melt with you || h.s

.03

Willow had given up on painting Harry after the second joint. He insisted she keep going, that it was starting to come around, but the smug look on his face let her know he wasn’t being all that serious. She knew her painting skills had stopped progressing after the first grade.

 

“I quite like what you’ve done to my hands,” Harry said as he lifted the painting from the easel and held it out in front of him, chuckling. “They’ve got a spider-like quality about them. Very abstract.”

 

Willow grinned like she’d won a prize. “That’s exactly what I was going for, actually.”

 

“I’m sure,” he nodded with a smirk.

 

He stood from the worn mattress they’d been sitting on and took the canvas to a rack by the large, industrial style windows to dry. He plopped back down beside Willow and laid back, staring up at the ceiling.

 

“You’ve painted it,” Willow noticed when she too looked up.

 

“That I have. Thought it'd liven up the place, I guess."

 

On the ceiling, in hues of blues and blacks with spots of white, the night sky had been sprawled out along the wood beams.

 

"Fuck, Harry. It's beautiful," Willow said, breathless as she turned her gaze to Harry.

 

He smiled back at her. "I've got a piece just like it. If you want it, it's yours."

 

"Yeah," she nodded. "Yeah, I suppose I need something for the walls."

 

An hour later both Harry and Willow were sprawled out on a flat canvas on the floor covered in paint. It started with Harry drawing Willow as she lay naked on the mattress, and when she moved to grab the bottle of vodka, she fell into a palette of paint. Harry pulled out the canvas and more paint and that's how they ended up - covered in paint and completely wasted.

 

"It's in my hair," Willow pouted, rolling into her stomach.

 

"It's everywhere, babe," Harry said, running his index finger down the center of her spine. “There’s a shower in the bathroom. The water’s cold, but it works.”

 

Willow turned the knob and icy water poured from the showerhead. She reached her hand out, letting the paint run from her skin down the drain. She stepped in, turning so it beat down on her hair. Harry stood at the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over her chest.

 

Willow grinned and cocked her head to the side, “Are you going to stand there and watch, or are you going to help me get this shit off?”

 

Harry and Willow, hair wet and skin clear of any trace of acrylic, fell asleep on the mattress in the center of the studio, wrapped up in a thin sheet and each other.