The Executive & The Artist (H.S)

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"HAVE you been eating well, Harry?"

The voice booming through his mobile was warm and familiar, and he kind of wanted to remind his Mum that she really didn't have to yell, he could hear her just fine, but he kept his mouth shut. Because he hadn't been eating well, and he was afraid if he told her more than he needed to she'd figure that out.

"Yeah" he forced, twirling his spoon aimlessly around his mug (that Nat bought him for coffee but he had always used for tea). Harry was kind of cold, but that was to be expected when he was shirtless and residing in a flat without Nat in it. The thoughts of paintbrushes and canvases and that fucking bird in the corner bombarded him, heightening the pain of that migraine already edging along his forehead, but he did everything in his power to keep them there. If thoughts of paintbrushes and canvases and that fucking bird in the corner were gone, what else would he dig his fingers into, trying to find The Artist inside?

"And you're taking care of yourself? I don't care what your father says, Harry Edward, if you are going to work and aren't emotionally stable enough to-" "Mum I'm stable. I think you're making this more dramatic than it is." "Liam just called me and said he was worried about you. He said this was about some girl. Is that what this is? Is it about a girl?"

Harry rubbed at his temples. No one really understood that pushing and pushing and pushing didn't accomplish anything but forcing that something further into turmoil, further into the current they were already fighting. No one really understood that the person who made him dig his fingers into the thoughts of paintbrushes and canvases and that fucking bird in the corner wasn't just a girl. And he knew it was dangerous, to assume she was more than a person with a beating heart and a thought-filled brain but she was. To him, at least. She was more than just a girl to him.

"She wasn't... she's so much more than that" he tried to explain. A chill ran down his spine as the heater kicked off, and he wanted nothing more than a jumper but all of his smelled of Nat and she was so much more than just a girl to him.

Anne sighed and took a moment to gather her thoughts before speaking. "This has happened before, and it will most likely happen again. People will get up and leave and some of them will stay but it's all just life weeding the people you don't need out any longer. They teach you something, they leave you with memories of their smile and the way their laugh sounds and then they leave. All good things must come to an end, Darling."

All good things must come to an end.

He'd always hated that saying. And that made sense, because people always hate bold truths and would much rather believe candy floss lies but he'd always hated that saying because it was so bold. People always hate bold truths - they'd much rather believe candy floss lies.

The mug in his hand was batted to the ground, shattering in hundreds of pieces. The pieces were blue and purple but all Harry saw was red.

People hate bold truths - they'd much rather believe candy floss lies.

His mother let out a sound of surprise on the line and hurried to ask him "are you alright? Jesus, Harry. What was that? Did you knock something over?"

His fists were clenching on the counter, but he couldn't bring himself to unclench them. It wasn't clench and unclench, it was just clench, clench, clench.

Clench, clench, clench.

"Mum that isn't true. She's different. She's different and she'll come back to me. If you love something let it go, right? And if it's meant to be it'll come back? She's different and she'll come back to me, I know it." He repeated it to himself over and over, like a broken record. "She'll come back to me, I know it. I know it." "She might, yes. Please stop banging around over there, you're giving me a heartattack." "Sorry." "It's alright, Love. Just want you to be careful." "I know it, I know it, I know it."