Aquarelle [h.s]

thirty-five

It was a late afternoon of Sunday and I was sitting on a blanket on the floor of my by then half empty studio at home.

My legs were crossed, a paper roll on my left, a glass of orange water on my right, a forgotten paintbrush abandoned in it.

I passed the thin paintbrush I was holding on the canvas, blending the line of the jawline I'd been working on for the past few minutes a bit better, biting my lower lip and staring at it for some seconds before tilting my head to spy what was going on behind the canvas.

Harry was lying down in front of me, the only things separating his belly from the cold floor being the warm texture of the white sweater he was wearing and the blanket under him. His usual glasses were on the bridge of his nose and he was propping himself up on his elbows, a concentrated look on his face as he stared at the white screen of his laptop, part of the lines reflecting in front of his eyes.

I smiled to myself when he pursed his lips before typing something down on the keyboard before going back to reading.

I couldn't exactly tell what was it that had brought us to spending that afternoon together, but I knew I didn't mind. It was nice to spend some more time together in that way before Monday and reality would've come crashing down on us.

I went back to looking at the canvas, not wanting Harry to catch me staring at him - if he hadn't already noticed, that is. I knew by then that he was way more perceptive than he let on, so him not openly making it clear that he knew my gaze was on him didn't mean that he wasn't aware of it.

All of a sudden I heard him move, and I tried my best not to smile when I felt his presence next to me, opting for looking down and cleaning the brush in the glass before dipping it in the soft orange colour that resembled the one of the blanket the best.

I drew a careful stroke on the canvas, feeling my cheeks become warmer when I felt Harry's soft touch around my waist. I took a deep breath and detached the paintbrush from the artwork, not wanting to accidentally ruin it, when he ran his hand down my spine in an attempt to catch my attention.

I smiled again, but pretended to ignore him, going back to my painting even though I was way too aware of the closeness of his body to mine.

"Look at me" he suddenly murmured, brushing my auburn hair off of my shoulder, and I pressed my lips together not to allow a chuckle to escape my throat.

"I'm painting, let me work" I told him, finding myself enjoying teasing him. It was fun to know I had the upper hand in that moment. It didn't happen often to see him begging anyone for attention, so it was something I had every intention of enjoying.

He hummed. "You're painting me and yet I'm not deserving of your attention?" He asked me, his voice low. "You won't even look at me" he whispered into my ear, perfectly knowing that there was no way I would've ignored him after that.

I detached myself from him a bit, not saying a word in reply but tapping his nose with my brush, leaving an orange dot on the tip. "Let me work" I told him, the tone of my voice gentle, softening up my words.

I went back to my painting, but not even a couple of seconds went by before he fit his head in the crook of my neck, brushing his nose against my cheek as his fingers grazed my collarbone.

"That was low" he murmured into my ear again, shifting even closer to me before resting his head on my shoulder for a few, too restless to stay there for long.

I sighed, pretending to be slightly annoyed, when he started to brush my hair to the side in an another attempt to catch my attention. "It's like I have adopted a cat" I commented, and he stopped his actions instantly.