The small gallery had large windows towards the front, letting in massive amounts of natural light. The blueish glow fell upon the various canvases, illumination the intricate brush strokes of the artist. You weaved your way slowly through the gallery, your eyes tracing each piece, memorizing the colours and patterns until you moved onto the next and you were enveloped in the new piece in front of you. If only you had such a talent. A hand slid onto your shoulder, startling you slightly. You looked over.
“Hi,” Your voice came out as a whisper.
“Hi, kitten.” Harry’s deep voice replied quietly. He watched you as you turned back to the painting, staring at its complex beauty. “Do you like it?” He asked. You nodded in awe. His finger reached out slowly and pointed to the smudged signature at the bottom of the canvas. There, in smooth black was Harry’s name.
“You made this?” Your eyes grew wide as you looked back at Harry. His smile stretched across his entire face. It was his turn to nod his head. His long curls fell over his shoulder as he too examined his piece. The gentle brush strokes worked together to compose a single lily in a jar.
“It’s a bit
, don’t you think?” He frowned.
“Not at all!”
You and Harry had known each other for quite a long time. His mum, Anne, had known your mum when they were younger, and so naturally when they both had babies, your mum thought it would be brilliant to force them into friendship. But then, in eighth grade, you moved to London and left Harry in Holmes Chapel. Two years later, he auditioned for the Xfactor and became well-known all over the world. The two of you had kept contact over the years, but you hadn’t seen him since the two of you were about sixteen when Harry went to London to audition. Now here you were, you were 21 and Harry was 22. Right now, Harry was back in London for the time being, and even though he had enough money to buy a very nice flat in the city, you let him stay with you in your piece of shit, falling apart townhouse with you. The walls were a crusty eggshell colour, and the floors were dark and hardwood. The furniture was mismatched and dusty, the windows were cloudy, and you had a drip in the attic. You thought it was shit. Harry thought it had ‘charm’.
You jammed the key into the rusty lock and shoved the door open with your hip. Harry had the great idea of sprucing up different rooms by painting something on the walls. He had a couple gallons of white paint and several rollers and brushes, along with maybe fifteen shades of blue alone. All together, maybe 150 tubes of paint. Once inside, you grabbed a pair of old jeans from your room and pulled on an old shirt and met Harry in the kitchen. He had pulled a smock over his shirt, and changes into paint-smudged jeans.
“Nice outfit.” Harry chuckled. You rolled your eyes and asked where you should start. “Well,” He started. “I was thinking we could do maybe a large rose or something in the corner..” Harry continued to ramble on about the art work he was about to create. His eyes lit up with passion, and you watched in fascination as he gestured and smiled, the words not registering in your mind.
“What?” Harry asked, looking over at you with a confused look on his face.
“What?” You repeated.
“You’re staring.” He laughed. Your face flushed.
“You get really cute when you’re excited, like your eyes light up and you look like a kid again.” His arms dropped and he continued to smile at you.
“Really?” If it was possible, his smile widened. You tucked a strand of hair behind you ear and nodded.
“Yeah.” You looked down and over at the pile of paint tubes on the floor. “So, I’ll sort these and you can work on whatever you need to work on.” He nodded again and bent down and started sketching a large flower on the wall.
Three days later, Harry was done painting the kitchen. He ended up covering the entire wall in red and pink roses. He was a little anxious today, because you two literally had not left the house in three days.
“Harry. Let’s go out. To Nando’s.” You sighed. He wiggled away from you and sat up.
“Yes!” He smiled and jumped off the couch, where the two of you had been watching Netflix. He ran into the other room to change, and you laughed quietly, standing and stretching. You climbed the stairs to your bedroom and pulled on a pair of Harry’s joggers and some of your ankle boots, paired with a simple t-shirt. Harry was waiting for you downstairs in a similar ensemble, but he was wearing tight fitting jeans and a button up shirt that probably cost more than your rent. He slid into the driver’s seat of your car, and you plopped down in the passenger’s seat. Upon arrival, there was a crowd waiting at the door. How they knew where you were going to be was beyond you. Harry said he might have tweeted something abut going to Nando’s. You giggled and followed him out of the car.