Aquarelle [h.s]

thirty-three

I turned around to look at Harry. It was the day after, and we were at my flat.

I wouldn't have been able to say precisely what had brought us to decide it was a good idea, but I didn't really mind it. I knew he needed a distraction, and I was more than willing to help him by keeping him busy with something else.

"Harry..." I said quietly, letting my voice drift away. He'd only been there for a few minutes, but I could easily see that he wasn't paying any attention to what I was saying while I was looking through my canvases.

He hummed and looked up, seeming to be slightly surprised that I'd caught onto his unusual silence, but didn't say a word.

"You can't keep thinking about it" I told him, perfectly knowing what thoughts were filling his mind without needing him to tell me.

I knew Harry, and I knew that he didn't let things go easily. It wasn't hard to determine the reason behind his lack of reactiveness on that morning.

He sighed, looking down. "I'm... disappointed, I suppose. In myself" he replied quietly. "It took me so long to get to this point, and now I fucked everything up."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise, not having expected him to tell me - or at least not having expected him to do it so quickly - but didn't comment on it, knowing that there were much more important things to talk about than him deciding to be open about his feelings.

"You haven't" I told him gently, letting go of the canvas I'd been holding the entire time and walking closer to him.

I didn't like it when he put himself down like that. It hurt to see him upset for not managing to be who he wanted to be. I just wished he could've understood that one single setback didn't change nor define who he was as a person.

He only sent me a glance at my words, as if he was daring me to take into consideration the latest events and say it again, not believing my reply.

"Okay, you made a mistake yesterday. You did, we both know that" I conceded, knowing that there was no point in saying otherwise, "but you can't come to me and tell me that you're the same person you were five years ago because of it, because it isn't true" I told him, a serious look on my face. "You aren't, I don't know, going up a staircase of something. A misstep won't send you crumbling back down."

"It doesn't help me either" he said with a frown as soon as I was done speaking, seeming to be unable to see it from a brighter side.

"Thinking about it continuously doesn't do it too" I reminded him gently. "I don't know how it feels to be in your position but, I think it's okay to feel upset, within reason. It's not okay if you're unable to let it go, though" I explained, "I can promise you that nobody thinks less of you because of it, so, please, don't be the only one that does it."

He just sent me a look, not saying a word and not seeming to be convinced, and I sighed, taking a step forward and hugging him.

I regretted my action right away since I had no idea of how he would've taken it. I'd done the same thing the day before, but back then he'd been in a much more fragile state than he was now. I didn't know how he would've taken it on a normal day.

He seemed to be a bit unsettled, but then he wrapped his arms around my shoulders, the muscles of his back relaxing under my touch.

"You definitely got taller" I murmured against his collarbone to try to make him feel less uneasy, and I smiled to myself when he let out a little chuckle, his chest vibrating against my body.

He didn't reply, but he leaned his cheek on top of my head, sighing and holding me tighter. After that I didn't dare to move, and we just stood there, in the middle of the studio in my apartment, for some seconds.