-Phil-
Each puff of breath that escapes my mouth is visible around me in the cold mid-November air, my feet slapping against the asphalt of the large parking lot of the school I had previously been inside of. Now, as I was outside in the freezing air, I realized just how stupid I was for wearing a t-shirt in the winter, As I was freezing to bits as I try to remember where i'd parked my car this morning.
I thankfully spot my car after wandering around for who knows how long, pulling my jingling keys from the pocket of my jeans as I realize that was parking lot was now mostly empty. I really should try and remember things better, as my lack of taking note on where I had parked was now seriously effecting my mood.
I continue towards the edge of the parking lot, my eyes staying locked on the black car I called my own as I fumble with the keys mindlessly. When I finally reach the vehicle, I immediately rush to unlock it, my numbing hand latching over the handle before I pull it open.
Upon sliding into the seat on the drivers side, I realized that it wasn't much warmer in here as it was outside, so I immediately turn the heaters up on full blast. The air is cold and unpleasant for a few moments before it finally begins to heat up, and I rush to slot the keys into their place before turning them, starting the car with a low rumble before I pull out of the parking spot I was currently positioned in.
As I begin the familiar drive home, my mind begins to wander to just a few hours ago when I'd slotted myself into the whole sweater boy situation, something that was a bit out of character for me. I had surprised myself today, to say the least. I hadn't helped anyone in a while except for myself, and it was unnerving as I concluded that I'd felt a bit of unwanted happiness at the act of helping someone.
I bite the inside of my cheek as I remember the way his face had looked, the way he was so completely broken showing through as if he was made of glass.
I suck in a quick breath as I become suddenly aware of the present again, snapping from my thoughts immediately as I instinctively slam on the breaks.
My eyes widen as my they meet with chocolatey brown ones that were wide in fear just in front of my car.
Sweater boy.
I had nearly hit sweater boy.
Of all people to be wandering along the same road I'd coincidentally been driving down at this exact moment, it had to be sweater boy.
I gulp after a few short seconds of staring back at him in shock. The small boy finally blinking before quickly moving from the spot he had been frozen in place at. Readjusting the sleeves of his sweater almost instinctively.
My lips part slightly and my feet flinch, two halves of my mind fighting against each other at the same time. One side of myself was urging me to jump out of the car and apologize, hence the sudden flinch of my feet, yet the other side was keeping me frozen in place as I stare back at him into his wide eyes.
His head turns away from mine suddenly, and before I even grasp the slight chance of apologizing, he's running the opposite direction from my car. Turning around a corner without so much as a glance towards me, and I was left shocked and confused as the sound of loud honks blare around me. The sound slapping me back into reality as I realized I had stopped in the middle of the street.
I quickly regain my senses as I step on the gas, continuing down the street as my mind rushed with scattered thoughts.
How had I been so damn stupid?
I could have seriously hurt him, maybe even killed him.
Although I had come close to doing the same in different situations, this time it was different. I found a strange feeling tearing away at me with just the simple thought of actually hurting the boy in the sweater.
I end up driving all the way home in silence, deciding that the company of music was something that would only make me more shaken up than I already am. It was strange how alert I was now, all my senses feeling like they were on fire at the sudden wake up call. Had I really hit him, I don't even want to think about how greatly that would have taken its toll on me.
It wasn't that I cared for him in any sort of way, he was simply someone I had come across on multiple different occasions that needed help, so I gave him just that. No more, no less. It was simply me deciding to maybe reach out to the old side of myself, the old Phil, who everybody seems to miss, the old Phil who actually cared about other people. It was strange how I had come back into contact with that part of myself so easily today, as in the past year it had taken far too many times to urge me to actually care for someone other than myself even in the slightest.
He was different though, and for some reason the fact that he didn't immediately attack me with and endless shower of "thank you's" made me feel better about helping him. In the past whenever I'd helped people out of tough situations they wanted to return the favor in any way possible.
For some reason being thanked isn't something I'm good at accepting, maybe because I have it twisted in my mind that if someone thanks you then you owe them something. If they show that what you did to help them affected them in a positive way, that you owe them some kind of favor. And I don't do favors.
It wasn't a particularly good way to view helping others, as I have found myself gradually becoming accustomed to steering clear of helping anyone but myself in the past year.
I finally pull down my street, a soft sigh edging from my lips as I catch sight of a bit of snow falling outside. It was only November, did it really have to already snow? I was never one to be good with cold weather, and the first flurries of the white flakes from the sky definitely didn't make me as giddy as most people would have been.
As I pull into my driveway, unbuckling my seatbelt and climbing out of the car, I realize the temperature definitely matched the flurries of snow flitting from the sky, resulting in me immediately shutting off my car and rushing across the driveway to the front door.
As I click open the lock, the sound of chattering voices is heard from just inside, and I quickly recognize it to be my mum. I turn the corner into the kitchen as soon as I lock the door, her head turning as she recognizes the sound of my heavy footsteps.
"Hi Phil, how was your day?" She asks, stepping away from where she'd stood by the counter beside my brother. He doesn't even bother to look up at me as he stares down at the phone in his hands, his eyebrows furrowed and his expression completely the opposite from my mums, which was one of unexplained happiness.
"It was...okay." I say quickly, definitely not about to give her any more details than that about my day. I had expected her to question me further but she just smiles upon the news despite it being the probably less preferred answer to her question than she most likely had wanted.
I begin to tap my fingertips along the edge of the counter mindlessly as I wait for the question I knew was coming next. Of course a few seconds after expecting it, she does, the tone of her voice careful as she asks the question.
"Did anything happen? You seem...different."
I softly sigh at her question, not just because I wanted nothing more than to just escape to my room for the rest of the night, but because she was right. As I stare at my reflection from across the kitchen into the dark glass of the oven door, I realized that I looked slightly different. Yet I couldn't exactly put my finger on what it was.
I nearly forget that she had asked me something as my eyes meet with hers, her expression had faltered slightly in the passing seconds since my rather rude response, and I quickly answer anyways. Not wanting to disappoint her by any means as it was something i'd always hated doing.
"It was just okay. Okay?"
She slightly sighs at my half-assed answer as she slides into a seat at the kitchen island, Martyn finally looking up from his phone as I stand in the middle of the kitchen like I had no idea what to do. But I did, and as I turn on my heel it became apparent that I was leaving as my mum speaks up from behind me.
"Wait, Phil." She blurts, and I turn to face her again as she urgently speaks. "I thought that I should warn you about later, I'm having a small get together with some of the women from out neighborhood and their kids." She smiles upon revealing the news, probably expecting me to be happy about the sudden change of plans.
Yet of course I wasn't, the thought of having a bunch of kids at my house for a few hours sounded like the equivalent of stabbing myself repeatedly with a fork. Not to mention the fact that they all judged me an unreasonable amount. I had always stayed in my room during these "get togethers" and that's what I plan to do for this one as well.
I simply nod my head in answer, knowing full on that I could say something rude and disappoint her if I let any words leave my lips. I immediately turn round the corner into the hallway before she can say something along the lines of, "I want you to be on your best behavior" or, "you should try to make some friends" because those were two things I had tried long ago that had been deemed unsuccessful from the second i'd even attempted.
But that was at the other gatherings, the gatherings at the place I had previously lived. I remember clear as day the first one we'd thrown when we'd moved there. I had attempted to make friends with the snobby kids who wore cardigans everyday, and they had immediately made a fool of me in my own home. It was one of the most degrading experiences I have yet to remember, and it was something I cringed at the slightest thought of.
Maybe this time could be different though, as there will be a whole new group of kids to meet, and maybe they will be more excepting and not as snobby as the previous group. Maybe the way they'd looked and acted was just the because of the fact that where I had previously lived was one of the more, "sophisticated" parts of England.
It's not long before i'm bounding up the stairs, my heavy backpack still rested uncomfortably on my shoulder as I reach the top of the stairwell, quickly strolling into my room with a breathless sigh. I allow the bag to slide down from my arm to my fingers, immediately throwing it carelessly along the floor. If there was anything I was going to do right now, it definitely wasn't homework, I need something to help me lose my senses for a while.
My eyes trail across my room until they land on a particular sketch hung above my desk, an idea sparking in my mind at the slightest glance towards the drawing pinned on the wall. In an instant I head back out the way I came, not going far as I cross the hall to the familiar room that smelled of paint chips and worn paper.
I pull off my shoes as I enter the room, my mismatched socks slipping across the wooden floor as I cross the large space. My eyes gravitate towards the scenery residing outside of the large window in front of my easel, there was nothing new, the same trees that were long past losing their leaves in the past few months. The streets were the same, my range of sight from where I stood allowing me to see past my neighbors houses and down the few roads lining my neighborhood. Students walked along the pavement framing the streets, laughing and shoving each other carelessly. I blink as I quickly realize that I was wasting time that could be spent painting, so I avert my eyes and begin picking out random shades of paint.
Pink, brown, white, green, blue, orange, yellow.
I count out the colors as I lay them along the table beside me, mapping out in my head how each of them would meld together on the canvas. It was something I found myself doing quite often, even before I had the chance to paint. At random times of the day I would look at a certain scene, collecting all the shades of color painting the sky and landscape around me, visualizing myself swirling the same colors together to create the scene on a canvas.
As my eyes scan over the worn tubes laid across the surface, I realize that theres something missing, my eyebrows furrowing as I repeatedly examine the row of colors. It's not long before I realize just what was lacking in the bunch, grey.
"Grey, grey, grey." I silently mutter to myself, knowing full on that if someone was to walk in right now and see me whispering the same word over and over under my breath while rifling through a drawer they would come to the conclusion that I was clinically insane. Yet I continue before my fingers finally trail over the tube of shaded grey, and I immediately wrap my fingers around it before adding it among the row of the other colors.
The blank canvas was looming above me, begging to be covered in swirls of color. And it's not long before i'm dragging the brush across the white surface, delicately swirling the colors together in a soft array of pastel.
Hours pass with nothing but silence and the setting sun outside of the window beside me. I had subconsciously swirled the leftover paint from my brush along my blank right arm as i'd painted. Moving from where i'd stood to go get some towels to wipe the excess paint off would have interrupted my thought process, so the colors remained. Now melding dry against my skin as time passed, flaking and flurrying to the floor beneath my feet as my eyes rake over the painting I had just now finished.
My eyes are wide and a smile tugs at my lips, it had taken so long to finish, but it was perfect, and nothing else I could have painted would have been worth the stretch of time. My inspiration for the piece had undoubtedly been sweater boy. The signature baggy grey sweater i'd grown quite accustomed to seeing was hanging over his body that was sprawled over the grass, his covered arms spread widely around him, his hands grasping at the green earth cradling him. There was a smile on the painted boys lips, something I had yet to see in person, but in my head I had imagined that he'd look beautiful while he did so. My eyes travel up to the flower crown I had painted upon his mess of chocolate hair, the same pink and yellow flowers nestled in his hair messily painted in the grass surrounding his body.
A full blown smile had taken over my features by now, and it only was wiped from my lips when the sound of the front door opening downstairs was heard, a loud clamoring of voices traveling to my ears soon after. I stiffen and my eyes slightly widen as I realize that it was the people my mum had invited over for dinner. My gaze quickly shifts from the floor to the clock hung on the wall a few feet away, the time reading just past 6:30.
How hadn't I realized it was nearing the time they'd arrive? I hadn't been exactly told when they would get here but I should have assumed it would be quite early. My mum was always one to be quite efficient with timing.
The continuous trail of voices goes on, and I catch sight of myself in the mirror across the room from where i'd stood, the swirls of pastel contrasting with hues of grey and white melded on my right arm making me realize just how difficult it would be to remove in such a short amount of time. As i'd assumed my mum would be calling me downstairs any second now to introduce myself.
My assumption was deemed correct just seconds later, as I hear the sound of my mums voice calling up the stairs.
"Phil, come downstairs everyone is here!"
I sharply take in a breath, hesitating before slipping out of the door. I regret it immediately, as I hear my mum make it known that I had graced everyone with my presence.
"Oh Phil, come come, I want to introduce you." She gestures around the corner to where I assumed, judging by the loud voices coming from the next room over, that everyone was gathered in.
My mouth opens to reply with a rude remark before I stop myself, clamping my mouth shut as my mum disappears around the corner again.
I hesitantly start down the stairwell, my fingers trailing down the sleek wooden railing as I passed. I silently curse how short the stairs were as I reach the last step. Stopping just before the corner that turned into the living room, collecting myself before turning round into the crowded room.
I had expected only a few people to had shown up, but it was much more than a few. There was probably a good fifteen people in just the living room alone, and judging by the sound of distant voices from the next room over I assumed that there was even more to be found throughout the rest of the house.
"Oh," my mum starts, turning to me with a freshly poured glass of wine in her hand as she turns towards me, away from the group of people lounging along the seating of our living room, laughing and talking. Their loud voices coming to a stop as she makes her way over to me.
The feeling of so many pairs of eyes on me made me uncomfortable, to say the least. Yet it felt different from the many other gatherings we'd had in the past. These people had a certain cheeriness to them that I couldn't determine made me sick or more comfortable.
My mums hand is soon laid on my shoulder as she continues, "This is my other son Phil." Everyone is silent for a few seconds, making me grow nervous before they break into smiles.
Cheery hellos and comforting laughs erupt throughout the room, and a weak smile tugs at my lips. I try desperately to make it seem like I wouldn't rather be in my studio right now, and I assumed that my minimal effort paid off as my mum smiles at me widely.
I expect her to return back to speaking with everyone, but she turns to me, her voice lowering as she speaks. "Go make some friends, okay?" Her eyes are wide and filled with hope as I silently nod, knowing that I was straight up lying to her face. I was definitely not going to make friends with anyone, despite how nice their parents seemed.
Soon after I was introduced to everyone, they lost interest in me, and I found myself wandering past the group of loudly laughing adults. Trying to make myself seem smaller yet it was impossible due to my height as I wander through the crowd.
I finally squeeze past all of them, turning the corner into the small storage room I assumed no one would inhabit. I was proven wrong however. As I immediately catch sight of someone sat on the floor, twirling a piece of string around their fingers mindlessly.
A second figure becomes apparent as two pairs of eyes meet mine, and I immediately recognize them to be the boys from earlier. The boy twirling the string was the less remembered of the two, as he had been the one stood behind the scene, not taking part in the act.
The other though, I immediately recognized to be the one who had pressed the boy in the sweater up against a locker before throwing punches at him relentlessly. A tinging anger arises inside me the longer I look at him, and he seems to be in shock as much as I am.
"You've got to be kidding me." He sits up slightly from where he'd had his head laid against the other boys shoulder. "You're here?" My eyebrows furrow slightly as I stare him down from where I stood across the room. "Well this is my house."
The boys eyebrows furrow as he sucks his lip into his mouth, shifting his gaze to the floor before him. "Huh, well this is quite unfortunate." I have to refrain from scoffing aloud at his response, it seemed like he couldn't be any less fazed by my presence. Like he had no idea how to speak to me after what he'd done to sweater boy earlier.
"That's all you have to say?" I ask, leaning against the wall beside me as I bite the inside of my cheek. The other boy beside him stays silent, keeping his gaze set on the string in his fingers. "Well." The boy from before looks up at me, "I didn't expect the house I'd been forced to show up to would belong to the boy who daringly stopped me earlier, also, what's with the paint?" He gestures towards my arm that was covered in the mostly dried colors melded against my skin.
My eyebrows slightly furrow at how nonchalant he was about the whole thing, like talking about beating up a harmless boy was something casual.
"Well I didn't expect the boy I stopped from killing someone earlier would show up to my house either, did I? And I was painting, if you really must know." I snap. The boys eyes shift from his bruised knuckles to me, his lips twitching slightly as if he was about to speak before he falls silent again.
"I wouldn't have killed him." His voice is barely distinguishable from how quiet he had spoken mixed with the loud muffled laughter from outside the door.
"Really? Because I'm sure if I hadn't been there to keep you from going any further, you would have." I bite back, picking myself up from where I'd been leaning against the wall.
He simply sighs in response, like he couldn't be bothered to even reply, and I assumed that it was solely because what I'd said was true and he knew it.
Seconds pass of uncomfortable silence, no ones eyes meeting each other's as we all stood in the dimly lit room. I open my mouth to speak, about to come up with some sarcastic remark, but I'm cut off by the sound of a door opening. I had expected it to be some random person wandering around looking for a bathroom or something, but it wasn't.
It's sweater boy.
As soon as he enters the room, his eyes meet with mine, and he stiffens against the door noticeably. His eyes flicker from me to the floor where the two boys sat, the two of them staring up at sweater boy as if they had no idea what to say.
"Well, you're here as well, isn't this just a damn party?" The boy with the bruised knuckles sarcastically speaks after a moment, throwing his hands in the air, shifting his gaze to the floor as sweater boy visibly swallows.
I couldn't believe how different the boy was when his fist wasn't being slammed into someone. He seemed like just a normal guy, and maybe he was, under those bruised knuckles and the harsh glare. I immediately scold myself for my thoughts, I desperately have tried to keep myself from seeing the good in the worst of people. Yet I always seemed to attempt to pick out things that seemed better than the persons overall self, despite what terrible things they've done.
I immediately realize that I needed to get out of here, I couldn't just have a causal chat with the guy who had beat up sweater boy. It was stupid, I couldn't just forget this. He had caused someone else pain that can't be taken away. I know well enough what it's like to be in sweater boys situation, and although i'd regrettably also been in the boy had had hurt him's situation as well, I wasn't going to let him think it was okay by having a chat with him.
I pick myself up from where I'd been leaning on the wall, quickly crossing the small room towards where sweater boy still stood against the door. His eyebrows furrow as I reach him, his hands awkwardly tugging down the sleeves of his sweater as I approach the door. As soon as i'm stood just in front of him, my hand reaches downwards. His eyes widen before he realizes where my hand had grabbed hold of the door handle just beside his thigh, his expression softening and his cheeks reddening in embarrassment.
He seems slightly flustered as he shifts awkwardly out of the way, and I immediately pull open the door once he's moved. I was about to leave right then, to shut the door in his face and leave him to fend for himself with the two boys. Yet as terrible of a person as I am, I couldn't do it, so I allow my hand to grasp his arm before pulling him out of the doorway.
The door slips shut behind us, and I find myself awkwardly stood much too close to him in the crammed hallway underneath the stairs. He shuffles backwards until he's pressed against the wall, and I awkwardly cough as we make eye contact.
"Why are you here?" I ask, wanting to slap myself after asking the obvious question. Knowing fully that he was here because my mum had invited his family for whatever reason. He slightly shifts in place at my question, his eyes flickering between me and the floor as he answers.
"M-my mum was invited." His voice is soft and quiet, just like it had been when he'd thanked me this morning. I found myself wishing that I could hear his voice more, immediately frowning at my own thoughts afterwards.
I only nod in response to his words, clearing my throat as my eyes dart around the room to anywhere but his small frame. After a few seconds of silence I realize that the conversation isn't going to go on, so I quickly say "bye" before turning round the corner.
I immediately start up the stairs, not looking behind me as I clamber up each step quickly. It's not long before I reach the top, darting down the hallway until I reach my studio.
As soon as I'm behind the closed door, I lean up against it with a sigh, the loud sound of laughter resonating up the stairs. My heart was racing, and not just because of my quick dash up the stairs and down the hall, but because I had spoken to him. I can't believe how painfully ironic it was that my mum had just happened to invite all three of them. Of course, she had no idea about the events of this morning, but still, I found myself unreasonably a bit angry at her.
With a breathy sigh, I finally pull myself off of the door, my eyes traveling to the painting I'd previously finished just a few minutes ago. I try to keep my mind set on the swirls of color thoughtfully smeared onto the canvas, but I can't. My mind just keeps shifting to what must be going on downstairs.
I nearly make a mental note to ask my mum why she'd invited the three of them, but it would be useless. She had no idea about the situation with sweater boy earlier. If I told her about it she would never let me hear the end of it. She would probably go on and on about how I should stay out of things, especially fights due to my past troubles, and steer clear of people like the boy who had beat him up.
Without realizing it, I soon begin pacing the span of the room, my mind running relentlessly as I try to just forget about everything. It was useless, though, as nothing would stop my mind from reeling the thoughts over and over in my head like a broken record of memories.
After a while of pacing, my mind slows, and I slump against the small couch located in the corner as the sound of loud music begins playing downstairs. I sigh softly as I can only imagine what kind of chaos is being ensued at the moment. My mum was always a fan of turning a "small get together" into a huge party, which I assume is what she was initiating right now.
My eyes flutter shut, in any other situation, I would have fallen asleep right here at this very moment, but the pounding music resonating throughout the house was yielding me from doing so. I jump slightly in place as the door across the room bursts open, and I don't know why I feel a surging disappointment rush through me as open my eyes to be met with those of some random adult. I had unreasonably expected it to be sweater boy.
"Oh, sorry I was looking for the bathroom." The tall man stood in the doorway speaks, shuffling awkwardly out of the room before closing the door behind him. I sigh as I bite my lip in annoyance, this always happened when my mum had people over. I was always being intruded by random guests, and it was to say the least, incredibly annoying.
My eyes fall shut again as I lean my head against the wall, feeling my head pound against the hard surface at the loud music. A few minutes of that pass, with my eyes closed and my annoyance dying down before it's winded back up again as I hear the door open once again.
My mouth moves faster than I can process, the words leaving my lips before I even bother to open my eyes. "If you're looking for the bathroom, this isn't it. So I suggest that you leave." My eyes flutter open as I speak the last few words, and I have to blink a few times as I determine the small frame stood in the doorway undoubtedly as sweater boy.
"Oh," He says softly, his eyes wide and laced with surprise in-between the swirls of brown. "I'm sorry I was just looking for a-an empty room." He shuffles awkwardly to the side as I sit up from where i'd laid my head.
He nearly pulls the door closed, me not realizing it until the door was only a second away from clicking shut. I spastically sit up and he halts from closing it any further, and I assume that he was waiting for some kind of explanation to my sudden movement.
"You don't have to leave." I quickly speak, my words carrying a pending silence that falls over us despite the loud commotion coming from downstairs. With each second that drags on I grow more and more irritable, why wasn't he responding?
A few more seconds pass and I open my mouth to speak, the sound of his voice saying a hushed "okay" cutting off the flow of insults before they were able to start. My mouth snaps shut as the door does behind him, the music from downstairs becoming more muffled, making the silence in the room even more prominent as I awkwardly pick at a loose thread in my jeans.
His eyes travel over the walls as he trails his fingers up and down his covered arms. I assume that he was fascinated by all of the paintings, as his lips were slightly parted and disbelief was practically radiating off of him as he looks around.
I clear my throat suddenly, not meaning for the action to startle him or be conveyed as if I was telling him to turn his attention towards me, yet it had. His head snaps towards me and he visibly tenses, and I quickly avert my eyes from his as it was awkward enough that we were in a dark, empty, room together, barely speaking a word.
"Did, did you paint these..?" My eyes snap back up to his, expecting for our eyes to meet but his were set intently on the canvas's littering the walls. His gaze carried a certain curiosity that made me a bit uncomfortable, no one had ever been so interested in my art before.
"Yeah, I did." I finally speak after a few seconds of silence, and he only nods in response, his eyes still raking over every painting intently.
It's not long before he finally takes notice of the large canvas still laid on the large easel in front of the window. The painting of the boy in the grass covered in pastel and smiles. The boy who I had accidentally made look scarily identical to the one stood before me.
His gaze lingers on it for longer than it had with the others, and he steps slightly closer to it after a few seconds, getting closer as I assumed he was trying to examine it further. I shift slightly in my spot, hoping he wouldn't ask any questions, and I'm surprised when he doesn't. Instead he turns away and allows his gaze to settle on the setting sun outside of my window.
His mouth opens after a while of staring, his eyes flickering to mine then back to the pastel scene before him as he speaks. "Is there any way to get on the roof easily?" I'm slightly taken aback by his random question. I had expected him to ask about the painting or something, leave me a stuttering mess as I would try to explain why the boy looked just like him in a way that didn't seem creepy.
Too much time passes and I still haven't given him a response, lost in my own thoughts for a moment. His head turns back over his shoulder to look at me expectantly, and I remember again that he had asked me a question. "What-oh, yeah, yeah there is." I sputter, mentally cringing at my failure to speak normally, but he doesn't seem to notice. He keeps his gaze settled on the scenery outside and I jump to my feet rather quickly.
"I'll um, go check to see if you can get up there." I say, waiting a few seconds after speaking for a response, yet he stays quiet. I purse my lips and awkwardly nod to myself, crossing the room and pulling the door open in front of me. Loud music once again erupts from downstairs, and I sigh softly as I hurriedly start down the hallway to my room.
It's not long before I'm attempting to pull open the window above my dresser. The only window I had found that had a bit of roof residing outside it, perfect for sneaking out safely onto the ledge before climbing up the side of the house onto the roof.
I loudly sigh as I fail to pull it open, this window always got stuck and showed little to no chance of opening, so I give up and start back towards my studio. I reach the room in no time, speaking as I shut the door behind me, "sorry but the-" the rest of my sentence fades off as I turn around to be met with no one but the faces of all the people I'd painted hung over the walls.
I immediately sigh as I realize that he must have left the room. I nearly flop onto the couch again in defeat, yet a cold breeze blowing in from across the room welcomes goosebumps to rise on my skin, making me shiver as I stiffen in place.
My eyebrows furrow as my eyes finally land on the source of the freezing breeze. The window beside my easel was wide open, a few papers sat on a table flapping in the wind before flying wildly off onto the floor.
I purse my lips before turning in circles a few times as my eyes frantically scan the room for the jacket I knew I'd left laying around. I finally spot it laid over a table and I grasp it in my hands, immediately pulling it on, easing the cold a bit.
After crossing the room to the window, I poke my head out into the cool air slightly, realizing that there was a small bit of roof lining the exterior of the house that I hadn't noticed before.
There was a footprint along the ledge, and I immediately realize that sweater boy must have been the cause of it. My hands grip the edge of the window frame and I hoist myself out onto the ledge carefully, really not wanting to slip and tumble down into the rose bushes below.
I pull the window not fully closed but just closed enough to keep my papers at peace before shuffling along the edge. I finally notice a spot that looked easy to climb up, so I pull myself up with a bit of difficulty before finding myself on the roof.
I immediately spot him, sat along the edge of the rooftop, his legs daringly dangling over the edge, childishly kicking up and down as he admires the sunset. He finally opens his eyes and takes notice of the panting mess I was, sat just a few feet away from him. He jumps slightly before grasping onto the edge of the roof for support.
"Oh, sorry I um, guess you found your own way up here." I observe aloud, and he nods slightly in response, turning his gaze back to the swirls of colors before us as I shuffle over beside him. I immediately feel the silence finally weigh down on me. I hadn't noticed how painfully quiet it was, the only sound around us being the steady beat of the music two floors down.
Some people may have taken this situation as peaceful, but all I felt was uncomfortable. I sneakily take glances at the boy beside me, every time thinking I was going to get caught, but I don't. His eyes are strictly set on the colors swirled over the sky, and I begin to wonder why he was so undoubtedly fascinated by them.
He looked at them like the pastel colors were more interesting than everything in the world combined, but then again, so was he.
He finally looks over at me after a few minutes of silence that I had no idea what to make of. His eyelashes flutter as he lazily glances at me, slowing the kicking of his legs as he speaks.
"So you paint,"
I blink in response to the random statement. I had expected something else to come from his mouth, as he was usually pretty predictable. Yet here he was asking about things that were quite irrelevant at the moment.
I take much too long to respond, and I feel he tension in the air thicken, so I immediately look away, turning my gaze back to the colors while speaking. "Yeah, I do."
He looks down towards his ever moving feet, stretching them out before kicking them back towards him again. His eyes closed nonchalantly as if he was thinking through something thoroughly.
"Who do you paint, anyone in particular?" His eyes finally flutter open, revealing the brown I've had yet to memorize. I have to look away before I cower under his gaze. His question had slightly caught me off guard, as I had no idea if he already had gathered that the boy in my previously painted piece was him or if he seriously had no idea, somehow ironically asking the question.
"Oh," I chew at my lip, digging my heels into the crumbling drywall underneath the span of roof before answering fully.
"Well, usually, it's no one in particular, but every once in a while, maybe." I decide is the best answer, and he seems to take it, as he just barely nods in answer.
It's silent for a bit after that, the only sound heard being the steady thumping of the music downstairs. I can only imagine what mess my mum has conducted down there by now. It grows colder too, the sun setting quicker and quicker, yet the pastel colors were only fading slightly as the sun set, persistent, weren't they?
Sweater boy turns to me, his eyes holding a certain something in them that I had yet to distinguish. Yet before I even can think about doing that, he speaks, his voice quiet and hesitant as he carries his words out into the open.
"Who was that boy, in the painting in front of the window..?" He bites the inside of his cheek before glancing down at his feet. I immediately stiffen, I once again had no idea what to do, as it was unclear if he had already gathered that it was him or if he didn't know at all.
"No one." The simple response immediately escapes my lips. Finding my eyes drifting further and further from his gaze that had settled on me again until they were on my dangling feet.
He doesn't respond, not even offering a simple nod like he usually does. He just sits, staring out into the distance like he was in some kind of dramatic movie. I have to refrain from sighing, as I usually could read his thoughts quite easily just from his body language, but he wasn't giving me much to work with at the moment.
Silence stretches between us again, and it's hard to not make a break in the quiet. My fingers twitch at my sides, and I nearly flinch as he speaks up once again.
"Who was it?"
I blink in response to his question at first, he definitely was persistent on getting a full answer out of me. How much he obviously wanted to know brought up a bubbling annoyance in my chest quicker than I could realize.
"I said it was no one." I say, trying to keep my voice steady despite the annoyance coursing through me. I knew that he was simply curious, as I probably would have been, but he was starting to get on my nerves.
He turns his head towards me, his fingers picking at the fraying sleeves of his sweater. "Why won't you tell me?" He questions, his voice soft as always but his words making me feel impossibly more irritated.
"Because I hate you."
The words tumble from my lips, the bitter four words even confusing myself after I say them. I had a habit of letting petty insults slip from my mouth in times of annoyance. This just happened to be one of those times.
His eyebrows slightly furrow, and I can tell his expression softens despite him turning his head away from me at the last moment. He swallows thickly; and I find myself staring at him for much too long. Trying to piece together exactly what it was that he was feeling at the moment.
It all happens quickly, him flying to his feet in an instance beside me. And I have to tilt my head upwards to be able to see where he now stood, pulling the sleeves of his sweater down over his hands in a slightly flustered manner.
My eyebrows furrow at his sudden response, and his eyes meet mine as he shakily speaks.
"Y-you know what, I'm just gonna go."
I nearly rise to my feet as he just did moments before to for some reason stop him. Yet he quickly crosses the span of roof, catching sight of another spot to climb down from at the front of the house.
It's now that I stand to my feet, carefully crossing the large shifty span of tiles beneath me. Catching up to where he was now halfway down from where I stood above him on the roof.
I feel as if can't do anything, and that it would only make me seem desperate for him to stay if I did, so I stay quiet. Watching as he drops down into the dampened grass way below. Stood in my front yard, his frame only slightly illuminated by the now nearly set sun.
His eyes meet mine quickly, and I watch as he slightly shivers from the cold that was finally catching up to us as the sun left us behind.
He begins to start walking away, and I don't know what I'm doing as I quickly pull off my jacket. Yelling a sudden "wait!" That results in his head flicking towards me as I finally pull the article of clothing from my body.
I immediately throw the jacket across the airy distance, and his hands fly out before him, grasping the clothing in his hands.
He looks up at me, his eyebrows furrowed and his gaze flickering between me and the bundled up black jacket.
"It's cold, I-I thought you could just-" I start explaining quickly, and I stop speaking as I'm surprised when he pulls it on over his head.
"But I thought you hated me."
The familiar brown color of his eyes is distant and slightly undistinguishable from so far up. Yet I could tell that he was confused just by the look of them.
It takes me a few seconds to reply, but when I do, I even take myself by surprise.
"Yes, but if you froze to death on the way home then who would I have left to hate?"
The corner of his lips slightly tugs upwards before he snaps them back into a straight line. He quickly turns around after that, walking away with too much stiffness as if he was trying to seem nonchalant. But I had seen he small smile that almost overtook his lips. And that was enough to make a full blown smile cross over my own.
Sweater boy was making me crazy, I never smiled for anyone. Especially when they weren't watching.
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-7493 words-
Okay wow this chapter was long but I love the way it's written even though it took two weeks to rewrite.