was Niall" he said all of sudden, not looking up. He weighted the brush in his hand, before dipping its tip in the orangish paint we'd mixed on a plastic dish some time before. "He gets like this at times."

"Maybe he really is just worried about you" I replied, not really knowing what else to say. It was clear to me that Niall only wanted to keep in check Harry, and it wasn't a bad idea, considering everything that had happened recently.

"He's been obsessing over what I do for four years. I'm done with it" he said sharply, lifting his brush from the sheet as he spoke.

I glanced at him, not saying anything, but knowing that he was getting pissed. I quickly thought of something to say to save the situation, but sighed lightly when I realised I didn't know him enough to know the right thing to say to him in that moment.

He sighed, dropping his brush in the water and putting his hands on the desk, but not looking up. "Sorry. I didn't mean to snap" he said quietly. "I..." He passed his thumb over a yellow stain on the plastic sheet I'd put over my wooden desk not to ruin it while we were painting. "I was into some pretty bad stuff some years ago" he shared quietly. "That's why he's... like this." He carefully glanced up when he was done speaking, observing my reaction.

I nodded, feeling as if nothing I could've said would've been the right thing, putting my brush to the side as well.

He looked down again, picking his brush up and cleaning, the sudden action making him seem somewhat distracted. "That's also why they put me in the same school as Niall." He passed his thumb over the brush, checking if it was actually clean before putting it aside again. "I feel... observed, at times."

"You came into our school like two years ago or something..." I said, trying to place everything he was sharing, looking at him as he passed his fingers through his dark hair.