I’d compare him to a mosquito- him buzzing in my ear and always leaving pesky thoughts on my mind.
Like when he’d dig his nails into the back of my hand or how he would put up that everlasting smirk. Kind of like he is now.
But sometimes he’s great. Like when he does that smile that makes his dimples pop, or when he just looks at me and smiles. Kind of like he is right now.
“I actually cannot believe that you listen to rap,” he says now, picking up his purple mug and taking a sip of whatever concoction he’s possessing. “And, like, not even good rap. C’mon, Kanye West? Have you ever heard ‘Bound2’?”
(This conversation didn’t just happen, by the way. It was that sort of thing where “Just Hold On, We’re Going Home” came on and it was covered by Arctic Monkeys and I started talking about how amazing Drake is, and it just sort of became a heated debate about how rap music is totally not crappy.)
“That’s not even a good Kanye song! Don’t tell me that you don’t know the words to ‘New Slaves’- or ‘Clique’! Rap it with me: ‘Ain’t nobody fucking with my’?”
“No way,” he laughs. He leans his head against his elbows on the table, staring at me now, and I feel very watched.
“Ain’t nobody fresher than my motherfucking?”
Harry rolls his eyes now, and I just know that he wants to sing the words. “Clique, clique, clique, clique, clique.”
“I told you. Everyone’s a Kanye fan. Even if they don’t exactly want to admit it,” I’m laughing now, practically spilling my coffee when I bring it up to my lips. The cafe that we ended up going to actually has lots of couches and plays straight up indie music, and although it’s definitely a place designated for hipsters, I can’t help be enthralled with the way that the ceiling is painted like the night sky and how the lights are dimmed to make everything seem nice and quiet. . And it is, except everything in my head won't be quiet. I can't stop thinking about him and how intrigued I am by his mere presence, so I subconsciously ask him exactly what I'm thinking.
"Harry, why do you make art?"
"Lennon, why do you make love?" He asks leaning in close to me. Before I can answer his lips come forward in meet mine- but only for a fleeting second, because he retreats almost as soon as he came close. (Despite the quick timing, though, there was still a feeling in my lips that seemed to set my whole body on fire.)
"That totally defeated the point of me answering your question."
"That's because I had a follow up question. Can you write out the way that that kiss felt? Or the reason that you make love? No. Because they are art in themselves and art just can’t be explained.”
"Wow, that was a deep turn from talking about Kanye West," I say almost taken aback by the way that he came up with something so deep so quickly. He chuckles.
"Would you like to know why I love to make art? Because those are two different questions." I giggle (yes, he makes me giggle, which is weird because I don't giggle.)
"Yes, Harry that would be what I was asking asshole."
"I love making art because of the way you can match someone's eye color to the color of the paint or the way you can capture and beautiful person with a pencil." he says and smiles at his coffee. "I just think art is really interesting, because the more you do it, the more it seems to control your life.” I watch as his finger traces the rim of his mug; I watch him as he sighs while doing it; I watch him. “It interferes with everything and you start to think of regular, everyday things as more of an art than a happening, right?"
YOU ARE READING
Inked > h.s au {DISCONTINUED}
Fanfictionit's college, and the lines are bound to draw themselves, eventually. (or, when a girl named lennon takes an art class that's too early in the morning with a professor who smiles too much and a boy that doesn't seem to care at all.) "This world is b...
