Yellow || hs au

|40|

—

I stand in front of my canvas, my arms crossed over my chest as I examine the pure whiteness of the canvas that has yet to be colored. The emptiness taunting me like always. My cotton shorts are still stained from my previous paint, same with the small tank top. I try to wear these every time I paint to avoid staining the rest of my clothes.

I finally dip the end of my paintbrush into the first color I see, learning that it's a bright Orange. Art class has been a bit different recently, every assignment seems to be the same thing over again. So I decided that I'd go in blind and do something completely out of my comfort zone. And painting with bright warm colors is the biggest challenge.

I've noticed that practically all of my work has some sort of depressing meaning to it. But truthfully, that's how I was feeling. Everything seemed sort of dull and gloomy in my life. But now things are different. I feel a little more energized in the mornings and I look forward to waking up, creating art and seeing Harry. I feel happier. And I'd like to believe that Harry is that reason.

I guess maybe I hadn't realized how colorless my life was before him. He may feel like he's the only one that's let his guard down with me and like he's the one needing someone all the time, but truthfully it's both of us. I've opened up to him just as much as he has to me, though his secrets are darker than mine. It's still development with one another.

My life before Harry was like a carousel. Nothing changed, it was always this constant circle and repeating of the same things over and over again. It was dull and bland. And now Harry is here and everything has changed. Everything is a bit more exciting with him by my side. And frankly I can't even imagine what I did before without him.

However, now that things are official between us, I feel as though my parents are going to want to know about him. And maybe he wants to know them or maybe he'd like them to know about us. But I don't know if I particularly do. Not that I'm ashamed to be with him, but my parents aren't the most supportive ones of the bunch. They have this whole life planned out for me in their heads, and a boy with tattoos isn't in it. At all.

  My thoughts are cut off abruptly when my front door opens, my lips tugging into a wide smile when Harry inside, closing the door behind him.

  "Hi gorgeous— what's wrong?" My smile disappears and is replaced with a frown when I see the look of distress on his pretty face. He looks over at me and lets out a sigh.

  "You're busy." He observes when he turns around to face me, standing still causing me to shake my head. "It's fine, I'll just go." He continues, seeming lost and confused. I furrow my eyebrows and set my paintbrush down.

  "Hey, stop it. I'm never too busy for you, Harry. What's going on?" I stare up at him, frowning as he shrugs his shoulders shyly, his eyes now avoiding my own. "Are you. . ." I trail off my sentence, not wanting to assume anything, but he can't blame me for wondering.

  "No, fuck— no." He states. I nod quickly, taking a few steps towards him, his eyes lowering to meet mine. His irises are dull like usual but it's obvious something is bothering him. "Can I watch? I don't really want to talk about it right now." He whispers. My heart sinks in my chest but nonetheless I nod.

  "Of course, do what you have to do." I tell him. He nods slowly and moves to sit on the floor behind me, leaning against the wall to get a view of my painting that sort of looks like a hot mess.