the song for this chapter is "Weak When Ur Around," the acoustic version, by blackbear :)
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Finley
I was so taken aback by Harry's sudden invitation to join him in an activity I knew he kept private from everyone else, that it took me a second to utter out my reply.
"Only if this is something that you are comfortable with," I checked, wanting to give him the option to change his mind. I knew whatever was going on in that mind of his was causing a lot of chaos, and I didn't want him to regret asking me to come with him.
"I am, I...I'd like you to come with me," he replied, his answer a little more confident than the first time he asked the question.
I gave him a smile, walking up to him across the yard, stopping a few inches in front of his tall frame, tilting my head back to look up at him.
"Then I'd love to," I replied, and he gave me a soft and relieved smile.
He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something else, but then he closed it, opting for another smile instead.
I followed him over to the storage shed, waiting patiently while he put in the combination on the padlock, staring somewhere else while he did so. I could tell that him bringing me here was a big deal, and I didn't want him to think that I would take advantage and try and come in here uninvited.
As soon as I heard the wooden doors creaking open, I turned my head back towards them, finding Harry stood there and holding it open for me.
Harry followed me inside and reached to flick on a light switch, which illuminated some overhead lights, as well as some mismatched string lights draped across the ceiling.
While my eyes adjusted, he shut the door behind him, flipping the lock to the inside of the door, as though he was still scared someone else might show up uninvited to his private place of refuge.
My eyes scanned the room, seeing countless canvases, each one of them covered with a cloth of some sort, hiding the art underneath them. Even inside the walls of this shed, Harry still kept everything private...and I was just honored that he trusted me enough to invite me in here.
I turned around to face Harry, who looked very shy and vulnerable right now.
"Got anything you're working on right now?" I asked, trying to make him more comfortable.
He shook his head no, walking up closer to me, surprising me when he lifted his hand and delicately brushed a few strands of hair away from my face.
"I um...I was actually thinking of starting a new one tonight," he spoke softly, his eyes flicking from my eyes down to my lips, and then back up again.
"Yeah?" I smiled.
He looked down at the ground and smirked a little bit before looking back up at me.
"Can I...can I paint a picture of you, Finn?"
My heart did something inside my chest, something violent and exciting and foreign, I felt like I might fall over from the flutters I felt within me.
"Yes, Harry, I'd like that," I nodded, my cheeks beginning to hurt from how hard I was smiling.
He began setting up a chair for me, as well as moving another cloth to one of the walls behind it, a deep peacock blue colored cloth.
I walked over to the chair and took a seat, waiting for any further instructions from Harry.
He pulled out a bunch of paints and different sizes of brushes before finally taking a seat in his own chair.
"Anything in particular that you want me to do?" I asked, not quite sure how I was supposed to pose for this.
"Anything you want, Finley. And don't worry, you don't have to stay in the same pose the entire time, I'm going to sketch it out first, and then paint it, okay?" He checked, and I smiled at how he seemed to be getting more comfortable as time went on.
I didn't know what to do, and so, I did kind of a goofy pose, one that made Harry smile and laugh at me a little bit.
"How's this?" I chuckled.
"Perfect, you look perfect," he laughed in reply, and I felt myself blushing a bit at his words.
He grabbed a pencil and began sketching the outline on the canvas, his brows were furrowed and his jaw was slightly clenched in concentration. He took a break to push up his shirt sleeves, and I couldn't help but admire him underneath the string lights hanging above him. He looked ethereal right now, he looked so...so peaceful.
After about fifteen minutes, he cleared his throat and set down his pencil.
"Alright, you can relax now, sorry about that," he apologized sheepishly.
"Don't apologize, I figured I'd be sitting like that for at least an hour or something, that was fast," I chuckled, relaxing back into the chair. I didn't get up to move behind him, partly because I wasn't sure if he wanted me to, and partly because I wanted the end result to be a surprise.
He laughed at my response and began putting various colors of paint onto his palette, and then he responded to me.
"I know it seems kind of weird that...that someone like me paints," he began.
"Harry...it's not weird, I think it's really cool, actually," I shrugged in honesty.
"Well, I'm glad you think so. I always kind of liked art as a kid, but I didn't really start getting serious about painting until um...about four years ago," he explained, and I tried to mask the excitement on my face...he was opening up to me.
Harry and I were kind of similar in that in order to get us to open up, you kind of had to let it happen organically. Pushing us for answers was not the way to go, and if we did open up, you had to let us do it at our own pace, which is why I didn't ask what had happened four years ago. And I didn't plan to, not unless he was the one who wanted to explain it.
"I'm sure it's a good stress reliever," I replied instead, watching as he mixed a few colors together and created one that was pretty much identical to the color of the cloth draped behind me.
"Yeah, it is. I lost someone four years ago. I used to use racing as an outlet for the stress, but after I lost them, it just didn't cut it. When I race, it helps me get my anger out...but when I paint...it helps me get the grief out," he spoke softly, and my heart hurt at his words.
"People hurt in different ways for different things. I don't think it's weird at all that you had to turn to something other than racing. When um...when something happened to me about a year ago...I got a job at a bookstore," I began. It seemed only fair that since Harry was opening up to me, I would share a little piece of myself with him as well.
At the mention of something happening to me, I watched as Harry's hand froze, hovering a few inches away from the canvas with his hand tightly gripped around the paintbrush.
"See, whenever I had troubles before, I would either go on a walk, or I'd work on my car with my dad. It helped me to release stress from school, or from my anxiety..."
"You have anxiety?" Harry asked, but he looked mortified as soon as the question left his lips.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked that," he apologized quickly.
I shook my head at him and smiled.
"No need to apologize. But, yes...I do. It was hard growing up because as a kid, I didn't understand why I would have panic attacks and stuff like that, I didn't even know what a panic attack was. I felt...I felt kind of guilty about it because I had such a great life, there was no reason for me to be so anxious," I explained, and Harry lifted his eyes from the canvas a bit to nod at me.
"It wasn't until freshman year of high school that I talked to my parents about it. I'm so glad that I did too. They got me set up with a therapist, and I started meeting with her twice a week. It was great because, for the first time, I didn't feel...I didn't feel like I was crazy. I realized it was something that I couldn't control, but that I could learn to deal with it better," I continued, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
"Lars helped me a lot in school. Whenever he saw me pinching my index fingernail into my thumb, he knew I was trying to distract myself from a panic attack. It was my way of...redirecting the stress and the pain I guess. He would do his best to distract me, or if it was a really bad one, he would help me with an excuse to get out of class," I smiled as I remembered the many times that Lars had helped me through a panic attack.
"Working on the car with my dad helped a lot too. But...before everything happened about a year ago...my panic attacks weren't really caused by any sort of event in my life...they just happened. They were random. But after that happened, it was almost worse because they were associated with something traumatic that happened to me," I sighed, remembering the first panic attack I had after everything happened with Jax, how Willa and Lars held me on my bathroom floor while my whole body was coursing with tremors, and I hyperventilated and dug my fingernails into my palms so harshly that it broke the skin.
"So, when those panic attacks started, I needed a different outlet. I got a job at a small bookstore. It was a very calming environment. It was soothing for me, organizing the shelves, helping people find their next read, and getting to go through new shipments of books before anyone else did," I explained, and Harry smiled a bit as I spoke.
"So, I guess what I am saying is, again, I get it. I get that different issues in your life have different remedies. My issue needed a quiet job at a bookstore, and yours needed a canvas and a paintbrush," I shrugged.
He faltered for a moment before his lips spread into a slow and lazy grin.
"Thank you for sharing that with me Finley...it um...it means a lot," he replied sincerely.
I nodded back at him with a smile. "Of course, Harry."
He took in a large and deep breath of air before speaking again.
"I um...I don't keep all these paintings for myself. I make them for other people. I don't really want to get into the details right now but..." he trailed off awkwardly.
"Hey, you can tell me whatever you are comfortable with sharing. And please don't feel like you have to share more just because I did. I am just glad that you trusted me enough to bring me in here in the first place," I interjected.
He bit at his lip to hold back a smile.
"Thank you again, Finley...but...yeah. I know this may come as a surprise, but the paintings under these coverings aren't dark and brooding expressions of my own self-interests. They actually...well...I paint other people's happy memories," he continued, his answer shocking me, but not as much as I thought I would. The more that I got to know Harry, the more I realized that he had a lot of gentle surprises hiding under his tough exterior.
He took in another breath before he continued, dipping his paintbrush into a deeper aqua color and placing the tip of the brush back onto the canvas.
"The person that I lost...they were going through a lot before they died. I wasn't around much, and...I don't know. I just have a lot of regrets. But...losing them, made me realize how many other people are going through things, and how many of them don't have anything in their lives to hold on to. But we all have memories, and so, I like to paint their happiest ones for them," he explained bashfully, and I worried that he could hear how hard my heart was beating in my chest right now as he stopped talking.
He picked up another brush, dipping it into a red color, and began painting again before continuing.
"So, I figured...even if they don't have a lot to look forward to, or a lot to keep them going, maybe having a painting of a good time in their life might help...that maybe I could help them," he spoke gently, his mind seeming to have drifted to another world as he lost himself in a mix of paint and memories.
"It does help them, Harry. Probably more than you'll ever know," I spoke just as softly, the room seeming to have taken on a more sacred aura than it had when we first walked in.
"I like to think so...cause...even though I couldn't help the person I lost...maybe I could help other people. Maybe I could make sure that no one loses them," he replied, his voice cracking on the end of his words, and I tried not to stare too long at his glossy eyes.
It was quiet for a few minutes after that...neither of us knowing quite what to say under the weight of Harry's words. Instead, I sat...and he painted.
It was hard to not watch him while he worked. He looked so ethereal while he did so. With each passing second of silence, my heart would beat harder. I felt a familiar but unexpected feeling towards him as I watched him paint, and every so often, his eyes would lift from the canvas and drift over to mine. That's when my heart would beat the hardest.
The dark and distorted facade I used to drape over Harry was being pulled back farther and farther...revealing him in his true and unknown inner beauty, much like the beautiful paintings that he kept covered.
I started to realize more and more just how right Lars had been about him.
He wasn't a bad guy...he was in a bad situation. He had a bad job...and he had a hard life.
But even despite all of those hardships...one of the ways that he chose to unpack and mend his own stress...was by helping other people.
He wasn't a shitty person...his life had made him take on that aura in order to numb him from the horror occurring all around him every single day.
He wasn't a murderer, or a mafia member, or anything else that the people and situations in his life had framed him to be.
He was Harry...a tough shell with the softest interior, and he was sitting across from me in a place that no one else had ever entered...and he was painting me.
Harry released a sigh and placed down his paintbrush, nervously rubbing his palms up and down his thighs...snapping me out of my daze.
"You know...I've made hundreds of paintings for hundreds of people...each of them being of their happy memories...but I've only ever painted myself one happy memory...and it's the first one I've had in years," he spoke gently, his eyes still trained on the canvas.
"Really? What was it?" I asked, my voice quiet and cautious, not wanting to push him too far.
He inhaled a shaky breath, closing his eyes as he slowly released it. But then his eyes drifted up to mine, and he uttered out one simple word.
"You."
He muttered out the single word quietly, and his tone seemed like he had surprised even himself with his answer. But he didn't try to take it back...and he didn't look away from me.
He blushed a little bit as our stare carried on, his mouth opening and uttering out nervous sentences.
"I know...I know you probably hate me. I know that I played a part in making your life a living hell. I don't really deserve to even claim you as a happy memory, but I can't help it. I wasn't going to paint you originally. I was going to do another painting for someone else...a landscape of their childhood beach house. But when I saw you...when I saw you in this place...it...it made me wanna do something for me...something that made me happy...and that something...well, it's you," he sighed.
He continued to speak his mind in a way that he never before had, and I felt my own face glowing with heat as he spoke beautiful words off of his beautiful lips.
"I don't know when it happened, or why. Maybe it was when we laid on the start-finish line together. Maybe it's when you forced me to sing along with you in the car on the way back. Maybe it was even before then. Maybe it was when I saw you in that dress for Leonardo's party. Maybe it was when you stuck your middle finger out the window and told the rest of the world to fuck off with me...maybe it was a lot of things all mixed together," he breathed out.
"I've hurt you so much...I've taken away so many opportunities for you. I don't deserve to even tell you this...to tell you...to tell you how I've grown to feel about you. To tell you how much I fucking like you, Finn, even though I've tried so hard not to. I tried to tell myself that I hated you. I tried to tell myself that I wouldn't care if you weren't around anymore...but it's pointless, because I know, at the end of the day, if anything happened to you...I'd have to find another remedy...because painting wouldn't cut it, I couldn't handle another loss like that," he muttered out.
"And you can tell me that you hate me, and you can tell me and my feelings to fuck off, and I'd understand completely. I'd never bring it up again and I'd bury it deep down inside me just like I do with everything else, just as long as you were still around. Just as long as you were happy. Sorry...fuck, I'm not good at this. I...I can shut up now, I'm sorry," he mumbled, tearing his eyes away from mine.
My heart felt happier than I ever thought it would from hearing those words come off of Harry's lips. And before I could register it, I was standing up from the chair and walking over to him.
He wouldn't look at me as I approached, and so, I took matters into my own hands, straddling his lap and cupping his face with my hands, making him look at me.
"I don't hate you, Harry. It's quite the opposite, actually, as annoying as that is to admit," I spoke in a teasing tone, causing his eyes to light up in surprise.
"You didn't ruin my life. And listen to me...hey," I urged as he tried to peel his eyes off of mine, "you have never once hurt me. I need you to know that."
He pursed his lips together as he scanned my face.
"I don't know when it happened either. Maybe it was when I woke up from a nightmare...and you just held me and didn't push me for answers. Maybe it was when you walked into your room, covered in paint. Maybe it was when you slept while freezing cold when I stole all of the covers. Maybe it was the way you managed to make any and all of my anger about losing the race disappear within a twenty-minute drive. Maybe it was a lot of things for me too, but it happened...and neither of us can change that now," I spoke gently, lightly rubbing the pads of my thumbs across his cheeks.
"I never thought that I would feel like way about you...or anyone...ever again. But while I sat there watching you paint...before you even said anything...I knew that I liked you, Harry, a lot more than I ever intended to. Believe me when I say that I thought I would spend the rest of my life hating you...but I guess both of our plans got spoiled," I grinned, causing Harry to chuckle softly.
His eyes flicked behind me momentarily, and it was only then that I realized I hadn't even looked at the painting yet, both of us being too engrossed with each other to notice.
I turned my body around, and my jaw dropped slightly when I finally saw the final product on the canvas.
"It...It's beautiful," I breathed out gently.
"Yeah...you are," Harry replied from behind me.
I turned back to him, scanning his face one final time before I just couldn't handle it anymore, and I brought my lips to him, latching them together.
His hands that had dots of dried paint still on them reached up to thread into my hair, pulling me even closer to him as he deepened the kiss.
A set of sparks was lit off of every nerve in my body. I felt so free...I think we both did...now that we had admitted the feelings we had grown for each other during our time together, feelings that we had been trying to dissect for so long, feelings that we had tried to deny.
"I've never done this before," Harry mumbled against my lips, and I furrowed my brows and replied in between kisses.
"What...kissing?" I laughed gently.
"No..." he began, kissing me again for a little while longer before he finally replied.
"Kissing someone that I actually care about."
AN: NO WORDS...JUST TEARS. I HOPE YOU ALL LOVED THIS CHAPTER AS MUCH AS I DID. I LOVE FINLEY AND HARRY'S PROGRESSION. I ALSO REALLY LIKE THE PACE THEY ARE AT, NOT TOO FAST, NOT TOO SLOW, JUST RIGHT. DON'T WORRY, I STILL AM GOING TO TAKE THINGS SLOW BETWEEN THEM, I WANT IT TO BE A RELATIONSHIP THAT OCCURS AT A MORE REALISTIC PACE. THERE MIGHT BE A SOFT * CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER HEHE. I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED THIS! THEY FINALLY ADMITTED THAT THEY LIKED EACH OTHER! THANK GOODNESS, I COULDN'T TAKE IT MUCH LONGER! I NEEDED TO GIVE YOU ALL SOME HAPPY MOMENTS BEFORE SHIT STARTS TO GO DOWN AHAHAHAHA! PLEASE DON'T FORGET TO VOTE AND COMMENT AND LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! AND THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR 500K READS! I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH! xx g