AOÛT。
You told me you didn't want to celebrate your birthday but I didn't listen.
You didn't want to go to your family so you pretended to be sick and hid in my apartment. You said you were okay with staying there and watching TV. You offered to pay for takeout and I didn't stop you. You were there since morning and it was getting to the evening.
That was when I intervened.
I walked up to you and removed the heavy sheet you had draped over yourself. I opened the curtains and turned on the lights. Then I took your takeout and placed it on the kitchen counter. All the while, you were gaping at me like I was a madman, which wasn't quite far from the truth.
"What have you always wanted to do?"
The question seemed to shock you because you were blinking at me with your mouth hanging open. Then you sat up and sighed. "Art exhibit." That was what you said.
You mentioned that there was a street art exhibit that happened every year on your birthday but you never got the chance to go because your parents always forced you to have a dinner at home. You told me that the first time you saw it, you were in a car and your eyes followed it until you couldn't see it anymore. You said it mesmerised you.
So I took you to the art exhibit.
It was around seven when we got there because I insisted we walked so we wouldn't miss anything as we passed by. You thought I didn't see how your eyes lit up the moment we reached the busy street and walked right where many people with stained clothes and paint brushes and whatnot. The place was filled with just about a handful of people who all seemed to be busy doing something, be it painting or just taking pictures.
For the first time, when you looked at me, your eyes seemed to hold an eternal glow in them. You didn't have to but you asked if you could join them. I simply nodded and watched you walk up to one of the artists and timidly speaking. I assumed that they agreed to let you join because you were no longer dressed in your jeans and sweater, but instead you were wearing a big black shirt and old ripped jeans.
I simply sat down on a bench alongside a few watchers and captured your every excited move with your camera that you never used. I captured you when you were setting up your equipment with an excited smile; I captured how you furrowed your eyebrows in concentration as you sat on the floor and took out a pencil and a white sheet. I also captured the moment you stared at me and when you noticed I was watching you, you flushed a little and looked back down on your sheet.
Thirty minutes later, you came to sit next to me with a huge grin on your face. You were out of breath as though you had just a marathon, but I knew it was simply out of excitement.
"Merci," you said. I turned and saw you looking at me with wide eyes and the same grin on your face.
"Anything for you."
You then obnoxiously cleared your throat and it took you five minutes to speak again. "So... does—does it mean that you can let me draw you?"
"Pardon me?"
"I want to draw you, Harry." Your tone was more firm and confident when you said that and it was easy to mishear the pleading behind it. It still amazed me that you still didn't realise that there was nothing you would ask that I would say no to. I had absolutely nothing to lose with you and I wished you could know it.
"You never have to ask," I replied to you honestly.
Then I took your hand and kissed it.
You froze and kept your eyes trained on me for the longest time possible. Nevertheless, your hand was still in mine and I could feel your pulse accelerating. At least I knew I was not the only one feeling that way.
You turned to look at the people around us but no one seemed to pay attention to us. Some stared at us and smiled warmly before returning to what they were doing. As for you, you seemed so paralysed that you didn't notice the cake that was approaching you.
The entire place erupted in a cacophony of disoriented voices as they began to sing for you. I joined in too and watched with amusement as you began to look around awkwardly as though you didn't know what to do. When the song ended, I asked you to make a wish. You looked at me with a small smile and blew the candles out.
The cake was never really eaten by us—we decided to give it to everyone else. We only sat and drank champagne that I brought with me. I couldn't help but be extremely happy because you had changed so quickly.
Suddenly, you didn't mind touching me or even leaning your head on my shoulder and even joke around. Your sense of humour was far better than mine, at least. Whenever I held your hand, you would squeeze mine and intertwine our fingers together. Your scent was all around me—addictive and pulsating, and it filled me until I couldn't get enough.
And then the alcohol kicked in and you became more relaxed.
I knew it was getting quite late so we said goodbye to our new friends and took a taxi back to my apartment. We didn't even make it fully inside when you dragged both of us to my couch which you seemed to like, and crashed on my chest. And I have to admit that while I had heard a lot of drunken confessions, yours affected me the most.
"You know, Harry," you started sultrily with your finger in my hair. "I would love to draw you naked."
I remember gulping too loudly to be considered normal. I said nothing and waited for you to continue speaking.
"I mean, you are the most beautiful human I have ever set my eyes on. It's almost like God took His time with you. I don't understand why you keep saying you love me. Mon Dieu—"
You sat up suddenly and rubbed your face furiously. You turned to me and stared deeply. Then you cradled my face and approached me. I could count the number of times I took a ragged breath and you did same—everything was still as you came to me.
"Mon Dieu, je suis terriblement amoureux de toi. I am so in love with you, it hurts."
But before I could reply and tell you how much I felt the same, you fell back on my chest and closed your eyes.
