Yellow || hs au

| 23 |

—

  I snap my eyes open in annoyance as I sit up, glancing around my dark room. Christmas Eve and I can't sleep. Not because I'm waiting for Santa, but because I still haven't touched the pieces of art in my shed. They're still hidden beneath the bedsheet.

  My legs feel jumpy and suddenly the sleep that I felt I needed, has gone and is now replaced with motivation to paint. Paint what, I don't know. But I'll figure it out.

  I tug on a pair of sweats and a big tee shirt, pieces of clothing I won't mind about getting dirty and stained with paint. I quickly tie my hair up in a messy half ass bun before quickly and quietly making my way through the dead silent house.

  Slipping through the back door and into the cold night, my shed is still exactly as I had left it. I shiver, quickly unlocking the door and closing it behind me, flipping the lights on and the space heater.

  Before I know it, my blank canvas is stood on the easel in front of me, taunting me with its emptiness like they always do. But this time, I simply wet my brush, choosing between the three colors of grey, black and white.

  I stare intently, the black paint beginning to drip before I quickly draw a thin c shape. My eyes squint at the small mark. No going back now. I continue that same motion, the c's beginning to make some sort of shape.

  Mr. Brightside comes on shuffle causing me to grin to myself, allowing my paintbrush to glide over the canvas, changing everything about it. It's not just a canvas anymore, it's art. It's my art. It's important to me. That's what matters and that's why I love it so much.

  I switch between the thickness of brushes and soon enough I'm using my fingers. I smudge the colors around, creating different shades of grays and blacks, watching as it slowly becomes something.

  I have no clue what it's going to be if I'm being completely honest. And sometimes I feel like that's the best kind of art work. The kind that you're just as surprised to see the finish product as everyone else. The kind where you just go with the flow and hope for the best. It's freeing and it's relaxing, as art should be.

  Maybe coming for the holidays wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. Granted I haven't spoken much to my parents but we've been civil when we're at the dinner table. My mom has kept her snide remarks to herself and I've done the same. My father usually is the one sparking the conversation.

  Regardless of who's saying what, I'm still here and I'm still having a decent time. Being here is keeping my mind off of Harry and Cora, even if I miss them.

I continue to use my fingers to bring texture to the piece of work, still not having a clue at what it is I wanted from the piece. However, when I glance up through the window, the sun is halfway up in the sky. I audibly gasp as I come to halt. Have I been out here that long?

I shake my head and continue putting little touches her and there before I let out a long and exhausted sigh, taking a few steps back with my eyes closed before I open them, my chest feeling heavy at the sight.

Harry.

Maybe my mind wasn't as far away as I thought it was. I could've sworn I'd forgotten all about him during this, and maybe in a way I did. I forgot our problems but not his Greek god like features. Nobody could forget those.

The c's I've come to find out are his curls. His jaw is perfectly chiseled and sharp like it is in real life. The details are identical to him except this piece is my idea of his widest smile.

The whole piece is his flawless side profile, hence where his perfect jawline comes into play.

I stare deeply at the dimple etched into his cheek. I imagine them to be deep and adorable, I've only seen them once and they were just barely noticeable, but I tend to find myself staring at him for longer than humanly accepted. But I find it hard to look away from him.