"I guess they really got the best of us,

didn't they?

They said that love was enough,

but it wasn't"

✦

Harry and I had to catch a bus to the same town where Matthew worked to go to my art studio. After the walk to the bus stop we sat at the bench awaiting the next one's arrival.

"So, Evdoxia. It's your turn to answer," he smiled. What do you love most in the world?

"Your sweater," I chuckled, avoiding the question.

Using his fingertips, he stretched his sweater outwards to look down at it. This caused him to have a small double chin.

"You can't deny it's cute," he giggled, poking the little cheek of the animal.

His sweater hung graciously on his figure; it was olive green and had a cartoon black and white panda stitched in its center. It's slight raggedy quality clued to how it was thrifted.

"Very," I bubbled. "It suits you quite well."

"Why thank you, angel," he said, booping my nose.

I smiled wider, admiring him while we were stagnant and situated closely. With the humid weather his hair had gone slightly puffy and recklessly curly though it wasn't nearly as ransacked as mine. His eyes were accentuated by his sweater, the specific cool green being brought to the surface to overshadow the other hues. The pink of his lips seemed to have waned as well, a supple serene mauve. Despite the strong structure of his cheekbones and jaw, he looked anything but sharp or jarring. He was so tranquil, so at peace with who he was.

"Do you love yourself, Harry?" I suddenly inquired, entirely invested into what he would say.

He looked forward and rubbed his chin. "Can you answer this one first?"

"Touché," I tsked. "No. No, I don't."

He glanced back to me with an unreadable facial expression. "How come?"

"Must it be more than a yes or no question?" I shrugged with rising inflection.

"That's fair."

"Yes or no?" I exhaled.

"No," he stated and for a second there was nothing more to him than a pretty shell. His eyes were unfocused and unblinking as his lips sagged and lost their shape. But the expression was gone rapidly, making me unsure of which version was a mask.

Instantly, I terribly regretted my decision to conceal our explanations.

"Surprising," I mumured.

A minute passed as we absorbed the secrets shared. We watched the cars pass in the street, droplets of water the tires gathered spritzing behind them.

"I love Matt," I spoke up, catching his attention. "He's what I love most in the world."

Harry nodded slowly, not caught off guard but still processing what I said. His eyes went downcast to the bench. My left hand was wrapped around the edge between us, the ring back on my finger.

Before he could reply the rumble of the bus approached us. Silently, we moved to the sidewalk and boarded the vehicle.

He took the window seat and stared outside the whole ride. I took no initiative to start conversation either.

When I alerted him to the fact we were at the correct stop, we strolled off the bus and I lead us to the studio.

"I change my mind," I thought out loud, my answer not sitting well with me the longer it was out in the air. It smelt like coffee breath and unused cologne.

"What do you mean?"

"I really love first kisses, as in the first with different people," I revealed. "They're so nerve racking and sometimes awkward or other times seamless but that initial anticipation is the best part. It's bittersweet how excited or anxious you can be for it to happen, only for you to wish it never did so you could experience the giddiness once more."

I hadn't had a first kiss in a long time but in retrospect I wish I could go back to Matthew and I's and savor it more.

"It's such a big step towards someone opening up to you. And it's the perfect clip of time before the absolute horror or joy that person will bring. In that little action you're in a safe haven from what's to ensue," I continued.

In summary, I said, "I love first kisses the most in the world because they're brief eclipses of satiation. And while change may help you breathe, first kisses are the moments you're most grateful you can't."

When I glanced back to him, his eyes were focused on the lower half of my face but flickered to my eyes upon my movement.

Surveying the area, I realized we were nearly there. "We just have to cross this street and it'll be up on the left."

Fumbling with my jacket pocket, I retrieved my key chain and identified the one needed.

"And here we are," I said as we reach the corner of the block. "It's the second floor."

He trailed me to the side of the brick building and up the fire escape esque stairs. As I opened the rickety lite door, my body washed with comfort.

The same stale, industrial paint scent tickled my nose as I shuffled inside. Harry came in right after, shutting the door.

"Woah," he mumbled, beginning to amble around the space.

Stood under the angled skylight, a dusty beam of light incapsulated his figure. He turned to face me and I was yet to move from the door. I was busy worrying over his reaction.

"Evdoxia?"

"Harry."

His eyelashes fluttered, the striped shadow over his cheeks elongating and shrinking. "This—all of this—is beautiful."

I bit my lip, shrugging and looking to the paint splattered wood panels.

"You do mosaic," he pointed out breathily, moving over to trace his finger along the edge of a particularly large hand made plant pot.

In the back left corner where he stood was a substantial cluster of variously sized and colored pots on the floor, some hand painted with gloss finishes but most mosaic, made out of an assortment of broken tiles with a grout of concrete between the pieces.

His back faced me as he crouched down, inspecting the smaller pots in the front of the pile. Picking each and every one up, he brought them real close to his face as if to scope every minute detail.

I crossed the room so I was beside him. "I prefer it over painting but I do both."

The length of the back wall not overtaken with pots was covered with canvases stacked front to back. A few were complete but most were still in motion.

Placing the pot in his hands down gently, he gave me his full attention. "Why?"

"Hm?"

"Why do you prefer mosaic?"

"Well, I have a knack for puzzles and when I'm faced with a wild array of shattered tiles it's almost like a puzzle but I get to sculpt the final image."

"You're so talented." He reached over and carefully scooped up a medium sized pot, holding it up. "This is my favorite."

The particular pot was made up of broken lilac and white tiles. It had a thick rim made of tiles that were purple with white flowers on them; I had matched the broken pieces to their original places to depict the flowers. Beneath the rim where the pot sunk inwards were pieces of white tile mixed with a few lilac bits. There were also some small 3D butterfly, dragonfly, and flower clay sculptures plastered in. I had made them and then painted them in shades of purple for detail.

A toothy grin adorned his face as he stared at it. I didn't tell him it was my favorite as well which is why I'd always avoided selling it.

"You can have it if you'd like."

His eyes flickered to mine and his eyebrows furrowed. "For how much?"

"For free," I said in an obvious tone.

He had a pained expression as his gaze bounced between me and the pot. "I'll pay."

"Harry, it's fine. I want you to have it."

"I can't, this must have taken so long. Give me a price," he insisted.

"Either you take it home for free or it'll stay here caking with dust."

"Angel..." he whined, drawing out the vowel.

"Please, take it and give it some life. Give Morticia a friend at your shop," I persuaded.

"Fine," he relinquished. "But only for the sake of Morticia's lonesome."

"Okay," I tittered, amused by his stubbornness.

"Thank you." He wrapped his arms tightly around his new pot, giving it a hug, his cheeks engraving with dimples. "I love it—more than anything else in the world." Change, change, change.

I shook my head at his silliness. "Alright, well before you start making out with the thing, shall we go?"

His beaming didn't waver at my dig but it did however as I finished my sentence. "We just got here."

"I know but there's not much else to see."

"What about all of these paintings? I need to see them."

"I don't want you to feel like you have to care cause I brought you here, and I'm only saying this in case that is what's going on," I expounded my aversion, not trying to offend him.

Putting the pot on the floor, he grabbed my hand and bent his neck so his face leaned into the space above me, inches away.

"I'd scour the universe for anything you graced, Evdoxia. Not because of pity but because I want to. Desperately."

"Okay," I whispered.

"You up for pizza?" He asked, his mood drastically lightening from his previous statement.

"It's barley five pm," I pointed out in confusion.

"By the looks of it we're gonna be here all night." His arm motioned to the canvases.

I grinned and he guided me to the middle of the collection, sitting down with legs crisscrossed. Keeping my right hand in his left, he used his free one to pick up the closest canvas, scanning it before beginning to ramble on about it like an art critic assessing a masterpiece.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Four hours later when the sky had fallen black, Harry had finished picking apart each canvas inside the studio. He also had a pile of three he'd be taking with him alongside the pot.

We had an intermission dedicated to eating the pizza we ordered, the empty box of which was strewn carelessly by the door.

By now we were laying in the middle of the rectangular shaped room staring up at the dark skylight. It was completely black, in need of a scrub to showcase the true extent of the night sky's beauty.

"Do you think you'll move to New York City one day?" Harry inquired.

"Probably not."

"How come?"

"It's one of those things that you love the idea of but know won't happen. It's too farfetched."

"How so? It's not too far away."

"Are you trying to get rid of me or something?" I chortled.

He laughed. "No, trust me on that, but I just think you should go. For you."

I sighed. "I've always wanted to go and get out of this quicksand of a town but it's not that easy. I established a life here and, um, Matthew has a steady job he'd never dream of leaving." The secretary. Melly.

"Would you be willing to move for him?"

"Yes," I replied honestly. "But it's different, my job is freelance, I can pick up and go anywhere and it won't make a difference."

"That's not true. In the city you'll have a multitude of opportunities and connections that you'll never see here. You deserve that, to maximize your potential and voice as an artist."

"Thank you, Harry."

"In the mean time, you could sell your art at my store," he offered, surprising me.

"Oh, thank you. I'll think about it." I hadn't sold my stuff in months.

"Awesome sauce."

I rolled my eyes and chuckled at his lingo. "I don't know why but those words sound so idiotic."

"Hey!"

We had a war of elbowing one another till we both were probably bruised.

Once we had calmed down, my face strained with the pull of an unavoidable smile. Placing my cheek on the floor, I found Harry had already done the same, having been viewing my profile.

"Evdoxia," he whispered.

"Harry."

"You're New York City."

"What?"

"The life, the energy, the bustle. It's you. The you, you haven't met yet. But I see her, peaking through the blinds at the top of a sky scraper. She misses you."

I took a second or so to take in his supposed observation. "Um..."

"Your art reflects it; hints at it. There's so much more to you but it's hiding behind a cloud of smog. You're the universe and the earth and you're New York City, ransacked by pollution despite your capability to take out its source,"

"The toxicity can get so thick to point where it'll hide every star. It ravages the innate beauty and magnificence."

I sat up, resting my elbows on my knees and face in my hands. "Harry..."

"I fear you belittle your power. You have the ability to care more about yourself than anyone else can because you make your own decisions. You have the right to be selfish. And there's a strength in harnessing that in necessary moments. It feels as though now is one of them."

I thought about his words, unable to articulate a response.

He was still laid on his back. "You don't have to say anything, Evdoxia. I said it because I meant it and I wanted you to know. Maybe for you to see a different perspective, though if I offended you that wasn't my aim whatsoever."

"No, you didn't."

Sometimes believing Harry felt like wishing on a dying ember. It's pretty and so bright it glimmers white for a second, but then as if it'd never gleamed, it's black ash. Harry tempted me with hope but the reality is that it would always fade because a lack of combustion. Of action.

Craning my neck back, I met his vision. "Thank you."

He furrowed his eyebrows like what he said wasn't at all a compliment. I knew what he meant by his words but the bad parts didn't overpower the fact that he thought beneath surface level, I wasn't who I am today. In that sense I could agree with him as I'm aware that I wore a veil of gloom, however I hadn't known how transparent it'd been.

"Why... why do you say all that, like, why do you think all of this?" I inquired, feeling exposed.

"You're visibly grey. The shade of grey where you're only aware it's not black but grey when you're told so. And you're a sad song; a deceiving lullaby. Pretty and gentle. But sad."

"Oh." I hugged my knees to my chest.

"And if you're not okay, I'm here. Because I want to be. I'll repeat it a thousand times if you need to hear it again and again to heed it."

"Thanks... again."

His eyes captured mine. Sitting up, he held his hand palm face up by my side. I placed my hand is his and he held it, giving it a squeeze. I returned the pressure.

"It's pretty late. Do you need to get back?" I asked, referring to Rose.

I wonder how Rose felt about Harry and I's friendship. She was beautiful and delicate and so perfect for Harry. It was no surprise he was so happy when he had her to go home to.

"No, I think I'd like to stay," he said, "what about you?"

"I'd like that too."

"Awesome sauce."

To catch him off guard I didn't insult his word choice. "Cool beans."

Automatically he smiled big and happy Harry like. "You're learning!"

Rolling my eyes, I decided to change conversation. "Other than your sparrow tattoos, do you have any others?"

"Yep, a bunch on my arms and a few on my shoulders. No other ones on my chest though."

"Could you show me some time?"

"I could show you now," he suggested.

"Your wearing a sweater though and they're on your upper body."

He shrugged. "Ever been to the beach?"

"Whatever," I mumbled.

He laughed and reached for the hem of his green panda sweater, pulling it off in one swift movement. The smooth, summer tanned skin of his toned stomach, chest, and arms became exposed. Goosebumps sprouted upon the area.

"It's a bit chilly," he chuckled, rubbing his arms with the opposite hands. I laughed at his reaction.

"The heater hasn't been turned on," I explained. As this was the first time I'd been here in months, I hadn't prepared it for the fall.

"Well, go on, take a look at my art as I had your's."

Following his instructions, I ran my gaze along his body, more comfortable with his permission. I maneuvered my vision across the entirety of the inked skin, pausing to hear his story behind each one till we had run out of tattoos. Beginning with the ones covering the surface of his shoulders and arms, we finished with the few on his legs and fewer on his feet.

"Something would look pretty here," I said, barley grazing the skin of his chest at the top of his stomach but beneath his sternum. The space felt slightly empty.

His brows quirked. "What do you think I should get?"

"I'm not sure." I looked from his chest to meet his eyes. "You've got a meaning behind the rest of them, I'm sure you can find something."

His eyes narrowed as he inspected my face. "Draw me something."

"Huh?"

"I want you to design me a tattoo to put here," he said, placing his hand over mine and moving it flat against the clear skin. "Please."

I swung my head to the side. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

"It's your body and it'll be there forever, don't you want it to be meaningful?"

"Thats exactly why I want you to design it."

Hiding behind my hair, I groaned, "besides that, it's a lot of pressure. What if you don't like it?"

"I will."

"Your trust is blind," I warned.

"My trust is warranted."

"By naivety," I argued.

"I wouldn't ask if I wasn't sure you'd create something lovely. Plus, I love your art and I want my very own. My own, personal creation by you, Evdoxia."

I bit my lip. "Are you sure even want to get a tattoo there?"

He shrugged.

"Harry!"

"Please," he begged, pouting.

I thought about it for a moment. What was the harm in sketching something up, right? It's not like he wouldn't see it before he was tattooed, he'll probably bat an eyelash and move on from the idea entirely. I could entertain him.

"I'll try to draw something up, but listen, I haven't painted or anything for a while, so you have to think of other options," I gave in.

"Okay," he chuckled.

"It wasn't a joke."

"So you're designing a tattoo for me?" He repeated for confirmation, his grin growing.

My lips pulled to the side. "I guess so."

bonjour! I can't tell if I love or hate

this chapter :/ idk why I've been so unmotivated lately I'm just kinda in the dumps, although I did began a sort of

new project which I'm excited for!

I'm not sure if I'll be publishing it

anytime soon but I think fans of Fine

China will like it as well! alsooo, I'm

thinking about writing a story from the perspective of Melly though I'm not

sure, lmk your guys' thoughts!!

peace out ☺