Harry & Catalina's paths align as they make their own individual journey of healing. Both grieving the loss of parents, they travel to fulfill the dream road trip their parents never got to have.
The final destination, Italy.
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📍 Ghent — 2020
I moved around, trying to find a kettle for coffee, not finding a single one in the tiny apartment kitchen. I pinched at my bottom lip, not having the energy to even think about heading out for coffee after how late we had stayed up last night. I knew I looked a mess. My hair was in a bun, but I knew more curls were sticking out than actually in the hair tie. I had lost one sock in my sleep, not bothering to find it when getting up, keeping just the one on.
I opened up the cabinet under the sink, spotting a tiny moka pot in the corner, feeling relief wash over me.
"Thank you caffeine, gods!" I called out quietly, setting it up. Water, espresso, heat. I heard steps coming from the stairs, turning to see a sleepy Harry making his way into the kitchen. He had a cow lick, his hair all pushed straight to the right, slightly purple bags under his eyes. I couldn't help but giggle as he made his way over to me, sleepily tapping my nose.
"Morning madam artist," he said, leaning against the counter, eyes struggling to stay open.
"Morning monsieur muse," I chuckled, "I hope I didn't wake you. I tried to be quiet."
"No, you didn't. My body just naturally choses this god awful hour to wake up at. Is there coffee?" He said, running his fingers through his hair, remnants of paint from last night still lingering on his fingers and arms.
I bit my lip, pointing towards the stove with my head, "It's brewing, though I've never used a moka pot, so hopefully it comes out fine."
He nodded, peeking over at me. He chuckled softly, his hand coming up to my face, thumb running over the highpoint of my cheek point. I fought against the chills he caused, his lazy smiley making my knees feel weak.
"Paint is just everywhere," he chuckled more, a soft crinkle to his eyes.
"I know, on you too." I giggled softly, his eyes seemed to be lost in a moment that wasn't right now.
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I walked up the stairs towards our bedroom; the sound of "Walk Like An Egyptian" starting to play could be heard as I made my way up. I stopped before walking in, leaning on the doorway, watching Lina dancing as she painted. She had been up here for an hour and a half, starting her paintings for the art walk she had signed up for.
