Heterochromic Haze

33- Moments

I work feverishly and chaotically for the next few months. For almost four weeks I become completely nocturnal, forgetting to charge my phone for an entire week at one point because I was so focused.

That little stunt earned me an extremely irritated Grey pounding on my door at an ungodly hour on a Saturday morning to make sure I was still alive. From that point on, I made sure my phone was charged.

I peer at my latest painting, a little disturbed that it's come out so well. As usual, I'm not entirely sure how or when I did it, but I must have done, because unless a homeless guy wandered into my flat again (it only happened the once, mind you) it must have been me.

My hand reaches out, just to touch up the corner when I slap it with the other.

"Stop it."

I huff, fidgeting as I stare at the corner. It's just a little too...unblended for my liking. I could fix it. I can fix it.

I reach out again, a strangled noise coming from my throat as I wrestle my arm back down again.

"Oh my god. Full offence, but what the literal fuck are you doing? I said stop it." I mutter to myself, shaking my head. I never learn.

"Ledger?"

I freeze in my spot, peering over my shoulder to spot a weary looking Grey, watching me with a little more concern than normal.

"Hey Grey! Tiny question, how long have you been there?" I ask cheerfully. I watch as his brows pinch.

Ah fuck.

"You should really lock your door." He advises gently and I nod. I don't think he knows about the time that David from the corner settled in for a few hours. I decide against telling him now.

This morning he looks a lot more relaxed, wearing dark jeans and a simple white t-shirt, but it turns out he's still just as demanding.

"Get dressed, Heathcliff. We're going out." He says. I blink at him, confused and half dressed.

Fuck, I hate that nickname.

"What?" I ask.

"You heard me." He says, gliding over to my kitchenette and tidying away my things.

I hate it even more when Grey takes it upon himself to clean my flat, so I get ready quickly, shoving on the first pair of trousers I see and wedging my feet into my boots.

"Stop dusting, Greyson." I mutter, dragging him out of my door.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure?" I ask, shoving my hands in my pockets as we walk towards the park. It's where Grey goes to decompress.

"Amyas said you've stopped replying to his texts." He says and I sigh.

I run a hand through my hair, groaning as I acknowledge that I really need a haircut.

"It's not personal. The exhibition is in 3 weeks, I need to have twelve pieces completed, the portfolio written and design the signage." I say, my voice strained.

"I get it. I have a script and choreo that I need to have learnt by Thursday." He says and I smile.

Grey actually does get it, and it feels nice to know that. I just wish that he didn't look so good whilst doing it. I look like a mole. I feel as though I haven't slept a wink in my life, my body is a bag of bones due to the lack of a decent meal and my skin is sallow from essentially zero sunlight, whereas he looks like a fucking film star.

"And how are you?" He asks meaningfully. I sigh, smiling lopsidedly, knowing that I don't deserve his kindness.

"So, we'll go no more a roving." I quote softly, my mind drifting.

Grey's expression pinches.

"You're reading Byron? Oh boy." He murmurs.

"Why is that surprising?" I ask obnoxiously.

Grey sighs.

"Can you just answer the question like a normal person?" He asks.

"I miss him. All the time." I whisper, letting the lake swallow my words. It feels safer that way, less shameful. It's been months.

Grey doesn't say anything further on the subject and I'm grateful.

"How are you?" I ask suddenly, facing him.

"I'm ok." He says, and I know it's a lie. But Grey is like Amyas, he doesn't do well with prying. I shoot him a look and he nods. I know that, when he's ready, he'll tell me.

"Are you excited? I mean, this exhibition that you're working on, it's a huge deal." He says, changing the subject and I nod, scuffing my boot against the ground.

"Yeah, I am." I murmur, but it's half-hearted.

"I've seen some of the pieces, they're incredible, Ledger." He says and I smile. I know they are, that's the problem. Looking at them is bittersweet. They're inarguably my best work I've ever done, but I only see the pain that inspired them.

"Thanks, mum." I say, smiling when he rolls his eyes at the nickname. He hates it, but the way he looks after everyone, it stuck quickly.

"I've uh, asked Sheila for tickets for your family if they wanted to come up and see it, after the initial showcase of course." I say awkwardly and he smiles.

I won't be there after the showcase. No...awkward encounters.

"I'll let them know." He says and I nod.

"Are you happy here, doing this?" He asks suddenly, his eyes watching the lake in front of us and I frown.

"It's alright. It's a...nice lake." I say noncommittally and Grey looks like he wants to smack me.

Oh.

"I mean living here, working at the studio." He says sternly, but there's a small smile on his lips that he can't conceal.

I laugh, watching him shake his head. My amusement is short lived however, his insistent gaze probing me for a serious answer.

"Yeah, I guess. This is what I always dreamt of, doing art full time." I say, my shoulders drooping.

"But are you happy?" He asks.

"I have my moments." I say finally, and although my answer doesn't seem good enough for Grey, it's enough for me.

"What about you?" I ask and he sighs, a lopsided smile on his mouth.

"Most of the time, yeah. Like you said, this was the dream, and most of the time, it's enough." He says, biting his lip.

"And when it's not?" I ask.

He grins at me, nudging my shoulder.

"That's what new dreams are for." He says.

I contemplate that for a moment, and I realise that I never decided upon a new dream now that I have found myself living my old one.

"Come on. If your show starts in 3 weeks, you are in desperate need of a haircut and a decent meal." Grey says and I grin, following him.

"Okay, mum." I say, laughing when he groans.